Nothing but Trouble

by Allegra Gray

  “Understandable.”

  Charity shook her head. “Not to everyone. And certainly not to people who didn’t know what had happened. I told you before, that the doctor had prescribed laudanum because I had trouble sleeping. Now you know the real reason why.”

  “Oh, Lady Maxwell.”

  “Please, please do not pity me. I cannot bear it.”

  Ismay rubbed the back of her hand. The pity disappeared from her expression, but the understanding remained. She tapped a finger on her chin. “I think you must be very brave, to have lived through that and carried on, with most of London none the wiser. You must have felt so alone at times.”

  Charity blinked. No one had ever called her brave. Mischievous, and reckless, yes, but not brave. And there was no question that she’d felt alone. How was it that this one young nurse understood what no one else had?

  “Ye know,” Ismay added thoughtfully, “what you are describing sounds a lot like what happened to my brother.”

  “He was kidnapped?”

  “Nay, nay. He was a soldier. Not one o’ your fancy officers, mind, just a soldier. He fought on the Continent, against General Bonaparte’s armies—the first time, before the general’s exile. My point is, he saw some bad things. Soldiers who lost an arm, or a leg. Soldiers left to die on the battlefield because their wounds were too severe to allow for transport. Orphans going hungry in war-ravaged towns. I could go on, but ye have the idea. When he returned home, we were ever so happy to have our Jonas back. He hadn’t a wife, so mum took him in, and gladly. But he weren’t the same, my lady.”

  “How had he changed?” Charity was all ears.

  “It was like ye jus’ said. Couldn’t sleep, and had terrible dreams when he did. His old friendships fell by the wayside. His new companions were mostly crusty old sailors—when Jonas tried to be social at all. Crowds made him skittish. Sometimes, he’d hoard food, or odd things like socks and string.”

  Oh, my. The young soldier’s tale resonated with Charity. Though she hadn’t made friends with any old sailors, she’d definitely forsaken her old set for a new, wilder group of friends. The rest was a pretty close match.

  Still, she felt guilty for drawing the comparison. “He was a soldier, away at war for, what? A year? Longer? He must have faced troubles greater than I can comprehend.”

  “Two years, or two days…do ye really think it matters? Ye both looked death in the face, and ye both were affected by it. Do ye want to know the only real difference I see?”

  She continued on, accepting Charity’s silence as assent. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but my brother was never taken prisoner, never threatened with rape. When he came home, we praised his noble service, his contribution to our country’s effort. But you? No one praised you. You put yourself at risk for Britain, too, but your efforts were hushed up, turned into something shameful. My brother could talk to people—when he was ready—and find acceptance among others who had suffered. I don’t believe you have had that luxury, my lady.”

  Thick tears blurred her vision. “No. No, I haven’t. I’ve talked to no one until now. I could have talked to Elizabeth, my sister. She would have listened. But she was so worried, and she wanted so badly for me to be happy and well again. I couldn’t bear to tell her just how unhappy and unwell I really was.”

  “That must have been hard.”

  Charity read pity in Ismay’s expression again, but the emotion was pure, without any calculation or condescension. For the first time, she didn’t immediately want to claw back against it.

  “I was told to tell no one,” Charity went on. “If no one were the wiser, it would be as though it never happened. But if people found out…no man would ever take me for his wife. I would be ruined.”

  “That hardly seems fair.”

  A strangled laugh escaped her. “None of it is fair. But it is the hand I’ve been dealt. And since I am the one who shuffled the deck, so to speak, I’ve no one but myself to blame.

  “No. That is not true! Not at all, my lady.” Ismay caught up both Charity’s hands in her own, gripping firmly, until Charity met her gaze dead on. “This is not your fault. Your attempt at heroics may have been foolish, but it did not give those men the right to do any of that to you. I might not have been raised by polite society, or among the wealthy of London, but I was raised to know right from wrong. What those men did was wrong.”

