The Importance of Being Wanton - Christi Caldwell Page 0,26
it, there was a choice . . . a choice in how Charles had lived his life these past years. When for so long he’d not been afforded that option. Not really. Instead, he’d been forced to, as Landon said, choose one over the other, and Charles had done so gladly—to protect his family. And the secret his family carried.
Society had formed their low opinion of him.
All the while, he’d accepted his circumstance, but he’d also gone through life annoyed at the perceptions that surrounded his existence, and a decoy existence that he’d fashioned himself, at that.
As his friends chatted, he stared absently out across a crowded White’s.
His mother’s latest directives whispered forward.
“Fix your reputation. Restore your image. Make yourself the respectable man I know you can be . . .”
She’d charged him with the responsibility of improving himself, while Landon insisted it was an impossible task.
All the while, there’d been a woman such as Emma, who with her society was putting forward views that challenged the black-and-white opinions Landon spoke of now.
Charles’s thoughts slowed, and then took off at a rapid clip. Emma had set out to start something . . . and she had done so in a way that expanded minds. The world saw one thing. And one thing only. And she’d identified that deficit. Just one group such as hers, however, would never be enough to undo the flaws steeped within society’s perceptions of . . .
“My God,” he whispered. It was the answer to so much: his mother’s latest orders for him, and . . . Emma. “That is it!”
His friends stopped midconversation and eyed Charles with matching degrees of wariness.
“What?” St. John asked in hesitant, fear-laden tones.
Leaning across the table, Charles gripped St. John’s face and kissed his cheek. “You are brilliant, man.”
Charles released him quickly, then sat back in his chair.
“People are certainly going to talk about that,” Landon said on a laugh.
Sure enough, any number of eyes had already landed on their trio. “Fine. Let all the bastards talk. That is precisely what this is about.”
“I . . . I . . . am afraid I’m not following,” St. John admitted. “Precisely what . . . what is about?”
“I confess, Scarsdale,” Landon added. “For the first time, I’ve joined St. John here in the department of cluelessness.”
Enlivened for the first time since Emma had ended their betrothal, Charles shared the idea which had taken root. “The ladies, your Sylvia, my Miss Gately—”
“She is not really your—”
Charles pinned a glare on Landon, effectively ending that unnecessary and unwise interjection, particularly as it was an unwelcome distraction in light of what had come to him.
Landon cleared his throat. “You were saying?”
Warming to the topic, Charles grabbed his chair and dragged it to the very edge of the table until the side bit into his stomach. “What Emma and Lady Sylvia have introduced was considered scandalous—a group of women coming together to discuss political ideas and opinions. They are no different from a salon during the Enlightenment. Hosted primarily by women. In fact, I’d say they are quite the same. Do you know the difference?” His friends stared back blankly. Charles grinned. “The difference is there was a counterpart—a male-oriented counterpart—the café . . .”
A slow understanding settled in St. John’s eyes, followed swiftly by dread, as the other man managed nothing more than a slow shake of his head.
Oh, yes. In creating something such as that, it not only proved Charles was capable of being more than the blithe lord even his friends took him for . . . it was also surely something Emma could respect.
Landon kicked back his chair so it rested on two legs. “What do you know about . . . Enlightened thinkers?”
Yes, that would be the opinion. Nor, for that matter, was his friend truly off the mark. Charles hadn’t involved himself in such scholarly matters. “I confess, not much. Everything I’ve learned has been from Seamus.” Charles couldn’t have been prouder.
“Then leave it to Seamus to one day do what you are thinking,” St. John pleaded.
Confusion creased the place between Landon’s eyes. “What is he thinking?” He shifted focus from St. John to Charles. Then horror lit his gaze. “My God, I’ve become St. John.”
Both Charles and St. John ignored the other man’s theatrics, carrying out a conversation all their own. “There has been a need revealed, thanks to your Sylvia and my Miss Gately—”
“Splendid! Then just say thank you and leave it be,” St. John implored. “But