by Erica Vetsch
A spark of outrage burned in Charlotte’s chest, but Belinda went on.
“I left the factory and …” She shrugged. “I’m not much of a looker, so I couldn’t find a place in a high-quality brothel. I had to fend for myself. I’d probably still be in that life, or dead, if it wasn’t for Hawk.”
Charlotte started. She knew the man? Her heart rate increased, and she fought to keep her color down.
“He found me on the streets, offered me a safe place here with Aunt Dolly, and I jumped at the chance.” She gave a fond smile. “Can’t tell you how many women he’s brought here for patching up, or a good meal, or just a warm place to sleep for the night.”
A knock sounded at the door, and May poked her head in. “I need help. It’s bad.”
Belinda was on her feet, and Aunt Dolly wasn’t far behind. “Come, Your Grace. You might as well see the truth.”
Charlotte followed the women down the stairs, and in the front hall two bedraggled women supported each other.
“Ah, Kitty. He’s done it again?” Aunt Dolly hurried forward, letting the shorter of the two women lean on her. “Can you make it down to the kitchen, or should we go right upstairs?”
The woman only moaned, and when she tilted her head back, a shiver went up Charlotte’s spine, prickling her scalp. The woman’s eyes were swollen shut, black and blue; her lip had been split; and blood crusted her chin and neck. One sleeve dangled from her wrist, torn from her bodice, angry red welts marching up her pale exposed skin.
Her companion wasn’t in much better shape. Someone had hacked at her hair, chopping off great gouts of it, leaving ragged clumps tufting here and there. Her cheekbone bore an angry red bruise and swelling, and she cradled her right arm with her left against her waist.
“Lend a hand, Your Grace. This is the part about the working girl’s life that no one talks about.” Aunt Dolly led her charge toward the back of the house and down the half flight of stairs to the lower level.
By the time the women had been tended to, Charlotte was exhausted, unsettled, and resolved. She had labored for several hours helping Aunt Dolly splint a broken arm, stitch a gash, and bathe cuts and bruises.
“How often do women come here in this condition?” she asked as she rinsed her hands at the basin.
“Daily, I’m sad to say. Injuries are not uncommon, and sickness is rife. I’ve four bedrooms available with room for sixteen patients, and it’s not unusual for us to be making pallets on the floors to hold more, especially in winter weather like now.” Aunt Dolly returned instruments and supplies to a cupboard while Belinda and May helped the women upstairs to find beds. “And I’m running out of funds to keep this place going. I’ve sold most of the furnishings, and now I’m onto the paintings and such, though they don’t bring much. The money I had laid aside for my retirement is nearly gone. If I don’t find a patron or two, I’ll have to close my doors. But”—she shut the cupboard door firmly—“God isn’t in a fluster about my predicament. He’s got a plan, and He’ll reveal it to me in His time and not a moment before. If I didn’t have to believe without seeing, it wouldn’t be called faith.”
Charlotte looked away. Such courage and strong belief. How did her own compare?
Rather badly, she feared.
Her day had been quite illuminating. She had learned and experienced things she hadn’t known before.
And she had a purpose. She could be a patron, and more than that, she could help here at the house. It would put her closer to her sister, and perhaps through her work, she might find a way to aid Pippa, even find a way to help her escape her current life.
She opened her purse and pulled out all the pin money her husband’s secretary had given her and handed it all to Aunt Dolly. “Please take this. It’s a Haverly family tradition.”
Charlotte took her place on a settee in the Whitelocks’ drawing room and smoothed the skirts of her magenta-and-cream gown, remembering fondly Diana’s input on the design and color. Charlotte felt confident and prepared for any society event, thanks to her friend’s excellent taste. “Dinner was wonderful, Diana. I enjoyed the intimate setting. I’ve never been to a dinner party with only two couples before.”
“We wanted some time with the two of you rather than a more formal, large dinner party. Too many guests would mean we wouldn’t be able to visit, just us.” Diana sank onto the settee opposite and slipped her shoes off, tucking her feet up under her sapphire skirts. She laughed. “As you can see, I’m being most informal tonight. Here we invited you over so we could get to know you, and Evan and I wound up dominating the conversation. I apologize.”
