“Charlotte?”
Lavinia’s voice halted her steps.
She turned, facing her cousin, framed in the library door. Charlotte forced a smile to her lips, forced brightness to her voice. “Reading Shakespeare again?”
“I cannot believe Hartwell has a First Folio! So many treasures this house holds.” The light in her cousin’s face dimmed. “But you were rushing somewhere. Are you quite well?” This from Lavinia, who had rarely stirred from the Abbey due to tiredness. Her belly held a small bump now, a bump that drew tender looks and caresses from Lord Hawkesbury when he thought himself unobserved.
“I have been riding, and … and need a rest.”
“Oh, I quite understand. The duke has been all solicitude, hasn’t he? So many activities to keep one amused. I heard his sister say something about a game of pall-mall later.”
Well, they could play that game without her, now she knew just how artificial were that lady’s smiles. How stupid was she to have thought Cressinda liked her? “I would much prefer to read with you.”
“Thank you, but I would not interrupt your time with the duke.”
The duke. Whose sister thought Charlotte nothing but a simpleton. Her cheeks heated.
Lavinia’s eyes sparked with something of their old mischief. “Forgive me. I should not tease.”
“But it makes you happy.” She studied her cousin, noting the drawn features. Compassion stirred. “Do you feel well? Truly, I am happy to spend time with you if you wish.”
Lavinia both thanked and refused her, but her pale expression prompted Charlotte’s prayers as she trudged up the stairs.
From somewhere came a baby’s cry.
She glanced up. The cry came again. Her heart quickened. Another of the Abbey’s secrets: the mysterious child. Why hadn’t the duke introduced his guests to his daughter?
A sudden urge to see the little girl filled her. Lifting the long train of her riding habit over her arm, she hurried up the main staircase, escaping the principal rooms on the ground floor—and the drawing room so often claimed by Mama—without notice. Curiosity drew her on. What did the child look like? Dark like the duke? She hoped it didn’t have his alarming eyebrows!
She moved past the next floor, which consisted chiefly of bedrooms, stopping at the landing above. From here she could see a long corridor devoid of servants. The crying sound made the nursery obvious, the door ajar. She peered in. A fat nurse rocked the child, but the infant’s squalls suggested disinclination for such an activity.
“Can I help you, miss?”
Charlotte jumped. Glanced behind her to see a frowning maid. “I …”
“Who is it, Meg?”
“A young lady.” The maid pushed the door open wider.
Charlotte stepped inside.
The nurse stopped rocking, a heavy crease pleating her forehead. “Can I help you?”
“Is this Rose?” The baby stopped crying, looking at her with tired eyes.
“Yes.”
She leaned forward. “Oh, but she’s a pretty thing.”
“She is that.” The stern face seemed to soften fractionally.
The words popped out. “May I hold her?”
“You?” Graying brows shot to the ceiling. “Why would a young lady like you want to do such a thing?”
Charlotte couldn’t explain. Something inside begged to show the child affection. “Please?”
“Oh, I suppose. What’s it matter? It’ll give me poor arms a chance for a break.” The nurse rose, and Charlotte took her place in the rocking chair. “You know how to hold ’er?” the nurse asked suspiciously. “Be sure to support the neck.”
“Of course.”
The infant was placed in her arms. So light, so tiny, the sweetest face with the duke’s dark eyes, and the most perfect little lashes.
“Hello, Lady Rose.”
The tiny girl made a mewling noise.
“Shh.” She brushed a finger down the soft cheek, watching the blinks lengthen, until sleep claimed her. Oh, how precious to be a mother. No wonder Lavinia was so excited. Her heart tugged.
“What are you doing?”
Charlotte jumped at the duke’s voice, her startle causing the baby to awake. “Shh, sweetling. Please don’t fret.”
At her voice the child seemed to soothe, falling into sleep again.
Glancing at the duke’s frowning brows, she handed the baby back to the nurse, and followed the duke from the room.
“Why are you up here?”
She swallowed. She had never seen him angry before, but there was no denying his displeasure. “I … I wanted to see little Rose.”
“Why didn’t you ask me?”
“I heard her crying, and I wanted to see if I could help.”
“You do not trust my staff to see to such things?”
She blinked. Drew back. “Of course. But I was curious—”
“Please do not be too inquisitive. Too much curiosity in a lady is never a good thing.”
Her mouth fell open. She stepped back a pace. Lifted her chin. “I was only trying to help. She should not be locked up here, never seen, getting but a whit of the affection your horses receive—”
“Thank you for your concern, but she is perfectly fine now.”
Only because she’d helped settle her! Heat filled her chest as the words from earlier mingled with his present rudeness. “I understand, sir, that you might think young ladies should exhibit no curiosity in anything beyond the drawing room and prefer paying more attention to their appearance than to the needs of others, but I assure you, every daughter wishes for affection from her father!”
“She is not—”
“And although I enjoy wearing pretty clothes and reading novels, I am not completely frivolous—”
“No, you are wrong—”
“So you do think me completely frivolous?” Angry tears pricked. Frustration carried her on. “I have to wonder, sir, why you would wish to marry such a simpleton as you obviously think I am.”
