The marquess was intrigued in spite of himself and he could not help wondering what this unusual female was likely to do next. Telling himself that he was all sorts of a fool for giving in to his rampant curiosity, Maximilian relented. “Then you had better do just that. Pray be seated, Lady Charlotte.” He indicated a low wing chair on one side of the fireplace. Then, disposing his lanky frame into the chair opposite hers, he continued, “I await enlightenment.”
Chapter Four
Charlotte sank into the designated chair. In her surprise at his sudden capitulation, she could think of nothing to say for a moment. However, speechlessness, which was a rare affliction for one accustomed to stating her mind on any and every issue, did not last long. Recovering quickly, she cleared her throat. “I appreciate that your being named guardian to my brother and me may have been as big a shock to you as it was to me, and no more welcome. Papa tended to do things that way, without consulting anyone. Ordinarily I should protest such a lamentable state of affairs for, as you can plainly see, I have no need of a guardian, but William does, and it is for his sake that I do not dispute this guardianship.” Charlotte glanced up at the marquess to check the effect of this little speech, but Lord Lydon remained impassive.
“Go on.” Privately, Maximilian thought that any girl mad enough to journey to London on her own and call on a bachelor gentleman in his own quarters did not need a guardian as much as a keeper, but he knew that revealing even the slightest hint of such a thought would prove fatal to this relationship that had been forced upon both of them.
The young lady seated across from him would take instant exception to such an attitude and go flying off in the same precipitate and unexpected manner that she had appeared, embroiling him in an even stickier situation than the one he was in at the moment. Still, he had to admit that it did take courage to travel to the city on her own and take to task a man whom she had never met. For all her youthful appearance, there was nothing youthful in her air of self-possession or the knowing look she directed at him. She had sized up the state of affairs in the blink of an eye and had made him her begrudging ally by acknowledging him as a fellow sufferer of her father’s erratic ways.
As directed, Charlotte continued with her story. “Since you have never laid eyes upon us before, and since Papa would never acknowledge it, you could not know that my brother William is simple. Mama died giving birth to him and the difficult birth has somehow affected his brain. To look at him you would think him a normal fifteen-year-old boy, and when one converses with him one does not at first notice anything amiss. It is not until after some time that one suddenly realizes that his vocabulary and speech are that of an eight-year-old. He is the sweetest natured soul and so very obliging, but some people” —here she paused to draw a quick angry breath, her dark brows lowering in a frown so intense it could only be called a scowl. “Some people—my cousin Cecil, for example—think he is not fit for human company and that he should be sent away to live where the world will be able to forget about him.”
“And what do you think?” Lord Lydon inquired gently. There was something oddly touching in her fierce devotion to her brother, her willingness to make an uncomfortable journey and confront an unknown gentleman all on his behalf. It had been a long time since the marquess, more accustomed to the frailties of mankind than to its strengths, had encountered such nobility of spirit. He was strangely moved by it. It heartened him to think that somewhere people still possessed the finer feelings and, what was more, acted upon them.
“I think that I prefer William’s company to my cousin Cecil’s,” Charlotte snapped. Then, observing the gleam of amusement in his gray eyes, she blushed guiltily. “Forgive me; I did not mean to bite your head off, but Cecil is…is…” She groped for words which were rendered quite unnecessary by the look of disgust on her expressive face.
“You have no need to apologize to
me.
Now that you mention him, I begin to recall that the questionable nature of Cecil’s character lies at the root of this entire, ah,
situation.”
“It does?” Charlotte asked in some surprise. Apparently her idiosyncratic Papa had possessed more forethought than she had credited him with.
“Yes. I believe that your father thoroughly distrusted the man, though naturally, he did not go on at length painting an unflattering portrait of the person who, after William, is his heir. However, I am convinced that if Cecil were a decent sort of fellow I should never have been burd—er—
entrusted
with the guardianship of you and your brother, and we all would be free to continue our lives in much the same fashion as we have been accustomed to.”