“I did ask, and hearing about your love story and refurbishing White Haven was most entertaining.” Their obvious love, both hearing about it and seeing it in action, set up an ache in Charlotte’s chest. Would she and Marcus ever have a bond like that? Would he ever let down the barriers he’d erected to keep her separate from the rest of his life?
“We’ll have to have you down to the estate this summer if you can get away. I think it would do you both a world of good. Inheriting the title has been a heavy responsibility for Marcus. He’s taken on so much this past year. If he’s on his own property, he has to oversee everything, but if he comes with you to White Haven, he can relax and not worry so much.”
Evan and Marcus entered the drawing room, and Evan wasted no time joining his wife, putting his arm around her and propping his feet on the tea table. “We decided we’d much rather be with you two than talking over port and cigars by ourselves. Neither of us likes port and cigars anyway.” He brushed a kiss on Diana’s temple. “Tired, love?”
“Our boys are running me ragged.” Diana smiled. “Cian has absolutely no fear, but he couples that with a fine bit of no common sense. If he has a guardian angel, that poor individual is probably asking for reinforcements.”
“What did he do now?”
“You mean besides attempting to catch the ducks in Hyde Park while they were swimming in the Serpentine?” She closed her eyes and shuddered. “He leapt off the bank and plunged headlong into the water quicker than a wink. If it wasn’t for Beth’s quick action, he might have drowned. As it was, he wasn’t even scared, only furious that he didn’t catch the duck. He howled most of the way home. That’s the last time he is allowed out of the baby carriage until he’s at least ten.”
“Don’t you think you might be overreacting?” her husband asked.
She shrugged. “Maybe. But when we return to White Haven next month, I’m putting you in charge of him for a week, and we’ll see what you think then. You’ll probably grow a fine crop of gray hair overnight.”
Marcus had taken the seat next to Charlotte, leaning back and propping his ankle on the opposite knee, clearly taking his cues from the Whitelocks by adopting such a casual style. He never would have assumed that posture in the company of any others in the ton. When he leaned over and whispered “Relax” into her ear, she realized she was sitting poker straight, feet together, hands clasped lightly in her lap, just as her mother had drilled her to do when in company. “You’re among friends.”
“So how are you finding married life after a week or so?” Evan asked.
Charlotte couldn’t quell the heat rising in her cheeks, and she bit her lip. How should she answer? That parts of it were amazing, and parts confusing, and parts frustrating? That in some ways she was completely different and in others it felt as if nothing had changed?
“It’s fine. We’re adjusting.” Marcus put his arm along the back of the settee. “I’m thinking my mother is having the most difficult time.”
Her blush intensified. Evan had been asking Marcus, not her, and she’d nearly blurted something out.
“The dowager is being difficult? I wish I could say I was surprised.” Evan grinned. “I seem to remember a certain trip to an art exhibition not so long ago that earned me the rough side of her tongue.”
Charlotte’s shoulder muscles tensed. She and the dowager had engaged in a bit
of a set-to this morning when Charlotte kicked over the traces and spent the day on her own designs, and when she returned to Haverly House, there was a decidedly frosty wind blowing from that direction. The dowager had refused to respond to Charlotte’s greeting, merely sniffing and jerking her chin into the air.
Even though she had offended her mother-in-law’s sense of responsibility, the day had been the most fulfilling Charlotte had spent in a long time, actually doing something productive, helping people, and being genuine in her concern and care. There were no pretenses when you were bandaging wounds and serving women in need.
The question was, should she share with her husband what she had done and where she had gone? Would he approve? Would he forbid her to do it again? Would he care one way or the other?
“How is your compartmentalization theory working?” Evan had a mischievous grin on his face. “Keeping everything tidy and in its box?”
Diana nudged him in the ribs. “Stop quizzing him. You’re being terrible. In fact, you’re acting as if you excelled at everything when you first got married, and we know that is far from the truth. We both made a bit of a hash of our early days together.”