He blinked. “I do not think such—”
“Yes, you do. I heard you and your sister on the terrace just now. Your sister—the one who so enjoyed meeting me?—called me frivolous, with an intellect far inferior to your own. What else was it she said? Something about being so young I should be pliable enough for you? Do you truly think me so persuadable?” She stamped her foot. “I am not so very young!”
Amusement at the display of childish temper warred with the memory of other arguments, another woman … He fought the ice, fought the heated response, and stepped back. He would not let his past pain dictate his behavior now. “I beg your pardon.”
Her glare softened, her shoulders slumped. “No, I’m sorry. It was presumptuous—”
“It was necessary. Thank you.” He swallowed. Admitting he was wrong had never been easy, yet this “chit,” as Cressinda referred to her, had managed it. “Please forgive my high-handedness.”
“Oh, but—”
“Hartington, Charlotte!” He turned to see Lady Exeter stagger to the top step with panting breath. “Oh, Duke!”
“Lady Exeter, can I help you?”
She fanned herself with a hand, looking between them, reserving a frown for her daughter. “I heard raised voices. I trust Charlotte has not been obstreperous?”
“Your daughter has been everything she ought.”
“But I heard the sounds of argument.”
“And now you can hear the sound of concord.” He turned to Charlotte, screening her from her mother’s view, and grasped her hand. “Please forgive me. I should have recognized your interest for what it was. A desire to assist, nothing more.”
She nodded, yet her eyes still held a trace of dread.
He smiled wryly at her. “My temper has always been the worst of my faults.”
“You admit to others?”
“Slowness of wit is not one of yours, I see.”
She stiffened, tried to pull her hand away.
What ha
d he said wrong now? Even when he tried to compliment her she got upset. He studied her, as a vague memory of her earlier words firmed into uncomfortable certainty. Now he remembered the conversation to which Charlotte had been an unseen witness. He glanced at the marchioness. “Excuse us, please.”
Without waiting for a response, he led Charlotte to the end of the corridor, where a window overlooked the front park. “You overheard a recent discussion between Cressinda and myself?”
Her head jerked a nod.
“But I gather you did not hear everything that was said?”
Her chin rose. “I did not wish to eavesdrop—”
“So you stayed long enough to think badly of me, but not long enough to hear it all.”
“There was more?”
“Yes. I told my sister of your compassion, your intelligence and humor, and that while you might be young, your youthfulness makes me see things from a different perspective.” He gave another wry smile. “I’ve been accused of being staid and boring, you know.”
She shook her head. “Nobody could think that who truly knows you, sir. Why, I think you the most interesting person I have ever met!”
His heart glowed. “You think that of me?”
“Of course I do.” Her brow knit. “So you don’t think me too much a child?”
“Of course I don’t.”
She echoed his smile, and before he knew what had happened, she was hugging him.
Warmth exploded in his chest. After a moment’s delighted wonder, he carefully wrapped his arms around her. So this was what affection felt like, this ease soothing the corners of his soul, chasing away the doubts and uncertainties. He drew in a breath, caught the scent of rose and lily. Perhaps his foolish dreams weren’t so foolish after all …
“Charlotte!”
He lifted his head to meet the eye of the outraged marchioness.
“Release my daughter at once!” He pulled away reluctantly as she turned to her daughter. “One simply does not hug a duke.”
Charlotte stepped from his embrace, cheeks scarlet. “I am sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” he assured her.
She peeked at him, before moving to gaze out the window, as if to remove herself from her mother’s ire.
William eyed the marchioness. “Thank you, madam, but I do not appreciate your insinuations against my character.”
Her eyes widened. “Forgive me. I meant no such thing.”
“I’m sure you did not.” He glanced at Charlotte, who now stood transfixed by the view outside. “Lady Charlotte?”
She glanced at him, brow creased. “I … I beg your pardon?”
“Thank you for giving me the chance to explain myself.”
She ducked her head, her gaze slipping back to the window. The pucker in her brow deepened.
“Is something the matter?”
“I thought I saw a figure outside.”
Lady Exeter gave a short laugh. “But of course you did. Such a vast estate as this has any number of people who may be outside.”
“But—” Charlotte’s cheeks tinged.
“But what, Lady Charlotte?” he asked.
She shook her head. “The person just seemed to disappear.”
“Disappear? Don’t be so foolish, Charlotte,” her mother said.
Swallowing his irritation at Lady Exeter’s condescension, he moved closer to the windows and scanned the grounds, could see nobody. “A servant, no doubt.”
She nodded, though appeared unconvinced.
“Charlotte has always had a very good imagination, haven’t you, dear? All those novels.”
“I did see someone, Mama.”
“Of course you did.” The marchioness patted her daughter on the shoulder. “Well, I think we should permit the duke to resume his business affairs, don’t you?”
“Of course,” Charlotte murmured, not looking him in the eye.
He could not protest, could not do anything save watch the marchioness herd her daughter away, as a lioness might steer away a cub. His skin tingled, and he could still smell Charlotte’s scent, could still feel how her curls had tickled his nose, could still feel the heat where her form nestled against his, her curves that made his breath catch and desire stir within.
