A Hero to Hold

by Sheri Humphreys

  The three children stood poised in the doorway. Charlotte glanced at Scott. The children obviously weren’t permitted into the parlor and complied with that edict by stopping at the door.

  “Missy!” Mrs. Russell scolded. “If you don’t slow down, you’re going to break something. And that had best not happen.”

  Three pairs of green eyes widened. The girl took a step back, but a narrow, fine-boned hand came down on her shoulder.

  “You needn’t worry, ma’am. Hannah knows not to come in here.” The slim, dark-haired girl suddenly behind the other three wasn’t a child and wasn’t yet a woman. The blue dress she wore, faded and several inches too short, revealed a body just beginning to bud into womanhood. She wore glasses and carried a younger, female version of the two boys—a round-faced little cherub with plump, cherry-red lips and the clear, pale skin of a redhead. The spectacles looked too heavy for her delicate face.

  “Eleanor, I’m Mr. Scott. I’ve come to see how you’re faring here.”

  The quiet timbre of Scott’s voice conveyed the utmost kindness. It reminded Charlotte of the soothing way he’d spoken when she fainted.

  The moppet curled a pudgy hand around her eldest sister’s neck and laid her head on Eleanor’s shoulder. Eleanor pushed her drooping glasses to the bridge of her nose and said, “We’re doing just fine.”

  Scott nodded once. “I believe I’ve found homes for you.”

  The glasses didn’t reduce the sudden heat of Eleanor’s gaze. Fierce green eyes surveyed the group, and the arm that held the moppet tightened. “Together?”

  “No. But I swear they’re good situations.”

  Eleanor’s face revealed nothing of her thoughts. “Can’t we stay here, then?”

  “For now you can. But it’s not a permanent situation.”

  The three younger children stared at their older sister. They’d each drawn closer to her, and Hannah’s hand twisted in Eleanor’s skirts. The child looked up at her sister, lower lip quivering. “Ellie?”

  Eleanor waited so long to answer, Charlotte wondered if she hadn’t heard. Then she saw the bright gleam of tears in Eleanor’s eyes.

  “There’s no decision to be made,” Mrs. Russell said. “The sooner the better, I say.”

  Scott kept his gaze locked with Eleanor’s. “I knew your father,” he said.

  Eleanor blinked and caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Truly?”

  The words had captured the two boys’ attention, too. “You knew Father?” the youngest asked.

  The barest sort of smile curved Scott’s lips. “Not well, but yes. John Butler was a brave soldier and a fine sergeant major. I’m honored to assist his family.”

  For a moment ephemeral warmth shimmered, as if the children’s collective sighs hovered in the air.

  “What are your names?” Scott asked.

  “I’m Joshua, and this is Thomas,” the taller boy said.

  “And that’s Hannah and Amelia,” Thomas supplied.

  “Well, Joshua, could you take charge of the girls while I chat with Eleanor?”

  Joshua’s chest seemed to expand before Charlotte’s eyes. “Yes, sir,” he said.

  “Why don’t you go outside and look at the gentleman’s horses?” Eleanor suggested. “Just stay on the steps.”

  Eleanor set Amelia down, and Joshua took the little girl’s hand. The four youngest trooped toward the front door, the boys adjusting their pace to match their smallest sister’s. As soon as the front door closed, Eleanor spoke.

  “We want to stay together, even if it’s in an orphanage.” Her hands fisted; her narrow chin tipped. “I’ll take care of them, and as soon as I can get work I’ll make a home for us.”

  Charlotte cringed. As determined as the girl was, there was no way she could support them all. But Scott nodded as if the plan was sound.

  “That’s several years away. What if I send the boys to boarding school for now?”

  “School?” The yearning in the girl’s voice was clear.

  “This one’s a dreamer,” Mrs. Russell accused. “Always drawing pictures or staring off into space. Don’t seem natural, if you ask me.”

  Charlotte stiffened, insulted for the girl, but Eleanor’s only reaction was a firming of her mouth. Charlotte admired the restraint. During her school years she had often been called different, at first because of her lack of social standing and the wealth of her father, later because of her unusual education. She’d received a lady’s instruction, but when she’d shown an interest and aptitude for subjects more typical of a boy’s schooling, her father had her tutored in math, literature, history and several languages.

