“He is everything to her.”
“I know, Speen, I know.”
The coachman nodded gravely in agreement, but his heart was lighter than it had been since the old earl had died. For some time Speen had been hoping for a miracle, and now it looked as though his prayers had been answered. His lordship was a fine gentleman—top-of-the-trees and awake on all suits—but more importantly, it seemed as though he genuinely cared about Lady Charlotte. There was a warmth in his eyes when he spoke of her and there had been a wistful, almost tender note in his voice when he acknowledged the love she had for her brother. Speen was not a betting man, but at that moment he would have given odds to anyone who might have asked for them that, given a little time and opportunity, the Marquess of Lydon could come to grow very fond of his self-reliant ward.
Chapter Twenty-three
Self-reliant she certainly was, and not about to trespass on Maximilian’s hospitality any more than she already had. “Do not worry about me, my lord,” she assured him as they finished their tour of the stables. “William and I have intruded enough on your life as it is, and we are perfectly capable of amusing ourselves. If we can but beg your permission to fish in your lake and ride on your estate, we shall be merry as grigs. And now that I know William is safe for the moment, I shall be free to think of some way to stop the dastardly Cecil. I feel sure that I will be able to think of something.”
Noting the defiant lift of her chin as she uttered these words, Max was inclined to agree with her, but for the first time in his life, he felt oddly moved to meddle in someone else’s affairs. For years women had been trying to make him shoulder all their responsibilities and he had always declined, almost to the point of rudeness. Now, one was clearly bent on handling her own problems, and he was determined to relieve her of them. What was happening here? Had this guardian thing gone to his head?
“Do you have a strategy in mind?”
“No,” Charlotte admitted rather reluctantly. “But if I put my mind to it…”
“I think the best thing is to send one of my men to Harcourt to observe and see what he can discover. I shall send Will Foster. He is a reliable young man with a good head on his shoulders. If Cecil has gone so far as to have someone shoot at William, then he has gone from the stage of merely wishing for a providential accident to the point of causing such an accident. Having crossed that bridge, he will, I feel sure, stop at nothing now, and each and every impediment to his plan will only serve to make him more determined.”
The marquess was entirely correct in this surmise, for at that
very moment, the hapless Tom Piggott was standing before a purple-faced Cecil. “You what?” Cecil screamed at him.
“I…er…missed.” The unhappy servant shifted from one foot to another.
“You…you…blasted idiot! Can you not do anything right?”
“Er, no, sir,” the counterfeit groom muttered, his eyes fixed to the floor. “Perhaps you might want to send someone else, sir?” he suggested hopefully.
“No. There is no need to drag anyone else into this. You will return to Harcourt, and at Harcourt you will remain until you have done it right.”
“But how, sir?” Thoroughly miserable, Tom Piggott looked to his irate employer for some suggestion.
None was forthcoming. “How am
I
to know, man? You are the criminal.” Reassured that his minion was completely cowed, Cecil descended from being infuriated to being merely irritated. “And do not show your face around here until you have accomplished it, for if you do, not only will you get no money, but I shall turn you over to the magistrate as the poacher I caught red-handed two months ago. In fact, now that I think about it, there is really no reason to pay you at all. Not being transported should be reward enough for the likes of you.”
“You are not the only one as could turn someone over to the magistrate, sir.” Desperation, coupled with greed, made Tom Piggott more bold.
“No?” Cecil sneered. “And what would you do, inform against me? I think not. It would be your word against mine. However…” Cecil, observing the knotted fists and the vein standing out on his fellow conspirator’s forehead, knew that he had gone too far. After all, what was to stop the man from heading toward Harcourt and continuing on, not even bothering to carry out their scheme. He gave a falsely hearty laugh. “Come, then, let’s not fall out over these matters. A few setbacks are to be expected. You shall have your reward upon completion of your, er,
task.”