Lord Lydon’s slip of the tongue was not lost on his visitor. Charlotte drew herself up, her eyes flashing. “I assure you, my lord, that I am entirely capable of taking care of William and myself. I apologize for having troubled you.” She rose in a dignified manner and, head held high, was prepared to sweep majestically from the room, but the marquess was too quick for her.
Rising and catching hold of her arm before she could take a step, he pushed her firmly but gently back into her chair. “Do not take offense, Lady Charlotte, I meant no reflection on you, but we might as well be honest with one another; the circumstances of your father’s will have put us both in an awkward situation.”
There was no resisting the teasing quirk of his eyebrow or the rueful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. When he was not freezing the blood in one’s veins with that haughty stare of his, Lord Lydon could be quite attractive, Charlotte admitted to herself. But would he be willing to help her, really help her rout Cecil from their lives for once and for all? She very much doubted it. Charlotte had lived a secluded life, confined as she had been to Harcourt and its environs, her only society being the local gentry and the people in the village, but even her limited experience told her that the Marquess of Lydon was what her brother, copying the parlance of the stableboys, would call an
out-and-outer, top-of-the trees, a real Corinthian.
One had only to look at the superb cut of his coat, the exquisitely tied cravat, and his air of command to know that he was accustomed to a life of far more excitement, adventure, and sophistication than the daily domestic routine at Harcourt and that he certainly would not relish being dragged from his free and easy existence to squelch the Wadleighs’ petty pretensions that were upsetting hers.
Maximilian read doubt and hope warring in those big green eyes, observed her gnawing her lip, and found himself subject to the most unusual and annoying twinge of uncertainty. He had spent so much of his life protecting himself from women who were trying to take advantage of his good nature, his wealth, and his position that he had never bothered to wonder whether or not he could live up to anyone’s expectations but his own. Now he was not so sure. This chit of a girl had not only arrived unannounced to scold him for abdicating his duties, but now she had the audacity to look skeptical when he was on the verge of offering to take up those responsibilities her father had so blithely condemned him to. It was nothing short of infuriating, but then, she had been infuriating him since the moment she had sent him the imperious summons to Harcourt.
“Very well.” His visitor sounded somewhat mollified. “But you must realize that it was never
my
idea to ask for someone to interfere in our lives. However, as someone else is interfering in them already, you might as well make yourself useful and protect us from that person.” Her expression was properly demure and she spoke sweetly enough, but there was no concealing the naughty twinkle in her eyes.
She was paying him back, the little vixen, for his previous slip of the tongue. Maximilian grinned appreciatively. It was rare to encounter a woman with a sense of humor. Most of them were far too intent on winning a man’s attention and admiration to risk giving offense by teasing him. Obviously, Lady Charlotte Winterbourne suffered no such qualms. He found it rather refreshing and, in a way, far more captivating than the coquettish smiles or alluring glances that were the standard ploys of women bent on enlisting his aid.
“You make yourself abundantly clear, Lady Charlotte, and believe me, if it were not for the complicating issue of William and your cousin Cecil’s attitude toward him, I should not dream of offering you my assistance. But obviously Cecil does present a problem, such a problem in fact, that your father asked a relative stranger to look after your welfare. Now how is it that I may do that best?”
Charlotte eyed him suspiciously, but he appeared to be completely serious. “Well…” She hesitated. Now that she had succeeded in gaining his attention, she was at a loss as to how to proceed. It did seem rather a lot to ask someone to abandon his own life in order to help someone he had never met before, to protect the rights of a young man who would never be able to fend for himself completely.
Charlotte drew a deep breath. “Well, if you could come visit us at Harcourt you could see that while William is simple, he is not an idiot, and he is able to carry on a normal existence just as long as he has someone to manage his affairs, and” —she scowled fiercely— “you could keep Cecil from packing him off to some remote spot. I am quite capable of managing things for my brother, but I seem to have no effect on Cecil at all. You, on the other hand, could put an end to any possible schemes he might have.” She beamed approvingly at him.
