His brother’s voice was ragged. “When Arabella and I return to Blake’s Run on Monday, I expect you and Mrs. Warren to accompany us.”
“Yours could be a dangerous move,” Carter warned. He did not like the idea of placing his family in danger. In fact, if he could discover a means of leaving Lincolnshire before Louisa’s planned supper, Carter would do so. He preferred to keep his personal life and his work separate.
A muscle ticked in Lawrence’s jaw, and Carter noted his brother’s disapproval. He said slowly and deliberately, “If you think I would turn you aside because of the complications involved in Mrs. Warren’s situation, I have greatly failed you as a brother. My God, Carter! Do you not realize how far each of your siblings would go to protect you? I may not have your training, but I will stand beside you throughout whatever danger you face. Blake’s Run is your home. If trouble arrives, we will defend it together.”
Carter felt the sting of having his integrity called into question, but he supposed he had deserved Law’s chastisement. He had always thought of himself as the family’s protector. Had not his mother labeled him as such? Not truly prepared to accept Law’s “big brother” announcement, Carter declared, “I will speak to Mrs. Warren in the morning.” He certainly would not promise his brother anything upon which he could not later deliver.
When she had made her appearance on the landing, Carter’s heart had stumbled to a halt. Arabella’s gown fit Lucinda Warren perfectly, the material accenting each of her very lush curves. The gown of dark plum accentuated the honey umber of her eyes and the brilliant highlights of her hair. Her eyes danced with an inner fire, and Carter stared in mute fascination.
Noting his distraction, the lady made a face. “Do you not approve, Sir Carter?”
Awkwardness surrounded him, but he managed to say, “On the contrary, Mrs. Warren. I approve too much.” He extended his hand in her direction. “I have waited for you so we might enter together. As you know none of Louisa’s guests, I thought it best.”
She placed her bare fingers in his gloved palm, which reminded Carter of the gift he had purchased for her. He brought the back of her hand to his lips. “You are nearly perfect,” he said with a tease. When her eyebrow rose with curiosity, he added, “But I mean for others to see you as I do.” He reached for the box he had left upon a side table. “These mere trifles will provide you the confidence to shine.” He handed her the white gloves and the burgundy and gold ornate lace fan.
Mrs. Warren protested heatedly. “I cannot accept a gift of this caliber from a gentleman. It would be unseemly.”
Carter sighed heavily. “We are not intimates, you and I. In fact, I would term us ‘friends.’ As your friend, I wish you an evening of perfect happiness, one in which you will not fear the judgment of others. Permit me to observe a smile upon your lips.” He felt the strum of desire return, but Carter held no regret at presenting her the gloves and the fan. Nor when he thought on it, had he regretted kissing her at the inn. How could he? It was the first time he had felt alive in years.
“They are exquisite,” she said wistfully, and Carter knew he had won.
“Only if they grace your hands,” he whispered seductively.
His tone gave her pause, and she glanced up at him in disapproval, but even that gesture made Carter’s heart stutter. “No more, Sir Carter,” she said adamantly. “I shall accept these items as a symbol of our friendship, but I shall not have you think them more than that. Anything else, which has passed between us, must not happen again. Agreed?”
He smiled indulgently at her, but disappointment washed over him. “You are most astute, Mrs. Warren. I have acted as a cad, and I possess no excuse except your beauty. However, I promise on my honor as a gentleman not to treat you without respect ever again.”
Louisa’s dining hall was filled with the best of the neighborhood. “I understood Sir Carter owes his life to you, Mrs. Warren,” Mr. Whisenant said from beside her. Louisa had placed Mr. Monroe on her right and Whisenant on her left. Both men had found Mrs. Warren’s company delightful, much to Carter’s chagrin.
The lady smiled with forbearance, and Carter thought it amusing he recognized the nuances of her gestures. “I assure you, Mr. Whisenant, your sources have erred.”
“Oh, no, Mrs. Warren,” Monroe added quickly. “I had it from Sir Carter himself. Did I not, Sir?”
Carter looked up as if surprised by the content of their discussion. How could he let it be known he had eavesdropped on their exchange? “Had what, Monroe?”
