by Alec, Joyce
Lord Wickton eyed her suspiciously, clearly willing to believe that she was not, for whatever reason, being entirely truthful with him.
“The maid stated that when she went in to light the fire this morning, the bed was empty,” he said, clearing his throat abruptly. “So presumably, he left under the cover of darkness.”
“Or when we were all at the ball,” Charlotte suggested, her stomach suddenly tightening at the idea that had taken hold. “It would have been easy enough to remove himself from the house then, without being seen.”
Lord Wickton sighed heavily, as though she were deliberately being obtuse. “Why must you pretend, Charlotte?” he said, waving his hand. “You were gone from the ball for some minutes last evening and I had thought that you had accompanied Miss Smythe to the powder room or some such thing, but mayhap instead, you were assisting this gentleman—for that is what you call him—from the house?” He tutted again, and despite the beads of sweat forming on her brow, Charlotte let her anger spike. “I am certain he could have left without your assistance, Charlotte. There was no need for you to—”
“I did no such thing.”
Her voice was brittle and she saw her brother’s eyes flare with surprise.
“I am as astonished as you to learn that he has quit this house,” she continued, taking a few steps towards her brother and shaking her finger at him. “I have told you the truth, Wickton, and I would appreciate it if you trusted my word in this.”
A moment or two passed before Lord Wickton managed to recover himself. Lifting both hands in a gesture of defense, he nodded, stammered and began to back away.
“I understand,” he said, his voice wavering just a little. “I simply thought that you had gone against my wishes and… I know you were seeking any opportunity to miss the ball.”
Charlotte dropped her hand to her side and shook her head. “I did as you asked me, did I not?” she asked, as calmly as she could whilst her mind ran from one idea to the next. “I did all that you expected.”
“You did,” her brother agreed, suddenly looking hopeful. “Did you see the many bouquets of flowers you received?”
She nodded, her tone becoming icy. “I did,” she answered, her eyes narrowing just a little. “They are, most likely, from gentlemen who wish to access my much-increased dowry.” She arched her brow and watched her brother slowly turn a deep shade of red, his eyes darting from here to there in an effort not to keep her gaze.
“You said nothing to me, Wickton.”
“I had no need to,” her brother blustered, shuffling uncomfortably whilst his face remained a most unbecoming shade of scarlet. “I was to do all I could to ensure that you were seen to be eligible and shown to your best advantage, was I not? Therefore, I did what I thought was best.”
Charlotte shook her head but found that she could not find it within herself to rail at her brother. The way he was looking around the room, the uneasy way that he was shuffling his feet told her that he was finding this particular conversation rather difficult. She supposed that, in his own way, Wickton had thought that increasing her dowry would be for her benefit, even if she was not at all grateful for it.
“Does this mean,” Lord Wickton continued, a slight strain to his voice, “that you have not settled on anyone in particular?”
“No,” Charlotte said quickly, not wanting to give her brother even a single modicum of hope that she would give any of the gentlemen who had danced with her last evening even the smallest of considerations. “No, I have not.”
Lord Wickton frowned. “That is upsetting,” he said, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. “I had heard someone say that they saw you emerging from the gardens last evening, but I did not hear with whom you were out walking.” His hand dropped to his side and he gave her a keen look.
Charlotte’s throat closed up as she tried to find something to say. She could feel her cheeks flushing with color but refused to drop her gaze for fear that her brother would think the worse of her for it.
“Charlotte?” Lord Wickton’s voice now held a hint of concern, his eyes narrowing just a fraction as he watched her. “You were not out in the gardens alone, were you?”
Just before Charlotte could answer, the door opened and the butler ushered in Emily. Overwhelmed with relief, Charlotte pressed one hand to her heart as she welcomed her friend inside.
“Oh, Emily, I am very glad to see you,” she said, seeing the startled look cross her friend’s face. “You must tell my brother to stop questioning me about last evening. He is concerned that I was out in the gardens alone, but that was not so, now, was it?” She opened her eyes a little wider, as though to send a warning look towards Emily, but soon realized there was no need to do so.
