In the Arms of the Heiress (A LADIES UNLACED NOVEL)

by Maggie Robinson

  Grace blotted her lips on a linen napkin and rose. “Gentlemen, we ladies are leaving so you may discuss the boring issues of the day that would simply confound the weaker sex. Do join us when you’ve solved the world’s problems.”

  So, was Grace Westlake a secret suffragist? Interesting. Louisa rolled her eyes at her aunt’s speech and waved at Charles before she was shepherded out of the room. His thigh finally free of Isobel’s imprecations, he relaxed a fraction in his chair. Hugh raised a finger and a footman sprang to it with the port and walnuts.

  Griffith materialized at Charles’s side with a humidor. “Would you care for a cigar, Mr. Norwich?”

  Louisa didn’t care for smoking. It was one of her rules. Charles shook his head. The other three gentlemen had no such scruples or orders. Soon the dining room air turned blue with smoke, and Charles realized he’d smell like a chimney anyway.

  A sullen Hugh puffed away, and deaf Phillip couldn’t be bothered to make conversation with anyone, so it was up to Dr. Fentress to be amiable. “So, Mr. Norwich, what do you think of Rosemont? I heard you say you explored the property on horseback today.”

  “It’s a remarkable place. Were you acquainted with Louisa’s grandfather?”

  The doctor nodded. “I set up my practice locally at his invitation. I was fresh out of medical school when George Stratton approached me. His wife was sickly, and he wanted someone he could depend on. He was often in the City, and worried about Louisa being alone here. Oh, that was your Louisa’s grandmother—she was named for her, but you probably know that. I’ve served all the family ever since. I delivered your wife, you know.”

  “Did you deliver Mrs. Westlake, too?”

  Fentress twitched. It must be rather strange to carry on a quasi-romantic relationship with a woman you pulled from a birth canal. “I did. But not her brother Byron—he was a few years older. Nor young Hugh here, either. Mrs. Westlake resided at Marbury Court then, Viscount Marbury’s estate in Herefordshire. The late Mr. Westlake was the viscount’s brother.”

  “Don’t bother with the genealogy lesson, Doctor. Norwich won’t be here long enough to add to the Stratton family tree,” Hugh sneered.

  “Oh? Why do you say that, Westlake?” Charles asked mildly.

  “You’ll soon tire of Louisa’s antics. Or she’ll tire of you. Dr. Fentress here can tell you she’s not right in the head. Hysterical. Isn’t that right?”

  The doctor examined the ruby liquid in his glass. “I shouldn’t like to say without closer observation. Perhaps she’s changed this past year. But there’s no question she was highly strung before she left. Impulsive. She was a great trial to poor Grace. I sometimes had to prescribe medication to make her see reason.”

  “You drugged her to shut her up.”

  “Now, now, Mr. Norwich. That’s most unfair. Louisa’s manic episodes were a harm to herself and the household. Her aunt only has her best interests at heart. We understand Louisa. You’ve known her, what, a few months? We’ve known her all her life. And you think you’re in love with her. I find love colors one’s perception. One cannot be a reliable witness when one is in love.”

  That was certainly true in the doctor’s case, as he let himself be led around by Grace Westlake.

  “Love. Bah. The girl’s mad.” Phillip surprised them all by inserting himself in the conversation.

  Hugh laughed sourly. “I quite agree, Uncle Phillip.”

  “What’s that?” the old man barked.

  “I said I agree. Louisa is mad and there’s no such thing as love. Whatever you think you feel for my cousin won’t last, Norwich. You’d be better off accepting my mother’s offer before Louisa breaks your heart.”

  Charles was fascinated. It was as if he’d fallen down the rabbit hole like Alice into an alternate reality. These people, who all claimed to know her so well, described a Louisa he didn’t recognize. Yes, she was impulsive, outrageous really, when she begged Charles to relieve her sexual frustration. When she rode off hell for leather across the downs. When she came apart beneath him. But that’s what he liked about her—her honesty. Her energy. Her vulnerability.