The young buck meant to impress the others at the table, and Carter fought the urge to remove him by his ear. “Heard how you shoved the ladies to the coach’s floor when the attack occurred. How you returned for Lord Hellsman’s servant. How Mrs. Warren jumped from a moving coach to come to your rescue.”
Everyone at the table had gone silent. Yes, it was time to box Monroe’s ears. The neighborhood meant to hear the tale from the participants. Mrs. Warren paled, and Carter wished to throttle Monroe for his insensitivity. With his flippant means to bring the glory to his own doorstep, Monroe had painted the lady in a negative light. “As we are both employed by the Home Office,” he said pointedly, “it was my duty to investigate any attack on members of the aristocracy. As Lady Hellsman is my sister in marriage and Mrs. Warren is the daughter of a decorated military man who died in service to his country, I held a most honorable responsibility to act.”
Carter sipped his wine to steady his resolve. He would turn the story to the lady’s favor. “I discovered Hamby, but he was not seriously injured; however, it was necessary for me to examine the area for fear of further attacks. I was just returning to assist my brother’s servant when another shot rang out. Before I knew what had happened, our attacker had placed me in a precarious situation.” He noted Mrs. Warren’s shiver of revulsion. Had the memory of his peril affected her?
“I expected to die, but Heaven had sent Mrs. Warren to rescue me. The lady possessed the good sense to seek me out after hearing our intruder’s gunshot. Her appearance distracted the assailant long enough for the advantage to turn my way.”
“Were you not frightened?” Mrs. Peoples, the vicar’s wife, asked in awe.
Mrs. Warren discovered her voice. “Most decidedly so.”
Carter added, “I am certain Mrs. Warren recognized Fear, as is reasonable in all humankind. Yet, the lady possesses a generous heart. As I fulfilled my responsibility as a servant of good King George, Mrs. Warren fulfilled her responsibilities as a servant of God.”
“Here, here,” several about the table said in admiration, and Carter turned his polite attention to his tablemate. Mr. Whisenant’s sister, a pretty girl of some nineteen years, but his awareness remained with his traveling companion. Yet, to his chagrin, the topic had not run its course.
“What do we know of your attacker?” Mr. Peoples asked.
“Very little,” McLauren shared. “We thought perhaps he was a wayward highwayman.” Carter knew the earl had found an opening he meant to ply.
Mr. Linton, McLauren’s closest neighbor, spoke with prejudice. “There are plenty upon the roads these days. So many from the war look for an easy means to line their pockets.”
Mrs. Warren’s gaze settled on the man. With disbelief, she said, “Do you suppose these men…these former soldiers…would not prefer to hold an honest occupation?”
The room’s atmosphere shifted, and a cold stillness sent a shiver down Carter’s spine. With a curl of his lip, Whisenant snarled his disapproval. “For all any of us know, your attacker could have been part of that Pentridge gang. Last I heard several of the leaders were still on the run.”
McLauren had explained to Carter about the uprising, but now it was Whisenant and Linton who wove a tale of greed. Although Carter theoretically worked for Lord Sidmouth, the Realm was involved in more important seditious acts than those stirred up by a few disillusioned stockingers, ironworkers, and quarry men.
“These hooligans have made a
nuisance of themselves from South Wingfield to Ripley to Codnor and to Langley Mill. There are rumors that one of the leaders, Jeremiah Brandreth, killed a servant just because the man’s mistress refused to provide the rioters with weapons. Reportedly, the group even attempted to take control of the Butterley ironworks in Nottingham. Although they killed three senior managers and wrecked the place, the factory agent and a few constables sent them packing.”
Mr. Whisenant appeared quite knowledgeable of the specifics of the march. So knowledgeable Carter wondered if the gentleman was an informant for Sidmouth. There were many internal rumors regarding the Home Secretary employing spies and paid informers to root out any acts of unrest.
Whisenant continued, “The 15th Regiment of Light Dragoons met the men at Giltbrook, where forty were captured. Unfortunately, the masterminds of the march escaped.”
