A Hero to Hold

by Sheri Humphreys

  Charlotte’s bravado fell away. Given the grim tenor of Scott’s voice, she might have been accompanying him to a funeral. Images of five Betsy Merriweather-like, hollow-cheeked children with dirty faces crowded her mind. What was she to do with them? She had no experience with children, orphaned or not. The lingering pride from her recent successful encounter vanished, and a cold shaft of fear streaked through her. What would she say to them? What might they expect of her? Apprehension tightened her throat.

  Scott’s gaze moved past her to the doorway. His firm mouth eased into a grin, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. The smile transformed his face, filled it with warmth, and the change was startling. Charlotte’s heart leapt then thumped hard. Suddenly, she wanted to be the recipient of that smile. The inherent strength of his face had attracted her, but until now this man had not stolen her breath.

  Oh, Lord. Was she certain she wanted to work for him?

  Behind her, she heard Chetney and another male voice. Charlotte turned and found a tall, sun-bronzed man in a military uniform of navy jacket and cherry pants standing in the doorway. A servant with a large basket stood behind him.

  “Scott?” the golden-haired officer said. He paused then strode into the room at the hand motion he received. When he reached across the desk, the two men didn’t so much shake hands as grip them. They exchanged grins. “I hope you’re free for luncheon. I thought I’d take advantage of my proximity to you. I brought everything with me.” He gave Charlotte a quick look with warm brown eyes. “Unless you have other plans?”

  “Not at all,” Scott said. “We’ve been working, but we just finished. My lady, may I present Major Lord Wakefield? We served together in the Crimea. Wakefield, this is Lady Haliday.”

  Wakefield bowed too quickly for Charlotte to analyze his expression. “I’m honored.”

  She acknowledged the introduction with a nod. There was an obvious camaraderie between the men, and it warmed her to think the two had remained friends through the upheaval Scott had undergone.

  Wakefield looked back and forth between her and Scott, as if he were sizing up their connection. His gaze held a glint of admiration when it returned to her. “Won’t you join us, Lady Haliday? I’ve brought plenty.”

  Charlotte’s gaze immediately sought David Scott’s. She found him watching her, his smile gone. He didn’t want her joining them. That previous sting of hurt pricked a little sharper.

  Charlotte looked again at Lord Wakefield, who radiated self-confidence—and interest. But that didn’t assuage her disappointment regarding Scott’s expression. Whatever appetite she might have had was gone.

  She steeled herself. It was extremely important that Mr. Scott not guess how attuned to him she felt, and how much his opinion suddenly mattered. She intended to work for David Scott, and she wanted to prove herself to him. She might find herself unable to change the conviction of her father or society, but suddenly she wanted more than anything to change David Scott’s opinion of her and she knew intuitively that he would admire neither indecisiveness nor weakness.

  “I’d be delighted,” she said to Lord Wakefield. Then, somehow, she mustered a smile.

  #

  David backed his chair away from his desk and pushed its wheels toward the folding table Wakefield brought. The viscount’s servant was setting up a feast, complete with starched tablecloth.

  There was cold chicken, egg sandwiches, a fine cheese, bread and butter, cold asparagus, and gooseberry tarts. It was a tempting selection of food, but rocks resided in David’s belly. His friend and Charlotte were chattering together, oblivious of him. And, blast! He was thinking of her as Charlotte again. Perhaps that particular sea-change had occurred as she comforted the sleeping Betsy in her arms. He’d found it difficult to keep his eyes off her and the child.

  The entire situation was untenable. He didn’t want to give Wakefield a reason to speculate about his reaction to Charlotte, but he wasn’t sure he could manage to monitor his speech and expression and conceal the strain of her presence. Not when he had to mind his interactions with his friend, too. He didn’t blame Wakefield for what had happened with his legs, and he’d told him so, but the man’s eyes were always a bit watchful, and David knew Miles analyzed his every intonation.

  Of course, his friend certainly seemed relaxed now, offering Charlotte lemonade and leaning toward her each time he smiled—which seemed to happen with regularity.

