Once Again a Bride (14 page)

“So you don’t believe in love?” Charlotte asked. Her eyes were still focused on the floor.

“Of course I do. I love my brother and sisters. Frances. I have a very high regard for my aunt and uncle Earnton.”

“Ah, regard.” She made the word sound crass.

This exchange had gone wildly off track; he had to pull it back. He had come here with a specific purpose. “What you said about Hanks…”

“You may set him to watch me! I told you I don’t care.”

“I have no intention of doing so. But your point… your earlier point is a good one. I hadn’t considered it.”

Charlotte frowned at him.

“Many people are all too ready to believe… the worst. And there is no protection from slander but the truth.”

“Exactly. So you must set Hanks to work again.”

“But if he is not looking in the right direction—which he is not—then how can he find the truth? I think we must take a hand in the investigation.”

“We?”

She’d softened, just a little. Alec was aware of a huge relief. “You must know things about my uncle that outsiders could not…”

“There is only one thing I know about Henry. He cared for nothing but his collection. His life revolved around it—the people he knew, the subjects he thought and spoke of, everything.”

“Very well. This argues that what happened to him in life must be related to it. The attempted robbery points in that direction as well.”

“And so?”

“I think we should…” What, Alec wondered? What should they do? When she gazed at him that way, his brain ground to a halt, and there was only one thing he could think of. “We should… ah… ah… have an expert in to value the collection. We should have done it before this. Yes, that’s it.”

“But what would that tell us about robbery or murder?”

“Who knows?” Alec hurried on before she could argue. “What I mean is, money is a powerful draw for many people. I’ll arrange for the valuation, shall I?”

Charlotte hesitated, then nodded. He wanted to ask if she had forgiven him but didn’t dare. He became aware of the fact that he was creating an excuse to see her again, and again. He should go now—leave the table while he was ahead—but he couldn’t quite make himself walk out the door. “Trask is a good man.” It sounded inane.

“Yes.”

“I’m glad you have him here.”

She nodded, and waited.

“Well, I… Oh! That wretched cat. I’ll take it back, if you wish.” It came out reluctant, because it was.

At last, Charlotte smiled. “Mrs. Trask loves cats. And Callie actually seems to listen to her, mostly. Mr. Trask is going to cut a little door into the back garden. Having a place outside seems to calm Callie.”

“Perhaps she’ll run away,” suggested Alec hopefully.

“Lizzy would never forgive me. I don’t think she will, though. I think she just likes a bit of freedom.” She stood straighter and added, “I hope Lizzy may visit her now and then.”

Alec started to tell her that Lizzy was in disgrace and would not be allowed to visit anyone for a very long time, but something in the way she carefully did not look at him changed his mind. Clearly, Charlotte wished for this, and feared it would be refused. “Of course.” He won another smile with this and at last felt the atmosphere lighten.

He had to be satisfied with that small victory, however. After thanking him, Charlotte mentioned that the whole household was very busy, and he could do nothing but take his leave.

A few days later, Charlotte awaited her second caller in much better trim. The drawing room was now established in the larger front chamber, furnished with only those things she had chosen. She wore one of her new gowns, and her hair was carefully dressed. There was no sign of an apron, still less a dust cloth. There would be no repeat of that humiliation. Whenever she thought of the way Sir Alexander had caught her—in a horrid old gown with inches of dust around the hem, her hair all anyway, a smudge on her cheek—she cringed. It was his own fault for forcing his way in, but still…

When he’d appeared, his height and broad shoulders making the room feel much smaller, she’d been so glad to see him—which made her even more furious. She did not
wish
to care what he thought of her. That moment when he’d looked at her with alien eyes, wondering if she were a danger to his family, had hurt more than any other slight she could remember. She’d seen then how much she wanted him to find her beautiful and accomplished and desirable. That might be a vain dream, but dust and aprons certainly didn’t help.

He had come to her, however. The man who could annihilate Holcombe with a slashing word had taken the trouble to call on her and apologize. Apologize! It had been so long since any man showed concern for her feelings. Henry would have sooner—she couldn’t even think of what would have made him apologize to her.

Sir Alexander would be visiting again when the collection was valued, and again as they “investigated” together. Charlotte’s pulse accelerated at the thought.

There’d been no mention of the kiss, of course. Yet something in his eyes had told her it was as vivid in his memory as in hers. Her recollection of the astonishing sensations that kiss had evoked had made it hard to speak. She’d been inundated by a desire to do it again. She couldn’t, naturally. One kiss could be put down to overindulgence in champagne and overlooked. More would… would what? Ruin her? She had no prospects, a meager income, a marginal toehold in society. As soon as Lady Isabella Danforth tired of squiring her about—as she surely would—Charlotte would be isolated and forgotten once more.

She’d vowed to do as she liked from now on. Could she have a taste of physical passion? It was a revolutionary idea. Briefly, she lost herself in wondering what Sir Alexander would have done if she had thrown her arms around him and…

The bell pealed below, shattering her agreeable visions, and soon after Tess ushered in Lady Isabella. Charlotte hadn’t expected her to come here, so far from fashionable haunts. Indeed, she’d thought Lady Isabella would drop the connection altogether. It had been a pleasant surprise to receive a note from her. The older woman settled on the sofa. “I came to urge you to accompany me to a rout party on Thursday.”

