“He’s not a figurehead,” Charlotte said. “He’s being presented with the Victoria Cross next week. People are honored to speak with him. I’ve seen how they react. And he’s always gracious.”
Wakefield grunted. “David doesn’t care about all that hero nonsense. He hides it well, but he’s not happy.”
Those words made a boulder land inside Charlotte’s chest. She’d wondered if Scott’s circumstances ever made him angry or depressed, but he didn’t volunteer such confidences.
“David was always a man who laughed,” Wakefield continued. “I’ve no doubt he enjoys his work, but a man’s life should be more than his labors.”
Charlotte wished her partner would slow down; the man waltzed at a gallop. “He never makes excuses for himself. He’s very matter-of-fact about being crippled.”
“He’s a strong man.” Wakefield’s mouth tightened. “A better man than I am. Yet I’m dancing and he’s in that damnable chair.”
Ah. So Wakefield felt Scott’s circumstances strongly. Charlotte gave his hand a quick squeeze. “It’s not for us to question God’s plan. Your friend seems to be managing well enough.”
Right there on the dance floor, Wakefield stopped. Charlotte’s momentum carried her into him, and her breath left her with a soft humpf. The lord major put his hands on her shoulders and steadied her.
“I didn’t see much evidence of God’s plan on the battlefield, and I’m the reason he’s in that chair.”
For an instant shock held Charlotte immobile, then she pulled Wakefield to an empty spot at the side of the room and struggled to recall what the Times article had said. Scott had stopped during a retreat to assist an injured officer. It was after he’d gotten that officer headed toward safety that he suffered his injuries. So, Wakefield was the injured officer Scott had rescued?
She pulled him with her and put her back to the wall. Facing her, his expression was hidden from the room’s other occupants.
“You mustn’t blame yourself.” Charlotte pitched her voice to sound as fierce as she imagined a commanding officer might. “I don’t believe Scott does. He hasn’t ever made you feel he blames you, has he?”
“I told you, he’s a better man than I.” Wakefield’s face and body were taut as pulled wire. “If it had been the other way round I’d have detested him.”
Charlotte stared at Wakefield’s tormented expression, lost for words that might comfort. She finally just squeezed his elbow. His head dropped forward, and he took several deep breaths.
They’d attracted some attention. Charlotte hated the inquisitive looks but ignored them. If this conversation resulted in a re-shredding of her reputation, then so be it. Wakefield’s unjustified shame had finally overcome him and prompted him to reveal his deepest feelings. He needed solace. This was too important to censor because of appearances.
“No. You wouldn’t have hated him,” she said after a moment. “And you’d have done everything in your power to reassure him. I think if Scott knew how you felt he’d be very disturbed.”
“He knows I feel remorse. He just doesn’t know the degree of my guilt.”
“You hide it from him,” Charlotte murmured.
“I try to, but it’s not easy.” Wakefield gave her a narrow-eyed look. “He knows me too well. We were put into the same house room at Eton, and we’ve been the best of friends ever since.” His mouth tightened. “Scott always knew he was for the military, and I decided to follow him. We managed to purchase commissions in the same regiment.”
He paused and his lids dropped, effectively shielding his eyes. Charlotte just waited.
“That day…David survived the battle and would have been safe behind our lines if he hadn’t come back to help me. I’m the reason he lost the use of his legs.” Wakefield’s head came up, and he searched Charlotte’s face. “Night fell, and he was left for dead on the battlefield. I can’t even imagine the hell he went through until I found him the next day.” Wakefield took a great breath, and a short, harsh laugh erupted from his chest. “He’s so bloody independent, he won’t let me do anything to help him. He won’t even let me talk about it!”
“He lets you be his friend,” Charlotte said. “And you can talk to me whenever you like.”
Wakefield smoothed his mustache and gave his head a little shake. “Well, I don’t know why I chose now to give vent to my guilt, but I feel better having told someone.”
