by Diana Quincy
Would she bring that same level of directness and lack of artifice to the marital bed? Not everyone did, but he suspected she would. The corners of his mouth tilted upward. Yes, this had the makings of a good match. Yet he was unsure of her thoughts and feelings on the subject of matrimony. No matter. If she proved to be reluctant, he’d employ a bit of seduction. Putting a little effort into seducing Charlotte would be well worth the outcome.
At three-and-thirty, he was past the age most men married and set up their nursery. He’d never really given the concept of children much thought before. Of course, he’d always known an heir would be necessary. But now the idea of a little girl with Charlotte’s incomparable blue eyes made his throat feel as though someone had lodged a fist in it. Having a family with her seemed like a natural progression toward the future.
When they arrived at Shellborne House, he helped Charlotte from the carriage and escorted her to the door. “Thank you for a most lovely day, Miss Livingston,” he said warmly. “I hope you will allow me to call upon you tomorrow.”
A shadow crossed those azure eyes, dimming the light in them, making her seem strangely cool and closed off. Foreboding shivered through him.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said. “But I don’t think that would be wise.”
“Oh?” he pressed, his mind unwilling to grasp what instinct already told him. “Do you have a previous engagement?”
Her face shuttered. “No, but I prefer that you no longer call upon me. Ever. We do not suit.”
He jerked his head back, certain he hadn’t heard her correctly. “You cannot be serious.” Granted the time they’d spent together had been brief, but it had also been as close to idyllic as he’d ever experienced. She couldn’t possibly believe they didn’t suit.
He frowned. “Surely, what today has demonstrated is that we suit each other in many ways.” He moved closer to her, speaking in a rapid, urgent tone. “Is it this business with my factories? Once you visit them, you will change your opinion.”
She stepped back, her cold blue eyes meeting his. “I doubt that. Anyhow, it is of no account. It’s only right that I acknowledge there is another with a claim on my affections.”
Another man? The ground shifted beneath his feet. “May I inquire as to who this gentleman is?”
Scratching behind one ear, her eyes slid away. “It is as you suspected. I have an attachment to Mister Fuller.” She turned to go inside. “There is absolutely no point in furthering our friendship.”
The stable boy? He didn’t believe it. Before he could say anything further, she stepped into the house and slammed the door shut behind her, leaving Cam on the doorstep, dumbstruck and alone.
Chapter Seven
“Ugh,” Willa said, as she and Charlotte strolled through Fairview’s meticulously maintained gardens. “I know this is meant to be blissful, but I am so uncomfortable.”
They stepped along a gravel walkway lined with vibrant blooms, the yellow, violet, and lavender shades crowding each other as though competing for attention. The mixture of fragrances shifted as the women moved, the sweet potency of some flowers intermingling with the light, almost ephemeral, scents of others.
Since arriving four days ago, Charlotte had joined the duchess’ daily exercise ritual. “It would be easier to sympathize if you didn’t still look so comely,” she said, strolling at an easy pace. “Gad, Willa, if anything I think being with child makes you even more beautiful.”
Like most people, Charlotte remained in awe of her friend’s dark, earthy beauty. Willa’s large, velvet-brown eyes and delicate porcelain complexion were topped by a luxurious mane of unruly chestnut curls. Charlotte felt tall and shapeless next to the duchess’s pleasing curves, which were remarkably enhanced by her current condition. Glancing at Willa’s full chest, she said, “I’d wager the duke is appreciative of some of those changes.”
Willa’s eyes widened. “You are so wicked.” She laughed and looped her arm through Charlotte’s. In the year since they’d met, the two women had forged a deep bond. Both read widely, enjoying the challenge of new ideas. And while they appreciated serious discourse, the women also indulged in the frivolous side of friendship, mixing gossip with an abundance of silliness and laughter.
“I understand you spent time with my dashing cousin before joining us here,” Willa said.
“How in the world would you know that?” Pain twisted deep in her chest at the unexpected mention of Camryn. It had taken all of her strength to turn him away in London. The misery of it still lingered.
