Heavenly Father, what do You think?
He listened for that still small voice that so often led his steps.
Ancient words permeated his mind: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths.”
He exhaled. Lord, give me wisdom.
He felt his senses dulling as the promise of granted wisdom for those who ask washed certainty into his soul. He closed his eyes. Snapped them open.
“How would I ever know I could trust her?”
His voice echoed in the room, thankfully not loud enough to wake Jensen, asleep in the adjoining room. He waited, but there was nothing save the scrape of ivy against his window.
Troubled, he closed his eyes again and practiced exhaling long and deep until the sounds and worries faded, and fatigue dragged him into slumber.
CHAPTER NINE
CHARLOTTE STUDIED her reflection as Sarah finished braiding her hair and tucked the ends into her topknot. Nothing fussy, but nothing to pique Mama, either. She did not want a repeat of last night’s scoldings.
A knock came at the door. Sarah opened it to reveal her hostess. “How are you, this morning, Charlotte?”
“Well, thank you. Come in.” Charlotte dismissed her maid and gestured for Lavinia to sit on the edge of the bed, her company soothing and welcome after the tumult of last night.
“I trust you slept well?”
“Thank you, yes.” She studied her cousin, her features paler than normal. “Are you quite well, Lavinia? I remember you usually being so bright and cheerful at this time of day.”
“I …” A faint rose flushed her cousin’s cheek.
“You?” Charlotte put up her brows.
Lavinia laughed. “Oh, don’t do that! You put me in mind of Grandmama, and I can never withhold anything from that lady when she looks at me so!”
“What do you wish to withhold?” Hurt throbbed within. “Why do people never think I’m old enough to know things?”
“Poor pet. I’ll tell you, but it is a great secret, and I do not wish—” She bit her lip.
“You do not wish Mama to know? Of course not! I don’t wish Mama to know many things, so you can be sure I’m well practiced in keeping my lips sealed.”
For some reason this declaration creased Lavinia’s brow. She finally sighed. “It is nothing bad. Instead”—her forehead smoothed as light filled her eyes—“it is all that is wonderful.”
“Then tell me! Let me rejoice with you.”
“I am, that is, Nicholas and I, we are … expecting.”
“You are increasing?”
Lavinia nodded, brightness shining from her face.
“Oh! I’m so pleased!” Charlotte gathered her close for a hug. “Oh, how wonderful for you! I gather Lord Hawkesbury is pleased, too?”
“Walking on air.”
“As well he should.”
“Lucky man.” Lavinia made a face. “Him walking around pleased as punch, while I cast up my accounts every morning.”
“You poor thing. You need looking after—”
“I’m not an invalid,” Lavinia said with another laugh. “But it is all so new. Dr. Hanbury only confirmed it yesterday. I do hope you see why I don’t want everyone knowing just yet.”
“There will be time enough. When will the happy event be?”
“We think around Christmas.”
“What a lovely gift.”
“Yes. We’re very thankful.”
Lavinia’s luminous expression cramped envy across Charlotte’s chest. Oh, to look forward to such a bright future! She fiddled with the appliqued flowers of the bedcovers. She had never been in want, and up until Lord Markham, she had usually managed to successfully wheedle whatever she liked from her parents. But if only she could marry a man she loved, who adored her in return. And have a baby, a gorgeous lovely baby … Producing a man’s heir might be her duty in life, but oh, how she wanted the warm and loving family environment to go along with it.
She swallowed a sigh. Forced a smile. “I heard a carriage leave.”
“Yes, the duke had to return early.”
“Of course.” He’d made his goodbyes last night, his farewell everything polite and distant. “I hope nobody was too offended by my remarks about the merits of the city last night.”
Lavinia chuckled. “Nobody was upset, and neither were Nicholas or I.”
She groaned. “Not you, too? Mama’s behavior last night was downright embarrassing. Could her intentions be any more obvious?”