By the time Will Foster arrived at Harcourt, Tom Piggott had already returned, with a plausible story for his brief absence—a dying mother. He had fallen to work in the stables with such vigor that the grumbling against him had ceased, though Jem and Tim still could not bring themselves to trust the man, nor did they ever invite him to join them for a convivial tankard of ale in the taproom of the Green Dragon where Will Foster was conducting his investigation.
With Will Foster reconnoitering at Harcourt, there was nothing for Charlotte to do hut distract William and herself with as much patience as she could muster until he returned with his report. Determined not to interrupt their guardian’s routine, she began the distraction the morning of Will Foster’s departure.
“Charlie and I are going fishing today,” William announced grandly at breakfast the next day. “Griggs told me that there are fish in the lake and Mrs. Purdy said that we could ask Cook to pack us a picnic.”
“Ah. It sounds like a grand scheme. You seem to have made several friends here at Lydon already.” The marquess addressed William, but his eyes were on Charlotte and the tender smile in her eyes as they rested on William. She certainly looked a good deal better than she had when she had arrived. In the space of a day her color had returned, the circles under her eyes had disappeared, and the weary slump to her shoulders had vanished. Her usual energetic air had reasserted itself. Max could not help hoping that it was the reassurance of his company that had wrought this change, though his more cynical side told him that it was more likely the simple expedient of escape from the immediate dangers at Harcourt that had done it.
“Griggs lets me help him with the horses. I carried their oats to them yesterday,” William volunteered. “And Mrs. Purdy let me cut off the sugar lumps to put in the sugar bowls for her yesterday.”
“William is always so helpful that people like him wherever he goes.” Charlotte smiled fondly at her brother, who glowed with pride.
Again Max felt a pang of—was it envy?—at the bond between the two of them. He had never allowed himself to feel close to anyone except Felbridge because in his experience, such closeness had merely meant more demands made of him with very little given in return. However, the relationship between Charlotte and her brother was something altogether different; it was a mutual thing and provided a refuge and a haven for both of them against the rest of the world. Not for the first time
,
Max found himself half wishing that he were a part of it.
This wish grew even stronger as later that day he caught sight of them at their fishing. He was riding back across the fields after inspecting some land that was being cleared for a pasture and happened to pass by Lydon’s ornamental lake. They had each removed their shoes and stockings and were sitting companionably next to each other on a log, their poles in hand and their feet dangling in the water. It was such a peaceful, friendly scene that the marquess could not help wanting to be part of it, and he turned Ajax toward them.
William was the first the hear horse and rider approach and he jumped up, waving his pole at Max. “We are fishing, my lord,” he announced unnecessarily. “I even found my own worm and put it on the hook all by myself. We haven’t caught anything, though.”
“Nor will you if you keep jumping up and disturbing all the fish, silly boy. Hello, my lord. Did you have a satisfactory morning?” Charlotte greeted him in the friendliest of tones, apparently not the least bit disconcerted at being discovered with her shoes and stockings off and her bare feet and ankles in the water for all the world to see.
In fact, for the moment, Max could concentrate on nothing else but those elegant, narrow feet with the graceful high instep and the delicate toes sparkling in the water and the slim ankles which, no doubt, led to long, slender legs. He could not decide whether he was charmed or disconcerted by her utter lack of self-consciousness. Most women of his acquaintance, if they had done something so improper in the first place, which was highly unlikely, would have scrambled up the minute they were discovered, would have blushed furiously and made a great show of offended modesty while trying to cover themselves. Charlotte, on the other hand, was clearly enjoying the caress of the cool water against her feet as she waved them gently back and forth, but she was not about to call attention to herself or to deny her obvious enjoyment of it.
The sheer naturalness of her pleasure was completely enchanting and it made the marquess want to do nothing so much as pull off his own boots and stockings, sit down next to her, and plunge his own feet, which were hot from a morning of walking and riding, into the clear water next to hers. He had never been so casual with a woman before and he found the very casualness of it appealing. During his entire life Maximilian could not remember being simply companionable with a woman in a comfortable sort of way. Women had always seemed to want something from him. The unmarried ones acted coquettish and tried to fix his interest and make him pay court to them while the married ones seemed to
want to capture his attention and win him as a lover for the gratification of being thought of as Lord Lydon’s latest interest by their jealous peers.