“Mister Selwyn came to call last week.” Coming to a bench, Willa sank down to rest. “I gather he had some business matters to discuss with Hartwell. He mentioned an afternoon picnic with the two of you.”
“Yes.” Trying to affect an indifferent tone, Charlotte plucked a primrose and brought it up to her nose to inhale its spicy scent. “We rode a few times in Hyde Park as well. It was pleasant enough, but I have not seen the marquess since.” She gave her friend a pointed look. “And I do not expect him to call again.”
Willa’s mouth curved downward. “Well, that’s distressing. I’ve always thought you two would suit each other.”
“How could you possibly think that?” She studied the primrose, methodically plucking its deep violet petals. “My published writings rail against industrialists of his sort. We are as suited as a feline is to a hound.”
“Nonsense, you just don’t know Cam well enough yet. He engages in serious social pursuits and even has political ambitions.”
She looked up from the half-naked flower. “Political ambitions?”
“He doesn’t speak of it, but Hart says Cam is fast becoming one of the more influential members of the House of Lords. He believes Cam’s potential to be unlimited.”
She threw the flower down. “Do you think he will pursue higher office?”
“Hart thinks Cam could very well be a minister one day if he so chooses.” Willa pushed heavily to her feet to resume walking. “And if you were to marry him, think of how you could influence him to support your causes.”
“Marry him?” Her heart ached with the knowledge it would never come to pass. “Please Willa, put such nonsense out of your mind. Camryn has made his disdain for my causes quite clear. I could never hope to influence him in any meaningful way.” She looped her arm through Willa’s, tugging her along. “Enough of this talk. Let us turn back while you tell me whether you’ve decided on a name for the babe.”
They returned to the manor to find the duke had been called away on urgent business. Shellborne, who’d escorted Charlotte to Fairview and planned to depart the following day, had accompanied him, along with Hart’s valet and a few grooms. However, Digby, the butler, didn’t know the exact nature of the matter.
Willa frowned as the two women proceeded into luncheon alone. “Where could he have gone? And why did he take so many people with him?”
“Perhaps it’s an emergency with one of his tenants,” Charlotte said.
Willa’s perfectly arched brow furrowed. “Hart planned to stay in and work with his steward today. And if it involved the tenants, his steward would have gone with him.”
The afternoon dragged into evening, leaving them to take their supper alone before retiring to their chambers near midnight, still with no word of the gentlemen. It wasn’t until morning that Charlotte had news of them.
“His Grace and the others are returned.” It was Molly, the maid who brought Charlotte her chocolate, who relayed the welcome information.
Relief loosened her muscles. “They are safe and all is well?”
“Appears so, ma’am.” Molly knelt to clean the fireplace grates. “’Tis a relief because we all think highly of His Grace.” She wiped the hearth down with water, drying it with a linen cloth. “I don’t mind telling you I was afraid to leave Lord Camryn’s employ, but all turned out well, it did.”
Charlotte’’s heart squeezed at the unexpected mention of Cam. Swinging her legs over the edge of t
he bed, she reached for her dressing gown. “You were in service at Camryn Hall?”
“Yes, miss. Her Grace wanted me and Clara, that’s her lady’s maid, to accompany her when she wed, so here we are.” The girl used a tinderbox to light the fire.
“And how was your time at Camryn Hall?”
“‘Twas very fine, miss. The old marquess, Her Grace’s sainted father, was kind enough. But Lord Camryn made some changes, he did.” Molly stood up to assess the fire before deciding to throw more wood on it. “In town, he bettered the servants’ sleeping quarters. Me being an upstairs maid, I had me an attic room. But the below stairs servants—” She shook her head.
“Go on,” she urged, desperate for any small sliver of information about the marquess.
“Their basement quarters was bad, if you excuse my saying so, miss. ‘Twas dark and you couldna even see where you was going.” Molly moved to open the curtains. “And the smoke, bless the Lord, it was so smoky from the candles and oil lamps. Hard to breathe, it was.”