“I appreciate you coming to my defense, Diana.” Marcus nodded to her. “But I don’t mind. Actually, I feel things are going well in that department, don’t you, Charlotte? We’re settling into our roles well. I have my work. Charlotte has her …” He faltered, and Charlotte waited. Did he even know what she did with her time? “… social obligations. And the running of the house.”
The running of the house? His mother hadn’t given up a single task to her, not the menus, the staff, the linens, nothing. The dowager ruled Haverly House as if she were still the duchess and Charlotte merely a guest.
Evan raised his eyebrow at his friend, and Charlotte held her breath, half praying he would follow the line of questioning and half praying he wouldn’t touch the tender wound.
“What work are you doing?” Evan asked. “I haven’t seen you much in Parliament since your presentation. How you can take that oath and skip out on any sessions is beyond me. It was the most sobering and frightening thing I’ve done to date, listening to the reading of my obligations and swearing that oath. It sounded like they would ship me off to Botany Bay if I wasn’t in my place promptly every time the chamber doors opened.”
Diana laughed. “You’re saying your oath in Lords was more frightening than the vows at your wedding? You nearly fainted at our wedding.”
“Yes, but that wasn’t from nerves, and you know it.” He sent her a pointed glance and then softened it by brushing his fingertips along her arm. “I meant to ask you where you got yourself off to before the wedding, Marcus. You were gone for a fortnight or so, and I wondered if you were going to do a complete bunk—cold feet and such.”
“Oh, you know, there are always duties that press on you when you have a title and an estate. I never intended to miss my wedding. Are the boys asleep?” Marcus asked. “I should make the acquaintance of my godson, shouldn’t I? Charlotte has met him, but I haven’t laid eyes on the little chap yet.”
And just like that, he had artfully evaded another question. Why did he do that? Was he secretive or merely private? Was this part of his efforts to keep the areas of his life tidy and separate, or was it an effort to keep information from her specifically?
Diana beamed. “They’ll be in bed long since, but we can tiptoe up and see them. They’re at their most cherubic when they’re sleeping.” She was on her feet in a twinkling. “Come, Charlotte.”
The Whitelock nursery was not on the top floor of the townhouse as was customary, but on the first floor, across the hall from Evan and Diana’s bedchamber. Their single bedchamber, Charlotte had discovered when Diana had brought her here to have her hair trimmed. The Whitelocks did not sleep apart at night. Most unconventional … and romantic.
“I want the babies where I can hear them if they need me in the night.” Diana pushed the half-open door to the nursery open. “Evan teases me about it, but I don’t want them too far away.”
“Though it wasn’t always the case, I can now sleep through the crack of doom.” Evan spoke in full voice, and Diana shushed him. “You know you won’t mind if they wake up so you can snuggle them,” he chided, but he lowered his voice.
Marcus put his hand on the small of Charlotte’s back, guiding her into the low-light nursery. She felt every one of his fingers through the silk. His touch, as always, did strange things to her heart and her head.
Beth, the nursemaid, sat before the fire, and Charlotte was thrilled that she was reading a book. When the Whitelocks came in, she inserted a ribbon in between the pages to keep her place. Good girl. Charlotte hated to see a book laid facedown, or worse yet, to see a corner of a page turned down to mark it.
“My lady? Is something wrong?” the girl whispered.
“No, we just came to see the boys,” Diana assured her. “I take it they’re sleeping?”
“Yes, ma’am. Cian fought it like usual, but William went down like a lamb.”
Diana motioned for Charlotte and Marcus to follow her into a darkened alcove. Beth followed with a lamp, shielding it with her hand.
Two cribs stood side by side, each with an arched canopy of white cloth and caned sides. Diana went first to Cian’s bed, feathering her fingers through his downy dark hair. “He makes my heart stop nearly once a day, but I love him so much, it hurts.”
The baby’s skin was flushed with sleep, his hand lax beside his chin. Impossibly long lashes fanned his rounded cheeks.
