by May Burnett
Charlotte felt like a fraud saying this, as the pedigree was Belinda’s to claim. It was a mercy Belinda was not here to face her godmother’s wrath, she thought, taking a steadying sip of tea.
“You are not suitable to become an Ellsworthy,” Lady Amberley went on, “and I will oppose this match to the full extent of my power. James will rue the day if he does wed you. Your children will not be allowed to forget that they come of inferior stock.”
”Ma’am, I am not willing to remain here to listen to such insults, and you are not yourself. I suggest that you call upon your coachman to drive me back to Yorkshire on the instant. I can pack what little I need for the journey within the hour.”
The two ladies stared at each other, neither willing to back down.
“Running back to Yorkshire with your tail between your legs? Yes, I think it would be for the best. Don’t come near my sons again,” Lady Amberley said after a moment. She jerked on the bell pull.
“Have the travelling coach prepared,” she told the butler. “It should be ready to depart in two hours’ time, my niece has been urgently recalled to Yorkshire. “
“Very well, Milady. “ The butler did not betray with the slightest twitch that he’d been listening outside, avid for this new confrontation to play out.
“Which of the maids should I send with Miss Yardley, my Lady?”
“Oh, it doesn’t signify! Whichever is least needed in the household.”
Charlotte rose, colour in her cheeks. “I’ll pack at once.” She left, head high, though it was difficult to contain her fury at Lady Amberley’s reproaches. Of course, if she’d known Charlotte’s true identity, things would be worse still – she might well have called for the watch to imprison her, as long as she was in such a taking.
Obtaining the use of the Amberley coach at least solved the immediate difficulty of how to finance her return trip. Surely Lady Amberley would give the coachmen and maid enough money for their own expenses.
But was James to hear that she’d been thrown out of the house so ignominiously? Was she willing to give him up just like that? They could not really marry, of course, but should she not get at least some satisfaction for herself, in this humiliating situation? Charlotte was tired of being a helpless victim.
She swiftly packed the clothes she’d brought from Yorkshire, determined not to take anything that Lady Amberley had bought for her. The soft kid shoes she would miss, she knew, and the sea-green stole, - but there was no point regretting what could not be. If she got those thirty thousand pounds, she could buy a new and even better wardrobe.
“Oh, Miss,” a young maid she hadn’t seen before entered her room, “I was told I’m to go with you to Yorkshire, is it terribly far away?”
The girl could not be more than sixteen, and clearly wanted no part of this impending journey.
“Yes, a fair distance, but you will be protected by stout grooms and the coachman, even on the return trip. Don’t worry about it. What is your name?”
“Betsy Tripps, Miss. I’ve been working in the kitchen.”
“Well, Betsy, have you clothes to pack for yourself? If not, you can help me pack the things on the bed into these two cases.”
Betsy did as bid, but clumsily. She was quite untrained as a lady’s maid. Charlotte sighed. This was not the companion she could wish for on the long journey north. If she had her wish –
She stopped, as an outrageous idea came to her. But after all, hung for a lamb or a sheep, what did it matter at this point? She watched Betsy roll up a cotton dress, sniffling in her distress. Betsy could be helped, and Lady Amberley punished, in one fell swoop.
They departed at a quarter to two, a time when most of the polite world was just bestirring themselves from their beds. Would her impulsive plan work?
As the coach rumbled over the cobblestones, she opened the small window that connected the interior to the outside, and poked the Coachman, perched above her, in the midriff with her fan.
“Miss,” the coachman cried, not releasing the reins for a moment. “Is there a problem?”
“Yes, I need the coach to pass by the Albany, to deliver a farewell letter to my fiancé.”
The coachman knew all about her engagement to his master’s younger brother, and hesitated.
“He will never forgive you if I’m whisked away and he has no idea where I’ve gone,” she went on. “It’s not very far, after all.”
“All right, Miss,” the coachman said, albeit grudgingly. Either he did not want to keep young lovers apart, or more likely he hoped that James would prevent the whole long trip.
When they arrived outside James’ lodgings, Betsy was dispatched to find and tell him that he was urgently wanted in a travelling coach outside the building, without giving him any more information. “Can you do that, Betsy? If all goes well, you needn’t come with me any further. Can you get home from here?”
“Of course, Miss.” After all they were still in Mayfair.
Charlotte waited with bated breath, clenching her fists in nervous anticipation. She’d never kidnapped a man before. Would this work as she intended? Maybe she was presuming on James’s affection, and he wouldn’t be willing to fall in with her plan.
“Come on, come on, come on,” she murmured, watching the front door from the small window-pane in the travelling coach.