#
Charlotte and Wakefield. David couldn’t stop watching them, though he knew he should. Yet, why? It was not as if he should worry his attention would draw them additional notice. They certainly weren’t attempting any discretion themselves, cozied up next to the wall and engaged in some obviously intense private conversation. A number of other guests showed interest, as evidenced by pointed nods and whispers.
Equal parts shock and chagrin warred within him. Charlotte had convinced him of her sincerity. He’d felt sorry for her, rot it! And here she was, making a spectacle of herself, drawing eyes and conjecture. Perhaps she was indeed as scandalous and cold as the gossip made out.
His body steamed, his tie cinched his neck, and he’d have given anything, anything, right then, for legs to carry him out of that stuffy damned ballroom. Or better yet, across to Wakefield and Charlotte so he could ask them just what they thought they were doing, engaging in an intimate conversation in such a public place. Their faces were intense and they stood too, too close. What was wrong with Wakefield anyway? As a gentleman he should be aware his actions would result in criticism and Charlotte would catch the brunt of it.
David swiped the edge of his hand across his mouth. Tonight’s guests were here for a charitable purpose, and he hadn’t detected any animosity toward Charlotte among them. He’d been watching, and men and women alike had been convivial and respectful. So what was Charlotte doing? Were she and Wakefield now so enamored of each other that they’d lost all propriety and care for Charlotte’s patched reputation? Did they care for nothing but their attraction?
“I don’t know what put that scowl on your face, but I’d hate to be the cause of it myself.”
David looked up to see Lady Etherton’s tentative smile. Her lips and cheeks were as pink as the roses that littered the silk of her gown.
He knew the woman to be Charlotte’s good friend, and she had been more than gracious to him as hostess as well, so he looked pointedly in the direction of Charlotte and Wakefield. “If your friend the viscountess is really concerned about regaining the good opinion of society, she should take better care of her actions.”
Lady Etherton stiffened. “Charlotte wouldn’t engage in unseemly behavior. You don’t know her.”
David was immune to the reprimand. He knew the viscountess better than Lady Etherton appreciated, and more than that he knew Wakefield. Miles was irresistible to women. His golden, Greek-god looks drew them like iron shavings to lodestone. And yet, as much as Miles enjoyed females, David had never known his friend to take unfair advantage of one. He drew in a long breath and centered himself.
“Regardless of how things are,” he pointed out, loathing the fact, “it’s how they’re perceived by society that matters. I’d say Lady Haliday knows that better than most. Or should.”
He didn’t give a damn about society, but that didn’t make his pronouncement any less true. Lady Etherton’s pained expression confirmed her agreement with his opinion. Then her face cleared. A quick glance showed that Charlotte and Wakefield were making their way back.
Lady Etherton turned. “If you’re ready, we’d like to introduce you to the assemblage now.”
The plan had been for Lord and Lady Etherton to introduce him as Chairman of the Patriotic Fund’s Executive Committee, and David would in turn make a short speech thanking the guests for their donations. All evening he’d been girding himself for this. He wasn’t just David Scott any longer, and Lord Etherton would be introducing him as a hero of the highest order. Next week he was being awarded the Victoria Cross. All eyes would be o
n him, the crippled hero in his wheelchair. He’d best get accustomed to that.
The thought made him grit his teeth. He had his share of citations and medals, but none of them had garnered the kind of attention this Victoria Cross did. He’d seen tears fill the eyes of soft-hearted women. The young just stared slack-jawed and speechless while battle-hardened veterans regarded him with respect. The Times touted his bravery on the battlefield and also had the appallingly bad taste to commend him for his current life. Then and now, he only did what he must. He wasn’t anyone special. The real heroes were still there, resting under the muddy fields of the Crimea.
Well, perhaps the medal would help him get more donations for the widows and orphans of those brave men. If it did, he could bear being a person of note.
He looked up at the waiting Lady Etherton. “I’m at your service,” he said, using the opportunity to practice a smile he didn’t feel.