“I appreciate your confidence in me, but I am not altogether sure that…”
“Oh you will most assuredly set Cecil back on his heels. You can be quite formidable, you know, and you do have a certain, ahem,
air
about you that is bound to make him ill at ease. He is quite short and fancies himself something of a buck. Being confronted with the real thing will naturally put him on the defensive.” Charlotte’s gleeful tone and her smile of smug satisfaction gave some clue as to the humiliations she must have suffered at the hands of her cousin.
“Thank you, I think.” The marquess was somewhat nonplussed by her forthright assessment of his qualities and equally nonplussed by her reaction to them, for it was quite obvious that while Lady Charlotte considered a formidable appearance and an air of distinction as valuable assets in intimidating the obnoxious Cecil, it was equally obvious from the hint of condescension in her voice that, personally, she had no use for such things. It was a rather lowering thought and, much to his disgust, Maximilian found himself wondering exactly what qualities she did admire in a gentleman.
But he was not to find out, at least not today. Having accomplished what she had set out to do, Charlotte was not inclined to waste any more time in polite conversation. Drawing on her gloves, she rose and extended her hand. “Then we shall see you at Harcourt in the near future?”
Lord Lydon rose as well and took the hand that was offered him—a slim, delicate hand, but a strong one, with a firm grip, much like its owner. “I look forward to visiting you and meeting William.” Oddly enough, he meant it. It had been a long time since the marquess had felt that he was crucial to anyone, but observing the relief in his visitor’s eyes, he knew that his presence at Harcourt was of vital importance to her and her brother. It was rather gratifying to be needed in such a way. He had spent a good deal of life avoiding obligations that the world in general was all too eager to thrust on him, but somehow this was different. Lady Charlotte was obviously reluctant to depend on anyone but herself for anything. Circumstances had forced her into this untenable position of dependence, a position she was as eager to escape as he was. Her very disinclination to accept help made Maximilian all the more willing to come to her aid. Besides, she intrigued him, and he could not help wanting to see how it all turned out.
Chapter Five
Charlotte lay back against the squabs of the carriage as it rattled off down Curzon Street toward Piccadilly, and heaved a sigh of relief. It had been a very near thing, but she had managed to carry it off, and now she could face Cecil and Almeria with a fortitude she had not felt before. To be sure, there was still a good deal of work to be done to convince Lord Lydon that, with her help, William was best left to live as he had done for the past fifteen years. After having seen the marquess, she now allowed herself to hope that he would listen to her on that issue. There had been a look in those penetrating gray eyes that told her he was accustomed to observing the world and arriving at his own conclusions unaffected by the prejudices of others. Certainly, he did not appear to be the sort of man to be influenced by Cecil’s eternal prosings about propriety and respectability. In fact, from the little he had let slip concerning his knowledge of Cecil, he was far more likely to resent the man who was the root cause of the entire situation than to join forces with him in opposing Charlotte’s suggestions for her brother’s welfare.
Charlotte wished she knew a little more of Lord Lydon beyond the obvious, which was that his skill at cards seemed somehow to have recommended him to her papa as a likely candidate for guardian to his children. Though the former Earl of Harcourt had often been known to declare that a man’s character could pretty well be summed up by the way he conducted himself at a card table, Charlotte was not quite so convinced as her father was that a good head for whist or piquet qualified one to look out for the interests of a simple-minded fifteen-year-old boy. However, as she had absolutely no other alternative, she was willing to hope that her father had known what he was about. Certainly, Lord Lydon had not looked her idea of the hardened gamester—far from it. His tanned face, athletic physique, and alert air spoke more of an accomplished sportsman than a bleary-eyed devotee of the Goddess of Fortune.
The only other bit of information concerning her guardian that Charlotte had been able to glean had been the deliciously scandalized gasps of Lady Winslow and her daughters when Charlotte had divulged her guardian’s identity to them. Privately, Charlotte thought her nearest neighbors boring in the extreme, but the bluff old baron had given her a great deal of useful agricultural advice, so for his sake she had been her most gracious when his wife and daughters had come to call immediately upon hearing of her father’s death. Selina and Emily Winslow had both enjoyed unsuccessful Seasons, but that did not keep them from flaunting their sophistication in front of Charlotte.