“But you must join Lady Bridgewaite and myself, Lady Haliday.”
Charlotte started. It would certainly be enjoyable to have the companionship of Scott’s family during the proceedings. Had Scott discussed her with his brother? Did the earl know of her reputation and it simply did not matter to him? Not by voice or expression did he betray the slightest hesitation.
“Oh, that would be delightful! If you’re quite sure?”
“Of course I am. And you must join us afterwards. You and Mr. Chetney. We’re planning a little celebration at the hotel. We’ve invited Lord Wakefield, too.”
Bridgewaite indeed seemed very certain. Within a few minutes they had the details settled, and Scott’s brother took his leave. As he did, the loneliness and touch of self-pity Charlotte had been feeling were completely dispelled. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt such anticipation. She wanted David Scott to see how grateful his queen and his country were. It was only right for the assemblage to recognize him as a true hero.
#
David sat at attention, waiting his turn. Bloody hell, but he hated this. Hated being on display. They’d wanted him back in uniform for the presentation. He wore the colors easily; his very bones knew the weight of them. And at least he was surrounded by comrades, and even another Cherry Picker, Lieutenant Dunn.
They were calling up the Navy and Royal Marines first, and then they would move on to the Army. David’s regiment, the 11th Hussars, was third in order of precedence. It wouldn’t be long.
He scanned the family seating, looking for Julian, Anne and the children. Lady Haliday was with them. He’d almost given up when… There. They sat near the top of the closest section of inclined seats.
As if he could tell his uncle’s eyes were on him, Edmund waved. David nodded and turned back to the proceedings.
A colorful spectacle of waving flags, military men, horses and observers stretched in every direction. The smell of gunpowder from the artillery’s royal salute still drifted in the air. As Lord Panmure read each name, the men were summoned forward to the Queen, who sat a good-looking roan, her red coat, black shirt and plumed hat distinctive and stylish. A small table, draped with a scarlet cloth, held the medals. As each man came forward, the Queen bent from her saddle and pinned the Cross to his chest.
In the past David had participated in a military review for the Queen, but he’d never been this close to his sovereign. He’d certainly never known her touch or had her pay homage to him. Today that was happening in front of thousands.
Lord Panmure suddenly called out, “Major David Scott, Eleventh Hussars,” and Boone pushed his chair forward. But a problem was immediately apparent. Seated as he was, the Queen couldn’t reach his chest.
“Please excuse us,” she said, and looked at her husband. Prince Albert gave his wife a kind look and dismounted. He took the Cross from the Queen’s hand, looked David square in the eye, pinned the Cross to his chest, and saluted. The Queen extended her black-gloved hand. Stunned, David took her fingertips and bowed his head.
The next man in line was called, and Boone wheeled David away to the accompaniment of cheering and applause.
He was glad he’d worn his uniform. He was a military man. The Cross was meant to hang on his uniform coat, eclipsing every brass button, every other medal and every bit of braid by sheer presence. David rubbed his fingers over it, the crimson ribbon and curved metal relief, thinking of the captured Russian guns that had been melted down for the bronze. Quite possibly this medal had come from the very cannon that had fired upon him.
David let his hand fall and looked out to where his family and the viscountess sat. He’d be waiting through the remaining medal presentations and the parade of troops. They’d assembled what looked to be four thousand men behind him. He expected there’d be additional band music, too.
So, here he was, a cavalryman who could no longer sit a horse. The act he’d been decorated for—which had saved Wakefield’s life—he’d done without thought. He felt no more a hero now than he had before. Danger was inherent in battle. When under fire he didn’t weigh risks before acting, and he hadn’t before going back for Wakefield, either. It seemed odd, knowing others considered him one of the bravest of men.
How did Charlotte Haliday see him? Thinking of her, the words on the Victoria Cross seemed mocking. Shouldn’t a man capable of earning such a medal face all risk with bravery? He should be the kind of man who didn’t give up. Yet when he looked at Charlotte, Viscountess Haliday, David acknowledged there were parts of his life he had definitely abandoned, that he’d been far too unsure to pursue.