Miss Whisenant ventured, “My brother believes these groups only wish to create strife. They hold no true cause for their manipulations.”
“No cause?” Mrs. Warren said in skepticism. “What of mass unemployment? Although the development of machinery has brought products to the marketplace in a more efficient time frame and even at a lower cost, we have lost the value of the worker. Men without occupations cannot afford even the most economically priced item.” She paused but briefly, and Carter suspected she had thought long and hard on the issues facing England. “Permit me to use a very feminine example of what I speak. The lace on this gown, for instance, with its small imperfections is superior to one produced by the machines. Also, it provides girls, without a future otherwise, a skill upon which to define their existence.”
She glanced to Carter as if seeking his permission to continue. When he nodded his encouragement, Mrs. Warren added, “The Corn Laws, which were meant to protect England from outside monopolies, have driven the price of bread beyond the reach of many working poor. The repeal of the Income Tax was another government idea, which held good intentions, but which has saddled the nation with rising prices for basic goods and services. And last year’s unusual spring and summer have left the country short of supplies and farmers struggling to meet mortgages and rents.”
Mr. Linton accused, “Then you would offer asylum to those who turn against the government? You speak treason, Mrs. Warren.”
Carter meant to intercede, but the lady held her own; he was quite proud of her. The smile never left her lips, and Carter recognized how this spectacular woman had built a world around caring for others. “I love this country, Mr. Linton. My mother and I spent nearly two decades following the drum. I lost both my husband and my father in this last great war, and I will admit my experiences have colored my views.
“A war holds terrors one never shares with those who have not been involved. The men who stood up to tyranny deserve to return to an England that welcomes them with more than a hero’s parade. They deserve to return to a meaningful occupation and a loving family. And if I possessed the means to improve their lots, I would do so gladly. I would wish our country’s government would do likewise. If those are treasonous thoughts, I must ask your forgiveness for my father, the late Colonel Roderick Rightnour, taught me to value the sacrifices of England’s most noble servants.
“Since my return to England as Captain Warren’s widow, I have had an eyeopening schooling in the difficulties of the working poor. My limited income often forces me to choose between coal and cabbage. It is not a pleasant experience, Sir.” She was nothing if not brutally honest.
Carter noticed how some at the table shifted uncomfortably with her disclosure, but he found her courage absolutely magnificent. She continued, “There are not many things I know with absolute certainty, Mr. Linton, but one idea rings true. The business of war makes a country strong economically. Jobs and reasonable wages await any man willing to put in a fair day’s work. Yet, the reality of what happens when the war ends and the celebrations cease defines a country. In that matter, I pray England is as great as we Her citizens believe Her to be. “
“May I request the honor of this dance, Mrs. Warren?” Carter had looked on as several in his sister’s party had openly shunned the woman, and he meant to mark her with his approval. His brother, McLauren, and Mr. Monroe had all stood up with her, but the lady’s earlier conquest of Mr. Whisenant had faded with her supper conversation. In his opinion, she had spoken quite eloquently, but he suspected Whisenant preferred his women to model his sister, Miss Whisenant, whose timid behavior had irritated Carter to no end. Yet, he was of sterner stuff. No weak-kneed sycophants for him. His mother had insisted each of his sisters should speak her mind, and the baroness’s influence had defined his taste in women.
A strange expression crossed her countenance, and several seconds passed before she replied. “Are you certain, Sir Carter? My earlier speech did not leave your employer in a positive light or so Lord McLauren has informed me.”
Carter glanced to his brother in marriage. He was not surprised by the group’s reaction to her bold statements. “The earl does not speak for me. I suspect McLauren mimics Louisa’s concern for her younger brother, but I assure you I admired your stance.”
At his welcoming tone, the lady’s shoulders relaxed. She smiled in response, and every muscle in Carter’s body came to attention, especially the one that thought her irresistible. He forced himself to concentrate on his breathing. Not so tense, he chastised. “If you insist, Sir Carter.” She placed her gloved fingers in his open palm.
