A Duke's son to the rescue (Regency Romance) (Regency Tales Book 4) (5 page)

Unaware of what was transpiring some miles away, Charlotte had gone to bed without crying for the first time in memory. She had spent a pleasurable day with Lord Davenport and he had effectively warned her father against preventing the two of them from meeting. She knew that the Duke would not permit his heir to pay court to a humble girl who worked on his land, but today had been magical and she would not let harsh reality spoil her lovely day. Mr Smith was sullen at supper, muttering about arrogant young pups and shameless girls, but for once he dared not strike her. Her mother Martha, mystified by the change in atmosphere, tried to provoke a quarrel with Charlotte, but her daughter was impervious to her mother’s efforts. When they sent her to bed, she left the table with a smile, noticing that they were too irate with her presence even to insist that she stayed to wash and clean up after the meal.

She had been asleep for several hours when she became aware of noises outside. She heard the clatter of horses galloping fast up the rough road only to be reined in right outside the cottage. Immediately there came the sound of men’s voices talking followed by a pounding on the door. Startled, she crept from her bed to peer out the window. She saw Lord Davenport and another man, someone in his forties, she guessed, standing at the door, pounding. There was another man with them; she recognised Dr. Pendring, the local physician, although he had never treated any of the Smiths. When they ailed, they doctored themselves, and when Charlotte was ill, she was expected to ignore her malady and continue to work. She was fortunate to have been blessed with very good health, her illnesses nothing that a concoction of herbs from the gardens couldn’t treat.

“Who’s there, awaking honest people from their beds?” her father’s voice cried out. “Nothing but robbers and brigands come at night to accost an honest man. What do you want? Who do you seek?”

“Open the door, Smith!” That was Davenport, using a tone of voice that she’d never heard from him before.

Hurriedly, Charlotte put on her dress and tidied her hair the best she was able in the darkness of her room. She remained inside, however, reluctant to appear without knowing the reason for this nocturnal visit.

“I’m coming, I say, but I have a right to know what it is you’re about!”

“You know well enough why we’re here. Let us in before I call for an axe.”

She heard the bar taken down and the door creaking open.

“Where is Charlotte?” Davenport demanded.

“In bed, where she should be, and not for the likes of you to be asking about,” was the surly reply.

“See here, Smith, Bring your daughter out immediately, before I have you whipped for you impudence.”

That voice was unknown to her. She leaned close to the door with her ear pressed against it so that she could hear everything that was said. However, in truth, everyone was speaking so loudly that she hardly needed to eavesdrop.

“You’ve got no cause to see a young woman at this hour of night,” her mother voiced, supporting Mr Smith in his protestations against their intrusion.

Charlotte heard her parents continue to argue. Finally, the gentleman whose voice was unfamiliar to her shouted, “Curse you, you ruffian, I demand to see her and if you object, I’ll have the constable out!”

“You can’t summon the law when a man is protecting his own daughter from your wicked intentions.”

“My intentions are anything but wicked. I know of your behaviour; Lord Davenport has enlightened me, and I tell you this, Smith, if you don’t bring your daughter out, I’ll have such charges brought against you that you’ll pray for transportation to Van Diemen's Land.”

She heard her father grumble. Then, “Charlotte! Get your worthless self out here. These gentlemen seem to have a reason to see you. If you’ve been doing anything you shouldn’t have with either of these gentlemen, I’ll lay a strap to you, law or no law. The law can’t…”

Whatever George Smith was going to say was interrupted by what sounded to Charlotte like a fist striking him. Upon hearing her mother scream, Charlotte opened the door and beheld a scene of confusion. Her father, his nose bloodied, was being tended to by his wife. A tall man who towered over Mr Smith was repeating his demand to see Charlotte.

“I’m here, sir,” Charlotte said quietly from the doorway of her bedroom.

“Charlotte!” Davenport came forward. “Charlotte, the most incredible thing is happening, you’ll scarcely believe it. This is Lord Anthony. Charlotte, I-I pray you prepare yourself for a shock. I believe this is your father.”

His words were like a gong, striking the inhabitants of the room into silence.

“My father is there,” Charlotte said, pointing to the man with the swelling nose bleeding over his nightshirt.

“My dearest, show Lord Anthony the mark on your neck.”

“Why?”

“Please do as I ask. I have a reason for it, I promise you.”

Hesitantly, Charlotte came forward. “I don’t understand,” she said faintly.

“My good lady, may I see your birthmark?” His voice was kind, his manner gentle. Without another word, Charlotte lifted up her hair from her neck, revealing the birthmark that was exposed when she bound her thick dark locks with string.

Over by the fireplace, George and Martha Smith watched as Lord Anthony stared at the mark for what seemed like a very long time. In astonishment, Charlotte realised there were tears in his lordship’s eyes.

“What’s the matter?” Smith demanded. “Never seen a birthmark before? It’s the mark of her punishment from God.”

