The Vicar's Daughter

by Deborah Simmons

  “If you would be so kind, Miss Trowbridge, there are some people I would like you to meet,” he said, smiling at her. Her new gown fit her quite well, Maximilian noted with approval, although he missed the way her tight clothing had hugged her breasts. She had covered up her lush bosom with an excessive amount of fabric when most women would have bared it fashionably. Maximilian smiled. His country goose still had a little to learn about London ways, he thought as he tucked her fingers into the curve of his arm.

  Maximilian introduced her to several of the patronesses of Almack’s, subtly making known his desire to see her in those elite assembly rooms. She would need vouchers from one of these ladies before she could even purchase tickets, and Maximilian was determined to gain her entry. What better place to contract a suitable marriage?

  Next, he planned to dance with her and, finally, to acquaint her with a few eligible gentlemen of whom he approved before he considered his task completed. He was already leading her onto the dance floor before he was abruptly struck with a twinge of foreboding. “You do dance, do you not?” he asked, staring at her intently.

  “Do you expect me to trod upon your toes, my lord?” Charlotte asked, her eyes twinkling.

  “Well...” Maximilian hesitated, imagining an embarrassing turn about the floor with his young charge. “I was not sure if your cousin had seen to your instruction.”

  Charlotte laughed as he took her in his arms for the waltz. “I see no tarts or egg baskets here, my lord, so you may feel secure in your impeccable costume,” she said. “I assure you that I am not as clumsy as you may think.”

  Maximilian smiled, feeling some of his tenseness slip away. The disruption of his evening’s schedule had put him in a sour mood, but Charlotte seemed to be able to alleviate his distress. Again, he had the sense that his beauty shone like the sun, brightening this corner of the candlelit ballroom with her glow. “Am I to gather that I no longer discompose you?” he asked.

  She blinked at him, her long silky lashes fluttering like butterfly wings over her springtime eyes. Then she made a show of glancing about and grinned at him wickedly. “I must say, there are a lot of other elegant gentlemen here tonight.”

  “Meaning I have lost my luster?” he teased.

  “Never that, my lord,” Charlotte said softly. Although her bold gaze never left his, her mouth drooped, and Maximilian felt a tug at his heart. Deuced if she did not have the strangest effect upon him.

  “Charlotte...” Her name escaped again. Maximilian was not sure what to say, and yet he felt compelled to warn her not to— But it was not necessary. She was already looking away, her attention upon the other dancers. Perhaps he had just imagined that hint of bitterness in her voice. “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked.

  “Oh, vastly,” she answered lightly. Why did he get the impression that she did not mean it? Her careless tone reminded him of the pampered, perfumed ninnies around him, not of Charlotte, and Maximilian did not like it. His goose may have turned into a peacock, but he did not want her to imitate the London birds too closely, especially with him.

  “I have a small library at my town house. Shall I send you over some volumes from my collection?” he asked, suddenly anxious to see the honest, intelligent girl that had so intrigued him in Sussex.

  Her expression changed instantly, to his pleasure. “Oh, would you?” she asked, her upturned face a picture of delight. “I am still studying the royal house of Thebes.” She frowned suddenly. “On second thought, you had better not. Cousin Augusta does not approve of reading. She would surely take me to task if she found me with scholarly works.”

  Stupid hag, Maximilian thought uncharitably of the cousin. The old crone probably did not even know her letters. “Perhaps if I delivered them myself?” he asked, certain that Augusta Thurgoode would not dare to raise an objection then.

  “Perhaps,” Charlotte said, although she appeared unconvinced. “I am not to be a bluestocking, you see, my lord. That would not do at all.”

  “In your efforts to snare a husband?” Maximilian heard himself say caustically.

  “Yes,” Charlotte answered, still frowning. “Cousin Augusta says men do not at all care for a woman who reads or thinks or even voices her own opinion.”

  “And you would want to marry such a one?” Maximilian asked, annoyance making him grip her fingers tightly.

  “Truly, I do not know, my lord,” Charlotte replied as if mulling over a great puzzle. “It is all so different here, and there is so much to learn. Cousin Augusta is doing her best...”