“I can’t believe he’s getting so big. Time goes by too quickly.” Diana bent to kiss his forehead.
A squeak from the other bed had Charlotte turning. Evan had lifted William, blanket and all, from his crib, and the baby wriggled and snuffled.
“Evan Eldridge, you’re worse than I am,” Diana scoffed. “I just meant to peek in.”
“He needs a proper introduction. Marcus, meet your godson, William Evan Eldridge, Viscount Slaugham.” Pride laced Evan’s voice.
Marcus stepped forward and cupped the tiny head in his hand. Charlotte’s heart did a little flip. What was it about seeing a grown man being so gentle around a baby that made her knees go weak?
“Do you want to hold him?” Evan asked as the infant settled back to slumber. “He won’t wake up until he’s hungry.”
“Charlotte, you hold him. I’ll watch.” Marcus stepped back. His voice had sounded unnaturally deep, and something clicked in her mind. That voice reminded her of someone else who had spoken gruffly from the shadows.
Hawk.
Nonsense. She was being fanciful.
“You aren’t afraid, are you?” she teased to lighten the mood, reaching out for the warm sleeping bundle. Resting him against her chest, his cheek against the bare skin of her throat, she breathed in the sweet smell of milk, sleep, and baby.
Perhaps someday, if God would possibly be good enough, she might hold her own baby, Marcus’s baby. A sturdy boy to be the heir perhaps, or a charming little girl? She would love a daughter to teach and enjoy, to lavish affection on and laugh with. Would their child look like Marcus, with his dark hair and blue eyes, or would he favor her, blond with green eyes? Or a mixture?
If God would be good to her, she might someday know what it was to be a mother.
“You are a natural. It won’t be too long before you’re holding your own, no doubt.” Evan put his hands into his trouser pockets and rocked on his heels. “Amazing how it changes your life. First marriage and then becoming a parent. You can have all the theories in the world about how it will go, but once it happens to you, those theories fly out the window. Nothing is as tidy as you think it will be, or as simple.”
Charlotte glanced up and caught a strange look on Marcus’s face. Wonderment? Questioning? Uncertainty?
Then he seemed to come to himself, giving a little shake. “You just have to be disciplined, set your mind to putting your theories into action. If you don’
t, you find yourself at the mercy of your emotions and becoming something you never intended to be. I have too many responsibilities to let that happen.”
Charlotte shivered, though the room was warm enough. The cold certainty of his views pushed her once again to the margins of his life—just one of his responsibilities but not someone who really mattered.
Hawk hurried away from Haverly House under the cover of darkness. His cloak swirled around him as his breath gusted in icy puffs. Would spring never come? This had been a brutal winter, and it was nearing mid-March.
As he fell into step with Partridge, who had been waiting in the mews, his mind was clouded, crowded with all the parts and pieces of his day. The morning spent at the House of Lords, listening to a debate on taxation issues. Then a quick dash to Sir Noel’s office in Hatchards to gather the latest intelligence on the recent suspected stock exchange hoax. A trip to White’s to pretend to be an idle duke, then home to cross verbal swords with his mother before dinner at the Whitelocks’ with Charlotte. He’d worn nearly all his personas today, and here he was donning that of Hawk for a little nighttime reconnoitering.
“Give me your report before we get to the tavern.” He hoped to run one of his informants to earth tonight. The man had missed two assignations in succession. Laxity or trouble? Marcus didn’t know, but he disliked inefficiency and unreliability in equal measure. Coyne had proven a valuable resource in the past, and he’d never missed a meeting before.
Partridge ruminated for a few moments, gathering his thoughts. “She spent the morning at a library across town and the afternoon at Dolly’s house.”
Hawk’s scuffed boots skidded on the cobbles as he stopped. “What? She went to King’s Place again?”
“Dolly found her in the subscription library—I suspect she followed us from your house—and took her home. Was there all afternoon. Helping with a pair of women who showed up in bad shape.” Partridge shrugged, as if the comings and goings of women were beyond his comprehension.