Charlotte thought that she’d really come out of curiosity, to see the place and her household. But she didn’t mind. “That’s very kind of you.”

“My dear, Edward would never forgive me if I did not bring you along.”

She’d seen no evidence of special concern from Edward. Still, beggars couldn’t be choosy. “I’d be delighted to go.”

Lady Isabella looked around the room as if it were a savage’s hut. “Should anyone ask, we shall tell them what a terrible
eccentric
Henry was. A scholar and an eccentric.” Her tone made the two words synonymous. “He buried himself—and you, of course—out here in the… hinterlands. Like a, a hermit. What could you do? But now you have been… rescued.” She smiled triumphantly.

Why need they tell anyone anything, Charlotte wondered? Then she saw that it was a story to tell. Lady Isabella lived on stories, most of them scurrilous. Yes, she was a gossip. But she seemed to relish the telling as much as the malice. And she could say much worse about Henry; Charlotte didn’t care.

Tess brought tea, and Lady Isabella chattered, reviewing all the current
on
dits
of society. When she mentioned something about her youth, Charlotte couldn’t resist her curiosity. “Sir Alexander spoke of your parents the other day.”

Her caller bridled. “I can imagine the kind of thing he said. Alec always despised Mama.”

“He was talking of his childhood.”

“He was the most priggish child. I suppose he told you she was dreadful?”

“Uh…”

“She was beautiful as an angel, you know. My father fell in love with her the moment he saw her.” She laughed. “At church, if you can believe it! She was the daughter of a bishop.”

Lady Isabella looked at Charlotte as if to share a great irony. Uncertain what to say, Charlotte smiled at her.

“Their parents weren’t pleased. Both sides were hoping for matches that brought much more money. But there was really nothing to object to; they came from the same class and background. And they… overbore all opposition.”

“Like a fairy tale,” said Charlotte, very curious as to how this tale connected with Sir Alexander’s very different view.

“Well, they had a lovely wedding, in the cathedral. Mama used to talk about it often.” Lady Isabella shrugged. “Fairy tales don’t talk about afterward, do they?”

“No.” Nobody mentioned the disasters that could follow a walk down the aisle.

“They were matched in good looks.” Lady Isabella glanced toward the mirror over the mantel. “It’s an odd thing; none of us is nearly as handsome as our parents. The combination didn’t… take. Well, in any way, really.” She shrugged. “From the smallest thing to the largest, they disagreed.”

Charlotte merely looked inquiring. Lady Isabella seemed launched on a flood of reminiscence, and Charlotte was too interested to stop her.

“Mama couldn’t bear opposition of any kind. It was her nature; contradiction drove her wild. And society made her giddy with nerves.” She made an airy gesture. “The only thing that calmed her was brandy and laudanum. Just a bit, you know, mixed together. But as time passed, it began to take more and more. I’ve heard that is common.” Her tone was strangely dispassionate.

Charlotte felt she was hearing too much. “I didn’t mean to pry, Lady Isabella. Please do not feel…”

But her guest seemed to have forgotten Charlotte’s presence. “She always told me I was all she had—her only daughter, you know. I was
hers
, more than the boys. She’d call me to her rooms and tell me everything. Sometimes, she would weep and rage for hours. They had to remove all the ornaments because she threw them.”

Charlotte’s view of Lady Isabella Danforth was changing by the moment. “That must have been frightening.”

“One learned to duck,” was the odd reply. “It was like a game. We didn’t have so many games.” A sly smile curved her lips. “She used to send me out dressed as a boy.”

“As a…?”

“There was a… fellow nearby who sold brandy. Well, I suspect he made it himself. It wasn’t a place a girl could go.”

“And she sent you…?” Charlotte was appalled.

“Papa kept the liquor locked up, and she couldn’t really…” Belatedly, Lady Isabella seemed to sense her listener’s reaction. “It doesn’t matter. In the end, of course, Simon got me away.”

“Simon?”

“My husband. He was a neighbor. I’d known him all my life, and one day he came to see me and said I had to get out of that house and why didn’t I marry him.” She gave her tinkling laugh. “I was thirty-one years old! Can you believe I said no at first?”

“I suppose it was a surprising…”

“All I could think about was how Mama would scream at me if I so much as mentioned… But Simon didn’t give up. He went to Papa. I don’t know what he said to him, only that Papa came and told me I was a fool if I didn’t grab the chance to escape hell. He was a blunt man, Papa. It was kind of him, though, because I was the only one she listened to when her delusions overcame her. I know it was worse for him after I was gone.”

Charlotte found she had tears in her eyes. “So, it was a romantic rescue.”

“Oh, well.” Lady Isabella gestured vaguely. “Mama had screamed at Simon in front of everyone at a country ball. Quite humiliating. I think he liked the idea of taking something away from her. He spent every cent he had on hunting, of course.”

“Simon did?” confirmed Charlotte, thrown by the change in direction.

