“Good day, Esther,” she said, simply. She knew that there was no need to say anymore, but instead simply waited for the barrage of questions that she knew, without doubt, to be forthcoming. After all, it was a strange sight to see Charity Miller, who had always been so cloistered and sheltered by her father, performing manual labor in the lanes of the village.
She knew that the sight of it would cause people to talk harmful gossip about her. And she did not care in the least.
“Oh, dear Charity, thank heavens I have found you!” Esther burst out as she reached her friend.
“I went to your father’s house yesterday, and the maid said that you were ill. I called again this morning to enquire after you, and your father came into the hall and shouted — oh, there’s no need to repeat precisely what he said, but it is enough to say that I was not to look for you here and that he did not know where you were.”
“I am sorry, Esther,” Charity replied, “it sounds as though my father has spoken to you very uncivilly. I wish I were surprised, but I must confess that I am not.”
I ought to send my father a note, informing him that I am well and in circumstances that, although humble, are perfectly secure. Not that his recent mode of behavior would suggest that he cared about my wellbeing one way or another, but doubtless it is the right thing to do.
“I was not hurt by any incivility,” Esther replied immediately. “I only feared for you, dear Charity. I know that your father has a towering temper, and I know… oh, I know that he would say that he has reason to be very angry. Very angry indeed. I am so sorry, my dearest Charity.”
With this, her eyes began to swim with tears, and in some alarm, Charity reached out to embrace her friend.
“There there, dear, please do not distress yourself.”
“Not distress myself?” Esther replied, her voice sounding very much on the brink of dissolving into sobs. “Why should I not distress myself, when all of this is my own fault?”
Charity gazed at her for a moment, uncomprehending, but soon understood and hastened to offer comfort.
“Oh Esther, I know what you refer to, and you have no reason to hold yourself accountable.”
She said the words fervently, knowing that Esther was the kind of person who always believed herself to be at fault for things far out of her control. She was certain that if her friend could have relinquished any of her happiness with Mr. Edwards, in order to spare Charity suffering, then she would have done so without hesitation.
“I do not?” Esther gazed at Charity, an expression of shock spreading across her features rapidly. “That is to say… you know about it all? But how can that be?”
“Of course, I know about it all,” Charity said kindly, taking Esther’s hand and leading her to the little stone wall at the edge of the lane so that the two of them might sit there and exchange confidences more comfortably.
“And how should I blame you?” she continued, seeing the expression on Esther’s face shifting in confusion. “It is quite natural that Mr. Edwards should love you instead of me, and if my father cannot see that, then he has only his own limitations to blame.”
“Mr. Edwards?” At this Esther’s face cleared up, and it seemed her very features began to glow. “Oh yes, Mr. Edwards… Mr. Edwards has been very attentive indeed to me."
“Why should he not?” Charity asked. “When he and I spoke on the matter, it was quite evident to me that his mind was made up, that he had every intention of courting you and making you his wife. And I cannot think of two kinder people to be joined in matrimony!” she exclaimed warmly.
She thought of how Esther had warned Mr. Edwards that Charity’s heart was already taken, and realized what a colossal service her friend had done her. Why, without her, Charity might have found herself tempted into a loveless marriage, for the sake of convenience and to please her father.
The thought of such a life stretching out before her, devoid of the joy that she presently felt, made Charity shiver with cold dread, and grasp Esther’s hand anew to convey her gratitude.
“Why, without your telling him at the very beginning that I was not for him, that I loved another, I might have found myself at the center of a web that was very tangled indeed. And for Mr. Edwards’ part, he handled himself with such gentlemanly grace in such a difficult situation that I must say I believe him to be good enough for my own dearest friend, and that for me is the highest praise that I can bestow on any man.”
Esther looked as though she might burst from the very force of her own delight.
“Then you are not angry with me?” she asked. “Oh, Charity, I was so fearful that you felt that I had intruded upon your situation. I knew well that you did not love Mr. Edwards, but I knew also that the pressure from your father to marry George was very great, and I feared that…”
“George?” Charity interrupted, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “By ‘George’ I take it you mean Mr. Edwards? It sounds as though since we last spoke your intimacy has grown indeed!”
“Oh, Charity!” Esther leaned forward, grasping her friend’s hands in her own, her smile lighting up her face in a way that made her quite beautiful. “Mr. Edwards — George — he wants to marry me! He has said as much. He plans to speak to my father today, and I am certain that dear Papa will not have any objection to the match, and for my part, I could scarcely be happier!”
“And I am delighted for you,” Charity replied warmly, the strength of sincerity weighting every syllable of her utterance. “Truly, dear friend, it makes the world seem a far better and more benevolent place, to know that a person as good and kind as you has found happiness within it.”
“You are so kind and good to speak as you do,” Esther replied, and it looked again as though her eyes were filling with tears.
“Not kind at all,” Charity replied. “I speak only as I believe to be true.”