  For a long moment, Scott gazed at Eleanor. “I believe I’ve found a good home for the girls.”

  Eleanor’s face remained blank. “And what of myself, sir?”

  Scott hesitated, but only briefly. “I’ve found a place for you in service, below-stairs in the home of Mrs. Prescott-Hughes.”

  An involuntary gasp escaped Charlotte. Scott sent her a questioning look then returned his gaze to Eleanor.

  “It’s a suitable position for you. And your brothers and sisters will have good situations.”

  Everything in Charlotte shouted no. She knew Mrs. Prescott-Hughes, and it would be difficult to find a meaner gossip. The woman perpetually looked as if she’d just sucked on a lemon, and her pursed lips took every opportunity to criticize the world around her. Her daughter Frances had come out the same year as Charlotte. Frances stammered and was miserable at social gatherings; around her mother she maintained downcast eyes and slumped shoulders, her pale fingers invariably twisted together. Charlotte had actually seen Mrs. Prescott-Hughes publicly harangue her painfully shy daughter, and Charlotte had no doubt the entire Prescott-Hughes household cringed in just the same way Frances did. The steady-eyed Eleanor simply could not go there.

  Eleanor’s face was unreadable, but Charlotte saw almost imperceptible tension filling the girl’s body. She had already lost both parents. This plan would leave her alone, out of contact with the brothers and sisters she’d cared for and protected. How could Scott ask that of her?

  “Well,” Mrs. Russell remarked, her voice laced with great satisfaction. “That’s settled, then. Miss, you should be mighty grateful to Mr. Scott.”

  Eleanor started. Her eyes looked fever-bright. Her gaze moved between the three adults, then, pleading, returned to Charlotte. A moment later, Eleanor’s gaze dropped to the floor.

  Something inside Charlotte dropped, too. This couldn’t be the best option. There had to be something else that could be done, some way to keep the children together. Scott’s solution had seemed fine before she met them, but now…discontent gripped her. She didn’t want to believe Scott was satisfied with this arrangement, either. She wanted to be alone with him, close enough to look past his restrained expression and seek the emotion—the caring—she sensed he kept concealed deep inside.

  A slight movement drew her gaze to his hands. Curled around his chair’s armrests, his fingers pressed into the wood until they blanched.

  “What if,” Charlotte began, “you went into service in my house instead?”

  Eleanor and Scott both jerked their heads toward her.

  “We’ll make sure you have opportunities to see your brothers and sisters as well.”

  As the words flew from her mouth, Charlotte watched the tension leave Eleanor’s slim body. Certainty settled within her. This would keep Eleanor safe, and perhaps in time something better could be arranged. She couldn’t tell what Scott thought, though. His momentary expression of surprise had refashioned to a businesslike blandness.

  #

  David wanted to chastise the viscountess for her impulsiveness, but he could hardly do that when gladness filled his heart. He’d been sick when he couldn’t find a way to keep the Butler children together. The oldest girl’s situation no longer seemed so distressing.

  He arranged to pick up the Butlers the next day, and they all said their good-bye
s. Eleanor bobbed a curtsy, a wary but hopeful look on her face.

  As soon as the coach was underway, he felt Charlotte settle her gaze on him. The set of her mouth was pure stubbornness, but her eyes…her eyes were like distant stars.

  “You know you can’t take them all in,” he found himself saying. “Kind as it was.”

  Her mouth curved, and the stars ignited a blaze in his chest that shocked him, so caution rushed in to temper the flare. It was difficult to believe that his acceptance of her decision meant so much, but the evidence was right before his eyes. His chest grew tight. The urge to shake her was no less strong than the urge to kiss her, damn it!

  “But I can take her in.”

  “Would Mrs. Prentiss-Hughes have been so terrible?”

  “Actually, yes. I know the lady.”

  “Ahhh. I didn’t realize. I thought it would be a good position. In the future…well, I’m not sure how we can determine unacceptable billets.”