Sipping the warm chocolate, Charlotte took a chair by the kindling fire and folded her legs beneath her. The conditions Molly described were not unusual for servants in town, whose basement quarters were known for their darkness and lack of ventilation. Many had rounded corners so servants wouldn’t injure themselves as they rushed to serve their masters.
“And Lord Camryn rectified the situation?” Charlotte prompted over the rim of her cup.
“Yes, miss. Shocked he was to see how things was down below.” Molly moved about the room, straightening up. “Most masters don’t bother to visit the servants’ quarters, but my lord did. He made a special place over the mews so the below stairs could sleep with the grooms. Now they have fresh air to breathe.”
“Commendable,” she murmured, sipping her drink, its sweet heat sliding down her throat and warming her insides. So Camryn was not quite the autocrat he appeared to be.
“And the wages, miss, he said we was past time for an increase.”
“Did he?”
“Yes, miss. We all of us got an increase and not just the senior servants. Raised me pay a good ten pounds per annum. And even the junior housemaids got an extra five pounds.”
“How generous.” A smile tugged at her lips. “Are you just as well taken care of here?”
“Oh yes, miss, Lady Willa…begging your pardon…I mean Her Grace…promised me wages and bonus would keep to the same here at Fairview. And I don’t have me any family in the village at Camryn Hall, so here I am.”
Later, Charlotte found herself humming as she dressed, buoyed by Molly’s revelations about Cam’s quiet generosity to his servants. However, her high spirits were dampened at breakfast once she learned why the men had been called away.
“Machine wreckers attacked the mill,” the duke told them as they ate. “Some of the looms are badly damaged.”
“Pardon me for saying, ladies, but it’s those deuced Luddites.” Hugh swallowed a bite of kidney pie. “The crown must send more troops to quell the risings before it’s too late.”
A chill ran through her. A clandestine evening raid to attack and destroy looms had all of the earmarks of the Luddites.
“Will it prove costly to repair the damage?” asked Willa.
“I’m afraid so.” Movement at the threshold of the breakfast room distracted the duke. “Ah, here’s Cam.”
Entering the chamber, the Marquess of Camryn inclined his ruffled, amber mane at the assembled group. “I give you good morning.” Dressed in a country style, his skin was bronzed and fawn breeches hugged his trim hips while his white shirt opened at the throat to reveal a flash of golden-brown skin dusted with tawny hairs.
Charlotte’s lungs felt sore. What was he doing here?
“Willa dear.” He flashed that heart-stopping, wide grin at his cousin, before acknowledging Hugh and Charlotte, his golden-green eyes brushing over her. “Shellborne. Miss Livingston.”
Willa’s face brightened. “Cam, what a lovely surprise. When did you arrive?”
“Just a few hours ago. I set out as soon as Hart sent word of trouble at the mill.” He went to the sideboard to fill a plate, his snug breeches offering an excellent view of a firm, well-shaped backside. A frisson of longing moved through Charlotte when she realized he wore the same slightly tattered brown Hessians from their afternoon rides in town.
“How bad is the damage?” he asked, seating himself across from Charlotte.
“Rather extensive, I’m afraid.” Hart spoke from his seat at the head of the table. “A few of the looms sustained serious damage. I am told most are repairable but just barely.”
Cam frowned. “What occurred exactly?”
“They took sledgehammers to the factory door. From what was left behind, it appears they employed pieces of cast iron and wood to do their machine breaking.”
“How long will it take to repair the looms?” asked Charlotte. As she spoke, Cam focused on eating his breakfast.
“It could be a few days before we can resume full production.” Hartwell looked at Cam. “I suppose we should ride out again on the morrow to have a look.”
“What happens to the workers while the mill is closed?” asked Charlotte. “Can they survive without a week’s wages?”
For the first time since arriving, Cam gave her his full attention, pinning her with a cool green gaze. “Contrary to your belief, we won’t allow our workers to suffer through no fault of their own. They’ll continue receiving full wages until we are back in full production.”
Heat licked her cheeks at his chastisement. Stung, she pretended to busy herself with a mouthful of eggs which, unfortunately, now tasted like foolscap.