“He was hunting mad! His string of horses cost the earth. And the stables, and men to tend them. I always thought he cared more for the horses than for Edward.” She said this as if it were perfectly commonplace.

“Surely he loved his son…?”

“He was glad to have an heir, naturally. His first wife died without producing one. Poor silly Simon. He was killed forcing a water jump at sixty-five years of age, if you can believe it? He
would
not tolerate the idea that he couldn’t ride neck-or-nothing any longer. At least then we were able to sell the horses and the lodge in Leicestershire and use the income for other things.”

Charlotte wondered if she talked to everyone so freely, or if she considered her a member of the family and thus privy to its secrets. Did gossip fascinate her because her own life was a lurid tale?

“My sad little story,” she finished with a moue, as if reading Charlotte’s mind. “Everyone in town knows it. I always wanted to live in London, so it all came right in the end.” Lady Isabella’s look was bright and oblivious; her smile just as usual. Charlotte could do nothing but smile back. But this seemed the wrong response; her guest’s expression shifted to consternation. “You haven’t brought that horrid animal here?” she exclaimed.

Looking down, Charlotte saw that Callie had come into the room. The cat strolled regally between them, tail in the air. “I’m keeping her for Lizzy. She’s a reformed creature…”

Effortlessly, Callie leapt onto the arm of the sofa, inches from where Lady Isabella sat. She fixed her yellow eyes on the gently waving fringes of her shawl. Lady Isabella stood as if galvanized. “So you will come to the rout party?”

“Yes, thank you. She’s just being friendly, I th…”

“Splendid. Would you mind, my dear, taking a cab and meeting me there? I know I should fetch you, but it is such a long way out here.”

“Of course.”

“You really must move from this forsaken spot.” Lady Isabella kept an eye on Callie as she moved toward the door. It was as if she’d forgotten that Charlotte had no choice but to live in a neighborhood that fashionable Londoners viewed as next to exile. “Till Thursday then.”

“It is very kind of you to ask me.”

Lady Isabella waved this away. Charlotte saw her out, bemused by the odd mixture of traits in her personality, then returned to the drawing room. Callie sat in the same spot, washing a front paw with a rasping tongue. “Was that really necessary?” Charlotte asked her. “We do not have so many callers that we can afford to discourage them.”

The cat ignored her, continuing her ablutions.

“I realize that you did not actually attack the shawl. Though I think that might have been more lack of opportunity than self-control. But I would remind you that you are not allowed on the drawing room furniture.”

Callie stopped washing and gazed at her. Charlotte could almost hear her pointing out that the room was often empty, and no one could keep her from the furniture if she wished to sit on it. Charlotte sighed. She half admired Callie’s attitude and half worried that it seemed so easy to interpret. Was she going just a bit mad? “I
won’t
end up old and dotty, holding long conversations with a houseful of cats,” she said. It was a joke, and then it wasn’t. Charlotte’s hands closed as if to grasp all that life might offer.

***

Ethan stood in the pantry next to the dining room, gloved, his hands mechanically polishing silver. He finished a fish slice, put it aside, began on a soupspoon. He needed a plan—and he needed it soon. Gran was already making noises about wanting to go home. He’d have to find someone else to work at the house, or tell Lucy’s mistress about the agencies. But a staff of town-bred strangers would leave him with no excuse for visiting, not to mention the way the thought filled his head with hideous visions of roguish menservants stealing Lucy’s affections away from him.

Not that he possessed them, of course. Despite all his efforts, he hadn’t won her over. Meanwhile, Ethan found himself constantly imagining her with him in the forester’s cottage in Derbyshire. Waiting with a smile and a kiss at the end of the day. Sharing a meal, and the bed, oh yes. Perhaps, later on, a family.

This agreeable picture dissolved. To have that life, he had to ask Sir Alexander for the position, which would rouse all kinds of ruckus in his family. He didn’t even want to think about that. But even supposing it didn’t exist, would Lucy leave her Miss Charlotte? He didn’t think so, even though she longed to leave London. And so… his thoughts circled back to the beginning, more tangled than they’d ever been in his life. He needed a plan.

“Ethan.” The tone said that Sir Alexander was repeating himself.

Ethan tried to hide his start. He hadn’t even heard the swinging door. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“I’m going to see Mrs. Wylde. I shall be out for some time.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sir Alexander started to turn away, then hesitated. “How did your grandparents end up working for her, Ethan? I thought they had left service and were living in that cottage they own.”

“They was… were down here visiting my aunt, and I asked them to do it as a favor, sir. I didn’t like to think of L… of the ladies all alone there.”

“Ah. Good work.”

Something in the way he said it made Ethan prick up his ears. Maybe he just had love on the brain, but he got a sudden notion that Sir Alexander was more than commonly interested in the welfare of Lucy’s mistress.

With a nod, Sir Alexander departed, the door swinging shut behind him.

Ethan’s hands stilled as he thought back over the last few weeks. Now that he considered, he could see hints all along the way. Ha. If his master and Lucy’s mistress got together, Lucy would be in Derbyshire, just where he wanted her. Developments could then… develop. And without Lucy having to do anything, which was good, because getting that girl to listen was like pulling teeth. So, how could he… encourage the situation, like?