by Regina Scott
Why had she doubted him? This was the real Matthew Bateman—loving brother, considerate friend. She had attempted to mold him into a gentleman, but he had had the heart and character all along. Small wonder she’d fallen in love with him.
She bit her lip to keep from saying the words aloud as they exited the alley. Against the rules, against her dubious plans for her future, against the hurt of her past, she had given him her heart. She had felt the wall between them. Why hadn’t she realized she’d help build it? Her father, Worth, and John Curtis had been unreliable, so she had determined to rely on no one but herself. She might have continued that lonely existence if not for Matthew and his sisters. He was a man she could count on. She could scarcely breathe at the enormity of it.
Which was just as well. Now was not the time to confess her devotion. Now they needed to get Petunia home and into a physician’s care.
Rufus had other ideas. He must have caught Fortune’s scent, for he set up a howl and started forward, nearly tugging Petunia out of Matthew’s arms. Charlotte rescued the leash and pulled him to a stop before he could do more than snuff at the cat, who was leaning back and eyeing him with considerable disdain.
“That is quite enough,” Meredith informed him, and he quieted, dropping his head sheepishly. Fortune batted his nose as if to reassert her position as mistress.
Charlotte felt as humbled as the hound. She’d always admired Matthew, but her feelings had grown beyond what she would have thought possible.
Still, the only way to know whether he returned those feelings was to ask.
~~~
Matthew stood beside Tuny’s bed two hours later, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest. He’d never been so thankful as the moment he’d found her safe, but he hadn’t been able to relax until the physician had seen her.
“Her knee is badly twisted,” the older man told Matthew, Ivy, Daisy, and Charlotte as they gathered in the little bedchamber. “But not broken. I’ll leave laudanum for the pain in case she needs it. You know about poultices?”
Ivy nodded. “Perhaps lavender?”
“Excellent thought. Make sure she says in bed for the next few days until the swelling goes down. I’ll stop by tomorrow to check on her.”
Matthew saw him to the door. It was the least he could do. Charlotte had alerted the other searchers, sent for the physician, and thanked her brother, Lord Kendall, and Miss Thorn for their trouble before sending them on their way. All his focus had been on his sister.
“Do you need something for your injuries?” the physician asked. “I heard you beat Harding, but he seems to have landed a few blows if that purple eye is any indication.”
He’d forgotten about the injuries from the fight. The aches rushed at him now, demanding attention. They would have to wait.
“They’re nothing serious,” Matthew told him. “I’ve had enough broken bones to know. I’ll have Ivy make me a poultice too. But thank you.” He shut the door behind the fellow.
Upstairs came the sound of Daisy’s laugh, Charlotte’s reply. Nothing would have made him happier than to join them, but he had one more duty to perform before the day was out.
“Tell them I’ll be back shortly,” he said to Betsy, who was heading up the stairs with a tray of tea and biscuits. Then he let himself out.
~~~
The innkeeper gave him no trouble this time as Matthew headed for his stepmother’s room. He did her the courtesy of knocking and entered when she called permission. Her bags were open on the floor, and she was halfway between them and the wardrobe, clothing draped over her arms.
“Did you find her?” she demanded.
Matthew nodded. “Twisted her knee, but otherwise fine. Are you leaving?”
She dropped the clothing in the bag and bent to shove them in. “Tomorrow.”
Matthew crossed his arms over his chest. “Why? I thought you were determined to wring money from me one way or another.”
She curled her lip as she straightened. “And you were a disappointment there too. Got what I could from the gossip sheets for my story. I thought you’d win a fine purse, fighting for the prince, but the papers said it was all for fun.” She sneered. “Stupid waste.”
He wasn’t sure whether she meant the lack of money or her time. “It wouldn’t have mattered,” he told her. “You’ll get no more from me. Ever. If you try to make trouble again, I’ll see you up on charges.”
“Charges?” She shook her head. “Who do you think they’ll believe, the poor widow or the Beast of Birmingham?”