“Oh, but of course, we were not alone,” Emily said smoothly, turning to smile up into Lord Wickton’s face. “I accompanied your sister for a few minutes in order to help us both regain our composure somewhat.” She laughed softly and Charlotte was startled to see how her brother immediately began to smile as though, with a single word, Emily had been able to remove every trace of concern from his mind. “It was very hot last evening, was it not?”
“Yes, it was,” Lord Wickton agreed, now looking entirely at ease. “And there was a good deal of dancing and conversation, so I am certain that you would have felt fatigued after only an hour or so.”
Emily beamed at him. “But it was a truly wonderful evening, Lord Wickton,” she said happily. “I enjoyed myself tremendously.”
Lord Wickton looked deeply satisfied at this and, for a few minutes, their conversation continued on around Emily, instead of involving her. Not that she minded particularly, given that she was still attempting to come to some sort of understanding over the fact that not only had she been kissed last night by an unknown gentleman, but the man she had been caring for over the last few days had used the ball as an opportunity to make his escape. Could it be that he was the one out in the gardens?
“Well, I shall take my leave of you both so that you might enjoy a little privacy for a time,” she heard her brother say, drawing herself back into the conversation. “Good afternoon, Miss Smythe.”
“Good afternoon.”
Charlotte smiled softly as she caught the slight note of wistfulness in her friend’s voice as she bade Wickton farewell. It seemed still very peculiar to her that Emily should be so caught up with Charlotte’s brother, but she had to hope that something might come to fruition between them at some point soon, even if it meant that Charlotte would have to encourage Wickton in that regard.
“Oh, Emily, I cannot thank you enough,” she breathed as Lord Wickton closed the door behind him. “You have saved me from a good many explanations and mortifications.”
Emily, a faint flush to her usually pale cheeks, smiled contentedly as she sat down in one of the chairs near to the windows, her eyes roving towards the bright blue sky outside. “You are most welcome, Charlotte. It would not have done for your brother to know that you were out of doors alone.”
Charlotte opened her mouth and was about to say that she had not, in fact, been alone, but then snapped it shut again. It would not be wise to tell anyone, not even Emily, what had happened last evening. The less it was known, the better, as far as Charlotte was concerned.
“I have some news,” Emily continued grandly, as Charlotte, hurriedly throwing aside her reverie for the moment, went to pull the bell to have their tea tray brought up. “Should you like to hear it?”
Charlotte nodded, thinking that having a distraction from the discussion about last evening’s ball would be a welcome one. “Please.” She sat down opposite her friend, trying to forget about last night’s kiss and her questions over who might be responsible for it.
Emily beamed at her. “It seems that one of the patronesses, Lady Jersey, has been given a nickname by the ton.”
A little surprised, Charlotte blinked rapidly. “Indeed? Lady Jersey holds a good deal of influence. I am surprised anyone has considere
d calling her anything other than her title.”
Lady Jersey, being one of the patronesses, was held in high regard in society. A word from her, and a gentleman’s reputation could be scorched forever. She could refuse entry to Almacks, meaning that the person refused would be looked down upon by others for some time. The lady was sister to the eleventh Earl of Westmoreland, married to the fifth Earl of Jersey and had more wealth than Charlotte could even imagine. She could not even begin to think what the ton might have begun to call the lady by way of a nickname.
Emily’s eyes were bright. “She is called ‘The Silence’, it seems. Or ‘Lady Silence’.”
At this, Charlotte’s eyes widened and her eyebrows shot towards her hair. Emily began to laugh and, despite her determination that she would not join in, Charlotte soon found herself in peals of laughter. Lady Jersey was nothing if not a chatterbox and to be referred to as ‘Lady Silence’ was more than a little ironic. The ton, it seemed, had become well aware of Lady Jersey’s delight in conversing for hours on end about every single topic imaginable without so much as pausing for breath.