Perhaps it was a little peculiar that, despite the strangeness of their circumstances, and the sharp lurches in fortunes that both young ladies had so recently experienced, they were speaking in the same confiding fashion that they always had, sitting with their heads close together as though they were chattering at the bottom of the vicarage garden, the way that they always had when they were girls.
“But what of you?” Esther leaned forward, her eyes widening in urgency. “Will you not tell me where you are staying? What has become of you? I came from the vicarage, and I have simply been walking the village in search of news of you. Oh, Charity, my fear for you eclipsed any other happiness that I felt! I am so glad to see that you are safe and well.”
“Of course, I am,” Charity replied. She felt some urge to laugh, despite the seriousness of her present situation. Since she had spoken to Adam, since their precious kisses, the world had been just like all of fears and obstacles, only now she felt — knew — that there was none such that she could not overcome.
She quickly explained to Esther the particulars of her present situation, beginning with the interview with Mr. Edwards and proceeding through the story of her coming to Mrs. Warwick. She told her of the encounter with Adam and his sneering cousin, and the intimate conversation that the two of them had had afterward in Mrs. Warwick’s kitchen.
She did not give every detail of that conversation, but her glowing looks and rosy blush conveyed enough of its character that Esther understood the gist immediately and grasped Charity’s hands.
“My dear friend,” she said. “I can see that you are in the same state of happiness with regard to Mr. Harding that I find myself in with Mr. Edwards. How blessed we both are!”
But then she paused, and sighed, continuing heavily, “But of course I must own that it is not the same at all, for my father has no objection to the prospect of my marriage, and the hindrances to your happiness are great — great indeed. Forgive me, Charity, for speaking so unthinkingly.”
“Not at all,” Charity replied. “Though the matter is far from settled, and there are so many things that may come between mysel
f and Mr. Harding, I cannot help but feel joy. There is no joy greater, I think than loving someone and knowing that they love you just as well as you love them, that their particular desire is that you should be united. In such a circumstance, all other burdens may be born cheerfully!”
“I do hope so,” Esther replied solemnly. “I would have you be happy, Charity. But I believe that in order to see you so, I must be of some assistance.”
“What do you mean?” Charity asked, her curiosity aroused by the turn of her friend’s countenance, which had shifted as quickly as the English sky shifts in autumn from sunny to the threat of rain.
“I cannot say at present,” Esther said. Her face had become quite grave, and she seemed to be thinking hard, and in a way that clearly troubled her. “I must tell you - oh, I must tell you! But I cannot tell you yet. Not yet.”
She squeezed her friend’s hands in hers and looked deep into her eyes, the way that they had when they were little girls exchanging secrets with each other. It occurred to Charity that she had always trusted Esther with every one of her secrets, and never once had her friend betrayed her confidence.
“Promise me, dear friend, that you will trust in me, despite what you may think of me when it all comes out when all is revealed, that you will not doubt my motives? That I have only your interests at heart? I cannot reveal more at present, but I ask you to trust me, for the sake of our precious friendship?”
Charity was entirely perplexed and not a little alarmed, but she agreed at once. She had always trusted Esther implicitly, and she would not be swayed now.
With this mysterious utterance now complete, Esther bade her goodbye, and hurried off down the lane, back in the same direction that she had come from only a few minutes before.
Charity, for her part, continued to sit on the little wall and watched as her friend went away down the hill. She had never known Esther to behave so mysteriously; usually, her friend’s actions were guided by a great deal of demonstrable common sense. But she had to have faith that all would be revealed.
And, she realized, she had her own task to perform. She had stayed away for a long while — too long — but it was time to let her father know that she was safe, well, and free.
Chapter 35
When Adam returned to the Hall, his mood still heady from the encounter with Miss Miller — Charity — he was greeted by the edifying sight of Sir Toby seated in the drawing room, a cold compress clutched to the black eye that was blooming across his smug, pale features.
Adam managed to resist greeting him with a glib ‘Good evening, cousin’, but as soon as Sir Toby caught sight of him, it was clear that a confrontation was going to take place, whether Adam provoked it or not.
“Here is the man!” Sir Toby said, rising to his feet, one hand still clamped over his eye. His voice slurred a little, though Adam could not tell whether that was caused by his injuries, or by the half-empty bottle of port that sat next to him on one of the side tables.
“Here is the rogue!” Sir Toby continued, his voicing rising in pitch. “The very blackguard, the common brawler who struck his own flesh and blood, who unhorsed me in front of poor womenfolk! Have at you, sir!”
He lurched toward Adam but misstepped and almost fell. Adam leaned forward and caught his arm, preventing him from crashing into a table.
“Steady on, Toby. Here. Sit down, would you? There is no call for all of this.”
“No call?” Sir Toby could barely articulate the words, so potent was his mixture of rage and drunkenness. “I shall be the judge of that, sir!”