“Or Sir Matthew Bateman,” he countered. “Friend of Viscount Worthington and the Earl of Carrolton.”
She stilled, jaw moving as if she chewed on the idea. Then she made a show of shrugging. “It’s of no account in any event. I met a fellow while I was here. He’s interested in becoming better acquainted.”
Matthew pitied him. “Where’s he from?”
She tossed her head. “Ireland. He says if I come home with him, he’ll treat me like a queen. So, you’ll no more have the pleasure of my company, and don’t ask for favors, for I won’t grant them.”
Matthew spread his hands. “May Ireland be exactly what you deserve.”
“It will be,” she insisted. “Now, get out. I have packing to be done. Tell that innkeeper I expect a maid to help.” She rubbed her hands together. “A queen, says he.”
Matthew turned away. Only time would tell if she was truly out of their lives, but he knew of only one lady who deserved to be treated like a queen.
Would she be willing to settle for being the wife of a knight?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Tuny woke the next morning ready to go. Ivy enlisted Matthew in dissuading her.
“But I’m fine,” his littlest sister protested, tugging at the covers, while Daisy sat, holding them in place. “Rufus needs to go for a walk.”
The hound let out a snore and rolled onto his back on the rug.
“If Rufus needs exercise, I’ll take him,” Matthew promised. “But you’re staying in bed until the physician says otherwise.”
Tuny pouted. “What’s he know, anyway?”
“More than you,” Daisy said, tucking her muslin skirts more firmly around her legs as if intending to stay a while.
“Know-it-all,” Tuny complained.
“Brat,” Daisy countered. Then she grinned. “It’s good to have you home.”
Tuny beamed.
“I’ll make you a bargain,” Matthew said, leaning closer to the girl. “You promise to stay in bed and mind Ivy and Daisy, and I’ll let you in on a secret.”
Tuny’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of secret?”
“You won’t know unless you promise.”
Tuny leaned back against the headboard. “I promise to stay in bed—”
“And mind your sisters,” Daisy prompted her.
“And mind my sisters,” she agreed, “so long as you tell me a secret worth my while.”
He wouldn’t get better than that. And if Tuny didn’t think his plan was worthwhile, he had no chance of convincing Charlotte.
“Agreed,” he said. He lowered his voice. “I’m heading over to see Lord Worthington and ask for Charlotte’s hand.”
Daisy squealed, then clapped her hands over her mouth. Her eyes still sparkled over the top of her fingers.
“Why’d you need his permission?” Tuny asked. “You’re a knight. He’s just an old viscount.”
Daisy dropped her hands. “Viscounts are better than knights, silly. And that’s what gentlemen do when they propose to a lady, request permission from the head of the family. Remember what Charlotte told us? She doesn’t have a father, so Matty has to ask her brother.”
“If I ever have a beau, he better talk to me first,” Tuny grumbled.
Matty glanced between them. “Have I got it wrong, then?”
“No,” Daisy said with a scowl at her sister. “You ask Lord Worthington, and then you ask Charlotte. It’s what a lady would expect.”
Tuny humphed. “All right. And that was a very good secret, Matty. I’ll stay put. Just see that you tell me what she says.”
“What he says,” Daisy corrected her.
“I don’t care about him,” Tuny insisted. “All that matters is what Charlotte says.”
Matthew knew she was right. But Charlotte was used to proper forms, polite manners, and he wanted to show her he understood. Accordingly, he dressed in his best suit, the one he’d worn at his elevation, had Ivy help him tie a credible knot in his cravat, and took himself over to the Worthington townhouse.
The blond-haired maid who answered his knock at the door smiled at him. “What you doin’ knockin’, Beast? You could have come ‘round the kitchen. We’d have let you right in. You’re a hero, you are, giving that old Lord Harding what’s what.”