As much as he wished to control his feelings, his breath hitched, and a smile crossed his lips. “Insistence is my specialty, Mrs. Warren.” He led her to the makeshift dance floor. Louisa had cleared the music room of extra furniture and had hired the local music tutor to provide the entertainment. As the man ran his fingers across the pianoforte, Carter took her in his arms. “Do you waltz?”
Her expression was inscrutable. Shrugging a shoulder, she said, “I suppose we shall discover together. I know the steps, but Captain Warren was never much of a dancer.”
Carter laughed lightly. “I retract my earlier statement: Dancing is my specialty.”
“Vain, they name is Sir Carter Lowery,” she teased.
He enjoyed her this way, a vibrant, sensual woman being playful. “Guard thy tongue, my Dear, or I may purposely present your poor toes with a heavy stomp.”
“An excellent dancer never stomps, Sir Carter,” Mrs. Warren countered. “In contrast, he makes a poor partner appear graceful.”
“As you wish, my Dear.” He turned her into a light embrace–his hand resting at her waist. Tentatively, she placed her gloved hand upon his shoulder. He would never confess to having slipped the music master a handful of coins to play a waltz, but the feel of her hand on the seam of his jacket announced the payment worth every penny. “I am a bit surprised you never possessed the opportunity to waltz. Even if Captain Warren preferred only to observe, I cannot imagine there being a lack of young officers who would not have gladly led you about the dance floor.” The music began, and Carter guided her into the opening steps.
“Mr. Warren was quite adamant in his disapproval,” she murmured.
A frown crossed her expression when she stumbled on the turn, and Carter caught her a bit tighter. “Count the steps in your head,” he whispered close to her ear. “But do not concentrate so heavily. Instead, trust me. I will never fail you.”
As if those were the words the lady required, Mrs. Warren gracefully followed his lead. For Carter, it was a moment like none he had ever experienced. His body coursed with awareness, as if this woman had etched her name on his soul. He would never deny the connection. Could not deny it. However, recognizing his desire for Lucinda Warren and acting upon it were two different things. Although he admired and even concurred with many of her opinions regarding a country’s obligations to its poorest citizens, Carter was an agent of the Crown, and to tie himself intimately to someone who spoke of a different future than did the Home Office would be occupational suicide. Of course, he told hi
s warring mind, when you accepted a position to serve England, the Realm was not under the Home Secretary’s oversight.
Carter returned to his earlier question. “Was I too presumptuous when I asked of your lack of experience in the latest dances and styles. If I offend you in my curiosity, please tell me so at once.”
She glanced up at him. He noted how she worried her bottom lip. Finally, she said so softly Carter had to listen with all his being to hear. “Captain Warren thought me a terrible flirt. My husband found my impetuous nature frustrating. The captain often criticized my easy tongue, and in order to know marital peace, I made an effort not to displease him. A rout would have been quite awkward as Mr. Warren served as one of my father’s officers.”
Carter’s previous desire to know Matthew Warren long enough to beat the man senseless had returned. Her words had gone a long way in explaining the inconsistencies he had observed in Mrs. Warren’s personality. One moment, the lady spoke freely to those about her, and the next, she held herself in private, as if she expected a sound chastisement. Carter said softly, “It was Captain Warren’s loss to have held a beautiful light and not to have nourished it. Despite my consternation with the captain’s actions, I am elated with the knowledge of being the first to lead you through a waltz.”
She presented him a watery smile, but her eyes spoke of a bit of devilment. The combination was quite enticing. “No more than I, Sir Carter.”
“Then permit me to demonstrate what my dance tutor playfully referred to as a ‘double bubble.’”
Mrs. Warren feigned alarm, but her melodic giggle said she enjoyed his teasing. “A double bubble? Does your wordy description mean my toes will know pain?”
Carter leaned his head back to laugh heartily. “You will observe, my Dear, that what you termed as my vanity is truly my incomparable expertise,” he declared as he spun her first one way and then executed a reverse, which brought them closer. Mrs. Warren’s nervous snigger grew into a tinkling laugh– a laugh Carter found quite addictive.
Realm 06 - A Touch of Love Page 17