After ten nerve-wracking minutes, James emerged, dressed for a stroll about town, the picture of the elegant London dandy. She sighed and opened the door.
James took in her travelling attire, the coach, and the situation with a glance.
“Please join me for a little while,” Charlotte said, from inside the coach.
With a quick jump, James was inside, and she closed the door behind him.
She rapped on the coach’s roof.
“Proceed to our destination,” she told the coachman.
“Are you sure, Miss?” The coachman was used to queer starts from the nobs, but for a young man to depart for Yorkshire without so much as a carpetbag struck him as unusual. Then again, this whole rig was strange, and Mr. Ellsworthy would soon sort it out.
The coach lumbered through the London streets, slowly enough.
“What’s going on, darling?” James asked, settling himself next to his beloved and putting his arm around her waist. “Where are we going?”
“I’m going to Yorkshire, back home, and I’m abducting you.”
There was a short silence.
“It’s not called an abduction, you know, if the victim goes willingly,” James told her, and placed a tender kiss in the sensitive area under Charlotte’s ear.
“Your mother practically packed me off, after telling me that I was not good enough for you, for your family – she’s right of course, but she doesn’t even know it. I was angry.”
“And decided to abduct me to punish her?”
“More or less.”
“And now that you have me under your control, what do you plan to do with me, Charlotte?”
“I will have you make good on your boasts that we could have great pleasure together. There is really no reason at this point in my life why I should resist temptation.”
“As long as it is temptation, and not just your anger,” James said, rubbing her stiff shoulders. She sighed.
“If you’d give a fellow the tiniest notice he was about to be abducted, this would go much more smoothly, you know. I don’t even have more than twenty guineas upon me, nor a change of clothes.”
“I have about twenty-six. With the coach, and without a maid, it should be enough to get home to Yorkshire. If we share a room, it will go a longer way.”
“And then, when we arrive?”
Charlotte was silent.
“Very well,” James said after a minute, “we can continue to discuss this when we stop for the first night. Who was the little mouse of a maid who came to tell me a mysterious coach was waiting downstairs? She was twitching with nerves.”
“One of your mother’s kitchen
staff, I gather, the only one who could be spared to accompany me to Yorkshire.”
“Ah. A fiancé is a much better escort than a kitchen maid, I would hope.”
“That was my thought, precisely.”
“You look fagged, dearest,” James went on, “though it is not late.”
“After last night’s argument with your mother, I could not sleep, and then the quarrel this morning was also exhausting in its way. My head is aching a bit. I’m not usually such a paltry creature, James, that one night of worry would make me look fagged.”
“I imagine it was just one in a long row of such nights,” James said, comfortably tucking her head against his broad shoulder. “I suggest that you sleep a bit now, if you can, so you’ll be rested when we have all this out in the evening. Just tell me one thing before you go to sleep – what was the date of your marriage to Conway?”
“May fifteenth, 1811,” Charlotte murmured. “Why do you ask?
“I’ll explain later, darling. This is wonderful news. Now go to sleep.”
Charlotte did so, breathing in James’s scent of sandalwood, soap, and clean skin - he smelled ever so much more manly than Conway ever had, she thought woozily, just before her exhaustion overcame her and she sank into a dreamless slumber.
Chapter 27
The coach came to a stop at last, and James gently nudged Charlotte, without immediate effect.
He had conferred with the coachman on the way, and ordered him to break their journey at this old posting-house off the main road. They would stay there as Mr. and Mrs. Ellsworthy. The coachman and the two outriders had shown themselves perfectly willing to support this polite fiction, expecting to be handsomely compensated for their discretion once the young master was in better funds.
One of the outriders had already been dispatched with a missive to Jonathan, for money, and another letter to Jouvin, to bring back the suitcase that James had presciently held in readiness, though not exactly for this particular situation.
“Wake up, Mrs. Ellsworthy.” James tried to gently shake his sleepy love awake. She must have been dead tired, not to have woken up by the sudden cessation of movement in the coach. Or did she always sleep so deeply? He would soon find out.
James had the coachman bespeak the best available bedchamber, as well as the only available private parlour. By the time they reached the bedroom on the first floor of the low-slung building arm in arm, Charlotte was sufficiently awake to scrutinize the well-furnished room, the braces of candles, and the bath that two maids were setting up, preparatory to filling it with hot water.
“Can we afford all this?” she whispered to James. “We’ll be bankrupt before we ever reach Yorkshire. The hostelries along the Great North Road are all robbers.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, your husband will manage.” James led her to a large, inviting armchair.