  Charity couldn’t think, there was so much buzzing in her brain. Through the blur of her tears, the nurse’s moonlit face took on an otherworldly appearance. Maybe she was an angel, sent from above. Or maybe she was just the one human in Charity’s life who knew the words she’d so badly needed to hear.

  Please, don’t let go, she silently willed her companion. Ismay held tight. Charity began to tremble as the other woman’s words sank in, took root. Not her fault. A great sob rose up and escaped, and before she knew it she was bent double, sobbing her heart out while Ismay Boyd, the nurse she hadn’t even wanted, wrapped her arms around her and simply held tight.

  The heaving sobs eventually subsided into a gentler flow of tears. Charity let them out, way past the point of caring what anyone thought. Ismay Boyd’s arms never faltered.

  When she was all cried out, emptiness overtook her. She raised her head, expecting to feel shame, or remorse, or something after all she’d just poured out. But there was nothing. And it was a good sort of nothing.

  “Better?” the nurse asked.

  Charity considered that. “Not good, but better.”

  Ismay gave a small shrug. “Sometimes it helps to talk.”

  “Miss Boyd?”

  “Aye, my lady?”

  “Did your brother ever overcome his…affliction?”

  Ismay thought about that. “Sort of, over time. He’s been home jus’ over two year, now. He still prefers his new friends over the old, but he is sleeping better. A large crowd might still upset him, but a small gathering would be fine, if he knew the folks in attendance. I pray he will continue to improve.”

  Charity nodded. “And the…episodes?”

  “Mum says they’re very rare now.”

  Relief surged through her, bringing on a fresh spate of tears.

  “There now, my lady.”

  “I’m not upset,” Charity mumbled. “Miss Boyd, you are better than any doctor.”

  Ismay laughed. “Nay, my lady. I know that to be false.”

  “’Tis true,” Charity insisted. “You have given me what all their potions and advice could not. You’ve given me hope.”

  Emotions spent, exhaustion took hold, and Charity felt her body drifting slowly back toward slumber. She cast a longing glance toward her bed.

  “Miss Boyd, may I tell you one more thing?”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s been a long time, almost a year now, since the incident. For all I know, I am worrying over nothing—but not all of my dreams involve the past. Sometimes, the thought of the evil that still lurks, somewhere in this world, is what tips me over the edge. Two of those men were never caught.”

  This time, it was Ismay Boyd who looked like she would have trouble sleeping.

  Chapter 15:

  “The heart will break, but broken, live on.” — Lord Byron.

  In which Charity gets to the business of “living on.”

  After sleeping the soundest, deepest sleep she’d slept in a year, Charity awoke full of restless energy.

  The cavernous house would swallow her up if she stayed in it any longer.

  She was tempted to track down her husband. Surely if she pressed his mother, or the various members of the staff, for information, someone would know where she’d be likely to find him.

  But for once in her life, her conscience cautioned her, and she heeded it. She felt many, many times better this morning. She had hope, finally, that her demons would someday subside.

  Still, her heart ached for Graeme. He’d walked into her life and, literally, swept her off her feet. She’d fallen so fast an
d hard, she’d ignored the warning signs. She’d known she wasn’t ready, that marriage would expose her troubles. She’d just been too enamored of Graeme to give him up.

  If she went to him now, with feelings still so raw, she could promise him nothing more than what he’d already had—and rejected. But if she remained here, where at least one person understood her and did not condemn her to a future of hidden lunacy, then maybe, just maybe, she could finally heal. She could become the woman Graeme loved and needed in a wife. It was what she’d meant to do anyway.

  Not that she wouldn’t have a few choice words for him when she did finally see him.

  Since running after Graeme was not an option—at least not a wise option—and Nathan was tied up in lessons with the new governess, Charity was at loose ends. She even braved a visit to Graeme’s mother, only to learn Lady Eleanor had a standing date with three ladies from church for luncheon and card-playing every Monday.

  That revelation gave her pause. The elder Lady Maxwell was not the lonely recluse Charity had first thought. She had her problems, as well, but apparently her friends had not all abandoned her. In some ways, the Highlanders were turning out to be more civilized than their lofty London counterparts.