Lord Etherton arrived at the same time as Wakefield and Charlotte. David shot Miles a look and was gratified to see his friend flush. He had every intention of having a few words with Wakefield about his inappropriate tête-à-tête. It was none of David’s concern if there was something between his friend and Charlotte, but he’d be damned if he’d watch them at it.
He ignored the surge of hurt that welled up in him. When she’d started working for him she’d managed to rouse his sympathy, but if tonight was representative of her behavior he’d been premature to excuse her. Why in bloody hell had he believed her when she tried to explain away their kiss as something out of the ordinary? Because, he admitted with reluctance, he’d desired her in spite of knowing better. He was as gullible and foolish as Wakefield now appeared. He’d best mind his obligation to the Patriotic Fund instead. If Charlotte began to jeopardize what he was trying to accomplish, he’d simply discharge her. He didn’t need the distraction or the aggravation.
The thing of it was, as reluctant as he’d been to take her on, the past few weeks Lady Haliday had proven herself, always prompt and showing nothing but compassion and kindness toward the women and children they were helping. He’d expected arrogance and defensiveness, but she’d shown none—perhaps because she came from new wealth rather than the aristocracy. He didn’t know exactly how her father had obtained his seed money, but it was common knowledge he’d started as a laborer.
Yes, that must be it.
“Well, it appears we’re ready,” Lord Etherton said.
With a wave of his hand, David summoned Boone over to push his chair to the end of the ballroom. Etherton kept pace.
“I’ve had a number of people express a desire to meet you, Scott. I suspect your Patriotic Fund coffers are going to see significant growth after tonight.”
“I appreciate everything you’ve done,” David replied. “I’ve had several people indicate an interest in hosting similar festivities.”
“Well, it was Lady Haliday who got Lady Etherton to do it. Your thanks are best addressed to her.”
David nodded, but he was disinclined to praise Lady Haliday. He had no intention of complimenting her. She had other admirers aplenty.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
David hated Sundays. The Patriotic Fund offices were closed and the day stretched long and empty in front of him. His brother Julian, his wife Anne, and their children, Edmund, Simon, and Sarah, would be at church services this morning.
The earls of Bridgewaite and their families had worshipped at the Tenbury Wells church for generations, and lingering over his morning coffee David imagined his brother and family sitting in the earl’s pew, Simon on the end, fingers tracing the initials that David had carved in the wood so many years before. Julian often joked that Simon took after him. David’s nephew admired and often imitated him, certainly. The boy was already a fearless rider. But watching Simon galloping his pony, wooden saber extended as he bellowed with a child’s version of blood-curdling yells, didn’t make David laugh as it did Simon’s mother and father. David didn’t want Simon automatically following the drum as the second son frequently did, yet he couldn’t find a way to explain his feelings to the others.
He missed the children, Anne, and the comfort of Summerbridge. He even missed Julian, although his brother’s worry was enough to drive him to Bedlam. When he’d first arrived home from the Crimea, Julian’s protectiveness was welcome, but it became stifling as David’s body healed and he struggled for independence. Finally, against Julian’s wishes, lame and with little money and no income, David had taken himself to London.
He’d experienced as much trepidation as he’d ever felt facing the enemy. His father had long ago given up the Bridgewaite London townhouse to settle a debt, so David didn’t even have the benefit of a family residence. Julian was still struggling to right the muddle in which their father left the estate, and David had been determined not to add to his brother’s responsibilities. So the Patriotic Fund Executive Committee Chairman position was heaven-sent, and with stringent attention to his limited funds David was able to eventually secure a small townhouse and coach, both necessary for his independence. He’d been right to come to London, but days like today made Summerbridge seem very far away.
He heard indistinct voices, the sound of the front door closing, and a confident stride coming down the hall.
“Scott.”
“In here, Wakefield,” David called.
Miles appeared and tossed a small book down on the table beside him. “Look what a street boy left at my townhouse this morning.”
Even before he opened the slim, bright green publication and gazed at the title page, David knew. A Marriage Most Awkward by Lady G.