  Her best to change you into a brainless decoration, Maximilian thought angrily. Before he could comment, however, the music came to an end, and he could see several gentlemen waiting for a turn with his partner. “You may dance once with the others. Then I will be back to claim my second waltz with you,” he ordered roughly.

  “Doing your duty to launch me into society?” Charlotte asked, her mouth quirking up at one corner.

  “Yes,” Maxmilian answered. “I always take a turn with the girls in their first season, but only one. A second dance will show the room that I have taken special note of you, while any more dances would be unseemly.”

  “It is quite complex, is it not? All these minute rules of behavior...” This time there was no mistaking the bitterness in Charlotte’s voice, and when she glanced at him, her eyes no longer sparkled.

  Maximilian could do nothing about it, though, for a handsome young buck claimed her, and he was left staring after them. Instead of squiring another lady onto the floor, he stood, watching Charlotte and her partner move off together, and felt an urge to depart the Coxburys’ gala now. He had already been here an inordinate amount of time. He pulled out his watch and checked it to confirm the worst. He would be very late for his club.

  Struggling with his irritation, Maximilian told himself that he could not leave yet. He had promised Charlotte another dance, which would assure her of a place among the ton’s most desirable young ladies. But instead of filling him with satisfaction, that prospect dropped like a leaden weight into his belly.

  It had all seemed so simple. Once properly gowned and instructed in the rudiments of gracious society, Charlotte would find a good match and depart his life forever, ridding him of this gnawing interest in her. Now, however, seeing the results of Augusta Thurgoode’s handiwork, Maximilian was not so pleased with this course.

  Properly gowned, Charlotte had turned out to be enough to tempt a saint, and he was already casting suspicious glances at the men who were watching her avidly. When he caught Montgomery, a notorious rake, eyeing her, Maximilian felt the fingers of his hands twitch, itching to close upon the man’s throat. This was definitely not the sort of attention he wanted for her!

  Worse yet were the other changes. Although he had wanted Charlotte to behave in a fashion befitting her new venue, instead of in the uninhibited manner of a Sussex villager, Maximilian found, perversely, that he did not like her new behavior. He realized, rather suddenly, that her open manner and bright mind were part of what drew him to her. London was altering Charlotte, dimming her brilliant glow, and it disturbed him.

  Maximilian did not like grays. He liked everything in black and white, as easy to evaluate as a sheet of accounts. Confusion was not something he normally struggled with, and he shunted it aside irritably. He told himself firmly that his ill mood stemmed from the disruption of his schedule and closed his mind against any other possibilities.

  Watching Charlotte twirl around the floor with one fellow and then another did little to improve Maximilian’s disposition. He looked at his timepiece again. His scowl deepened. When he approached Charlotte for the second dance, it was with little enthusiasm. She did not look eager to see him, either, which blackened his temper further.

  For awhile, they moved through the steps silently, Charlotte staring at his neck cloth while he glared at the ridiculous hat upon her head, a lacy, pale pink confection. How long had it been since he had seen her hair down? He pictur
ed it the way he had first viewed it, loose and frothy as spun gold.

  “I must thank you, my lord, for your kindness in making such an effort for me,” she said in a sarcastic manner. He looked down, taken slightly aback by her tone, into green eyes glinting with...anger? What reason did she have to be piqued? He was the one who had totally forsaken his evening’s itinerary in order to introduce her into society. He was the one who had seen her whirl about happily with slavishly attentive young pups who sickened him. And probably not a one of them could be trusted....

  Maximilian felt an alien surge of rage. Drat the vicar’s daughter! He wished that he had never met her. He was tempted to give her a good set-down, but his innate courtesy held him in check. He was doing this for her father, Maximilian told himself.

  “You are quite welcome, I am sure,” he said stiffly. He wanted to finish this dance, get to his club and have a drink. Although he had made no special arrangements, everyone knew he spent Thursday nights at White’s. Lord Raleigh and Crenshaw were probably there waiting for him, wondering why he was so late. He was never late.