  In spite of the superb food, David noticed only Chetney ate much. The secretary loaded a plate and took it off to his desk, while Wakefield, Charlotte and David sat around the collapsible table in David’s office. But Charlotte’s apparent lack of appetite wasn’t affecting her ability to converse. She kept up a running conversation with the attentive Wakefield throughout. It was even determined that Wakefield knew her father.

  Near the end of the meal, Wakefield turned. “I’m selling my commission,” he said.

  David stilled. He wants my permission. I wish he didn’t need it. “I think that’s fine. You’ve made up your mind, then?”

  “Time to think of settling down and securing the inheritance.” Wakefield’s lips twisted. “So far, I’ve been lucky.” A subsequent thought seemed to leave him stricken, and he fell silent.

  “I’m glad for you, Miles,” David said quietly. He knew exactly what the thought had been.

  Wakefield’s head came up, and he stared into David’s eyes. The stiffness of his shoulders eased, and he drew in a great draught of air. “Well.” He stood. “I’d best let you get back to work. My lady, might I see you home?”

  Charlotte had been quiet and watchful. David thought she understood that something more had transpired than the obvious.

  “That’s very generous of you, Lord Wakefield. Thank you.” Charlotte looked at David. “Unless there’s more I might do today?”

  David shook his head. “I’ll get Chetney organized so he can explain your duties tomorrow.”

  Wakefield’s servant arrived to clean up the remains and collapse the table, and within moments David was alone.

  His office gave him a view of the street. When the room was quiet, outside noises easily reached him. David went back to his paperwork but found it impossible to concentrate until after the sounds made by Wakefield’s barouche faded away.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  At precisely ten o’clock, Scott’s man called at her door.

  The servant towered over her, a strapping tree trunk of a man. Charlotte’s nerves crawled from her stomach to her throat as she approached the waiting clarence coach, her mind jumping between the unknown orphans and Scott. She’d tried telling herself his steady blue gaze wasn’t responsible for the acute awareness that assailed her in his presence, but she knew the truth of it. She’d barely slept. Come morning she’d felt queasy, but remembering her recent faint she forced herself to eat a little breakfast.

  A small cart attached to the back of Scott’s coach held his wheeled chair. Scott didn’t use the usual heavy, high-backed type Charlotte was familiar with. Instead, his chair appeared very like a regular sitting chair. Contoured and low-backed, made of cane and mahogany, the chair’s seat and armrests were padded and upholstered with green velvet. In addition to the added footrest, the chair had been modified by removing its legs and securing the seat to two large wheels. Given the chair’s lesser size and weight, Scott was able to roll himself about. Charlotte thought the larger, traditional wheeled chairs required someone to push them. This chair gave Scott a measure of independence.

  She had no idea of their imminent destination, of how long they’d be confined together. The state her nerves were in, how would she manage a lighthearted conversation?

  As she stepped up into the shadowed interior of the coach, she accepted Scott’s extended hand. He wore an impeccable dark blue jacket and cornflower blue vest that seemed rather conservative by the current fashion. His tie matched his vest and his white shirt nearly glowed. She’d seen Lake Lucerne, and it was the same clear blue as his e
yes.

  Heat rushed up her arm and fanned through her. She sat beside him, looked into his shuttered face, and the nearness of David Scott overwhelmed her. Uncomfortably warm, and fearing he might sense her unease, she lowered her gaze. Blast. She hadn’t felt this keen awareness of a man since her days as a young bride, and as much as she didn’t want to admit it, her awareness of Haliday was never this potent.

  Realizing their hands remained linked, she pulled hers away. Her cheeks burned. Pressing her back against the coach seat, she concentrated on keeping a small space between herself and Mr. Scott. She could have wailed. She didn’t want to be attracted to this man. As honorable as he seemed, she never again wanted to entrust her heart to another.

  But Haliday wasn’t a trustworthy man, and Mr. Scott is.

  As far as she knew, he’d been honest with her. He hadn’t hidden that he’d been disturbed by her forwardness at the ball nor that he didn’t want her working for him. Yet he’d been kind as well.

