#sidlotte

Summary:

In Regency London, the embittered Sidney Parker makes lovely Charlotte Heywood a most indecent offer. He does not expect her to agree to his terms. But the poor and proud Charlotte has nothing left to lose. She accepts and is drawn into a whirlwind of passion, dark secrets, and political intrigue.

Chapter 7 of The House of Ill Repute is UP! :) Read and review at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75711356/chapters/207328836

“I may be mistaken, but it seems to me that your elder brother is a bit… overenthusiastic," said Charlotte tentatively. " His nature is good, I am sure he is a wonderful person,  But perhaps he is not the most realistic of men. I believe that he would have attempted to walk to our home on his sprained ankle if Father hadn’t insisted on ordering the dog cart. And all of his talk about developing  the fishing village, Sanditon, into a resort… the expense must be great. Is it all truly practical?” 

Sidney scowled, which she could not help noticing took nothing away from the handsomeness of his face. “Upon my word, Miss Heywood, you are very free with your opinions.’

“I  beg your pardon,” she stuttered. “I did not mean to–”

In the middle of her sentence, the dance spun them apart for a few minutes. She sneaked a look at his face, which was dark as a thundercloud.

“Upon what experience of the world do you form your judgements?’ he asked her when they touched hands again. His voice was cool, but his look was smoldering. Her temper rose to meet his. 

“The point isn’t my experience, or lack of it,” Charlotte said indignantly. “You asked me what my opinion was, sir! I did not offer it. If you don’t care for what I said, then perhaps you ought not to have asked.” 

For an instant, he looked shocked, almost angry. Then he gave a long sigh and smiled crookedly. The smile transformed his face into even greater beauty. He was just too beautiful, Charlotte thought helplessly, almost angrily. Men were not supposed to be beautiful. How dare he look that way!

 “You are correct, Miss Heywood. If I did not wish for an honest opinion, I ought not to have asked you. I have already noticed that you are a most honest lady. I offer my apologies. She gave him a rueful smile in return, unable to resist him. “I suppose that I could have been less frank.” 

“Don’t be sorry, Miss Heywood. Frankness is an important part of your charm.” 

Read and review at: Chapter 5 of HoIR on AO3.

A cookie from Chap 5: “Shh,” said Mary. “You’ll wake Tom, and he needs his rest. I know very well that you have clothing packed in your bags that is quite suitable for a country assembly room dance. The hall is no more than a mile distant, and the road leading there is straight and easy to follow. The moon is nearly at the full. There are never enough young men at these sorts of balls, and the girls will all be overjoyed at the opportunity to dance with someone new.” 

“I’m afraid I’m not particularly interested in overjoying a group of uncouth village hoydens,” he said stiffly.

“You could see Miss Charlotte Heywood again,” Mary said softly. 

At last, he did turn to look at her. She smiled up at him. He thought about explaining all of the reasons why he had absolutely no interest in Miss Charlotte Heywood. 

She was a rustic, a rather boorish young daughter of a country gentleman in a village. Her voice was too loud and her manner much too frank. She was not conventionally pretty, either. Nothing like Eliza, with her blonde hair and wide blue eyes, and cupid’s bow lips, her small, frail form. No, Miss Heywood was not pretty, she was… 

Beautiful.

Once he had applied the word to Charlotte Heywood, he could not get it out of his mind again. He had watched her long enough to know that the current fashion did not flatter her, and she looked provincial, but she was like a full blown rose in a crude pottery jar. No matter what she wore, she had a unique beauty. 

“Will you go?” asked Mary. 

Read and review at: Chapter 4 of House of Ill Repute on AO3

A cookie from Chap 4:

Charlotte sucked in her breath. Was her mother more ill than she herself had believed? And if so, why didn’t she tell me? Oh, I’ve got to get back the house. I should turn around right now. 

At that indrawn gasp, Mr. Heywood turned and peered at her through a gap between two hedges. He smiled. “Whatever are you doing lurking behind that shrubbery, child?” He turned to the Parkers. “This is my eldest daughter, Miss Heywood.” 

“How delightful! Sidney, do come forward and make yourself sociable,” Tom Parker called over his shoulder to his brother. 

Charlotte stepped forward, and at the same time, Sidney Parker walked around the coach to stand next to his brother. She saw him fully. 

For a second, she could only stare. 

Damp-palmed boys at the assembly balls. Major Francis Lennox droning on about nonsense as he walked the grounds of the manor, fatuous officers stationed with their regiment in Greater Willingden… all of them were swept away. This man was unlike any other she had ever seen before. was outside of the men she had known. He was entirely other. 

Her mind groped briefly for comparison and could only find classical models. The perfection of Greek statues in those books of engravings that she was not supposed to read, that were supposed to be forbidden to girls and women. His face was beautiful as carved marble too, his strong jaw and wide-set dark eyes in perfect proportion to his straight nose, high cheekbones, and full, sensual lips. He was too beautiful for a man, in fact. But he was also intensely, forcefully masculine. He turned to speak to the driver of the carriage, and she saw his slim, muscular form, his strong arms and hands, the lines of flank and thigh and taut stomach, of chest and shoulders, slender yet muscular, the ones that she somehow knew lay beneath his sober clothing. His chestnut hair spilled over his high forehead, deep golden highlights glinting in the sun. 

Read and review at The House of Ill Repute, Chap. 2.

Here’s a cookie:

That night, Charlotte’s dreams were misty and vague, with unclear images of a ballroom and shadows of other dancers whirling past her. Only the man in her arms was real. One large, strong hand was around her waist while the other clasped her own hand on his. They moved together to the scandalous strains of the waltz, the shocking new dance that no assembly ball in Willingden would ever include. The images of the room were too blurred for her to see where they might be, but it didn’t matter. She closed her eyes and leaned into his masculine body and scent, rich and sweet as dark chocolate and bay rum and musk. 

He bent his head down to hers and whispered in her ear. “What have you done to me, my lady? I swore that I would never allow another woman into my life again. Not my real life, my inner life. But you crept in under my skin, Alice; your fingers threaten to scratch the very surface of my heart.” 

She could not place his tone of voice, or what it might mean. And he was calling her by the false name again, although that was her own fault. 

He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed each finger, slowly, lingeringly. The sensation seemed to set the inside of her own skin to itching and throbbing, an itch that she knew she would never succeed in scratching without his help. It all combined to roughen her voice when she replied to him. 

“I thought that you did not have a heart, my lord. Or at least, that is what you have told me.” 

He laughed harshly. “So I did. We would both be wise to remember it.”