  But what if he’d got the wrong end of the stick? Charles had to admit he was dazzled by the heiress. Maybe he wasn’t the best judge of character. His experiences in Africa had warped his perspective for months now. Years.

  Charles spun a walnut on the tablecloth with a blunt fingertip. “I’ll take my chances, gentlemen. A month with Louisa is as good as a lifetime. We’ll see what the New Year brings.”

  “If you live that long. You’d better watch out. Your wife is handy with a pistol.”

  Charles looked up with interest. “You sound as if you have reason to know, Westlake.”

  “The girl has tried to kill me any number of times. She’s dangerous.”

  “It sounds like you did something to earn her wrath.”

  “Who knows what sets Louisa off? She’s unbalanced.”

  According to Louisa, Hugh had tried to compromise her repeatedly. Too bad Louisa didn’t plug him right between his golden brown eyes. “I expect it will take more than a girl with a gun to kill me. I’ve faced more firepower in Africa than that.”

  Charles realized his mistake at once.

  Hugh’s eyebrows lifted. “Africa?”

  “On safari,” Charles said quickly. “Years ago. Lions.”

  “I wasn’t aware they provided lions with guns,” the doctor chortled.

  “You’re right. Their teeth and claws are enough to deter any righteous man. But some of the other hunters were inexperienced,” Charles extemporized. “Careless. That’s how I received my injury.” Oh, shit. Wasn’t he supposed to have been a boxer? Too late to backtrack now. Maximillian the Great White Hunter popped a walnut into his mouth, hoping to prevent any further faux pas.

  “What an interesting life you’ve led,” Dr. Fentress said. “I suppose compared to lions on the savannah, our Louisa is relatively harmless.”

  “I’m sure old Max here has already felt her teeth and claws.” Hugh smirked, and Charles controlled his desire to fling the silver bowl of walnuts in his face.

  “I have no complaints regarding my marriage,” Charles said, hoping to shut down any further aspersions against Louisa.

  “It’s early days yet,” Hugh replied. “Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

  Charles stood. “I’ve had quite enough of this male camaraderie. I must warn you, Westlake, if you keep insulting me or my wife, my Christian charity may not extend to allowing you to stay through Christmas. You have no official standing at Rosemont save as Louisa’s childhood tormentor. And when you grew up, you were little better—some might say much worse, trying to importune an innocent girl into your bed.”

  Hugh’s face suffused with color. “Rubbish! If Louisa told you that, she was lying. As usual. And anyway, she hasn’t been innocent for years; it’s a wonder she didn’t whelp a litter of bas—”

  The rest of his sentence ended as Charles rounded the table and punched Hugh in his aristocratic nose. He tipped backward in his chair and fell with a satisfying thud. The man resembled a turtle on his back, legs kicking frantically to right himself. Charles couldn’t be bothered to see if he succeeded. He closed the dining room door with a flourish and made his way to the drawing room.

  Tonight there was no music, just Louisa looking miserable standing alone by the window holding a cup of tepid tea, the other women clustered together on the sofa and chairs.

  “Come upstairs with me at once, my love,” he said, holding out an unfortunately blood-spattered hand.

  Grace shrieked, but Louisa didn’t blanch or bat an eye. “Of course, Max, darling. If you ladies will excuse me.”

  “What have you done?” Louisa whispered as they ran up the staircase.

  “Only what needed to be done. Your cousin will not be smelling any roses or anythin
g else for some time.”

  Louisa tripped on the step and he caught her. “You hit him?”

  “I did. I’m sorry if you object, but he was insufferable.”

  “He’s always insufferable. If this was another century, he’d be fighting duels left and right. I could have happily skewered him any number of times.”

  “No duels. No boxing matches, either. Which reminds me, apparently I was on safari somewhere in Africa and some idiot injured my eye.”

  This time Louisa stopped still on the stairs and glared at him. “I told my aunt it happened in the boxing ring.”