  Maybe Graeme was right, and fate had brought her here. If that were true, then surely fate would also find a way to reunite her with him.

  “Miss Boyd,” Charity suggested brightly, as the two women walked back toward the manor from the dowager house, “Shall we go into town this afternoon instead?”

  “If ye wish, my lady. Have ye something in mind?”

  She shook her head. “I just need an outing. And that is precisely the sort of thing a lady’s companion-in-training is meant to do.”

  “I should like that as well, my lady,” Ismay responded, drawing herself up straighter as she often did when reminded of her “training.” “Are you feeling up to it?”

  “Yes. You needn’t worry. The town is small. Nothing about it that would, uh, distress me. My troubles come mainly at night.” In the days her nurse had been here, Charity had succumbed to the occasional bout of tears, but never during daylight hours had she shown so much as a hint of an “episode” that might be construed as madness.

  Ismay’s eyes softened. “I didn’t mean it that way, my lady. I don’t think ye’re mad, not really. Just troubled, and there’s no shortage of troubles in the world. I just thought ye might be tired after last night.”

  She doesn’t think I’m mad. Another piece of the protective barrier she’d placed between herself and the world around her chipped and fell away.

  When they reached the house, Charity rang for a footman and gave instructions to have a carriage and driver readied. It would mark the first time she’d left the estate since Graeme’s departure. But after all, why not? Her husband might question her sanity, but he’d left no instruction that would force her to stay confined to Leventhal House. To be honest, she wasn’t sure what he expected of her anymore. She squared her shoulders. She was Lady Charity Maxwell, the lady of the house. Cowering inside it was no way to live.

  Grantown on Spey was but a tiny village compared to London, but it did boast a town square lined with shops. If there was one thing likely to cheer Charity up, it was an afternoon of shopping. Charity and Ismay exited the coach at the square, so they might explore at will.

  The grassy block was filled with others of similar mind, enjoying the sunny afternoon while they ran errands, sold goods, and caught up on each other’s news. The recent rains had left the streets washed clean, and budding blooms poked their heads up from many a flower pot and window box. The effect was charming, a far cry from the wilderness Charity had envisioned on the journey to the highlands.

  Aside from the permanent stores, a number of outdoor vendors had set up booths. She stopped at each and every one to admire the townsfolk’s wares. At one, she bought a lovely lavender candle, to the absolute delight of the vendor. She couldn’t help but coo over a shop window filled with tiny knitted bonnets and blankets, though that was sure to set the gossip afire. Even Miss Boyd couldn’t hide an amused smirk.

  The enthusiasm of the people she encountered brought a real smile to her face. She hadn’t quite gotten used to her new role as the earl’s wife. In London, she hadn’t been a nobody, but she also hadn’t had shopkeepers falling over themselves to gain her patronage. Especially not shopkeepers—seeing as how most of London had known her father died in debt. Things had improved when Elizabeth married her duke, but Charity had always felt like, well, a charity case. Not so in Grantown. Some might call her shallow for soaking up the attention so happily, but she wasn’t going to worry about that today. The boost to her confidence was greatly needed.

  “Mac, no!”

  Charity’s musings were interrupted as a flash of brown and white fur sped across the grass and headed straight for her. She braced herself, but there was no impact. The puppy skidded to a stop right at her feet. It looked up at her with soulful eyes. His tail gave a little thump.

  “Oh, Miss Boyd, just look at him!” Charity cried.

  A young lad came running up. He looked between her and Miss Boyd, his mouth forming an O as he realized who they must be. He scooped up the puppy in one arm as he attempted an awkward bow. “I’m sorry, my lady. I hope ‘e didn’t frighten ye.”

  Charity smiled. “Not at all. May I hold him? You call him Mac?”

  “Aye, my lady.” He handed over the puppy. “Only, if ye please, I have a whole basketful of ‘em what’ll be getting loose if I don’t get back there.”

