Charming Sir Charles (Dashing Widows 5)

With a pleading expression, Meg stepped toward her aunt. “I am so very, very sorry, Aunt Sally.” The tears she’d been bravely fighting started to pour down her cheeks. “If I’ve hurt you in any way, I’ll…I’ll go into a convent and never speak to anyone ever again.”

The extravagant claim at last pierced Sally’s severe manner. To Charles’s relief, her lips quirked in a frail imitation of her usual brilliant smile. She’d been holding herself so stiffly that he’d feared she must break. At least now she looked human and not like a marble deity.

“There’s no need to go overboard. A year on bread and water should be punishment enough.”

“A year on…” Meg’s face brightened with relief. “You’re having a joke.”

“I am.” She opened her arms to her niece. “Now come and give me a hug, you dreadful child.”

Meg stumbled forward to sob a litany of promises and apologies into her aunt’s shoulder. When she pulled away, she was sniffing and breathing unsteadily. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Sally’s smile was so disconsolate, Charles wanted to smash something. She dug in her pocket for a handkerchief which she passed to her niece. “We’ll say no more about it.”

Meg choked out, “What about the scandal?”

“We’ll deal with that if we must,” Charles said firmly. At the moment, gossip was the least of his worries. “At those big coaching inns, travelers come and go at all hours. If we three turn up past midnight, I doubt questions will be asked.”

Meg wiped her face and looked a little more cheerful. She shot her aunt a glance under her lashes. “So if there’s no scandal, can I stay with you in London?”

“I’m sorry, Meg.” Sally shook her head. Charles hated to see her return to looking like the figure of justice carved on a courthouse. “You’ve shown I can’t trust you. You’re safer with your father and mother.”

Meg’s face fell. “Aunt…”

Charles bit back the impulse to interfere. He had no right to ask Sally to relent. He had no rights where Sally was concerned at all, blast it all to hell.

“My mind is made up.” Sally turned away to find her bonnet. She tied it on, then opened the door, letting the moonlight flood in. “Shall we go?”

Feeling like he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders, Charles collected his hat. He’d experienced such extremes of emotion since he’d come into this house. Right now, he hoped to God he never saw the lovely little hunting box again. He had a bloody good mind to demolish it, so it lay in ruins along with his every hope of happiness.

With the grim awareness that once they left Sans Souci, Sally was lost to him forever, he lifted the lantern. As Sally headed outside, he offered his arm to Meg.

“Sir Charles, I wanted…” Meg muttered under her breath, as she hooked her hand around his bent elbow.

“So did I, Meg,” he said in a bleak voice. “But I made a complete mess of everything.”

She looked up at him hopefully. “But surely you can fix it?”

He watched Sally trudge across the gravel to the carriage. She usually rushed at life with a verve he found irresistible. But tonight he couldn’t mistake the slump of her shoulders and the way every step seemed an effort.

“No,” he said in a flat voice that concealed the rage and devastation in his heart. “No, some things are broken forever.”

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

* * *

Sally sighed and put aside her embroidery. She’d never been much good at needlework, and she’d only picked it up this afternoon because every other distraction had failed to…distract her. She lifted the cup of tea her butler had poured half an hour ago.

“Ugh.” It was ice cold. She blinked back tears. Over the last week, everything made her cry, even something as trivial as a cold cup of tea.

“For pity’s sake, you look as down in the dumps as Meg does.” Wearing a disapproving expression, Morwenna appeared in the drawing room’s doorway. “This house has turned into a dratted mausoleum lately.”

“I’m sorry. I’m a little blue-deviled,” Sally said, mustering a smile for her friend. “You, on the other hand, look marvelous. Is that a new dress?”

She struggled to sound the way she used to, as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Even in her own ears, the attempt was an abject failure.

Still, it was cheering to see Morwenna in such fine fettle. Tonight her friend wore a rich azure taffeta gown that matched her lovely eyes, and her silky, ruler-straight black hair was dressed with pearls and roses and ribbons. Sally recalled the grieving wraith from last November who had reluctantly agreed to join in the London adventure.