“It’s the mark,” said Lord Anthony, hardly above a whisper, “of her true birth. That mark has shown itself in the female members of my lineage since my family has lived here. It’s not a punishment from God and I would fain throttle you for suggesting such a thing. Charlotte, my dearest child, this is Doctor Pendring. He attended my wife when you were born, and he recalls the event clearly. He believed that you died, and that Lady Elizabeth was so overcome with grief that my child—you, my dear—was buried without ceremony. I questioned him when I learned what happened that night. My wife, your mother, not knowing of the family mark, thought it disfiguring and had you sent away. I was away, in India, and I knew nothing of this until the night she lay dying when she unburdened her conscience and told me what she had done. Can you ever forgive her?”

“I didn’t know her, Your Lordship,” Charlotte said honestly. “I hardly know what to say.” She looked about her in bewilderment.

“Simply say that you will allow me to make up for the years I’d lost you but now, let me reclaim my daughter. Let me take you home.”

“Home?” she repeated.

“This here’s her home,” Smith spoke up, the filthy rag he held to his nose stained red from the blood that had spilled onto it. “Who’s fed her and clothed her and given her shelter if not for us, her parents.”

“Parents?” Davenport said angrily. “Jailers, more likely.”

“Charlotte? Please, gather up your belongings and come home with me. My carriage is outside, waiting to take you home.”

Without another word, with not the slightest hesitation, Charlotte allowed him to led her out the door. “I have no other belongings, Your Grace,” she answered.

He smiled. “Father. Can you learn to call me that?”

She smiled back. “With pleasure.”

‘You ungrateful wretch of a girl!” Mrs Smith snivelled. “After all we’ve done for you, to be treated this way.” She wrung her hands. “Don’t you forget all we’ve done for you.”

No one was paying attention. The Doctor and Lord Anthony helped her walk barefoot and step into the carriage. Lord Davenport, astride his horse, followed along the carriage as it made its way to Weatherly Hall.

There was so much to say, and all the way home, Charlotte had marvelled at the odd turn of fortune, and her new-found father would not let go of her arm except to wipe away tears of joy. But when they arrived at Weatherly Hall, Lord Anthony insisted that she must eat. “Davenport has told me how you were treated by that beast Smith,” he said.

She blushed to hear him referred to by his last name only, and had to remind herself it was perfectly proper, as Lord Davenport was a friend of her father’s. Her father’s! It seemed to Charlotte all too strange, as if she moved through a sumptuous dream. How terrible it would be to wake from this and find it was not real!

Lord Anthony took her arm once again, and led her into the drawing room. The room was quite simply magnificent. The furniture, cushioned in red and gold brocade, was like nothing she had ever seen. She feared to sit on it in case her dress should soil it, but her father laughed her hesitation away.

“No cushion is as important to me as your comfort, my darling daughter,” he told her, patting her hand. “After you eat, you shall sleep in a feather bed. Tomorrow we shall need to send for the dressmaker, but in the meantime, there are clothes of your mother’s that will fit you. She was as slender as you are and I’ve no doubt her gowns will fit you adequately enough for now. No doubt we shall need the milliner, and the hairdresser, and of course you shall have shoes, and any trinket your heart desires.”

“Sir…” Charlotte spoke with trepidation. “May I—could I ask one thing? Before food or sleep?”

“Name it, my dear,” her father said without hesitation. “And it shall be yours.”

“I should so like a bath. A nice, hot bath.”

“A bath? But of course you may have a bath, my dear. I’ll send for the maids and they’ll prepare one for you.”

As she washed away the dirt, some of the burden of the pain she had endured over the years seemed to wash away as well. She had been missing from her real family and hadn’t even known it. Now she was found and the Smiths and their abuse would no longer be hers to suffer.

On the dainty wooden stand by her bed was a tray with bread and tea. She sampled a bite of the bread. It was delicious, and she ate another slice. She spread honey on one slice, and butter on the other, and as she ate each one, she was sure that nothing in the world had ever tasted so delicious. She drank several cups of sweet tea. Finally, her appetite appeased and her thirst quenched, she realised that she was exhausted.

She crawled into the magnificent four-poster bed, her maid had left the bed curtains drawn back so that she could enter.

Lord Anthony, her father—how strange that was to say and yet, how much more believable than the lie she had credited for all those past years, that the Smiths were her parents—had told her that she should sleep late the next morning, that she need not rise until she was entirely rested. Lord Davenport would be over later in the day.

After, Lord Anthony told her with a wink, he had a talk with his father.

She slept deeply and dreamlessly that night, the bed was so comfortable that she thought she would surely never want to rise from it. But when she awoke the next morning and saw the lovely gown at the end of her bed, she eagerly got up. The gown was peach-coloured. The bodice was trimmed with tiny pearls. The gown fastened at the back with what seemed like an endless row of buttons, and just as Charlotte was pondering how on earth she would dress herself, there was a knock at the bedroom door, followed by the entrance of a smiling young maid.

