“Charlotte, my dearest. Come in. The girls will be so pleased to see you, and you too, Miss Page. Dennison, tell Miss Daphne and Miss Emily that Mrs. Alden is here.” Lady Grace, smiling happily, waited while the servant made his stately exit to the back of the house, and then she ushered Charlotte and Sarah toward a set of double doors.
“Emily is here, too?” Charlotte asked.
Lady Grace seemed fluttery and insubstantial, but she rarely missed a trick. She had three daughters of her own. Her eldest, Daphne, had been a good friend to Charlotte, not only at school. She had also spent holidays with the Graces and attended informal functions with them while staying at their country house in Stirling not long after her mother died.
“Emily is with us for the week. Her Mama thought she could trust her to us. Hubert is very glad of it, and I will be glad when they finally marry. I’m not certain long engagements are a good idea.”
“You met Hubert at the Hawthorn’s ball,” Charlotte said to Sarah. The ball needed to be mentioned if Charlotte were to pass the test. “Daphne’s brother, remember?”
Sarah nodded. “I met the whole world at the Hawthorn’s ball.”
Lady Grace laughed. “The whole world was there. Nicholas told Antony he had made his ball the success of the season. What a dreadful man your dear husband is.”
The hallway thundered with feet. Female chattering burst into the room. At least three voices greeted Charlotte at once. She had her waist clutched by Theodora Grace and her cheek kissed by Chrysanthe Grace, who said, “Such a scandal you caused. Isn’t it wonderful!” She turned and nodded at Sarah.
“Did I cause a scandal?” Charlotte’s gaze met Lady Grace’s.
“You? No. I’m afraid we’ll have to attribute the blame to Nicholas, which then makes the event a mere titillation. Society has seen his disruptions more than once, and if he can ignore gossip, his wife should, too.”
Charlotte stilled, not certain how to hear the word “disruptions” in relation to Nick, whom she judged to be too indolent to bestir himself.
“He can surely be excused,” said Emily Downing, a pretty young lady of twenty years with fair hair and a shy smile. “He must have been mad with love for you to rip your gown that way.”
Charlotte smiled, her mind easing. The incident had established Nick as a man mad with love for a woman. However, she didn’t want him also known as a cad when he hadn’t done a thing but stare at her when she’d begun screaming and tearing at her gown. “He didn’t mean to.”
Daphne, dressed in pink with a single strand of pearls around her neck, turned to her younger sisters, who stood, eyes wide. “Out. None of this is for your sticky noses. You’ve seen Charlotte doesn’t look any different now that she is Mrs. Alden.”
Theodora swirled and left.
Chrysanthe crossed her arms. At seventeen, she didn’t like being treated as a child. “I don’t see why I can’t hear everything you hear.”
“Go,” her mother said.
Chrysanthe, nose in the air, marched off, while Emily and Daphne took a seat. Daphne sat beside Charlotte on a buttoned gold couch. The room looked smart, the windows dressed with draped and fringed green velvet, and the single chairs upholstered in blue brocade.
Lady Grace pulled the bell cord. “We’ll have tea,” she said to Dennison.
“Tell us what really happened,” Daphne said, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Did he rip your bodice?”
Charlotte focused on her short white gloves. “Certainly not. He kissed me and somehow caught my bodice on the button of his jacket sleeve. He ruined my lovely gown, and that’s why I screamed. Sarah came at the gallop.”
“I ran,” Sarah said with indignation. “Only great hefty horses gallop.”
Charlotte winced. “I meant you arrived immediately. Anyhow, no harm was done.”
“We hope,” Sarah said. “You don’t deserve to have your reputation in tatters because Nick was so very ardent.”
“Now that we know the truth, you needn’t worry, Charlotte.” Daphne reached out and patted Charlotte’s hand. “We won’t let anyone say you shouldn’t have been out in the garden with him.”