  “You have a basketful of puppies?” Right then Charity knew, just knew, what her nephew Nathan needed more than anything else in the world. “Are they for sale?”

  He laughed in disbelief. “Aye, that they are. Ye want a puppy, my lady?”

  “Yes. Oh yes, I do. Very much.”

  “Munro!”

  Jasper started. Right. That was him.

  “Quit gawking at the ladyfolk and come help me wi’ this wool.”

  He bobbed his head. “Aye, sir. Right away, sir.” That had been close. Too close. The blond chit, Charity Medford, had indeed come to Grantown. Only she was Lady Maxwell now.

  “No need to ‘sir’ me,” his boss told him. “Just get on with it. There’ll be fish comin’ in after this, an’ I don’t fancy workin’ after dark.”

  “Right ye are.” He hefted his end of the pallet and loaded it on to the cart that would pull it down to the dock. The fine, thick wool of the local sheep was in high demand. The local weavers took what they could, and the rest was packed down, palletized, and loaded on to river barges that would carry it south toward the factories springing up in the larger towns. Fish and other goods came and went from the docks as well. It was backbreaking, but there was plenty of work to be had.

  Fortunately, the work required more muscle than thought. Too close. If she had so much as caught a glimpse of him… This would never work. He hadn’t wanted to believe the rumors, but his own eyes had just confirmed them. Unfortunately, no amount of work on the docks was going to yield the kind of coin he’d need to start a new life far, far away.

  The puppy was, as Charity had guessed he would be, a tremendous hit with Nathan.

  She didn’t dare bring him in the house, being uncertain whether he was housebroken. In her excitement over the idea, she’d forgotten to ask.

  She brought him to the grounds behind the house, instead, where Nathan was engrossed in a nature lesson with the recently-arrived governess. Another of Lord Maxwell’s hires. Charity ground her teeth. A nurse for her and a governess for his nephew. Why, with both wards taken care of, she could just imagine him thinking, I can stay away indefinitely.

  No. She would not spoil this occasion with sour thinking. She straightened the bright red bow she’d attached to Mac’s collar, then set the squirming bundle down.

  Immediately he bounded over to sniff the two strangers. Nathan and the governess shot to their feet as Mac raced around them in happy ci
rcles.

  Nathan sprang after the puppy, finally managing to tackle him in a bed of buttercups. The boy and puppy looked up at Charity, both panting, the red bow now crazily askew.

  “Master Nathan, meet Mac. Mac, meet your new master.” She made a grand flourish with her hand as she made the introductions.

  “Master? Me? I’m to be…that is, he’s mine?”

  Charity’s smile felt like it had stretched to engulf her whole face. “Unless you don’t want him, of course,” she teased.

  “I want him! I want him! Oh, Aunt Charity!”

  “I don’t suppose you know anything about training him?” she asked hopefully.

  He gave her a quizzical look. “Training him for what?”

  Charity gave a half-laugh, half-sigh. “Training him not to do indoors, the sort of things puppies are supposed to do out of doors.”

  Fortunately, the governess came to her rescue. “The last family I worked for had a dog, my lady. I’m sure between myself and the rest of the staff, we’ll get him sorted out.”

  “Lovely,” Charity breathed. She wouldn’t have had the faintest clue how to manage such a thing herself. Finishing school had included a variety of lessons, but none like that.

  “Have you a moment, my lady? Master Nathan is quite proud of all he’s learned this afternoon.”

  “Of course.”

  “Tell her, Nathan,” she prompted.

  “Hmm? About what?” Nathan’s attentions were totally distracted by Mac. The two were looking for the perfect stick for playing fetch. Already, Mac seemed perfectly happy to trot along at the boy’s heels.

  “About your lessons.”

  “Oh, right.” He frowned, thinking, then perked up. “Well, tomorrow, if the sky is clear, I get to stay up late so I can learn the names and positions of the stars.”

  Charity grinned, guessing the boy’s excitement had more to do with staying up past bedtime than with the lesson plan.