  “I will be sure to write my father that you have fulfilled your obligation,” Charlotte said as the music ended. Her smile was forced, and she stepped away from him hurriedly. “Please do not bother about the books, my lord,” she added. “You have done more than enough.”

  Why did he feel as though her words held not gratitude but scorn? The audacity of the girl! This was the last time he went out of his way for her, Maximilian decided as he headed toward the door. He had singled her out for attention, introduced her to the patronesses of Almack’s and danced with her twice, the ungrateful chit. He had done more than his duty by her. What else could he do to see her married off as soon as possible?

  It was not until he was settled in his coach that Maximilian realized he had not presented her to one eligible bachelor. He decided to ignore that lapse. He had done enough for the vicar’s daughter; he would be damned if he was going to handpick her future husband.

  With a sigh of frustration, Maximilian decided it was too late to go on to his club. Instead, he went straight home to bed, but he found that he could not sleep as easily as he normally did. Gossamer-soft hair and eyes the color of mist-laden spring shoots invaded his thoughts, making it difficult to relax. Finally, with an oath of annoyance, Maximilian rose and went to the library, pulled out a book and sat down to read about the royal house of Thebes.

  * * *

  Maximilian was not exactly sure why he was standing in the gallery at Bradley House. The rout had not been on his schedule, and his secretary had been most put out when he changed his plans at the last minute. It was not like him to veer from his routine, but he knew Charlotte would be here because he had heard Lady Bradley invite her the other night at the Coxbury gala.

  Maximilian wanted to see how she was getting on.

  Although he had not forgotten her rather shabby behavior toward him, Maximilian’s irritation with her had dimmed over the past few days, overcome by his curiosity as to her progress in society—and an uncanny desire to see her again.

  Maximilian admitted that he liked the vicar. Deuced but he liked the whole family! Although his recurring interest in Charlotte made him a bit uncomfortable, Maximilian explained it away under the guise of duty. He felt a sense of obligation to her father to see her suitably married, and since he had done his best to launch her, he could not help taking some responsibility for the girl. And everyone knew Maximilian never shirked his responsibilities.

  “Wycliffe! Missed you at the club Thursday!” Maximilian smiled to see Viscount Raleigh. Although his taste in clothes leaned toward the dandy, Raleigh was a good fellow. He had a good seat, a good set of hands on the reins, a good head for his liquor and, for the most part, good luck at the tables. Although Raleigh did not care for literature, Maximilian did not hold that against him. Few people shared his passion for the classics.

  “I could have used your clear head,” Raleigh said, stepping up beside him. Shorter than Maximilian, he sported light brown hair and a friendly face above his ridiculously high shirt points. With a studied gesture of indolence, Raleigh raised his quizzing glass and surveyed the room.

  Maximilian wondered briefly what Kit, who had called his walking stick an affectation, would think of that piece of work. Then he frowned; the Trowbridge family was entirely too much on his mind of late.

  “Afraid I imbibed a bit too much and lost my allowance for the month,” Raleigh complained as he peered through his glass.

  “Sorry,” Maximilian said. “I stayed at the Coxbury affair longer than usual.”

  “I say!” Raleigh said. “Is it true, then?”

  “What?”

  “That you are enamored of some young thing in her first season,” Raleigh said, dropping his glass to stare at his friend. “I say, Wycliffe, the whole town’s buzzing with the gossip.”

  Maximilian slid Raleigh a skeptical glance. “Have you ever seen me enamored of anyone?” he asked coolly.

  “Good lord, no!” Raleigh answered immediately. “Oh? So you ain’t now, either? All a hum, I suppose,” Raleigh said, looking a bit disappointed.

  “The lady in question is the daughter of a vicar who ministers on one of my new holdings. I promised him I would look out for her, to see that she makes a good match,” Maximilian explained.

  “Lud, is that it?” Raleigh asked, frowning in distaste. “How can you take your duty so seriously, Wycliffe? I wish you were not such a paragon, you know. Makes it hard on the rest of us. My own father was extolling your virtues yesterday. ‘Why can’t you be more like Wycliffe?’ he asked me. As if anyone could!” Raleigh shook his head as best he could within the confines of his high starched collar.

