Rebecca came in. “Sir?” Seeing Charlotte awake, the maid smiled and stepped closer. “My lady, you’re awake?”
“She is,” David said, “and she wants tea.”
“Right away, sir. Excuse me for saying so, but everyone will be right glad to hear it.”
Rebecca’s happy face had the abrupt effect of stimulating Charlotte’s emotions. She pressed her fingers to her leaky eyes until she was certain she’d stemmed her unwanted tears and said, “Please tell the staff I’m feeling much better.”
“And tell Cook if Lady Haliday does well with the tea, we’ll be wanting a custard next,” David said.
Charlotte raised her eyebrows at him.
“Doctor’s orders.”
A second cup of tea followed the first, and suddenly Charlotte couldn’t get enough to drink. In spite of how heavy her arms felt, she refused to let David feed the custard to her. After her abbreviated meal, he disappeared and left her to Rebecca, who gave her a thorough wash and changed her nightdress. By the time David returned—shaved, changed and smelling of soap and his own masculine essence—she was propped against fluffed pillows, her hair neatly braided and feeling weak but comfortable.
Dr. Bliss arrived a short time later. She didn’t remember much from his previous visits, but she liked his no-nonsense attitude.
“You’re going to feel weak for some time. Just how long, I can’t predict. You must resume your activities slowly and take care not to overdo.”
Under the covers, she clutched her hands together. “Will there be lasting effects?”
He pursed his lips and considered her. “I wish I could assure you, but I can’t. Arsenic affects all the major organs. You’re recovering rapidly, which is heartening. You could well recover without permanent damage. I’m encouraged enough to believe that will be the case.”
David smiled, nodded, and pressed his thumb and index fingers to the inner corners of his closed eyes. “That’s the best possible news.”
It was. Just hearing Bliss’s optimistic prediction made Charlotte feel better. It was even time for her to show a little pluck and let David get back to his normal routine. She’d noticed the neat stacks of correspondence sitting on her desk and recalled David mentioning he’d advised her father on her progress and directed Chetney on what to do in his absence. The poor secretary must be beside himself.
She didn’t recall seeing her father, and the knowledge of his absence was hard and hurtful—though no surprise. Father couldn’t stand lazing about a sick room. He was too much a man of action. But, then, David, in spite of his physical limitations, was no less a man of action. His intelligent mind was constantly evaluating, planning, dreaming, thinking. David didn’t like being idle, but he’d stayed with her, guarded her, cared for her. Her father navigated life with his mind. David’s compass was clearly his heart.
She looked at him, shaking hands with Bliss and bidding the doctor good-bye. A horrible certainty welled up inside her. Her time with David was near its end.
David deserved a woman who could make a full commitment, a wife who would trust in his love with an unshakable faith. She loved him, and yes, she trusted him for now. But how could she trust that he’d never change? That his love would always be steadfast? That he’d never hurt her? After the actions of her father and Haliday, she just wasn’t capable of such blind belief. Not even with David.
He’d said he wouldn’t marry, but he should. He should have a wife who would bear him children. A sharp pain pierced her heart and she tensed. How beautiful and bright David’s children would be, and how well-loved their mother. Such a fortunate woman, but not meant to be her.
Oh, but how I wish I were that woman.
If she insisted, she knew David would marry her. She could convince him. But then he’d be married to a woman who might never bear his child, a woman touched by scandal. Worst of all, he might realize she wasn’t capable of a love great enough to overcome her fears. That wasn’t what she wanted for him. She wanted him to have so much more than she could ever give him.
Perhaps, if she wasn’t monopolizing his affection, he’d be open to falling in love. Did she have the strength of character to emulate David? When he’d been awarded the Victoria Cross he’d told her he was no hero, but she knew better. Courage resided in David’s bones, coursed through his blood. Could she be brave enough to turn him away? She would then have to face an unknown enemy without him. Perhaps, if she thought only of what was best for him, she could.
