of that morning’s The Times , did not seem to register.
Elizabeth didn’t mean what she said, of course. Her friend had been a volunteer at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital for several years, spending most of her time there tending to ill children. Lately, though, Charlotte had been spending several hours a day at Joshua Wainwright’s bedside whilst he lay in St. Bart’s. Even if the man was unconscious all of the time, Elizabeth worried that the impropriety would start tongues wagging among the town gossips.
Charlotte sighed. “I assure you, I merely ... when I am not seeing to patients, I sit by his bed. He is completely unaware of my presence!” she hissed. She wasn’t about to admit she held Joshua’s undamaged hand when no one was about, or that she spoke in low tones to him about the happenings in London. The man was rarely conscious, and when he was, he was in so much pain it brought tears to her eyes.
“I apologize,” Elizabeth said suddenly. “It was wrong of me to make light of his situation.” Her expression took on a look of appropriate guilt. “Lottie, he will be alright, you must know. And when you turn one-and twenty, you shall go to him and become his bride.”
Charlotte gasped, surprised by her friend’s insistent tone. “You really believe I will just ... go to him and offer myself as his betrothed?”
It was Elizabeth’s turn to show surprise. “Why, of course you will. You went off and rescued him from certain death in that backwater village!” she countered, as if that kind of bold action was something Charlotte Bingham did on a daily basis. What did it matter that the Earl of Torrington had provided assistance in the form of his traveling coach-and-four? “You do ... feel affection for Joshua, do you not? You always have. We always knew he was better suited for you than his brother John. And given what has happened, he will need a strong wife who has been training to be a duchess for her entire life. That’s you , Lottie,” she stated firmly. “There can be no other wife for Joshua Wainwright.”
Charlotte stared at Elizabeth for several seconds, struck by her words. For a long time, she hadn’t been certain her friend was aware of her desire to wed Joshua, even in his current state. And the comment about Joshua needing a strong wife only served to reinforce her desire to see herself wed to the duke. “Thank you,” she whispered, her head nodding as if she had been doubting her fate.
“Of course,” Elizabeth replied with a lift of one shoulder. “Now that we have your future worked out, please, Lottie, tell me what you have heard regarding Gabriel,” Elizabeth pleaded, her voice kept in a near whisper.
Charlotte did her best to suppress a gasp at hearing her friend refer to the Earl of Trenton by his first name. Elizabeth Carlington could be the most frustrating of friends. As the daughter of a marquess, she’d been raised to expect a life of luxury and marriage to a member of the ton . Those who knew her as well as Charlotte did were well aware that Elizabeth was not nearly as spoiled rotten as her behavior would sometimes suggest. She was dedicated to her mother’s charities, some of which could be construed as inappropriate for a woman of her station, and she was kind to the household staff at Carlington House. Everyone thought her beautiful, if for no other reasons than her captivating, almond-shaped eyes and auburn hair. Last spring, she had started her third Season in Society and had decided that this was the year she would accept an offer of marriage.
With the Little Season about to begin, it left her with just a few months to land a man. But referring to the Earl of Trenton as ‘Gabriel’ seemed a bit too familiar to Charlotte Bingham.
“Gabriel?” Charlotte repeated in surprise. “Has he given you permission to address him that way?” she wondered with a hint of shock, moving down one aisle of the hat shop to look at the bonnets.
Elizabeth shrugged.
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