Matthew stepped into the familiar entryway. How many times had he passed that painting of a ship in full sail? Like it, he had gone nowhere until he’d met Charlotte and her brother. Now the light-blue walls seemed taller, the corridor stretching to the back of the house and the withdrawing room longer. And he had never quite looked so pale as his reflection showed in the oval, gilt-framed mirror beside the door.
Matthew turned away from the glass and squared his shoulders. “I’ve come to see his lordship, Katie.”
“He’s in the rear garden on the right side,” she said. “Workin’ on that balloon of his. Will you be comin’ back into service here, then?”
“No,” Matthew told her. “I have other plans.”
She sighed. “Pity. You know the way.”
He’d followed it often enough. Lord Worthington had bought the townhouse next door and broken through the walls in places. He used the other house for his scientific studies. Matthew walked the corridor and turned for the doorway into the other house. The floor sloped down slightly. He followed it to the door to the rear garden, where the man he had come to consider a friend was bent over a massive strip of scarlet silk.
“Still improving, I see,” Matthew ventured.
Worth looked up with a smile. A tall, slender man with hair as russet as his sister’s, his eyes always looked more silver than grey to Matthew, as if something gleamed inside.
“Always,” he said. “The balloon requires a way to be lowered in altitude without actually landing. The French use a flap near the top of the envelope, but the control mechanisms are unreliable. I’m trying to find an alternative.”
Matthew cocked a smile. “So, you took all the trouble to stitch that envelope, and now you want to poke a hole in it.”
Worth grinned. “That’s the idea.” He lowered the silk. “Good to see you, Bateman. You just missed Lydia. She’s off to visit her brother. Lend me a hand?”
Matthew wasn’t sure what he needed, but he followed him to where a bronze brazier stood smoking on a cork pedestal. Matthew peered through the heat. “What are you burning now?”
“Peat,” Worth admitted. “I know, I know, we’d ruled it out initially. But I’ve found that once it starts burning, it keeps burning for an admirable amount of time. There is an issue of weight, however. Lift that and see what you think.”
A shovel stuck out of a high box full of haphazardly-piled cut peat. Mindful of his fancy suit, Matthew pulled up the shovel, slid it under a mat of the woody material, and lifted.
“Heavier than the same amount of coal,” he admitted. “And you had some trouble with managing that weight, I recall.”
“Hm, yes.” Worth took a pair of iron tongs and rearranged the peat in the brazier, then nodded to Matthew to add more. The brazier moaned with the weight.
“Definitely a consideration,” Worth said. “Was there a reason you called?”
The shovel slid from his fingers to clunk against the ground, and the words dried up in his mouth. Worth didn’t appear to notice, taking out his chronometer to consult the time. How did a knight beg a viscount to be allowed to join their families? Was there some form he should be using? Some handshake that eluded him?
Matthew straightened. He had no call for concern. Lord Worthington had treated him well before the gulf in their stations had been narrowed. Matthew had never minced words with him before. He shouldn’t start now.
“I love your sister,” he said. “And I’d like your permission to ask her to marry me.”
“Certainly,” Worth said, eyeing the peat. “Let me try the shovel.”
Matthew stepped aside as Worth bent over the pile of peat. “Did you even hear what I said?”
“Of course.” Worth scooped up a mat and bobbed it up and down as if weighing it. “You’d like to marry Charlotte. I think it a fine idea.”
It couldn’t be that easy. “Why?” Matthew asked with a frown. “A knight is still below a viscount. I’m not wealthy. Some won’t receive her because she’s my wife.”
“All facts that have no bearing on the matter.” Worth dropped the peat back into the pile.
“How do you figure?” Matthew demanded.
Worth straightened and ticked off the reasons on his fingers. “A title has never been important to Charlotte. She has a small inheritance—the two of you should get by just fine. And a great many ladies stopped receiving her when she refused to wed and began helping me. Her true friends didn’t desert then, and they won’t now. Besides, my sister loves you.”
Matthew had to sit down, hitting the box of peat with a thump that shook the pile. “She told you that?”