Was it for the best?
#
This is what a family is like.
Charlotte gazed about the dinner table with a sense of wonder. She couldn’t recall ever sharing a meal with a child, but Scott’s brother made it clear he wanted his progeny present at the family celebration. The three children’s faces were alight with excitement, and the adoration for their uncle was easily observed.
Bridgewaite and his family had taken a suite at the luxurious Cavendish Hotel, and the earl had arranged for the use of a private dining room. Bridgewaite and Scott sat at opposite ends of the table. Lord Wakefield, Mr. Chetney and Charlotte sat on one side, the countess and the children on the other. Every few minutes one or more of the three erupted with laughter.
The quivering shimmer of the chandelier seemed to have taken up residence inside Charlotte. She’d never seen Scott as happy as he appeared tonight. Just watching him filled her with a marvelous sense of rightness. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and masculine slashes scored his cheeks. His whole person seemed to smile.
He wore his uniform, which increased his unfamiliarity. Charlotte tried not to stare, but even with her most concerted efforts she couldn’t drag her gaze away for more than a few seconds. Rather than the red coat she was accustomed to seeing troops wear, Scott wore the navy coat and scarlet pants of the 11th Hussars. His Victoria Cross dangled from its crimson ribbon, dominating a chest already heavy with decorations. His blue coat intensified the blue of his eyes, and each time their gazes met, confusion swamped her. She found the serious, contained man she worked with each day immensely appealing, but this new, laughing Scott left her giddy.
“Did the Queen smile at you, Uncle David?” asked Simon, the middle child. With his straight posture and auburn hair, the boy resembled his uncle. And if Scott had given the same smile he was flashing now, how could the Queen have resisted?
“She didn’t smile at me,” Scott replied, “but she did favor Prince Albert with one.”
Simon’s eyes widened. “He saluted you, Uncle David.”
“The Prince bestowed a great honor upon your uncle and the others,” said Lord Wakefield, who had also participated in the parade. He too was in uniform. “I’m glad I was a part of it—one of the last services I’ll perform before mustering out.”
“The Queen honored you today, but it’s the nation that paid homage,” Bridgewaite spoke up.
Scott nodded. “I’ll try to spread a bit of the tribute I received to the families benefiting from the Royal Patriotic Fund.”
Charlotte smiled. He was already doing that. She couldn’t recall a single person who’d left the Fund office not feeling better and prouder than when they arrived. She’d watched widows and children transform before her eyes. Haliday had killed her trust of humanity, yet each time she looked into Scott’s eyes Charlotte saw a man without equal. He made her feel things to which she feared giving name.
Somehow, the four-year-old Sarah’s saucy voice managed to pipe out louder than all the adults. “Why do you keep staring at Uncle David?”
Everyone stilled, and Charlotte froze. She didn’t have to look to know the little girl’s eyes were trained on her. Embarrassment swamped her, and she’d have melted away if not for Scott’s steady regard, his dark eyes full of a kind of lightness that eased a good deal of her mortification. Little Sarah’s announcement hadn’t discomf
ited him. He’d liked it.
“Sarah.” The censure in the little girl’s mother’s voice caused Sarah’s head to whip around. “Apologize to Lady Haliday at once. It’s impolite to accuse ladies of staring.”
The little girl’s mischievous look disappeared. Her little white teeth crimped her lower lip and she bowed her head. “Please excuse me, my lady.”
Oh dear, she had to say something to excuse Sarah. Even better if she could move them past the awkward revelation.
“It’s just,” Charlotte began, “that I’m not accustomed to seeing him in uniform, Sarah. He looks rather splendid, doesn’t he?”
Sarah’s head came up, an expression of relief replacing her worried frown. Her gaze swept the table and, apparently satisfied she was no longer in trouble, the child giggled. Then the next course arrived, which served to distract everyone.