Lavinia’s smile dimmed a little, as her expression grew thoughtful. “Do you find the duke so distasteful?”
“Did it seem I did?”
“You barely looked at him all night—”
“Only because of Mama’s carryings on.”
“Which I quite understand, but I wonder if he did.”
“But you said he wasn’t offended.”
“I don’t believe he was, but perhaps a little confused, or maybe disappointed, that an attractive young lady seated across from him could barely spare him the time of day.”
Charlotte drew back. “I was not rude, was I? Besides, why should he mind? He’s only just buried his wife.”
“True. And I can’t imagine him wishing to have another one soon. Not after …”
“Not after what? Her affairs?” At Lavinia’s soft gasp, she hurried on. “Mama mentioned the duchess was known to be less than faithful.”
“I wish you didn’t know that.”
“Why? Is it not better to know such things when Mama has made her intentions so very plain? Though why she wants me to, I don’t know.”
“I’m sure she only wants your best.”
Charlotte shook her head. “How can she? He’s old enough to be my father!”
“Hardly!” Lavinia laughed. “I understand he’s not even thirty.”
“He looks older.”
“His life has not been easy.”
“Well, he’s nothing like my Lord Markham.”
“Thank goodness,” she thought she heard Lavinia murmur.
“He’s not! I am sorry, but the duke is unattractive, with those bushy brows, and so boring. I can’t understand how anyone could think him capable of dueling.”
Lavinia shuddered.
“Do you know about the duel?” Charlotte asked. “Mama refused to tell me about that.”
“I … I cannot say with any degree of certainty.”
“You will not say, you mean.”
“I do not like to engage in idle speculation, especially when it concerns someone for whom both Nicholas and I are swiftly gaining the highest regard.”
“Hmph,” Charlotte snorted, uncomfortably aware of just how much like her mother she sounded in that moment. “Well, I couldn’t stand being married to someone like him.”
“Someone like him?” Lavinia’s eyes flashed. “My dear, I do wish you knew how childish you sound sometimes.”
Charlotte drew back as if slapped. She lifted her chin, avoiding her cousin’s eyes, her heart stinging like a salt-rubbed wound. She pressed her lips together to halt the tremor.
“Charlotte, I’m sorry if my words sound harsh, but His Grace is one of the kindest people I’ve ever met, and one of the most interesting. Did you know he has created a formula to make certain crops resist disease? He is known throughout England as being one of the most benevolent masters toward his tenants. He is a man of faith, and vision, and—”
“A perfect paragon of virtue,” she muttered.
“Any lady he pays attention to should count herself very fortunate indeed.”
“Now you sound like Mama.”
“Now you sound like a petulant schoolgirl.” Lavinia eased from the bed. “Don’t waste your life on an unworthy dream.”
“I suppose you mean Lord Markham.”
Her cousin nodded. “I do mean Lord Markham. What do you truly know of his character?”
“He i
s kind.” He paid her compliments. “He does good things, too.” Like asking her to dance. Fetching her a glass of lemonade.
“I’m not saying he doesn’t.”
“Yet you warn me away from him. Why? I love him.”
“Do you?” Her cousin moved to the window. “Do you know what love is?”
“Of course! It … it’s the most wonderful feeling. I have never felt so alive!”
Lavinia’s smile grew tender, and Charlotte could suddenly see the wonderful mother she would be. “Love is so much more than just a feeling.”
Charlotte’s brow furrowed. What secret did Lavinia know? How could love be anything greater than the slushy feeling in one’s middle whenever the man she dreamed about smiled at her? Or the heated shiver whenever she felt his touch? Or the enormous sense of happiness that made her want to dance and spin around whenever he laughed with her? That had to be love. Didn’t it?
Her chin lifted. “When I think on Lord Markham, my only desire is to be near him and hear his voice. Every activity provides more delight when he is in attendance. And when he is not—”
“Come. Let us not argue. We’ll talk on this subject more later,” Lavinia said.