“She didn’t have to,” Worth replied. “She is happiest in your presence. I saw that even before I married Lydia. That, sir, is love.” He nodded as if satisfied with both his work and his argument.
Matthew rose, still not sure he could believe the tale. “I suppose I should ask her, then.”
“I suppose you should.” Worth’s grin reappeared. “Cheer up, Matthew. Marriage is nothing like one of your fights. It’s bold and brave and beautiful, and it will leave you a better man.”
Matthew could only hope he was right, about Charlotte’s feelings especially.
~~~
Charlotte climbed the steps to the Bateman home. This was likely the last time she would do so as an etiquette teacher. Anyone could see that her work here was done. Ivy and Daisy were receiving invitations on their own, and Matthew could escort them to any events. Besides, she suspected Lord Kendall would soon propose. Matthew had survived his elevation and was well on his way toward being respected by those with more open minds. It was time to decide what to do next with her life.
And whether she could convince Matthew to be a part of it.
The maid answered her knock, but Ivy stepped out of the sitting room and swept up to them.
“I’ll see to Miss Worthington, Betsy,” she told the maid, who curtsied and went about her business.
“How is Petunia?” Charlotte asked.
“Much better,” Ivy told her with a smile. “The physician thinks she may be able to rise sooner than he had hoped.”
“That’s good news.”
“Not good enough for Tuny. She wants up now. Daisy is with her, but I should take my turn. Matthew is expecting you. Go right up.”
Charlotte nodded and started up the stairs. She was aware that Ivy was watching. As she paused on the landing, another door cracked open, and she caught sight of Daisy and Petunia. From the bed, Petunia gave her two thumbs up.
Odd. She’d almost think she was here to accept a position, not terminate one.
Matthew was standing by the fire when she entered. Ah, the elevation suit. How well he looked in it, so tall, broad shoulders showing to advantage. And who had tied that cravat? The elegant swath of white brought out the tan of his face, the dark of his eyes.
“Charlotte,” he greeted her, looking nearly as solemn as Lord Kendall. “Won’t you have a seat?”
Nerves tingling, she went to take her usual chair, and he sat opposite her. His gaze swept over her, as if searching for something. She patted her lacy green skirts into place.
�
�I understand Petunia is doing well,” she ventured when the silence stretched.
He managed a tight smile. “Already giving us orders.”
Silence fell once more, the stillness broken only by the shift of his muscular body in the chair. Charlotte took a deep breath. She had rehearsed her speech several times and knew just how she meant to approach the matter.
“Matthew, I must thank you for allowing me to tutor your sisters and to advise you. I enjoy your family so much. I realize you no longer have need of my services, but I want you to know I will always care about you.”
“All of us?” The interruption was almost a challenge.
She swallowed. “Yes, of course. Ivy, Daisy, Petunia, even Rufus.”
“And me?”
This was the hardest part. “Yes. And you, Matthew. You most of all.” There was more. She knew she’d had more, but something lit in his eyes and she could not find the words. Slowly, carefully, as if expecting a protest any moment, he went down on one knee before her.
“And I will always care about you, Charlotte. You bring light and hope and order everywhere you go. I saw that in your brother’s house, and I see it here. You gave me a glimpse of what it truly means to be a family, the sort I’d always dreamed of, with a husband and wife who love and respect each other, who work together for the good of their family. I know I don’t have much to offer you—no fortune, little consequence—but if you’d ever consider—that is…”
Charlotte stared at him, joy and doubt battling inside her. “Are you asking me to marry you?”
“Yes?” he said as if the same forces fought inside him.
“Then yes. Today, tomorrow, as soon as you can procure a special license. I love you, Matthew, and—”
Whatever great speech she’d planned was swept away as he surged to his feet, pulled her up and into his embrace, and kissed her. The touch carried her beyond rules, beyond expectations, beyond her carefully constructed wall, into a future led by love. Here—at this house, with this family, in his arms—was where she belonged.