Determined to keep her gaze off Scott for the remainder of the evening, Charlotte dared one quick last look. His direct regard startled her. His eyes narrowed, his attention so intent that everything else faded away for Charlotte. He wasn’t making any attempt to be discreet; he just looked. Her heart gave a thump and began racing.
His face tightened, and she recognized what was happening. They’d both been hiding the attraction they felt, and now they’d recognized it in each other. Warmth stole through her and became a heaviness that settled and grew into a physical yearning.
Oh, blast. That fire had been banked, smothered into a mass of glowing embers, but this exchange had fanned it back into a blaze. She was at a dinner table, surrounded by people, and her body was responding in the most sexual way to Scott’s look.
Scott drew in a deep breath, and his chest lifted, making several brass buttons glint. Charlotte tore her gaze away and swept it around the table. The children were absorbed in their meals. The rest were being entertained by watching her and Scott. Wakefield was frowning. Chetney looked ready to burst with joy. Bridgewaite smiled, but his wife looked stunned and not particularly happy.
Charlotte tore a piece of bread from the slice before her, popped it into her mouth and then wondered if she’d ever be able to swallow. She took a sip of wine, peeked up and…found everyone looking natural. Scott’s attention had been captured by his two nephews, and on each side of her, by design or providence, Chetney and Bridgewaite ignored her.
She’d weathered many dinner parties and soirees as the center of speculation and gossip, and she’d survived. Lately she’d thought the experience might actually have made her stronger. But none of that had exposed her the way she’d felt exposed tonight, captured in the grip of Scott’s fervor. Tomorrow, when she saw him, she’d be meeting a man she’d not known before. The thought of it excited her and filled her with trepidation.
Then she remembered he’d be seeing her differently, too. Now he knew her secret.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The next morning, Charlotte arrived at the Fund office just as Scott’s carriage pulled up. She hadn’t slept well, her body too restless to relax, her mind full of images of him. She hadn’t intended to divulge her admiration at dinner, but she’d revealed that and so very much more. No matter how she’d tried to ignore the attraction she felt these past few weeks, she hadn’t been able to get their kiss out of her mind. And after last night, she had reason to think Scott felt similar.
Which just made the situation worse. Scott deserved better than a woman incapable of love. And knowing he wanted her made it all the harder to resist seeking what happiness she could.
She hesitated as Boone retrieved Scott’s wheelchair. Would Scott feel self-conscious if she stood and waited for him as he lowered himself into it? Would he find her rude if she went inside and didn’t wait?
The urge to watch him maneuver between coach and chair was strong. The look of strength and determination that overtook him at such times fascinated Charlotte, but it also lodged a rock-hard knot in her chest. She found it impossible to look away from the bulges of his arm and back muscles, and today she feared more than ever what her face might reveal.
She turned and stepped briskly toward the entrance. A small, scruffy black dog sat squarely before her, impeding her progress.
Charlotte grasped the door handle and pulled a little bit, but the dog didn’t move. She couldn’t open the door without hitting him.
“Hello there. Might I go in?”
The dog did not respond. Warily, Charlotte pulled the door even more until it bumped against the rump of the beast…who did not appear offset.
He appeared friendly, at least. His alert brown eyes peeked up at her through a cascading tangle of hair, his pink tongue displayed as he panted. The moment she’d spoken, his tail began wagging. The longer she looked, the faster it wagged.
She pulled a little harder on the door, and then he did move, standing up on his back legs, his front legs pawing the air. He barked twice, a surprisingly deep, husky bark for such a small dog.
“Yes, you’re very funny,” she muttered, “but this won’t do at all.”
The dog made an appealing picture in spite of his tangled coat. His upright ears, covered with drooping hair, gave him a comical appearance. And, there went the tail again.
A sharp whistle rent the air, and the dog responded immediately, darting away.
“Having trouble?” Scott asked from behind her. He sat in his chair at the foot of the ramp, Boone behind him. The dog now stood close, sniffing his leg.