With great effort, Charlotte shoved aside the offense, forced a smile to her lips. “I expect arguing wouldn’t be good for the baby.”
Lavinia laughed, placing a finger on her lips. “Remember, nobody knows.”
“You mean the duke does?”
Her cousin blinked, then smiled, catching the reference to her earlier jest. “I don’t think so.”
“My lips shall remain sealed.”
“Remain sealed about what?” came a querulous voice from beyond the partially opened door. Mama limped in, wearing a silken wrapper and a disconsolate expression. “I don’t know what time you call this, but I could not stay in bed a moment longer while I could hear voices penetrating from next door.” She frowned at Lavinia. “Such very thin walls you have here, my dear. Most unfortunate.”
“I’ve never noticed,” Lavinia said, smiling. “I’ll be sure to mention something to Nicholas—”
“Don’t bother. I will mention it to him myself. But one can hardly expect anything less when one considers it was built by Hawkesburys after all.”
“Mama, I don’t think it appropriate to cast aspersions against the family of your host—”
“Your opinion carries little weight with me, my girl, especially after your atrocious behavior last night.”
Charlotte clamped her lips together, her heart writhing at the sympathy she saw in Lavinia’s glance before her cousin’s gaze returned to Mama, her expression cool.
“Aunt Constance, I must admit to feeling uncomfortable when you criticize my husband’s family. I am doing my best to overlook the past, and when people make such accusations, it does nobody any good, least of all my or Nicholas’s peace of mind.”
Mama sniffed. “Be that as it may, it does not change the events of the past.”
“Nothing can, Aunt Constance. The only thing that can change is our response to it. And I have determined to not hold bitterness against the Hawkesbury family in my heart.”
“Even with such a mother-in-law?”
Lavinia smiled sweetly. “Please do not cause trouble, Aunt Constance, else I’ll be forced to renege my invitation.”
“Hmph. Very well. Now perhaps you will tell me when you’re expecting Hawkesbury’s whelp to be born?”
Near Ashton Common
Three days later
Jensen drew out his pocket watch and checked the time. “Only another hour to go, sir.”
“Thank goodness.” William stifled a yawn against the back of his hand. But his time in Bristol had been worthwhile, his conversation with Mr. McAdam concerning road design and construction instructive, to say the least. McAdam had made suggestions to help William’s cause, believing road surfaces that used evenly spread smaller stones—no larger than what might fit into a man’s mouth, as he’d startlingly explained—should ensure the vehicle wheels passed along well, while enabling water to drain away to ditches on either side. Without requiring heavy stones or arduous engineering work, roads could be built more easily, releasing men to work elsewhere. All in all a most productive time, time spent determining how best to employ a prototype of McAdam’s ideas on William’s estate, before eventually deciding that lining the road between the Abbey and the neighboring village of Hartwell would best serve his purpose.
William leaned back against the squabs and closed his eyes. Three days in four spent travelling gave new appreciation for the Marchioness of Exeter’s complaints about coach travel. Three days of wincing over bone-jarring stretches of roads, roads that made an excellent case for Mr. McAdam’s signature coating. Three days of travel interspersed with interminable waits at inns, before the longer break afforded by nights in Bristol and Oxford. Three days which, save for his valet, he’d passed almost alone, which meant hours spent thinking, planning, dreaming …
A myriad of images flicked through his mind. Road improvements. Pasture improvements. Blue hills. Hampton Hall. Sunny skies. A golden head. Blue eyes. Perfect pout. Candid tongue.
Amusement tugged the corners of his mouth. The images continued, chased by half-formed prayers.
A golden head. Hartwell Abbey. A darker head. A sleepless night. A crying infant …
He shifted position, working to get comfortable. What should he do about the child? Society, like Pamela’s parents, seemed to suppose it had died at birth. His staff were paid enough not to talk, but was keeping such a secret wise? Surely acknowledging her birth would only expose her to scurrilous whispers all her days. But if he did not, what would happen? The Abbey might have its share of ghosts, but a living child shouldn’t be one of them. Yet giving her into the care of others seemed heartless, and to give an innocent life into the care of Pamela’s parents would be cruel. What should he do?