  The carriage gave a small jerk and began to move.

  “Good morning,” Charlotte said, busying herself with her ash-gray skirt.

  “You’re on time.”

  A quick glance revealed an expression that complemented his surprised tone.

  “Of course.”

  “There’s no ‘of course’ about it. At least in my experience, ladies are rarely punctual.”

  She knew his assessment correctly applied to too many ladies of her acquaintance, those who intentionally made gentlemen wait. She’d always detested such nonsense.

  “Well, you needn’t expect me to keep you waiting,” she asserted.

  Oh. Wait. Charlotte was suddenly taken aback. Could one of the ladies he referred to be a wife? Why had she assumed he was unmarried? Her chest tightened as if someone had tugged hard on her laces. The way he’d kissed her, she’d assumed… But…oh, no. She really couldn’t breathe.

  “Is your wife the lady who makes you wait?”

  Scott’s head jerked. “Wife? I’m not married.” His jaw went tight. “I’m…crippled, Lady Haliday.”

  “Why would that matter to a woman who loved you?” In Charlotte’s experience, it was the inside of a man that was important. She supposed she still believed in love, at least in regard to Jane and Phillip. “Unless you can’t—”

  She gasped, and her hand flew to cover her mouth. They stared at each other. No. She hadn’t almost just asked if he were able to perform as a man.

  The tension in Scott’s face released, his lips parted, and a choked sound emerged from his mouth. Laughing? He was laughing at her! Charlotte frowned, hating the way his smile made his eyes shine and her breath catch.

  His face smoothed, except the curves at the corners of his mouth. “I could marry, but I hardly think it’d be fair to my wife. By necessity I live a restricted life.”

  Charlotte pressed her lips together, determined to withhold all further comments.

  Scott turned to the window. She wanted to look down at his legs, but she didn’t. She’d die of curiosity before she let him catch her staring at his crippled appendages.

  They rode in silence for long minutes. No morning haze existed to dampen the pale brightness of the sky, which appeared nearly white. Charlotte squinted out the window until her tired eyes began to tear.

  “How far are we going?” she asked.

  Scott turned. “To Gray’s Inn Road in North London. There’s a family of five children, aged between three and twelve, in temporary lodging. We’ll check on them, make sure their circumstances have been acceptable. I’ve managed to find permanent situations for them.”

  Charlotte welcomed the renewed formality in his voice.

  “I’ll be overseeing the construction of an orphanage built with Fund money, and once it’s available it will make things easier. Until then we’ll try to find acceptable prospects for the orphans.”

  “You found a home for five children? That’s wonderful.”

  “Not together,” he amended. “No one would take all five Butler children. There’s a couple willing to take the two youngest girls, and I can send the boys to boarding school. I couldn’t find a family to take the oldest girl, so I obtained a good position for her to go to, not yet having a Fund orphanage. They’ll all have comfortable situations. The Nelsons expect to adopt the two little girls, and Hiram Nelson owns a successful import business.”

  Charlotte heard satisfaction in Scott’s voice, and he had every right to be proud. She couldn’t help but be impressed. London held so many orphans. More and more, journalists wrote of the unprotected children who populated much of the city’s workforce. She had only to look out the carriage window to see children at each street crossing sweeping refuse from the paths of the genteel. A vision of others hunched over factory worktables rose in her mind. Rather than surrendering his orphans to such fates, Scott had managed to arrange something more agreeable.

  Without warning, wonder rushed through her. Gooseflesh rose on her arms. She was part of this now. She was going to comfort and help children who’d lost their fathers and women whose husbands had died in service to the Crown. Excitement fluttered in her chest, yet at the same time she realized fear resided there, too. How she met this challenge would affect other lives. Nothing she’d ever done had felt like this.

  The coach stopped, and the activities of those outside told her they’d reached their destination. A moment later Scott’s herculean servant handed Charlotte down from the carriage into a working-class neighborhood, and she stood aside and watched as together he and the less imposing driver retrieved Scott’s wheelchair. They brought it to the open door, and Charlotte realized they were going to assist Scott from the carriage. She knew she should probably step away and turn her back to the scene, but all she could do was stand and watch.