He snapped the book shut and tossed it back on the table, then looked up at grim-faced Wakefield. “It appears you provoked someone who wants to make sure you know who you danced with last night.”
“Whoever sent it is vindictive as hell,” Wakefield said. “It’s been nearly two years since the book first appeared. Of course, since we were in the Crimea, I’d never actually seen it.”
“We knew all about the commotion it caused from the newspapers, though.”
Wakefield poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down. “I hope the long conversation I had with her last night didn’t bring any of this back for anyone. I know I appropriated her attention, but I didn’t think we attracted undue notice.”
“You must be joking.” David struggled to rein in his temper, but he couldn’t deny that Wakefield’s guilt gave him a little spark of gladness. “What were you thinking, cuddling up with her like that? The two of you are probably the topic of discussion at every breakfast table this morning.”
Wakefield straightened. His rising coffee cup reversed course and hit its saucer with a clink. “We weren’t ‘cuddling up.’ We had a brief conversation and were completely decorous.”
David clenched his fists. “It appeared inappropriate to me, Miles, and now someone’s seen fit to dredge up all the gossip about her, at least to you.” He indicated the novel with a jut of his chin.
Wakefield turned away, and David watched a muscle tic near his friend’s eye. Miles looked like a man who’d had too much champagne and not enough sleep.
Clouting Wakefield further probably wasn’t warranted, but oh, David wanted to. “Just where did you go after the ball last night? Not to bed, I daresay.”
Wakefield turned back, his brown eyes razor sharp. “I took the viscountess home then went to a club.”
Something hard and base ran through David. He pictured Charlotte and Wakefield together in a private coach before he claimed to have left her and gone to a club. What kind of club? A gaming club? Or was ‘club’ a euphemism for a bawdy house? Had Wakefield found a whore with black hair and blue eyes and imagined Charlotte’s face and arms? Christ! An icy sliver twisted deep into David’s core.
He laughed harshly and tunneled his hand through his hair, then found himself saying, “She works for the Fund, and I don’t want her scandalous history dragged up again. You’d best treat her li
ke your grandmother when you’re in public.”
Wakefield’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll tell you once more. There was nothing improper about the conversation I had with Lady Haliday.”
“Well, it looked improper as hell! If it was so innocent, why did you look so guilty afterwards?”
“Because we were talking about you!”
Taken aback, David stared. “About me?”
Wakefield scrubbed his face with his hands then raised his head and took a big breath. “I told her a bit about you, about how you were injured.”
That intense conversation had been about him? David wanted to grab Wakefield and shake him until he spewed forth every exchanged word. Instead, he forced his fists open, spread his fingers and wiggled them, encouraging blood into the digits.
In all honesty, he wasn’t surprised or angry that Charlotte and Wakefield had talked about his crippled legs. Early on, he realized people were curious about him. But David clamped his teeth together. He would not ask if Charlotte had expressed pity. Bad enough to think of Wakefield and Charlotte discussing him, which brought back the lack of confidence he’d worked so hard to overcome after his injury.
He stared Wakefield down and felt a dull satisfaction when Miles averted his eyes. “You’d best go,” David said. “I don’t want to know any more.”
Looking grim, Wakefield went.
#
David’s stomach growled, and he rubbed his hand over it. They’d been busy with their individual duties since arriving this Monday morning and it was past time for luncheon.
Ordinarily, the Fund staff all ate together around Chetney’s desk. It had become a highlight of David’s day over the past weeks, even though the respite provided equal measures torture and delight. He’d been having the devil of a time keeping his eyes off Charlotte’s lips—hardly gentlemanly behavior, especially given his position as her superior. He was usually able to drag his eyes away, but invariably they landed on her eyes, her bosom, her hair, her neck… Oh, blast! There wasn’t any part of her he didn’t want to look at. He’d been successfully hiding the fact, but it was difficult always being on guard. It certainly didn’t aid his digestion.
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