Heavenly Father?
The carriage jerked. His eyes flew open. The carriage jolted again before slowing. Jensen wore a frown as somber as his tailored coat.
“What’s happened?”
“I’m not sure, sir.”
A horse whinnied, followed by a second horse cry. His stomach clenched. Something was not right. “What—?”
The carriage suddenly swayed, and he grasped the leather strap, clinging tight as the horses suddenly took off at speed. Barrack, such an improvement on Rogerson, the ne’er-do-well coachman of his parents’ time, never allowed such confusion.
Jensen muttered something, his face drawn in the carriage’s dim lamplight.
“What did you say?”
“I’m not sure if Barrack is still driving, sir.”
“You think him indisposed?”
“I think it important to check.”
“Sit down. I’ll look.”
The carriage was careening wildly, forcing William to brace against the floor as he lowered the window sash. “Barrack!”
The wind stole his words away.
“Barrack!”
Through the darkness he could just make out the shapes of the fleeing horses, their sounds of fright cutting a fresh strain of fear through him. A tug on his coat and he was back inside, Jensen’s frown more pronounced than ever. “Sir, you should be more careful.”
“We have to stop them.”
“Barrack?”
“No answer.”
Jensen hissed a long sigh. “The horses know where to go.”
True. The team picked up in Towcester was one they’d used before, but that was small comfort, especially if his coachman were ill.
“We need—”
The coach slowed, then drew to a standstill. William flung open the door and descended, hurrying to the front. “Barrack?”
Horror curdled inside. “Good God!”
He scrambled up alongside his bleeding coachman, pulled off his neck-cloth, wadding it to press against Barrack’s forehead to staunch the flow. “What happened?”
B
arrack muttered something incomprehensible, his posture slumping until his head rested heavily against William’s shoulder. William looked about him. Fragments of rock lay on the coachman’s seat, remnants of which were embedded in the side of Barrack’s skull. A shiver dashed up his spine. Who could do something so despicable?
“Jensen!”
“Right here, sir.”
“Give me another neckcloth. He’s bleeding badly.”
In answer, Jensen stripped his off and handed it over. William tossed away his bloodied one and pressed the new cloth firmly to the gaping wound.
“He needs a doctor.”
“Ashton is not far, Your Grace,” called the footman, who now held the lead horses.
“We need to go. Jensen, can you manage the reins?”
“Sir, I … I do not think that wise.”
He bit back a word, recalling his valet had never any great love for—or skill with—animals.
“Very well, I will. Here, help me get him down and inside. You’ll attend to him while I drive.”
“But sir, what if the attacker comes for you?”
Then God help them all.
“Here, hold his legs.” He gently maneuvered Barrack’s heavy form, waiting until Jensen held him securely, before leaping down to assist. “Lift him slowly, slowly …”
Eventually they managed to get him lying on the cushioned seat where William had been ensconced for hours. “There.” He heaved out a breath, rubbing his upper arms. “Keep up a steady pressure. I don’t care how many neckcloths are used.”
“Yes, sir.”
Returning to the coachman’s position, William picked up the reins and called for the footman to release the horses. “Go help Jensen!”
A slam of the carriage door suggested he was obeyed, and he slapped the reins. The horses soon picked up pace. Ashton lay only a couple of miles away, the Abbey another three beyond the small village. He wanted speed, but in this dim light, with only the faintest rays of sunset rimming the horizon behind, he couldn’t afford further misadventure.
William maintained a taut hold, huddling into his coat, the evening air holding a chill that made him wish for the protection of his greatcoat. Within a mile of their unforeseen stop his teeth were chattering, his fingers so cold they could barely grasp the reins.
The Captivating Lady Charlotte Page 8