  “I know. I remembered too late to keep the story straight. Lying does not really come naturally to me, I’m afraid.” What about Louisa? Was Hugh right in accusing her? She’d certainly dreamed up Maximillian Norwich with no difficulty. What if everything she’d told him was her truth but not the truth?

  There was that bit of tongue again, as well as scrunched eyebrows on her worried face. “Maybe Aunt Grace will forget.”

  “Not bloody likely. Grace does not strike me as someone who glosses over details. Well, I can’t do anything about it now. We can hardly explain that a shell landed a little too close to me for comfort. What would Maximillian Norwich be doing in the middle of a war? Better that I was hunting elephants or some such.”

  She staggered on the stairs again. “Never say you would kill a defenseless animal.”

  “Oh, certainly not. I much prefer to shoot people, but only if they’re armed and shooting at me. Though you’re a fine one to talk. Where do you think your fur coat and fur muff came from?”

  “Charles!”

  “Hush. The walls have ears. There may be a footman crouched behind that curtain on the landing. Come on. Let’s lock ourselves in before Hugh comes dashing up the stairs to call me out.” He took Louisa’s elbow and hurried her up the stairs.

  Once in their suite, he methodically locked all the doors that led to the corridor, then for good measure shoved furniture against them. Louisa paced before the sitting room fire.

  “Kathleen won’t be able to come in.”

  “So what? What do you need her for?”

  “She—she helps me undress.”

  Charles looked at Louisa. Her blue dress had a great many satin buttons running down the back. “I can do that.”

  “Oh. We usually talk a bit, too. About the day. She’s my best friend, you know.”

  “You’ll have to talk to me instead. Although I know how the day has gone.” Pretty much straight to hell.

  “Don’t you think you should wash that hand?”

  Charles had forgotten. To Louisa’s credit, she hadn’t fainted dead away when he stormed into the drawing room dripping Hugh Westlake’s blood. He walked through her bedroom to the bath, but not before catching sight of the lacy pink nightgown spread out across the counterpane, placed there by the evil Kathleen in a plot to drive him entirely around the bend. The thought of Louisa in it and out of it was too vexing to contemplate.

  Charles scrubbed Hugh away with vicious determination. If he were smart, he’d continue on to his room and bolt the door. But he’d lost his wits sometime in the past two days, and he had buttons to unbutton.

  Chapter

  27

  They were safe, barricaded in, not that Louisa thought Hugh would come bounding up the stairs after Charles. Hugh was probably tattling to his mother right this very minute. She pictured their two gilded heads in the flattering candlelight, complaining and plotting against them.

  Louisa had anticipated that things would be unpleasant at Rosemont on her return, but somehow she’d not imagined fisticuffs and attempted murder. Fortunately her letter had been posted to Mrs. Evensong, so it was simply a matter of days before all this would be sorted out. In the meantime, she and Charles could settle into their own little kingdom in her parents’ suite. There was no reason to join the others for meals—she could arrange food to be delivered. Goodness, it would be like old times, when she was confined to her room for weeks after some minor infraction.

  This time, she was confining herself.

  Charles returned from his washup, his jacket and waistcoat shed. “I could use a nightcap. Do we have anything up here?”

  He had spoken of his reliance on alcohol before Mrs. Evensong employed him. Was working for Louisa so stressful he would backslide after two days of moderation?

  Yes, it probably was.

  Two days. That’s all it had been, with a few extra hours at his boarding house and tea at Mount Street. Louisa couldn’t believe so much had happened in so short a time. They had confided in each other. Been physically intimate. Escaped assault. It was them against the world now, or at least against the residents of Rosemont.

  She opened the corner cupboard. It was well stocked with decanters of brandy and whisky and several bottles of Madeira. “We’re in luck. Pick your poison.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s gin.”

  “People like us aren’t supposed to drink gin.”

  “But I’m not people like us, Lulu.”