“Thank you, Daphne, but the incident really wasn’t his fault. I should have told him to go away.” Charlotte tried to relax, but her fingers intertwined and clenched together. “But I just couldn’t.” She tried a soulful look.
Lady Grace gave a shake of her head and a tsk. “Nicholas should know the difference between a well brought up young lady and those he, er… Sometimes his mind is somewhat clouded but least said, soonest mended.” Her smile looked hopeful.
“Poor you. I’m sure you never wanted to marry Nicholas Alden. It’s such a shame.” Daphne again patted Charlotte’s hand.
“I don’t mind at all being married to Nick.” Charlotte paused and gave an unplanned mischievous smile. “Would you?”
Both Daphne and Emily returned the same smile.
Emily said, hands clasped under her chin, “I would have to say no if he asked me, because I’m betrothed to Hubert.”
Being Hubert’s sister, Daphne nodded her approval. “I couldn’t manage him, but, oh, I could look at him all day. He makes my heart ache.”
Charlotte continued to smile. He made her heart ache, too. She could dream of him being the sort of man who would actually attempt to inveigle her into a dark garden, or even just snatch her into his arms without wanting to see which book she held. Or she could face reality, which she had every single day of her life. “Did you hear Mr. Hawthorn gave us a horse for a wedding present?”
“It’s just like Tony,” Lady Grace answered. “Or James. Those two are almost interchangeable. I’ve never seen a pair who look so alike, and as for gifts… They are very generous with their money.”
“In my opinion, it was a very unfortunate gift,” Sarah said, her voice doleful. “Because now Cousin Nick thinks I want to ride, too. He offered to teach me when I said I couldn’t.”
Charlotte laughed. “Sarah is being droll. She knows how lucky she is not to be left to me. I’m too eager to ride myself to have the patience to teach someone else.”
“Nick was always a very kind young man, quite angelic, to match his looks.” Lady Grace picked up her embroidery frame. “He and Antony, and James, too, had the run of our country property when they were young. I remember when—Daphne, was it you or Zanthe?—perhaps it was Hubert…. No…” Lady Grace rattled on.
Charlotte sat back and drank her tea. Nick had been right about whom to see first. This family not only gave support to each other, but to others as well. Charlotte had missed each and every one of them, and now, as before, she could enter society clutching to the Graces’ coattails.
* * * *
Nick regretted offering to teach Sarah to ride. Because of his commitment to the racetrack, the odd cockfight, various boxing matches, a jealous mistress, and a deep thirst, he could only find time to be with Sarah in the mornings.
This unseasonably hot morning, for Sarah’s fourth riding lesson, he had arrived home an hour since, hung-over, dry-mouthed, and with an aching head, which Sarah’s antics didn’t help. He hadn’t imagined that an intelligent female could have such a short attention span.
“Keep your foot in the stirrup, Sarah. You have little enough to balance you in a side saddle.”
“The horse jolted me.” Sarah leaned over, shifting her skirt so that she could rub her leg. “I’ll try to concentrate.”
Nick strode over to the stable-yard pump and wet his head. This morning, Sarah had forgotten to check her saddle-girth, she’d stared elsewhere while he’d adjusted her stirrup leather, and she’d dropped her crop twice, causing him to bend to retrieve it, exacerbating the throbbing of his brain. Having two young females in the house kept a man busy, what with buying various knickknacks and making sure they didn’t jumble their brains with artistic erotica.
Taking a few calming breaths, he returned to his pupil, who sat staring
into the distance and swinging her crop too close to the horse’s ears. He put his hand over hers, stopping her movements. She made a face at him.
“Perhaps rather than having me perform a task to which I am patently unsuited, you should be taught to ride by Charlotte.”
“I don’t think she has the time,” Sarah said, a wary expression on her face.
“Not in the morning, Mr. Nicholas,” called Rob, leaning on his broom. “She rides in Victoria Park.”
Nick scowled at the lad. “If my wife is in the park, shouldn’t you be with her?”
