The School of Charm: Books 1-5

by Maggie Dallen

  That was the most pressing question. He would deal with whatever problems she was facing once he convinced her to trust him with her secrets—he’d slay her dragons, as it were—but in the meantime, what was to be done with the girl?

  “I shall go fetch her,” Mrs. Harper said, her tone still too nervous for his liking. He was perhaps a bit too gruff at times, but he wasn’t an ogre, for goodness sake.

  “I’ll go to her,” he said.

  He wasn’t sure why. Possibly because he knew he could find her in the crowded servants’ quarters, surrounded by the safety of numbers. If she were to come here to him, he knew Gregory would give them privacy and Mrs. Harper would be the only thing standing between him and…

  Between him and what, exactly?

  His errant mind drew up an image of her lips as if on demand.

  Yes, all right, perhaps he had experienced a pang of…temptation. He straightened his cravat impatiently as he strode toward the door. Stupid, ridiculous temptation. He’d had the thought that he should have liked to kiss her, and just like that, the notion had swept over him like a tidal wave. Something about her had gotten under his skin before he could steel himself against it.

  Now it seemed that base desire still held him in its grip, which meant it was all the better that he was going to see her in the well-populated servants’ quarters.

  So now here he was, fleeing the comfort of his own study because he couldn’t quite trust himself not to act on this ridiculous temptation.

  He followed Mrs. Harper who scurried down the hallways toward the back staircase.

  His reaction to her had clearly been an anomaly, and no doubt brought on by the strangeness of their first meeting. It wasn’t as though he met many young ladies while they lie in his lap.

  Yes, that was surely the cause of his problem. He’d been caught at a disadvantage by the strange intimacy of their first interaction. Now he would face her—upright and at a safe distance—and all would be right with the world.

  After all, it wasn’t as though the girl herself was so very tempting. She was no diamond of the first water. She’d been plain other than those lush lips and those sparkling blue eyes.

  All right, fine, perhaps she was pretty.

  But hardly irresistible.

  It was these thoughts that had him marching confidently down the hallway, with Mrs. Harper at his side, toward the room he was told Addie shared with Betsy, one of the girls who helped Cook in the kitchen.

  Mrs. Harper knocked, and when there was no answer, she cracked the door open. Then she pushed it all the way open, and Alec found himself gazing upon an empty room.

  Not just empty.

  Deserted.

  It looked like it had been ransacked. Nothing adorned the nightstand, and some of the drawers were half open as though someone had left in a rush.

  She ran.

  He knew it just as surely as he knew that he would find her.

  He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Mrs. Harper that anyone in his employment was his responsibility. He might not have been an overly kind man, but he was nothing if not responsible. He saw to his obligations, and that included maids who fainted at his feet.

  It had nothing to do with her pretty pink lips or those sparkling eyes when he raced back down the stairs and through the back entrance. He would have done the same for any staff member.

  He caught up to her just as she was trying to slip out the back gate, a sack slung over her shoulder like she was a thief in the night. “Where do you think you are going?”

  He hadn’t intended to scare the girl, but she jumped all the same, turning to face him with a decidedly guilty expression on her face. “I, uh, I…” Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “I was leaving.”

  Studying her here, now, in the afternoon light, with her standing upright rather than lying across his lap, he had a more objective view of her.

  She was pretty, that was a fact. Her light brown hair shimmered with blonde and auburn highlights, and even from here, he could see the brilliant blue of her eyes. When he’d called her ‘little one’ earlier it had been because she’d seemed so young, so innocent. And now? Well she was still young and an air of sweet naiveté hung over her like a halo, but there was no denying the fact that she was a grown woman. Petite, yes, and too thin by far—but despite that, she had the form of a lady that not even that ugly brown shroud could hide.

  Good heavens, did all of his employees dress like this? Like they were monks at a monastery required to wear burlap sacks as some sort of penance?

  He made a note to talk to Mrs. Harper about the wages. Perhaps it was time for an increase.

  Throughout all this scrutinizing, he was amused to realize that she was doing the same. She wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that she was sizing him up from head to toe. He knew what she saw—tall, broad, dark hair and an expression that was more often than not described as brooding—a word which he despised. It made him sound like a romantic poet and not the respected member of society that he was.

  He itched to go to her. To take her by the hand like the child she claimed not to be and drag her back into the house where he could protect her. At least until he sorted out whatever mess she’d gotten herself into.

  It seemed she had other ideas.

  “Please,” she said softly. “Please, just let me leave. I won’t cause you any more problems.”

  He frowned at that. “I’m afraid I cannot allow you to do that.”

  Her eyes, which had been wide with surprise and fear, narrowed suddenly in displeasure. “Cannot or will not?”

  A smile tugged at his lips. Awfully feisty for such a small, frightened creature. It was the frightened part that concerned him. Whatever was wrong in her life, she clearly needed assistance, and he would hardly be a gentleman if he refused to aid a young lady in distress. He took a step forward but froze when she jerked back in alarm.

  “I will not hurt you,” he said, using the same voice he used to calm his horse during a thunderstorm. “I merely wish to offer my assistance.”