Scott extended his hand. After the dog sniffed it, he rubbed the beast’s head. Boone pushed Scott up the ramp, the dog trotting alongside.
The animal seemed well-behaved, but Charlotte had no doubt he was homeless. Perhaps Chetney would have a biscuit or two they could give him. Even the stray’s long hair didn’t hide how lean he was.
“Boone, if you’ll grab the dog, the viscountess can hold the door and I’ll push myself through,” Scott said.
“I thought I might find something for him to eat,” Charlotte said.
“Her.”
“What?”
“She’s a bitch.” Scott frowned and contemplated the dog, which sat looking between him and Charlotte, who reached down and ran her hand over the beast’s dark coat, finding it as matted as she’d suspected. Under the hair she could feel every rib.
“She’s starving,” she said. “The poor thing.”
Scott’s frown grew into a scowl. “Well, she can’t come in. If we feed her, we’ll never get rid of her.” He must have seen Charlotte’s surprise and flushed a bit, but his mouth firmed. “There are ten homeless dogs for every person in this city. This one’s not even a decent ratter, or she’d have some meat on her bones.”
Scott’s rejection made Charlotte want to hug the lonely-looking dog. “I like her.”
“Well, she’s a fleabag.” He rubbed the top of the dog’s head again, and suddenly he seemed more resigned and regretful than disapproving. “She looks like she’s got Skye Terrier in her, but she’s a mongrel. No telling where she came from—or where she’s been. Definitely not a dog for you.”
Charlotte could tell from his expression and tone he expected their conversation to end there. And, no doubt he was right. Viscountesses owned purebred dogs. They obtained them from breeders, not from the streets of London. Yet Scott was making a rather large—and wrong—assumption about her.
She opened the door to the Fund offices. “I guess you’ve forgotten I was born the daughter of a tradesman, a man some consider a scoundrel. I don’t require a carefully bred, pampered dog. I like this one just fine.”
Funny thing, too. She hadn’t wanted a dog before now. But something about this beast’s watchful expression made her want to care for it.
Scott looked up at her and sighed. “Then you’d best see if Chetney has something you can feed her.”
He signaled Boone to push him in. Rather than enter alongside him, the dog brushed against Charlotte’s skirt and looked up at her.
“It appears it’s your lucky day,” she said. And h
ers too. The dog had served as a distraction. She’d been able to greet Scott without embarrassment. He’d seemed just as determined to ignore what had transpired between them last night. Of course, the relief she felt didn’t completely dispel her uneasiness.
Tail wagging, the dog kept perfect pace as Charlotte followed Scott inside. Within minutes Chetney had produced a water bowl and a biscuit that was quickly crunched into oblivion.
Charlotte went into her small office to finish the correspondence she’d left. Her first appointment was at one o’clock. As soon as she settled behind her desk, though, the dog came straight to her side. Charlotte rubbed its silky head. She fondled the dog’s furry ears and nearly laughed as its canine eyes drifted closed.
“Hello again, sweetie. You need a name, don’t you?”
As soon as she stopped rubbing, the dog slipped under Charlotte’s desk, circled, lay down atop her toes and gave a great sigh. No doubt the rug there had attracted the animal, but Charlotte found the warmth of the dog’s body wonderfully comforting.
#
David considered his watch then tucked it back in his waistcoat pocket. It was nearly time to close the office. He couldn’t recollect a longer day, listening to Lady Haliday speaking in dulcet tones to that flea-bit little minx. She’d found a length of twine and taken the beast outside several times, and if he wasn’t mistaken, at noontime she had purchased it a meat pie.
He couldn’t get yesterday out of his mind. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate on his work, memories of the viscountess’s face and form kept intruding. He couldn’t be wrong about the regard he’d seen in her eyes.
He knew widows who engaged in discreet affairs. Society turned a blind eye, preserving the ladies’ reputations, and after yesterday he dared think Lady Haliday might accept if he made such a proposal.
A Hero to Hold Page 11