“I would be, but I can’t keep up with her on that there thing.” Rob glanced at the horse tethered by the post. “Let alone, she makes sure I don’t.”
Nick turned to Sarah. “If she’s in Victoria Park, you ought to be with her. It’s an opportunity to practice riding.”
“I wouldn’t be able keep up with her.”
“She would hardly be galloping around the race track.”
Sarah stared at him as if he were crazy. “She’s very skilled, Nick. I’m quite sure she isn’t bothering with a collected trot.”
Nick’s head throbbed. He grabbed the reins of his horse and swung into the saddle.
“Where are you going?”
“To Victoria Park,” Nick said, hearing the irritation in his tone. “You two are being deliberately obscure. If my wife is in the park, not chaperoned, I want to see exactly what she is doing.”
“I’ll come with you.” Sarah swung her crop back and forth.
“And yet you couldn’t go with her.”
Sarah narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t learn how to ride at a fancy school. I was taught the three Rs only. If I don’t have her skills, it’s because I never had the opportunity to learn them.”
Nick massaged his forehead. “I’m giving you a chance now, princess.”
“Which I am taking.”
“In that case, join me by all means.” He opened the stable-yard gate.
Sarah urged her horse close to his. “Just don’t go into a gallop until we get there.”
Nick heaved a breath and eased his horse into a controlled canter along the side of the road. Sarah stuck to him like a shadow as they passed through the tree-lined streets, her plain straw bonnet wobbling on her head. Within minutes, they reached the grassed area of the park where, between the trunks of the few remaining eucalyptus trees, two riders had angled their recognizable horses and appeared to be engrossed in conversation.
“She’s with Mr. Hawthorn,” Sarah said with interest. “Imagine her seeing him here?”
“Not so strange,” Nick said, his shoulders stiff. “He lives in Toorak Gardens, just over the road.”
“So he does. Do you mean to join them?”
“I do, indeed,” he said through his teeth.
As they closed the gap to his wife and the father of her baby, the couple separated, Tony riding in the direction of his house and Charlotte heading around the track long ago cleared of the native scrub. Tony waved as he spotted them, but he didn’t stop. Nor did Charlotte. Nick saw his devious wife skimming the grass on a rangy horse that was surely not born of a misalliance.
He had agreed to marry her so that he could have her child. He hadn’t agreed to be continually cuckolded, nor would he be. “Yes, she rides well,” he said to Sarah, his jaw rigid. “You’re right. We won’t catch her today. Let’s go.”
His temper grew with each hoof beat on the way home.
Chapter 5
Nick followed Sarah into the main hall. She ambled upstairs to change out of her riding dress and he stood, spine tense, tapping his crop against his boot.
The front door opened. His father strode inside, stripping off his gloves and placing his hat on the hall table. “Will you be here for luncheon?” the older man asked. “If not, you should be. That wife of yours has come up with some mighty clever new ideas.”
“Clever ideas indeed,” Nick said grimly.
“Concerning our daily fare.” His father eyed him askance.
“Not my daily fare.” Nick didn’t intend to eat with his wife. He intended to lay down the rules to her.
“I would like a word with you if you have a moment.” His father indicated the direction of his study.
Nick baulked, crossing his arms. “Could this wait until later?”
“Of course,” his father replied. “But what I have to say won’t keep you more than a few moments.”
Nick stiffly inclined his head. He followed Alfred into a den of leather and carved cabinetry, where he sat, legs lengthened, his fingers tapping impatiently on the cushioned arms of a custom made study chair.
His father rested his behind on his polished cedar desk, his hands folded in front of his appalling waistcoat of tan worsted. “What plans do you have for the future?”
“None.” Nick glanced through the window behind his father, watching a gardener show his young son which weeds to pull. The lad looked at his father as if the world turned on his words while he yanked up the wheatgrass blown in from the north.
Alfred studied his fingernails. “I hoped you might reconsider your decision about managing the business.”