  She bit her lip, and he tried not to notice. He kept his eyes firmly locked on hers. He knew now from experience that one look at her lips could wreak havoc on his sanity. “Come,” he said, nodding toward the back door to his home. “We will get you fed and then come up with a solution.”

  “A solution?” She sounded so wary he might as well have offered torture.

  “Yes, a solution.” He looked pointedly toward the back alley where she’d been headed. “The sun will be setting soon, and the streets are no place for a young lady alone.”

  She winced slightly, and he knew she recognized that he was right. Still, she hesitated. “I cannot stay here.”

  “No, you cannot,” he said, perhaps a touch too firmly. “My home is no place for a young unwed lady such as yourself.”

  Interestingly, her cheeks started to turn a pale shade of pink—preferable to the extreme pale state he’d found her in earlier but alarming in its own right. Had her thoughts strayed to the same places his had gone? Unattached young lady and a notoriously eligible bachelor?

  Was she worried that he’d attack her?

  The very thought was disturbing. “I shan’t hurt you, you know.”

  Even from where he stood several paces away, he could see her swallow. But he noticed she did not agree with him.

  Who on earth had made this girl so wary of men? A hot, fiery rage swept through him as his mind went to all sort of dark places about what could have happened to her…worse, what still might if he did not make her see sense and accept his help.

  “What is your real name, Miss Adelaide?” Curiosity had gotten the best of him, and he knew it was the wrong question as soon as it slipped out.

  She pressed her lips together firmly and gave her head a little shake.

  He sighed, running a hand through his hair and most likely mussing it thoroughly. “You might as well tell me, you know.” He arched his brows. “I already know that you come from
a good family. It would not be difficult to find out who is missing a daughter or…” He hesitated, for the first time realizing that perhaps he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. “A wife?”

  She frowned, and the look was adorably peevish. As though he were the exasperating one here, and not she.

  He thought she might not answer, but finally she shifted her sack with a little huff. “I do not see why you should care, my lord. We have agreed that I am not welcome here.”

  “Not in my employ, no,” he agreed. “I have no interest in harboring a runaway debutante who’s had a rift with her family.”

  Her frown turned to a scowl. He’d hoped to irritate her with that comment, and it had worked. Now he had to fight another grin as she glared at him like a schoolmarm and he was a disobedient child.

  He liked this side of her. Her anger was far preferable to her fear.

  “I am not a debutante,” she started.

  “But you are also not a servant,” he added. “Which means I do not know what you are, only that you do not belong here with me.”

  She flinched a bit, and he felt a pang of remorse. “If you tell me where your home is, I am certain—”

  “I cannot go home.” Her voice was hard. Firm. There was no room for argument. Still, she added. “I will not.”

  He hesitated only briefly before giving her a short nod. “Very well. I will not insist on taking you home.”

  She seemed to relax a bit, and he saw a world of weariness in her as her shoulders slumped beneath the weight of that sack. He supposed she was thinking the same thing as him. If she could not stay here and she could not go home…where was she to go?

  He hated the despair that she could not quite hide, not even in her anger. It lingered in the back of her eyes and clung to her like a second skin.

  “I will find a solution,” he said. He’d sounded so confident that he even managed to convince himself. But, after all, he was a man of title, power, and wealth. Surely he could find some decent solution for a gently bred young lady with nowhere to go.

  She was still eyeing him warily, and for a moment he wished he was more like his best friend, the Duke of Harlow. Royce was off on his honeymoon with his new bride, but right about now, Royce’s easy charm would have been welcome. He’d know what to say to put this girl at ease—

  And just like that, inspiration struck. The School of Charm. Owned by Lady Charmian and now being run by Lady Harlow’s closest friend—he should have thought of it at once.

  Of course, they would accept her, and they would likely know what to do with the girl as well. Maybe they could even pry the truth out of her.

  “Come along,” he said, already turning to head back inside. “I know now what we shall do with you. Let us get you fed, and we’ll be on our way.”

  Chapter Three

  Addie eyed the Earl over her bowl of broth.

  She wished she could enjoy the bread and broth Cook had set before her at the kitchen table, but it was impossible when the Earl watched her like that with his arms crossed on the other side of the table.

  She eyed him warily, half expecting him to rebuke her for not eating more quickly or something. He had an air of impatience about him. Likely because he couldn’t wait to be rid of her. I know what we shall do with you, he’d said.

  Like she was a package that had been misplaced or a stray cat that had been abandoned.

  She sipped her broth. Neither was too far off the mark, she supposed, and yet her pride still stung a bit at being thought of as some nuisance that needed to be dealt with.

  She was a nuisance. She knew she was. But it still smarted.

  Mrs. Harper’s arrival in the kitchen finally had him looking away from her, and Addie could at last take a large bite of the bread without feeling like the helpless, starving waif he seemed to see her as.

  She sniffed. Runaway debutante, indeed.

  “Have you sent word?” he asked Mrs. Harper.