“It is ridiculous, is it not?” Emily laughed, dabbing tears from her eyes with the corner of her handkerchief. “You shall have to be careful to keep your laughter well contained the next time you greet her.”
Charlotte, glad to have been given a reprieve from thinking too seriously about all that had happened last evening, found herself grinning broadly. “Indeed,” she said, aware that she would have to ensure that she did not so much as smile when Lady Jersey next met her. Having been introduced some time ago, Charlotte would never call the lady an acquaintance but knew that she would greet Lady Jersey politely whenever they might chance to meet.
“Thank you, Emily,” Charlotte said as the tea tray was brought in. “You have cheered me up immensely. No, you need not look so concerned, I have no need to explain what has troubled me so. It has gone from my mind already, thanks to your good humor.” She smiled at her friend, determined to put the stranger and all memories of that kiss from her mind. It would become nothing more than a memory—a memory that meant very little to her, although that, she was aware, would take some time. “Now, shall I pour the tea?”
“Please do,” Emily replied, the look of concern slowly drifting away. “And then you shall tell me all about the ball last evening and just how many gentlemen have sent you bouquets and sonnets.”
Charlotte groaned and rolled her eyes. “Must I?”
“Yes, indeed,” Emily replied primly. “You must, for I ensured that your brother did not think poorly of you and now you must repay me for my kindness.” Her eyes twinkled and Charlotte could not help but smile.
“Very well,” she agreed, pouring the tea carefully. “But do not think that I have found anyone of particular interest, Emily.”
Emily laughed. “I had no expectation that you would, Charlotte,” she answered, chuckling. “But regardless, I must know every detail.”
Charlotte smiled, leaning back in her chair with her tea cup and saucer in hand. “Then I shall start at the very beginning.”
6
Michael spent the best part of the following week ensuring that his wound was given more time to heal. Leaving Lord Wickton’s home in the middle of the ball had been both a wise and a foolish idea, given that he had chosen to make his way out through the gardens and had come across Miss James hurtling along the path in obvious frustration and distress.
Kissing her had never been his intention and yet he had found himself doing just that. It had been utterly foolish, but as much as he wanted to regret it, Michael had been unable to find even a single modicum of remorse. The truth was, he had been drawn to Miss James from the very first moment he had laid eyes on her. She had stood up for him when he was at the complete mercy of those two ruffians, showing more courage and fortitude than any gentleman of his acquaintance, he was quite sure. The way she had opened up to him about her life here in London, about her struggles to be accepted as the bluestocking she was, made his heart ache for her. Could it be that so many gentlemen of the beau monde could be so blind as to ignore such a wonderful, passionate, determined creature and turn, instead, to the vapid, milk-water misses that were two a penny? He could not understand it, thinking to himself that, should he be able to mingle within society as he ought, then he would seek out Miss James with all the fervor and determination of a man possessed.
Needless to say, however, kissing her with such passion had never been his intention. He had made himself vulnerable in that moment, wanting to feel a connection between them that might never occur again. She had not pushed him away nor thrown herself back so that she might slap him. Instead, she had responded to him with such a gentle confusion that he had wanted to wrap her in his arms and keep her there.
And then, the wound to his side had flared with a sudden, sharp pain and he had realized what he was doing. He had stumbled back with a ragged gasp, his heart hammering in a most peculiar fashion and had stared at the shadowy figure of her form as though she were a wraith.
He could not remove that kiss from his memory, even though it had now been a sennight since he had quit the house.
“My lord?”
Michael looked up from his study desk to see the butler standing framed in the doorway.
“Ah yes, Mr. Matthews,” he said, putting down his quill. “I must ask you, have there been any callers today?”
His butler cleared his throat and frowned. “No, Lord Glenister, there has not. But that is simply due to the fact that your presence here in London has not been widely known. In fact, I believe you asked me yourself to ensure that your presence here was made secret, which accounts for the fact that you have had no visitors.”