Nick shrugged. “Ah. So you plan to go back on your word?”
“A man without occupation is like a rudderless ship.”
“Without occupation? I drink and gamble. I couldn’t be busier.”
“I thought marriage might modify a few of your habits.”
Nick shook his head. “Not a one. I’m set in my ways. A total bore.”
Alfred’s eyebrows drew together. “What about that woman?”
“I still keep that woman.”
“Despite recently acquiring a very lovely wife?”
“Why change?” Nick shifted his position, checking the crease of his trousers. “I married her because she told me she was expecting.”
Alfred squeezed the top of his nose. “Forgive me for being old. When you said you had met her before the night of the ball, I thought you were making the incident that night more explicable—not more disreputable.”
Nick checked his fob watch.
“In that case you had to accept the consequences. Again.”
“History has a habit of repeating itself.” Nick rose to his feet.
“At least your wife is a lady.”
“No more so than Clara.”
“Clara was another man’s wife. It bothers me that a son of mine can see no difference.”
Nick walked to the door, uninterested in this conversation. Once, he’d been young. Now, he was as old as time. Once, he’d hung on his father’s words, too, but those days had passed. Another reprimand couldn’t make a dent in a man who would never forgive himself. “There is no difference. Both conceived out of wedlock, yet you have decided Charlotte is a lady and that Clara was a whore.” He paused, gazing straight through his father, remembering being in this study four years ago, listening to his father berate him.
He’d been back in South Australia for three months after his years at Cambridge. That day, he’d needed support for a decision that even now he would make again. “When you heard about Clara’s pregnancy, and not from me, you cut me off without a penny.” He remembered his gut-wrenching despair, the anguish of the callow youth he had been who had believed he could right a wrong. His mouth twisted into an involuntary grimace.
“I thought that would remove you from her clutches. I didn’t expect you to run away with her.”
Nick stared straight at his father. “She needed my support as much as I needed yours.”
“Regardless, you managed.” His father crossed his arms over his waist.
Nick noted the defensive move and wished this discussion over with. “Yes, I managed. I had to. I earned a small amount gambling and an even smaller amount working as a coal hauler. An arts and humanities degree didn’t set me up for a job.”
“A degree is useful for a man who wants to run a business.”
Nick rested his hand on the doorknob. “We’ve been through this.”
“When you have a family, you’ll see things my way.”
Nick smiled, sourly amused. “I’ll have a family within six months, I’d say.”
His father shook his head, his mouth ruefully tilted on one side. “She’s not breeding yet. Telling you she was expecting was somewhat unethical, but the lie shows she wanted you.”
Nick scrutinized his father’s face. “The lie?”
Alfred tugged at his beard. “Your mother bore five children and, ahem, I think I would recognize the look females get at that time.” He lifted his shoulders.
Nick stood, unable to focus for a moment, and then he drew a jerky breath, tightened his mouth, smacked open the door, and left.
* * * *
The housekeeper, Mrs. Wishart, had expressly told Charlotte she would relay any changes in the menus to the cook. However, the cook had been in Mr. Alden’s employ since Nick was a lad, and Charlotte not only enjoyed hearing tales of the younger Nick but she also wanted his food preferences considered.
Risking the wrath of the house tyrant, she sat on the big central table among various pots, saucepans, and spoons, swinging her legs. Cook had her back to the door, stirring gravy over the old-fashioned smoking stove. The scullery maid clanked a set of greasy dishes into a bowl of suds.
Charlotte raised her voice to read the recipe Cook wanted the kitchen maid to begin. “Take one pound of currants and one pound of raisins, finely chopped.”
Thomas, the manservant, polishing the silver, glanced over her shoulder. With a widening of his eyes, he lost his grip on his tray.
Over the resounding crash of the metal, she shouted, “And leave to soak in brandy.”
Her last word echoed in the hush-filled room.
Charlotte Page 5