“Indeed,” Adam replied, keeping his tone amiable. There was no sense in antagonizing Sir Toby into a state of still-greater drunken fury. He took his arm and guided him rather forcefully onto a nearby armchair, where he sat down in a motion that was more akin to collapse.
“Perhaps a rest would be in order, Toby? Shall I call for some tea?”
“You condescend to me, sir!” Toby replied, his words barely intelligible, but the aggression in his gestures quite plain. “You condescend to me, but know well that soon it will be I that speaks to you in this proprietorial fashion! How smug do you believe you shall be when this Hall — this whole estate, and the dukedom that accompanies it — shall come to me?”
The sheer arrogance that infused his voice was staggering. It occurred to Adam that the dukedom of Mornington was probably the first thing that Sir Toby had ever wanted in his life he had not been able to have.
It occurred to him, too, that there was a strange kind of benefit to the way that his father had treated him in the past year. Though it had caused Adam a great deal of pain, it had also knocked some of the sense of entitlement out of him. He was very glad that he had, through his experiences, become a different sort of man to the vile Sir Toby.
“Firstly, Toby,” Adam replied pleasantly, half-amused and half-angered by the tone and content of Sir Toby’s speech, “I never endeavor to speak to anyone with condescension, so if I do so at present, then please accept my heartiest apologies.”
Sir Toby looked at him with a mixture of drunken confusion and embarrassment, as if he had suddenly realized how truly appalling his behavior had been.
“Secondly,” Adam continued, now allowing a rumble of anger to infiltrate his voice, “I think it best if you free yourself immediately of the illusion that I shall ever allow you to be master of this house as long as there is breath in my body. If you believe for a moment that I intend to roll over and submit my birthright to a fool and a drunk such as you, then I am afraid you are most severely mistaken.”
Toby was swaying in his seat, and in truth, Adam was not wholly convinced that the anger in his voice had any effect on his cousin. But then, when Toby spoke, it was with a vile little sneer in his voice, and he suddenly seemed a great deal more lucid than he had previously.
“You may well believe that to be the case, cousin,” he said, his voice quite malevolent. “But your father sent for his attorney to come here tomorrow, and I have it on good authority, that the purpose of the visit is to alter your father’s will. Whether you will allow it or not does not matter a jot. It is the law, not me that you will have to quarrel with.”
He dissolved into high-pitched giggles, hiccuping as his chin came to droop down onto the front of his shirt.
At the sight of his bloated, complacent features, all Adam’s self-control melted away. Before he knew what he was doing, he had seized Sir Toby by the collar and pinned him to the wall of the drawing room.
“You are a fool,” Adam hissed. “A fool, and a greedy mercenary.”
He paused for a second, and the thought struck him for the first time — the thought that had been playing at the edges of his consciousness, but now came abruptly to the fore.
“Perhaps you are more than a fool,” Adam snarled into his cousin’s face. “Perhaps you are a murderer. Where were you on the day that Mary and Freddie died? No doubt that you have been plotting your filthy ascent to the dukedom for a long time. I can well believe that you held their lives to be cheap. Tell me, cousin, is it time for you to confess?”
For a long moment, the two men simply stared at each other.
Then, without warning, Sir Toby dissolved into silly, drunken giggles. The weight of him sagged, nearly bringing Adam down to the floor too. The giggles brought with them great bursts of foul, port-infused breath, and Sir Toby’s cheeks reddened still further.
“What a story!” he slurred. “Good God, Adam. If you believe that, then you will surely believe anything.”
There was some note to his voice that somehow sounded genuine. Whatever it was, it was enough to make Adam loosen his grip on Toby’s collar a little.
“Oh, cousin.”
With a rough, abrupt movement, Sir Toby shook off Adam’s grip and slouched away from him toward the couch. “What a novel thought of yours. I take my hat off to you and your great imagination. You ought to write these sorts of stories for the papers.”
Toby’s sneer seemed t
o have consolidated onto his face, as though there was nothing that could possibly remove it.
“Believe me,” he continued. “At various times in my life, I have toyed with the idea of what it might be like to take the dukedom by force.
“I did not kill your father’s strumpet and her little bastard whelp — why should I? They were never of any threat to me. The stain of illegitimacy meant that I would never have concerned myself with such low, common creatures. No, Adam. If I were to kill anyone…” here his little piggy eyes fixed on Adam, with a look that was almost demonic in its idiotic glee, “rest assured, it would have been you.”
Perhaps Adam ought to have been afraid in that moment. After all, it was not every day that a man confessed to his face that he had fantasized about murdering him, or even that he had the motive to do so.
But Adam was not afraid, although he did look up to the walls and take note of the ornamental swords mounted there. Perhaps he was unconcerned because he was quite certain that in a physical match he would get the better of Sir Toby, and he was quite convinced that his cousin was not clever enough to attempt any more underhanded methods of murder.
Charity Falls for the Rejected Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 20