  Charlotte’s eyebrows rose. “We? You’re going to let me work with you then?”

  “You already knew that.”

  “But you don’t want me.”

  He nearly groaned. If she only knew how much he did want her. His wanting was at the root of most of his objections. Today she’d shown generosity and compassion, and her eyes told him how much this position meant to her. Somehow, he must ignore his unwanted emotions. Failing that, he’d hide them. She deserved his acceptance.

  “You’ve convinced me. You were good with the children both yesterday and today.”

  Her reply was nearly a whisper. “I didn’t expect them to touch me the way they do.”

  And David hadn’t wanted to know her like this, but it was too late. He had already seen that she was a warmhearted, caring woman.

  A strange look came over her face, as if she wanted to say more but couldn’t. Then words came out in a tremulous rush: “Eleanor especially. She’s the same age I was when my mother died.”

  David couldn’t help himself. He reached for her hand, and Charlotte gripped his in return. Her purple-blue eyes were dark pools. He’d never wanted to hold a woman as much as he wanted to hold this one now, but…

  “You’ll be able to protect her,” he said. “Take care of her.”

  Her eyes lightened, dispelling the shadows. The aloof expression so often in evidence was absent, and instead, her face bore an open vulnerability. “Yes.”

  A tremulous smile curved her lips. For an instant her fingers tightened on his, but then they slipped away.

  An ache rocked up from the depths of David. He’d thought her not only tenacious but arrogant, the way she’d stood up to him and insisted he let her work, the way she’d confronted Lady Garret. He’d been wrong. She had perfected this look of composure, but with him her mask slipped. Again and again he’d caught glimpses of the real woman: the instant she realized he couldn’t walk, the moment she’d lost herself in his kiss, and now, with this young orphan. Charlotte Haliday was a woman of deep feeling. Last year’s gossip must have been torment for her.

  He quickly admonished himself. She’d already aroused his desire, and now the viscountess was garnering his admiration? This time he’d excuse himself, but he’d not let it happen again. He turned his head away and hardened his will. For however long they worked together, he would show the same mastery of his emotions he’d always shown on the battlefield.

  He swore it.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  For the first time in two years, Charlotte felt reasonably comfortable in a ballroom. Tonight she was attracting no undue notice, and she could focus on her cause. Her tension was nowhere near as keen as it had been at that first ball where she met Scott.

  This ball had a purpose—to raise capital for the Patriotic Fund. Jane and Etherton had been extraordinarily helpful. They rarely entertained on such a scale, and nearly all their invitations had been accepted. Charlotte hoped Jane’s generosity would be just the beginning. If this was successful, others could be expected to host similar gatherings. Having the charity endorsed by Queen Victoria and Prince Albert helped, too.

  Charlotte looked to where Scott sat deep in conversation. He had no sense of social hierarchy! She imagined it stemmed from his years in the cavalry. She knew his brother was the Earl of Bridgewaite, but Scott had absolutely no attitude of superiority about him. She couldn’t think of another gentleman who’d converse with a footman the way Scott was doing now, and his face, alight with vitality, stirred something deep inside her. She wanted to be closer, wanted to be the recipient of that smile and the warm regard in his eyes.

  She strolled toward the men, watching animation play over Scott’s face, but curiosity slowed her steps at the footman’s words.

  “My brother was in the Grenadier Guards. He fell at Inkerman.”

  Scott angled his head, and his carefree expression fell away. A look of pain replaced it. “We lost too many fine men at Inkerman, and the Grenadier Guards took more casualties there than any other regiment. They wouldn’t stop—just kept pressing on.”

  “Billy wasn’t one to give up. He would have been one to push forward as hard as he could.”

  “Did he leave a wife? Children?”

  “No. But it’s good to see this ball benefitting the loved ones left behind.” Without relaxing his stiff posture, the footman reached inside his coat and withdrew several coins. He extended them to Scott. “Might I make a donation, sir?”

  Surprise stilled Charlotte. A servant making a donation? She’d never heard of such a thing. But why not? Why hadn’t she realized that this cause touched all hearts? And she suspected the coins this footman offered represented a far more generous, open-hearted contribution than the much larger donations expected later tonight from wealthy guests.