He was back. She tried to guard her expression and smoothed her hand over the colorful, intricate quilt that covered her.
He reached out, and his finger stroked the slope of her nose. “Your busy morning has tired you, hasn’t it? Would you like to sleep a while?”
She nodded. What a miserable coward she was. She couldn’t give up David. Not right now. She hoped when she recovered she’d be strong enough to overcome her selfishness and do the right thing. But not now.
He smoothed the covers around her shoulders. “All right then. I’m going to leave for a bit. Rebecca will be here should you need anything.”
He rolled himself to the door. Charlotte watched his powerful back muscles bunching beneath his coat as he did. Soon she heard voices in the hall: David’s, Boone’s and her footman Beckham’s. She heard Boone and Beckham lift David and carry him downstairs. Given his dislike of dependence on anyone or anything, she knew he must hate being carried above all things. And yet he’d come upstairs for her.
She rolled over and picked up David’s carving of Persa from the bedside table. The care he’d taken with it made the figurine that much dearer. She brought it close to her chest, held it and listened to the sounds from downstairs. As David left, the house returned to quiet.
#
In response to his note, Wakefield appeared at the Fund offices by late afternoon.
His friend strode in, and a quietness settled over David. He didn’t care if Wakefield’s attraction to Charlotte or his loyalty to David motivated his help; David knew he could depend on Miles. He also owed it to his friend to tell him he’d laid claim to the lady’s affections. And he needed to confront the busybody about the way he’d warned Charlotte off.
“Where have you been?” Wakefield asked. “You haven’t been home, at your club or at work, and no one would tell me a thing.” He dropped onto one of the chairs in front of David’s desk, folded his hands across his belly and stretched out his long legs. The military image was gone. In its place was a sophisticated gentleman of discerning taste. The dark gray frock coat and pinstriped trousers appeared both expensive and finely tailored.
“Were you in need of something in particular from me?” David asked.
“Hmm. Not really.” Miles’s eyes narrowed. “So, where were you?”
“With Lady Haliday. Someone tried to kill her.”
“What?” Wakefield shot up in his chair and bent forward. “Good God, man. Is she all right? What in holy hell happened?”
“Arsenic poisoning—enough to kill. She’s recovering, but it took a substantial portion of antidote. Her physician is encouraged she’ll make a full recovery.”
“Thank God she’s all right.” Wakefield tugged off his gloves and slapped them against his thigh. “It’s hard to believe. You mean someone intentionally poisoned her?”
“Someone pretending to be her father sent her candy and loaded it with arsenic. Shelby knew nothing about it, of course. Charlotte’s dog was poisoned and nearly died, too. At the time we thought it accidental, but now I don’t think so.”
Wakefield stood and began pacing. “What do you want me to do?”
“Shelby’s taking a hard look at his business associates. Given their past…I need someone to watch Lady Garret and ask some discrete questions about her.”
Wakefield stopped and faced David. “Lady Haliday suspects her?”
“No,” David said. “Or she hasn’t said as much, but I suspect her. Poison is the weapon of a woman. I’ve seen the two of
them, and the baroness hates Charlotte. Charlotte doesn’t know why Lady Garret would want to kill her after all the damage she’s already done, but perhaps the woman’s truly unbalanced. Perhaps she’s still obsessed and jealous. Jealous enough to do more than send you and I copies of her novel.”
“She must be mad.” Wakefield dropped back onto his chair. “Haliday’s been gone two years.”
“I know. It makes no sense, but Charlotte can’t think of anyone who would wish her dead.”
Wakefield leaned back against his chair and studied him. “Charlotte?”
David hadn’t used her given name intentionally, but it was best to get this over with. He dipped his chin in a single sharp nod.
Wakefield’s eyes narrowed. “And she calls you David, does she?”
“She does.”
Wakefield hung his head, then raised it and shrugged. “I suppose you know I acted the mother again.”
“Yes, and you left her in quite a state, too. You’ve got to stop, Miles. If I need help, I’ll ask.”