  “Gad, I would be hard-pressed to recognize my own vicar, let alone his daughter! You should get a medal for pretending interest in the chit. Probably a fat country cow, too,” Raleigh said, shuddering.

  Maximilian felt himself tense. “Charlotte is not a cow,” he said, as evenly as he could.

  “Of course not. Slip of the tongue, that,” Raleigh said. “Still and all, I do admire you. Would not make the effort myself, even if the girl were the least bit comely.” He lifted his quizzing glass again and swept his gaze down the room. “Suppose I should take a look at the new crop of ladies myself. My father keeps telling me to wed. Thinks that will settle me down.”

  Maximilian grinned. Raleigh was not deep, but he was kind and he put up with Maximilian’s rigid schedule, which not everyone could stomach. “Are you here for your obligatory hour?” Raleigh asked, as if divining his thoughts. Maximilian nodded as he pulled out his watch and glanced at it.

  “I’ll meet you when it is up then, and we can go off together. Tonight is Brooks, is it not?” Raleigh said, referring to Maximilian’s weekly itinerary.

  “Yes,” Maximilian answered, but Raleigh was already moving off, apparently to view the fresh flesh pressed onto the marriage market this season. Although Maximilian thought Raleigh’s father might be right, he could not imagine the young viscount shackled to any of the giggling misses that crowded the room. He ran his eye over them critically, dismissing them all in favor of one particular lady.

  Maximilian found her at the end of the gallery, surrounded by admirers, none of whom, he decided, was worthy of her attention. He scattered them with a few cold looks. When she noticed that her entourage was fleeing, he stepped forward, and she turned to him easily, a bright smile on her lips.

  Whatever mood had struck her at the Coxburys’, she seemed to be over it now, for her face lighted with pleasure at the sight of him, and Maximilian felt an answering surge within himself. She was radiant, a vision in a Pomona green gown that reflected the color of her eyes.

  “My lord!” she said. “What a delightful surprise! And thank you for ridding me of those fellows. They are sweet, but...” She trailed off. “It all gets to be a bit much, does it not?” she asked, her eyes twinkling.

  “I suppose so,”
Maximilian answered, “although I cannot say I have ever had a problem with too many suitors.” Charlotte laughed delightfully. She had been fanning herself when he approached, but now she snapped the fan shut and let it dangle from her wrist. His gaze strayed there and traveled up her slim hands while he remembered how they looked without gloves. “You are especially beautiful tonight,” he said. He suspected that she would look good in anything, but better in nothing at all....

  “Oh! I thought you came to rescue me from all that,” Charlotte complained with a teasing grin.

  “Very well then. I am most happy to rescue you. What do you expect of me, if not compliments?” Maximilian asked, bantering easily.

  “Honesty, my lord,” Charlotte answered softly. She fixed him with a clear gaze that told him she was absolutely serious. It struck a chord deep within him, and Maximilian stilled. For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them, fraught with significance, charged with some hidden meaning.

  Maximilian drew in a slow breath. Unwilling to let the strange mood continue, he purposefully spoke lightly. “Well, then, I shall be brutally honest. You look very fetching in your new gowns, but I do not care for the hats. Must you hide your hair from view?”

  Charlotte giggled at his audacity, but her lips drooped apologetically. “I am afraid so, my lord, for Cousin Augusta says my hair is most unfashionable. She keeps telling me to cut it—”

  “Cut it?” Maximilian nearly shouted the words. “Charlotte, you are not to let that woman trim one lock of your hair!” Instead of nodding meekly, Charlotte laughed at his blustering, annoying him further. Although Maximilian sensed he ought to drop the subject, he could not. He was outraged. How dare that old crone try to snip away at his beauty?

  “Augusta says it is too unmanageable to dress atop my head, and so it must be clipped short to curl about my face,” Charlotte explained, demonstrating with one of her slender hands. “Even then, she says I will have to use some sort of device to curl it exactly right, which I confess I have no interest in. I daresay Papa would not approve of frivolous beauty enhancers.”