  “Yes, my lord. I had the footman wait for a response.” She handed the Earl a note that he unfolded and read, not seeming to notice or care that his secretiveness was driving her mad.

  I know what we shall do with you.

  Ever since he’d made that declaration he’d been moving about with determination, not deigning to tell Addie of his plans for her. And why should he? She supposed she ought to be grateful that he was even taking an interest.

  And yet, whatever plan he had in mind…it would not work.

  He was not aware of the entirety of her situation, and he didn’t know the most important part. Reggie. No matter where he took her, she’d only have to leave.

  She held back a sigh and focused on her food, wondering how much bread she might be able to tuck into her pockets for Reggie without the Earl noticing.

  She eyed him across the table as he read the missive.

  The man was too attentive by far. She had a feeling nothing would get past him, not even a stray crumb going into her pocket.

  “Excellent,” he said as he placed the note down on the table. He wasn’t talking to her, merely to himself, or maybe to Mrs. Harper. She seemed to be an afterthought in whatever plan he was concocting.

  She thought to ask him if perhaps she ought to have a say in wherever she was shipped off to, but held her tongue. She should be grateful for his interest. It was hardly his fault she was in this situation, and he was under no obligation to help her. He could have put her out on her ear if he’d seen fit.

  Maybe he should have.

  She wasn’t his problem, and Reggie certainly didn’t fall under his care. As far as she knew, her father never even knew the Earl of Tolston, so he certainly owed nothing to her family.

  None of it was his responsibility.

  The fault for her sad state fell entirely on the shoulders of Duncan, her cousin, her guardian, and the reason she could never go home again. Duncan who’d swept into their lives the moment her father had passed and taken over full control of the estate.

  It was his right; she understood that. The will had given him full control—though the majority of the money had been put into a trust, to be given to Reggie when he was older. Or, in the tragic event of Reggie’s death, to the next heir of Wrencliff—Duncan.

  It wasn’t his eagerness to take guardianship that had frightened her. It was his ill-disguised desire to be the heir to her father’s title and all that went with it.

  She’d been so grief-stricken when Duncan had first arrived that she’d been quiet. Silent, even. Duncan seemed to assume she was deaf as well as dumb because he talked—loudly and enthusiastically—to his friends and his solicitor, all of whom took up residence in her home. He talked about how he ought to be the heir. About how her mother had no business having another child so late in life. How he’d lived his life assuming that he’d be entailed the property, the title…the fortune.

  It hadn’t taken much digging to discover exactly what he’d meant by that.

  He was up to his ears in debt.

  Worse, it was soon apparent that his mental health was questionable, to say the least. His moods were fickle and extreme, and there were times he’d looked at her with wild eyes that had made her feel frozen to the bone. He’d looked possessed by an evil spirit.

  And then in the third week after his arrival, it had begun. He’d shoved her when he was drunk, he’d raised a fist to one of the footmen, but worst of all—he’d gripped her brother so hard he’d had bruises on his arms for days.

  That was when she started to truly fear him. But it wasn’t until she’d overheard him speaking to one of his friends one night when she ought to have been in bed that her fear had turned to panic.

  “You can still have it all,” his friend had said. She’d never seen the man, but his voice was that of the devil himself. Cold and merciless. “You are next in line after the boy, no?”

  He’d been met with silence, which she’d stupidly taken to be a horror akin to what she was feeling. The stranger couldn’t honestly have been sugg
esting what she thought he’d been suggesting.

  “Think about it,” the stranger had said, his voice cajoling, his tone so cruel she’d shivered where she’d stood. “Accidents happen all the time to little children.”

  More silence. She’d waited for Duncan to protest. To laugh, even, because surely this was a joke.

  “You’re right. It would be easy enough to be rid of the boy.” Duncan didn’t laugh. He didn’t sound like he was joking. He sounded…serious. Thoughtful. Like he was actually thinking it over. From that moment on, she’d watched her cousin closely and saw just how deranged he truly was.

  Reggie’s nursemaid was sent away for no reason two days later, and when she’d asked him why, he’d responded with a blow. Casually, not even in anger, he’d backhanded her and sent her flying. His fits of violent rage grew worse over the next few weeks, and while she tried her best to protect Reggie from their cousin, she’d not been able to spare him all of Duncan’s cruelty.

  It was when she caught Duncan alone in her sleeping brother’s room that she knew without a doubt that she had to leave and take Reggie with her.

  The problem was, she’d had nowhere to go.

  While she’d seen the truth about Duncan, the rest of the world was blind. Duncan had a reputation for being the life of every party. He was all laughter and kind words when they had visitors, and everyone walked away from him with a smile on their faces, cheered just by being near him.

  She’d written letters to several distant relatives and family friends, but the few responses she received chalked her fears up to her grief. They thought she was having a hard time adjusting to a new guardian. That perhaps he was stricter with her than her own father had been.

  Perhaps she should have been clearer—maybe she should have spelled out his actions. But after being met with silence or platitudes, she hadn’t the heart. Not to mention, time was running out. Everything in her knew it. It screamed for her to leave with Reggie while they still could.