All thought of business fled, as he fought not to imagine what it would be like to be married to her.
CHAPTER TWENTY
THAT NIGHT a miracle occurred.
After dinner—an awkward affair Charlotte felt, with too much left unspoken, too many glances averted—the ladies retired to the drawing room as usual, leaving the gentlemen to their port. While Mama engaged Lavinia in conversation about Patience, Charlotte pretended to read, working to suppress the hurt from the duke’s sister, who ignored her presence.
Before long the door opened, and all the men appeared, bar the duke. When he entered shortly afterward, he held a small pink bundle in his arms. He glanced at Charlotte, then his sister, then turned his attention to Lavinia and Mama. “I don’t believe you’ve had the chance to meet Lady Rose.”
“Oh, she is delightful!” Lavinia breathed. “May I hold her?”
“Of course.”
The next minutes were spent watching her cousin coo over the tiny girl, watching Lord Hawkesbury cosset his wife, imagining their perfect little family with their new winter addition.
How blessed was Lavinia!
Charlotte studied the duke, also smiling at the scene, before his gaze lifted to connect with hers. A frisson of expectancy trembled through her, just as it had this afternoon when she’d hugged—Mama said later “thrown herself at”—him.
He moved to stand before her, tenderness in his eyes. “Thank you.” He gestured to the scene of domestic tranquility. “I did not anticipate just how right this would feel.”
“I am glad, sir. Rose is a dear sweet babe, who only wants to feel loved.”
“Which is what we all want, is it not?” His dark eyes held a question.
She ducked her head, wishing away the fire in her cheeks.
There was an exchange of seats, and she was shocked to find that the Countess of Ware deigned to join her on the sateen-striped sofa.
“So he has you to thank for bringing the child down here. You have cast a spell on him, haven’t you?”
What could she say? “I—”
“Poor William. He finds having Rose here such a burden.”
“Why?”
“Because of Pamela, of course. You know the child is not his own.”
“But she has his eyes.”
“Hmph. I don’t know about that. But I do know it is not easy for him to see her. Such a reminder, you know.”
She did not know. But she could imagine. Fresh sorrow plowed her heart.
“My brother informs me I have been remiss in my comments concerning you, Lady Charlotte.”
Charlotte studied her hands, neatly folded in her lap. Was an apology forthcoming? “People are entitled to their opinions,” she said cautiously.
“Exactly.”
Charlotte’s head shot up. The countess’s dark eyes studied her impassively. “I cannot like the fact that my brother has so foolishly entangled himself with a chit barely half his age.”
“I am not so very young.”
“You are seventeen, are you not?”
“Eighteen.”
“It matters not. What does matter is the fact that you have allured him from his senses.” This was said with a glance at Charlotte’s low-necked gown. “I know what sort of girl you are. Your name was coupled with that Markham fellow, was it not?”
She blinked. Lord Markham? Why, she’d barely thought of him all week. The Abbey and the duke’s attentions had stolen all thought of him. Indeed, this afternoon, when the duke had held her in his arms—her cheeks heated, had she really thrown herself at him?—all reason had fled. For the first time she’d known not only what it was to be sought and admired, but also to be appreciated and protected, leaving her with the fee
ling that perhaps, given enough time, this man might be someone she could love and esteem, even if he never stirred her to passion like Lord Markham did.
“Well! I see by that flush you have not forgotten him.”
“Who?” Charlotte snapped from her reverie. “I beg your pardon?”
“You are just like her! Pamela broke his heart, just like I know you will.”
Charlotte fought a wave of anger, praying for strength—and for the tears to stay away. When she finally managed to speak, she was relieved to hear her voice was steady. “As I said, people are entitled to their opinions”—she rose and smiled sweetly—“even if they are wrong.”
And with dignity she envisaged fit for a queen, Charlotte moved to sit beside Lavinia.
“Sir, I simply cannot see that such a proposition would be viable.”
William eyed his estate manager, biting back the words that would only convince the older man that the Duke of Hartington had lost his mind. Of course Hapgood did not see it. The man might possess excellent organizational ability, but he lacked vision. Couldn’t he see the potential that better roads could provide? Faster, safer travel meant improved communication, and more opportunities for farmers and those in business. Surely worth the investment.
As if sensing his displeasure, Hapgood pursed his lips, then sighed. “Perhaps if you were to concentrate on one task, rather than trying to achieve ten things at once, we might see something accomplished. Just why you need to be involved in the construction business, I do not know.”
“It is not construction, precisely. More testing for McAdam.”
“But still it eats up your time, and your resources.” Hapgood shook his head. “I cannot like it.”
“Surely we have enough funds to manage such a scheme.”
“Yes, of course. But just because we have enough resources does not mean we need to spend them.”
William forced himself to smile pleasantly and murmur something about getting on.
His estate manager walked from the room, leaving William to stare at the piles of paper cluttering his desk. It wasn’t the first time Hapgood had begged him to relinquish some responsibility, but William knew that as soon as he lost control, he’d be forever behind. Besides, nobody could know all the ins and outs of his many interests as he did.
The Captivating Lady Charlotte Page 18