Loose-lipped, Wakefield blew out a gusty exhale. “I know. I’ll do better.”
For a long minute they took each other’s measure, then one corner of Wakefield’s mouth edged up.
“Well, it seems you claimed her before I even had a chance—but since it’s you, I can accept it and even be happy. Am I to congratulate you?”
David found himself wordless. He had no reason to feel shame, but he had to struggle to meet Wakefield’s eyes. He snapped his mouth shut, swallowed, and tried again.
“No congratulations warranted.”
“She refused you?”
He couldn’t bring himself to tell Wakefield he hadn’t proposed. “Neither of us wishes to marry. We’re agreed in that.”
Wakefield frowned. “Are you.”
David held his friend’s gaze, and finally Wakefield’s eyebrows rose and he shrugged. He stood and said, “Well, I’ll spy on Lady Garret—and I might have a word with Radcliffe. He escorts her everywhere.”
“Thank you, Miles,” David said.
Wakefield left, and David turned his attention back to his desk. Chetney had held things together and moved appointments, but some things he had to attend himself. One of those was a letter to Sidney Herbert explaining his need to remain largely absent for a while. He would spend the morning working like a demon to clear away the things that couldn’t wait and be back with Charlotte by evening.
#
“Mr. Scott. Sir, might I have a word?”
It was Eleanor, the eldest Butler girl, the one Charlotte had taken in. Part servant, part philanthropic project, she stood with hands clasped, looking nervous.
David held back his sigh. Perched between Boone and Pickett and held aloft by their arms, he’d only just entered Charlotte’s home. Beckham was halfway up the stairs with his chair.
“Why don’t we talk upstairs? Is it about your brothers and sisters?”
“Oh, no, sir. It’s about Persa. Lady Haliday said I should tell you.”
The girl’s tense face and the slight tremor to her voice called his intuition to attention. He’d learned to trust his gut. Eleanor was going to tell him something important.
He nodded to encourage her. “Very well.”
“The day Persa got sick, I left her with a lady for a few minutes,” Eleanor said.
A ravenous predator snarled in the pit of David, and his blood hummed like that of a dog on the scent. A lady? She’s the one.
“Come up right behind us, Eleanor, can you?”
It seemed to take forever to get upstairs and into his chair. David barely managed not to snap at Boone and Pickett to hurry, and finally they had him situated.
“Let’s talk out here in the hall, in case Lady Haliday is resting.” He forced a brief smile and hoped it would put the girl at ease. “Now tell me everything that happened.”
“I took Persa for a walk and a woman—she looked to be in service, sir—started chatting with me.”
“Looked to be in service?”
“Her dress was plain and dark, sturdily made. And she wore a cap.”
David nodded to urge the girl on.
“Well, we got to talking about my situation, sir.”
“Your situation?”
“About my place in Lady Haliday’s house. I’m so grateful, Mr. Scott, but I miss my brothers and sisters so much.”
“She encouraged you to talk about it, did she?”
A relieved sigh escaped the girl, and her shoulders relaxed. “Yes, sir. She did.”
“Go on.”
“She said I should get another position—one that pays enough so I could provide for all the kids and we could be together. She said she knew of an open position just down the street.”
“And she offered to hold Persa for you?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what she did.”
“How long were you gone, Eleanor?”
“Only a few minutes. I couldn’t find the house she described. I was nearly back when I saw her waving. She tied Persa’s leash to a bush and left. Do you think that woman poisoned her? Did she send the candy to Lady Haliday?”
“She very well may have. I hope she did.”
Eleanor’s eyes widened. “You do? Why?”
David could see he’d shocked her, so he gave her a reassuring smile. “Because with your help we might be able to find her. I want you to think about her. What color hair she had, how old she was, how tall she was—anything you can remember.”
Eleanor’s face lit up. “Her speech was coarse, sir. And she had gold hair.”
“Good girl. Now, what else?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Vivian accepted Radcliffe’s assistance as she alighted from his brougham. He turned and spoke to his coachman, telling the man to wait. Evidently he intended to go home once he’d seen her inside.