On the other hand, Max was uncomfortably aware that Charlotte regarded him as such an avuncular figure that the questionable propriety of being discovered this way by one of society’s most eligible bachelors simply did not occur to her. It was a rare thing, and Max could not recall a time when he had had no effect whatsoever upon an attractive woman. Perhaps he was getting old—a lowering thought—or, more upsetting still, perhaps he had turned into such an insufferable coxcomb so blinded by his own vanity that he had lost all sense of reality. Had he? Had he lost his attractiveness to women and simply been too conceited to be aware of it? No. It had been genuine desire he had seen in the eyes of the actresses Tubby had brought from London; he was sure of it. Certainly Madame Dufour enjoyed his attentions. And even Isabella, who had undoubtedly desired him more for the opportunity to become Marchioness of Lydon than for his person, had been unable to hide the hunger in her eyes. Even at her most provoking, when she had been holding him at arm’s length in order to prevail upon him to buy her some trinket or escort her to some insufferably dull, but highly fashionable squeeze, he had sensed her desire. But what was he doing even thinking of Charlotte in these terms? She was his ward and nothing more.
“Do sit down and join us.” Charlotte patted the space next to her on the log in a friendly fashion, and Max could not help thinking again what a lovely smile she had, how deep those green eyes were—so deep a man could lose himself in them.
“Please do, sir,” William chimed in. “You may use my pole if you like.”
“Why thank you, William.” Max was genuinely touched by their eagerness to have him join them. When had anyone wanted him simply for the pleasure of his company? And how annoyed he was at himself for giving a second thought to the pristine condition of his buff breeches as he examined the soft green moss on the seat they were offering him. Was he becoming as stiff a prig as his father had been?
“We still have some bread and cheese and a bit of tongue left.” William pointed to the basket set carefully away from the water’s edge.
“Thank you. That is most kind of you, but I finished off one of
Cook’s excellent pork pies not long ago.” However, he did take the proffered pole and, mentally consigning his breeches to the tender care of the laundry maids, sat down on the log as smoothly as he could without getting his feet wet.
The sun was warm on their backs as they sat gazing into the clear water, all of them mesmerized by the light twinkling on the ripples. Max felt himself slowly relaxing until he almost felt as though he were daydreaming. It was difficult to recall when he had experienced such a sense of simple contentment, certainly not for a very long time.
This serenity was soon interrupted by William, who jumped up from his perch on the other side of his sister. “Oh look, sir, you have caught a fish!”
“Why so I have.” The tug on the marquess’s line was not so strong that he thought he had anything worth keeping, but he pulled in his catch, which turned out to be a rather small carp.
“Charlotte says we must throw the small ones back, but it was very clever of you to catch one, wasn’t it, sir?”
“Oh, very.” Max winked at Charlotte as he carefully unhooked the fish and tossed it into the water before handing the pole back to William. “Now it is your turn. I thank you for the use of your pole, but I really should be going.” He was curiously loath to move, however, and he sat there quietly for some time listening to the wind in the willows and the buzz of the occasional bee. It was all so peaceful, and far more entertaining than the mountain of correspondence that awaited him on his desk.
Chapter Twenty-four
As the days went by, Lord Lydon found himself pushing work aside more and more often to join Charlotte and William, who seemed to find amusement and pleasure in anything and everything, even something as simple as a walk along the stream that fed the lake or throwing sticks off the decoratively arched bridge over the stream and betting on which stick would appear first on the other side.
The evenings were most often spent in the library discussing the latest news in
The Times
or, if he could be persuaded to tell them, listening to stories of the marquess’s life in India. William never tired of hearing about the tiger hunts, though in truth he was more curious about the elephants Lydon had ridden during these outings than in the stalking of the tiger.