  Charlotte moved up next to Scott’s chair as he accepted the footman’s coins. This close, she couldn’t deny his presence affected her in extremely disturbing ways. Each day at the office she attributed her awareness of him to a desire to prove herself and be regarded as an asset, but tonight she was unable to evade the truth.

  She wore a new gown of deep purple silk and lace, beautiful in spite of its adhering to the etiquette of half-mourning, and she’d allowed Rebecca to spend extra time dressing her hair, twining a rope of pearls through the shining black knot at her nape. The maid had been most pleased with Charlotte’s sophisticated appearance, but Charlotte hadn’t been able to take more than one quick look in her mirror. The reflection had seemed that of a poised woman whose flushed cheeks and jewel-bright eyes revealed underlying excitement. But how would Scott see her?

  His gaze swept over her, and Charlotte’s nervousness intensified into a fierce quivering in the pit of her stomach. At work his straightforward, uncritical demeanor allowed her to concentrate on learning her duties. Only tonight, as she donned silk stockings and scented her skin with perfume, had she allowed herself to imagine him seeing her as a desirable woman instead of as an associate.

  Almost immediately, Scott looked away. “Thank you, Herbert,” he said. “Your money will be put to good use.”

  She’d seen him before in evening dress, but the events of that night had obscured everything but the look in his eyes, the feel of his arms and lips. Now, in the light of the ballroom chandeliers, Scott appeared the epitome of refined masculine elegance. His starched white shirt, white waistcoat and tie, coupled with black tailcoat and trousers, were the standard eveningwear of gentlemen, but he made it all look remarkable. The severe color scheme emphasized the chiseled strength of his face, the sloping breadth of his shoulders.

  “Good evening.”

  Next to her, Miles Wakefield bowed then straightened and grinned. Charlotte managed to conceal her surprise. She’d been so intent on Scott, she hadn’t even noticed the footman moving away and Wakefield approaching.

  “When do you muster out?” Scott asked, indicating the regimental dress uniform the other man wore.

  “Less than a month—the end of June.”

 
; It had been a couple of weeks since Wakefield announced he intended to leave the Queen’s service, though the time had passed extremely quickly for Charlotte. She had been busier than ever before in her life, learning the workings of the Fund. Most of her time was delegated to correspondence with local fundraising committee chairmen and women all over England. In addition, she met with women and children who came to the office requesting assistance. She’d even grown easy talking with them.

  “My lady, might I have the honor of the next dance?” Wakefield asked.

  Charlotte stared into his nutmeg-colored eyes and felt the weight of Scott’s blue gaze upon her as well. Was it difficult for him, watching every other man in the room doing what he could not? Had he liked to dance? She expected Wakefield to be an accomplished partner, but it was Scott she yearned to waltz with. Even knowing it was an impossible and futile desire.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’d be delighted.”

  Wakefield stayed close, and the two men talked. A short time later a new set began. At the first strains of the waltz, Wakefield offered his arm.

  It had been almost two years since Charlotte danced, but her partner made it effortless. For a moment she was aware of watchful eyes around her, and Charlotte wondered if they were monitoring her scandalous self or Wakefield’s golden beauty, but then he distracted her.

  “How is Scott? How is he really?”

  Unfailingly correct, she almost answered as Wakefield led her through a particularly deep turn. She wasn’t sure exactly why he was asking. His frown gave an impression of worry.

  “He’s very even-tempered,” she replied.

  “Does he laugh?”

  Only once. And with few exceptions, his smiles held no real humor. They were—pleasant.

  “He smiles, but he doesn’t laugh.”

  “Impatient?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Well, I guess I’d expect him to be patient with you. What about Chetney and Boone? Does he get short with them?”

  “No.”

  “He’s got all the hatches battened down, then.” Wakefield swung Charlotte through another deep turn. He gave a small jerk of his head, indicating the room. “He must hate all this. It wasn’t intentional, but being the spokesperson for the Fund cast Scott in the figurehead role of brave, indomitable warrior.”