She waited and looked at the trees and flowers that decorated her neighborhood. It gave her a moment to puzzle on Radcliffe’s behavior. He’d taken her to a new art exhibit but had been exceedingly quiet. Several times she’d had to speak more than once to engage his notice. When she questioned that, he blamed it on a headache and suggested they leave. His inattention and grim mouth worried her. They weren’t like him.
If she hadn’t paused to wait for Radcliffe, Vivian wouldn’t have seen the girl. What drew her gaze to the coach waiting across the road she didn’t know, but she just caught the glint of spectacles and the small face of Charlotte Haliday’s servant in the coach window before the girl ducked out of sight and the coach drove away.
Vivian’s body grew hot and then cold. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. Helpless, she peered at Radcliffe.
“Vivian?” He grasped her arm. Even that much support was a relief. “Are you all right?”
He frowned, let go of her elbow and wrapped his arm around her back.
“Radcliffe.” She grabbed his lapel. Oh, Lord. Was she going to faint?
A tiny part of her mind recognized Radcliffe’s confusion as he looked down at her hand. She held on for dear life, scrunching and pulling at the fabric of his coat. Then he urged her forward and her feet began to move. She didn’t take in much else until she found herself in her sitting room, seated beside him, a glass of sherry—no, brandy—in her hand.
“Drink,” Radcliffe commanded, and she obediently lifted the spirits to her lips. It made her cough a little, but its burning heat streaked down, settled in her stomach and roused her.
“A little better?” he asked.
She nodded and took another sip.
“I’m sending for a doctor.” He rose and strode toward the door.
“No. Please, Radcliffe, that’s not necessary. I’m fine.”
Head cocked, he studied her then ambled back to her divan and retook his seat. His intense gaze belied his relaxed posture, his arm stretched along the back of the settee. “What’s wrong then?”
His long-fingered hand dangled near her face. It would take very little to
lean her cheek against it. Vivian wanted to. But as much as she wanted him to share her burden, she couldn’t tell him what she’d done. That would risk too much. Radcliffe even found gossip distasteful, let alone actual scandal. It still amazed her that he’d chosen to overlook her somewhat notorious past enough to take up with her. A few times she’d caught a look of regret on his face and wondered if he was thinking about the future.
Radcliffe was only the third man she’d lain with, but she realized he meant more to her than a thousand men could. Each day she measured her happiness by how much of him she saw. Sometimes, after they engaged in lovemaking and he left her, she lay and wondered what might have happened if she hadn’t had such an open affair with Haliday. He cared deeply for her. She thought he might have proposed if her life had gone a different way.
“If you’re not ill, then what is it?” Radcliffe repeated, and she realized he still waited for her answer. Perhaps she should lie, tell him something that might explain her behavior and resolve his worry.
“I thought I saw someone watching me, and it discomfited me a bit is all.”
“Watching you?”
“I believe Lady Haliday watches me. She’s wished me harm in the past, and I’m not sure but she still doesn’t.”
Radcliffe straightened. “You saw Lady Haliday watching you? Just now?”
Something about him made her uneasy. Why had she said such a thing? Why hadn’t she just pretended to be ill? “I’m not sure, but I think so, yes.”
He stared into her eyes, and she couldn’t hold his gaze. She shifted and smoothed the pleats of her skirt. He’d never looked at her like this. He had a reputation as a shrewd politician and negotiator, but she’d never seen that steely side of him until now.
“Has she ever threatened you?”
How could a voice so low peal like a warning in her head? Then Vivian remembered Lady Elliott’s ball. Charlotte had threatened her. “Yes. Little more than a month ago she threatened to destroy me, though I have no idea what she meant by that. I wouldn’t put anything past her.”
A shadow seemed to fall across Radcliffe, turning his face bleak. A monstrous feeling grew from Vivian’s core. “Stephen?”
A Hero to Hold Page 24