“Good morning, madam,” the girl said and dropped a curtsey. Charlotte almost looked about her to see who was being addressed with such politeness, then realised it was herself. The maid continued,

“His lordship Anthony said we was to let you sleep as long as need be, but I thought I heard you stirring, so I came in. If you please, madam, I’ll bring you your breakfast.”

“Oh, no need. I was planning to rise. But I’ll need your help. I’ve never worn such a gown and all these buttons are more than I can manage.”

The maid, whose name was Katie, helped her dress. Dressing was not the brief, careless business it had been when she had only one garment to her name. There was a delicately fashioned corset and a shift to be put on before the dress even went over her shoulders. Once she was dressed, Katie combed and arranged her hair. When she had finished, Charlotte looked in the glass and saw a stylishly dressed, elegantly coiffed stranger smiling radiantly back at her.

“You know, madam, I’ve never seen his lordship so happy as he is this morning. Finding you has made his life complete, I do declare. It’s all any of us can talk about below stairs, if you’ll excuse me saying so, madam. His Grace is waiting downstairs for you. And so,” said the girl with a meaningful smile, “is Lord Davenport.”

“Lord Davenport is here?” Charlotte repeated.

Katie smiled. “Been here since before breakfast, my lady.”

“Thank you for your help, Katie. And your information.”

Charlotte left her room and walked down the stairs. The dainty slippers that had been brought for her to put on were a perfect fit and, with those on her feet and the lovely dress, she felt as elegant as a queen as she descended the staircase. Lord Davenport and Lord Anthony, who were talking together quietly in the hall, looked up as they heard her approach.

“Charlotte! How beautiful you are!” Davenport said, his eyes fixed on her as she drew near.

“Thank you,” she said, suddenly shy in front of him. She had been more at ease in her faded, torn dress and bare feet.

“Did you sleep well, my dear?” her father asked, coming forward to kiss her cheek and hug her tightly. Taking her arm as if he never wanted to let her go again, he said, “Let’s go into the morning room, Davenport and I have so much we wish to acquaint you with.”

Over a vast breakfast table that held more food than Charlotte had ever seen in one place at one time, Lord Anthony and Lord Davenport pieced together the puzzle for her. After she had been given away, she had been taken to an orphanage, where she had spent the first ten years of her life, where she had received a rudimentary education and was treated, from what Lord Anthony had learned, decently if not with affection. The orphanage closed its doors when she was ten years old and the children were sent to work for local farmers and labourers. The Smiths, perceiving an opportunity to gain a labourer, had told her that she was their daughter, but there was no genuine relationship. Why she remembered nothing of her years before the Smiths, no one could say, although the doctor informed them that in cases of such terrible treatment, he’d heard of other children who had simply closed an inner door on their pasts.

“You were little more than a slave,” Davenport raged. “It’s monstrous that children should be treated in such a manner.”

“I quite agree,” Lord Anthony said. “And Davenport and I intend to do something about it. We sit on many boards of directors and through our contacts there and in Parliament, we hope to bring about many changes. But that’s business for another day. Today, my dear, you must attend to your social engagements.”

Charlotte laughed at the thought. “I have no social engagements,” she said.

“I believe that you do. Davenport?”

Davenport looked at Charlotte anxiously. “You’re invited to dine tonight at Walsingham Hall. You and your father. I told my father that I’ve met the girl I wish to marry. He and my mother are eager to make your acquaintance. I hope you don’t mind? I realise I haven’t even formally asked you,” he apologised. “I beg your pardon for that omission.” He grinned. “Once again, I seek your pardon for my transgressions.”

“I hope that you will forgive the boy,” her father said benevolently. “He has done the proper thing by asking me for your hand in marriage.”

Charlotte stared at the two men smiling at her. “And you said?”

“I said that whatever makes my daughter happy will make me even happier. But I don’t wish to lose you so quickly to another man. I’ve urged Davenport that a long engagement would suit us best. There is no one more suitable for a son-in-law than Davenport and if you love him, my dear, I will not stand in your way.”

“You were kind to me when I was dirty and ill-dressed,” Charlotte said. “I fell in love with you then.”

“I shall leave the room for a few minutes so that the two of you may seal this bargain in the traditional manner,” Lord Anthony said, standing up and looking at his pocket watch. “I shall return in time for a second cup of coffee. I trust that upon my return there will be some happy tidings. And then we shall have much to discuss.”

The door closed behind him and they were alone. Charlotte’s heart beat faster.

Davenport got up from his chair, and knelt before her, taking her hand in his. “I know we haven’t had a long courtship, and you don’t know me very well. I know we have never danced or even dined together. But we have walked together, you and I. We have talked of flowers, of the beauty of nature. Will you be my wife, dearest Belladonna?”

The End