  Scott appeared in the carriage door, suspended in his sling. Within moments he’d lowered himself into the wheelchair. His giant, whom she heard called Boone, held Scott’s lower legs as he descended. Watching the effort in Scott’s face and the care Boone took, Charlotte was struck again with a sense of observing what should by rights be private, yet she couldn’t tear her gaze away.

  The entire transfer was accomplished quickly and efficiently. Scott positioned his feet and legs just so and gave his waistcoat and coat a couple tugs. Boone moved behind the chair, and Scott’s sharp gaze met Charlotte’s eyes. His mouth tightened, and heat rushed to her face.

  Oh, Lord. What is wrong with me, staring at him this way?

  “Shall we?” he asked.

  Boone maneuvered Scott’s chair so his back was to the five waiting steps. “Simpson,” he called, and then the driver positioned himself in front of Scott. With calm deliberation Boone tilted the wheelchair back. Simpson pushed the chair from the front, Boone pulled from behind, and they slowly rolled the chair up the steps.

  Their knock at the door was met promptly, and a faded-looking maid led the party to a small parlor. The worn rug and divan gave the room a neglected air, in spite of the abundance of porcelain figurines perched on every surface.

  The woman who next appeared resembled a life-size version of one of her own miniatures. Curls that had once been blonde but were now nearly colorless tumbled about her lined, middle-aged face. Layer after ruffled layer cascaded down the skirt of her pale blue dress and foamed from her neckline and elbow-length sleeves. She needed only a chip straw Pamela bonnet and a basket of flowers to completely duplicate one of her figurines.

  Within minutes, Scott had introduced their hostess as Mrs. Russell and tea was served. Simpson returned to the carriage. Boone somehow melted into the corner of the room.

  “It’s been an adjustment,” Mrs. Russell said in a burdened tone.

  “And how are the children adapting?” Scott inquired.

  Flounces swayed as their hostess straightened. “They’ve managed fine, as children are wont to do. They should be grateful, as burdensome as they are. Truly, I’ve not the stamina to care for five. The strain would hav
e buckled me if I’d been less determined. It’s lucky the oldest miss is capable. She’s helped a bit,” Mrs. Russell admitted with a sniff.

  “I believe you’ve been compensated enough to put mutton or the like on your table,” Scott said. Many tables in London couldn’t boast of meat, and Charlotte suspected there had been times in the past Mrs. Russell had gone without.

  “You give me enough to feed them. Don’t think I’m getting wealthy.”

  Charlotte looked back and forth between Scott and Mrs. Russell. They’d only exchanged a few words and both were bristling like hedgehogs. Scott was glowering, and Mrs. Russell’s nose was so high in the air that Charlotte worried she might tip over. How in the world could the woman have such a horrid attitude and be employed by the Fund? Charlotte hoped Mrs. Russell wasn’t typical of the foster mothers being used.

  Afraid the two combatants might explode, she spoke up. “You provided a safe haven and allowed them to stay together. We’re grateful for that. Caring for five children must be quite difficult.”

  Mrs. Russell’s head canted. “I had five of my own, but they didn’t come as close together as these. They’re three, four, five and six. ’Course, the older girl, she’s but a half-sister to the rest of them. There’s six years between her and the six-year-old.”

  “I’d like to see them,” Scott said in a milder tone.

  Mrs. Russell’s tense shoulders eased. She left the room, dress aflutter like an armada of ships with luffing sails, stopped at the bottom of the stairs and called up. “Miss! Bring them down. The Queen’s man is here.” When quiet was the only response, she called again, voice pitched high enough to carry all the way up the stairs. “Eleanor! Come down here, miss.”

  There came sounds of shuffling feet overhead, and Mrs. Russell returned to the parlor. Then thunder rolled down the narrow stairs. The two boys, appearing to be the five- and six-year-olds, arrived first. One glance established them as brothers. They had nearly identical, round, apple-cheeked faces and bright red hair. The small girl who came next literally raced to the door of the parlor and stopped.