Michael blew out a long breath of relief, his shoulders sagging. “I am glad to hear it, Mr. Matthews.”
The butler’s frown remained but he inclined his head. “As you say, my lord.”
Michael hesitated for a few moments, knowing that he had not explained to his staff the need for his secrecy, but finding that he did not wish to speak of it for fear that it might be whispered amongst the maids and then be spread out to all of London. “I may have something of vital importance arriving soon, Mr. Matthews,” he said eventually, looking up at his butler. “I must have it the very moment it arrives.”
The butler cleared his throat again. “Would it be a small package, my lord?”
Michael’s eyes flared. “Indeed.”
“It arrived this morning, when you asked not to be disturbed,” the butler replied, by way of explaining why it was not yet in Michael’s possession. “Should I bring it to you?”
Michael nodded slowly. “Did someone in particular bring it to the house?”
The butler nodded. “Lord Stevenson, I believe, my lord.”
Closing his eyes, Michael let out his breath slowly, trying not to allow his frustration to blossom into anger. “Why was I not informed that he had arrived? I presume that he is still within the house?”
“Yes, my lord.” The butler looked puzzled. “You made it very clear that you were not to be disturbed this morning, my lord. I did as you asked. I must apologize if I did wrong.”
Michael sighed and waved a hand in the direction of the door. The butler was correct in what he was saying, which meant that the fault lay entirely with Michael—but he had not expected this package nor his friend to appear so soon. He had thought it would be at least another day or so.
“Fetch him and the package at once,” he said firmly, and the butler quit the room with hasty steps.
The way his heart was hammering was most uncomfortable, Michael reflected, as he sat back in his chair and tried to resist the urge to get up and walk about in an attempt to calm his nerves. His butler did not need to see nor sense his anxiety over this package and certainly, some of Michael’s irritation was over his own actions. If he had not informed the butler that he was to be left alone for the morning, then he might now have had the package safely in his
hands.
“The Earl of Stevenson, my lord.”
Getting to his feet at once, Michael allowed himself a quick smile as his friend, Lord Stevenson, walked into the room.
“Stevenson,” he breathed, reaching out to shake the man’s hand. “Thank you for doing this.”
Lord Stevenson cut a thin figure next to Michael’s broad shoulders. He was fair-haired and green-eyed, again in contrast to Michael’s hazel eyes and dark hair. Lord Stevenson was a good half a head shorter than Michael, although Michael knew all too well that the man had a good deal of strength within him.
“I must thank you for doing this,” he repeated, gesturing for Lord Stevenson to sit down by the fireplace. “It has been a rather worrying fortnight and I am relieved to see that this is still in your possession.”
Lord Stevenson frowned, his face appearing pinched. “You feared that it would be taken from me?”
Michael nodded, pouring them both a brandy. “I did wonder,” he admitted, handing the glass to his friend. “After all, as you might be able to tell from the lovely blue and yellow about my eye, I have been pursued by a few supposed gentlemen who are desperate to retrieve this from me.” He tapped the package as it lay on his study desk, letting out a long breath as he did so. “But I knew when I gave it to you that you were wise enough to ensure that it could not be found.”
Lord Stevenson, who had beaten Michael more than once in gentlemanly rounds of boxing, grinned and his appearance changed entirely. No longer appearing stern and intimidating, he now seemed delighted with all that had gone on.
“No one so much as looked at me twice,” he told Michael grandly. “The earl has been seeking you out, however, with great zeal and determination.” His smile faded and the serious look returned. “What is it that you found, Glenister? And why steal it from the man? You have made a dangerous enemy.”
Michael sighed and ran one hand through his hair, his eyes going to the wrapped package on his study desk. “It may have been a foolish instinct and mayhap I ought never to have been reading it in the first place, but what is contained within that journal—” He jabbed in the direction of the package. “Well, that deserves to be made known in some way or other.”