Hartwell shot Cam a reproving look before turning to Charlotte. “They will of course be working on the cleanup and to restore order.”
Eager to be as far away from Camryn as possible, Charlotte rose and turned to Willa. “Shall we leave the gentlemen to their business and take our walk?”
…
After finishing breakfast and consulting further with Hart about the factory, Cam headed to the stables to check on Hercules. He’d ridden the stallion hard in his rush to get to Fairview Park. He also hoped the fresh air would clear his head. Seeing Charlotte again had his mind churning. Back in town, when she’d told him the truth about the coachman, he’d resolved to put her out of his thoughts, but it hadn’t been easy.
His mind kept returning to that last kiss. He believed Charlotte to be an honorable woman. If she had a significant attachment to the stable boy, why would she have accepted the idea of his courting her? Why had she not only allowed a kiss, but also responded to it? Her body had undoubtedly enjoyed his touch. Kissing her had not only been pleasurable, it had had an element of truth to it. Their last afternoon together, in particular, had left him with a strong feeling of contentment, a sense that he and Charlotte were a good fit.
With her, things seemed to fall into place. Charlotte’s presence in his life eased the malaise he’d been experiencing of late. Their fiery intellectual connection, coupled with an astounding physical attraction, left him feeling keenly aware of what had been missing in his life.
As he approached the stable, Shellborne’s indignant voice rang out from around the corner of the structure. “What the devil is he doing here?”
“He is the Duke of Hartwell’s coachman,” came Charlotte’s calm reply.
So, it appeared he wasn’t alone in his dislike of Fuller’s presence at Fairview. Cam stopped short behind the stables, out of view, and cocked his head.
“Do you expect me to believe his appearance here is a coincidence?” Shellborne’s voice shook with fury. “Have you been struck senseless?”
“You have no call to speak with me in that manner.” The words were calm. “I’ll do as I please.”
Cam smiled despite himself. He admired her feistiness.
“The devil you will. I am the head of this family and you have defied me.”
Cam peered around the corner
to see Shellborne pacing in a small circle, hands on his portly hips as he stared at the ground.
“Blast it all. I sent him away to protect you.” The man’s voice rose. “To save our family from scandal and ruin. And you bring him here, to the Duke of Hartwell?”
“I love him,” she retorted. “I won’t let him starve or go without. Nathan is willing to work hard. He deserves a chance to better himself.”
She loves Fuller. Cam’s heart seemed to shrink and harden in his chest.
Shellborne’s face reddened. “He’s a servant, a by-blow. You are the daughter of a gentleman. For God’s sake, Charlotte, at least pretend to know your place!”
“Stop acting so high in the instep. Either one of us could easily be in his place.” Charlotte’s tone softened. “It’s the luck of fate that you are a baron and he a coachman.”
“Balderdash!” Shellborne’s voice went higher. “It was no luck of fate. You and I are the result of generations of good breeding. He’s nothing but a low class side-slip and you are making a cake of yourself. Think Charlotte, think, before you ruin us all.”
She turned to go. “I think I’ve heard quite enough.”
He grabbed her arm. “Don’t you dare think of going to him. I won’t allow it.”
“Hugh, you’re hurting me.” She tried to pull away. “Unhand me.”
Cam’s temper flared. He started forward, but halted at the sound of a third voice.
“Unhand her, Shellborne.” Fuller’s voice.
“Do not presume to tell me what to do.” Unbridled contempt contorted Shellborne’s face. “You are nothing but a by-blow. I am Shellborne and she is under my care.”
“That may be.” The calm tone held a hard note of warning. “However, I won’t allow any harm to come to her.”
Fuller moved into Cam’s line of vision, allowing him to take a full measure of the man. He stood a full head above Charlotte’s rotund brother, with soft blue eyes blazing in the sunlight. A cold, barely leashed rage seemed to simmer along the surface of his skin. The man exuded danger. Yet Fuller’s menacing presence didn’t seem to cow Shellborne in the least. “If you would know your place, Charlotte wouldn’t be in any trouble. By God, I will see you dismissed.”