  “Please don’t call me that horrid name.” She grabbed a corkscrew, the wine, and two stemmed glasses. It would be less harmful than the stronger spirits. She had no interest in seeing Charles foxed—if he wanted to protect her as he’d promised, he’d better be clearheaded. Her hands shook a little as she poured. Charles stood before the mullioned window, staring out at the black ocean and blacker sky.

  “Here you are. Chin-chin.”

  “To us. The real us, not ‘people like us.’” Charles tipped back the glass and drained the wine in one swallow. “I wonder what tomorrow will bring.”

  “Nothing, I hope. We can stay right up here all day and be comfortable.” Not that being in Charles Cooper’s presence was exactly relaxing.

  He turned to her. “What do you mean?”

  “We needn’t go downstairs.” She tried for a cheeky grin. Let him think she was trying to get him back into her bed.

  Charles frowned. “You want to hide?”

  Louisa, knowing she was a coward, nodded.

  “Balderdash. I won’t let you mope about in the suite all day. We’ve got things to do.”

  “We do?”

  “Yes. Didn’t Reverend Whosit ask you to do the flowers for Sunday’s church service? We can ride over tomorrow—on a proper horse, not place ourselves at the mercy of your taciturn chauffeur. And while we’re in the village, shouldn’t we buy Christmas presents for Grace and Hugh?”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “What, are you saying lumps of coal are unavailable locally? I didn’t get to see much of the High Street when Robertson brought us home from the station, but I swear there’s a store or two.”

  He was teasing again. When he looked down at her like that, all she wanted to do was kiss him.

  That wouldn’t do. They were done with all that.

  But oh, she didn’t want to be.

  “I don’t think you should do any more fighting. They’ll think you’re uncivilized.”

  Charles set his glass down. “And so I am. I can’t stand by and let them hurl such vile insults at you, Louisa. They make me so angry.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me until I get rid of them. Anyhow, didn’t you say Hugh boxed at university? Maybe I should take him on. The loser leaves Rosemont.”

  “No!” Louisa had no interest in seeing Charles’s beautiful face beaten to a bloody pulp. She had no faith in her cousin sticking to sportsmanlike conduct.

  “As you wish. But I’m willing to run into shot for you.”

  She placed a hand on his arm. “I couldn’t bear it if anything more happened to you. I’m already so guilty about last night’s mischief.”

  “I’m hard-headed. Hard in other places, too,” he muttered.

  She knew Cha
rles could be very hard indeed. Now that his image was lodged in her mind, he popped up with distressing frequency. Louisa started at the sound of the doorknob rattling. “Kathleen?”

  “Yes, Miss Louisa. I can’t seem to open the door.”

  “N-no. We—we’ve locked ourselves in. Because of what happened last night. There may be villains afoot.”

  There was a conspicuous silence from the hallway. Then her maid said, “Will you be needing anything from me?”

  “I think we can shift for ourselves. Thank you.” Louisa waited to hear Kathleen retreat, feeling a little strange talking through the door.

  Instead there was a furious little rap. “You have to let me in, Miss Louisa. And then I suppose you’ll want to fire me.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Open the door, and I’ll explain everything. Oh, Robbie’s going to kill me. I’ve ruined our lives.”

  Louisa looked at Charles in confusion. He nodded, then pushed the chair away from the door.

  Kathleen entered, her face as white as her starched cap. “You’d both better sit down. Please.” She stood in front of the fire, twisting her hands.

  Louisa chose a chair while Charles claimed the gray sofa. Louisa had never seen her maid so nervous, except when she was a passenger in the car.

  “I’ve done a wicked thing, Miss Louisa, and I owe the captain an apology. N-no one is out to hurt you anymore. It was me. I mean, it was I.”

  Charles’s hand went to the back of his head. “You hit me?”

  Her freckled chin lifted. “It may not have been my hand, but at my direction. I wanted to protect Miss Louisa, see. I could tell something was happening between you, and I thought if you had a little accident you wouldn’t be interested in any folderol.”