Despite his soothing tone Charlotte twitched at this reminder why they were here together so scandalously, sharing this room. Tonight, in this inn of which she hadn’t even caught the name, her career as a virtuous and respectable woman would irrevocable end. All at once the foolhardiness of her actions caught up with her. She clenched her hands, digging the sharp nails into her skin, to keep from trembling visibly.
What was she doing? Had she gone mad? Was it too late to back out of this?
But of course it was too late. She had abducted James, and made him rash promises that he’d naturally expect her to keep. If she were not still half asleep, surely she would be able to reconstruct the reasoning that had led her here, to this precipice.
She peeped through her lashes at James, who had his back to her as he stirred the fire with a poker, trying to get more warmth for her benefit. What a long, strong back, and what a fine pair of shoulders –the length of his legs, encased in skin tight pantaloons, was impressive. Would other parts that she hadn’t seen yet measure up? She caught herself at this improper thought, and reddened in mortification. Was she already starting to think like a fallen woman?
Would James still respect her when he’d made her his mistress? From all she had ever heard, it was most unlikely.
James turned, caught her shivering and smiled reassuringly. “It is a bit chilly, but should get better presently. The hot water for your bath will arrive in a moment.”
Charlotte nodded, her throat constricted. Why was she suddenly being such a ninny? This was James, her friend and ally, not some wicked seducer out of a play or opera. She had made up her mind to enjoy his body in the course of the last sleepless night under his mother’s roof. It would be foolish to spoil whatever pleasure they found with useless qualms and regrets.
If Lady Amberley knew what they were up to, she’d have a conniption. Still, was that a good enough reason to become a ruined woman?
Watching her expression, James said softly, “Having second thoughts, love?”
She nodded, grateful at his understanding. “I was so angry and hurt – your mother made me see red, James. I was ready to do anything to thwart her, and I do desire you … But my life is going to change once we do this. I never expected to be any man’s mistress. It is a bitter pill to swallow.”
James looked at her steadily. “I know. You are a respectable, virtuous woman, made for marriage and fidelity. If we lie together this night, that is not going to change, whatever you may think.”
“But –”
“Let me put it this way. If we become lovers, that does not make you my mistress. A mistress is kept by a man in exchange for money. That is completely different from our situation. Promise me not to use that word again, either out loud, or in your thoughts. It demeans both you and me.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “lovers sounds much better, but the world will see it differently, and put the cruellest interpretation on everything – they always do.”
“The world is not here with us, Charlotte. It is just you and me here.” There was a loud clatter on the steps outside. “Well, except for the maids about to arrive with the bathwater.”
She sighed and huddled under the blanket he had placed on her shoulders, as she watched the maids pour pail upon pail of water into the big copper tub.
“Will you be requiring any assistance, Mum?” The older of the two maids asked when they were done at last.
“We will manage, thanks,” James replied before Charlotte could say anything. He shut the door behind them, and locked it.
“See, Charlotte, now the world is gone away – temporarily – and we can thresh this out, while I get you warmed up in this bath. Do I have to undress you?”
“No, but I could use some assistance with the hooks on my back.”
James came to her and undid them, quickly and efficiently, then unknotted her stays and pulled the chemise over her head.
“Time for your bath, my lady.” He actually picked her up, an impressive feat given her size, and placed Charlotte in the bathtub without more than a small splash. “Is it warm enough? There is some hot water left.”
“It’s wonderful.” She gratefully relaxed in the heat of the bathwater. That last can had come straight from the fireplace. She reached for the soap, helpfully placed on a chair next to the tub, and slid it along her neck.
“Let me do that,” James said huskily, his eyes darker than usual. Charlotte let him have the soap; he knelt close to the tub, pantaloons and all, rolled up his shirtsleeves, and began to carefully wash her.
“You won’t be able to reach all parts,” she said in amusement.
“But these parts are so delicious,” he replied, starting to play with her breasts. With a sigh she closed her eyes. His hands were magic.
“Now don’t fall asleep again, love,” James admonished. “We need to talk. Here, take the soap back, for those parts I cannot reach like this. I’ll undress in the meantime.” He started to pull off his cravat.
“You want to talk now?” Charlotte was surprised. “Somehow I thought something else was on your mind.”
“I don’t want you to lie
with me because you feel you have to, Charlotte, or out of anger at my mother, or any other reason that will make you regret doing it come the morning.”
“Aren’t regrets inevitable, when you consider –“
“That’s just it, if you are going to have regrets, we can wait. I am not going to push you to act against your conscience, even though it will drive me half mad to sleep here with you and not touch. But my love and my hope to make a future with you are even more important than the overwhelming lust I feel at this moment.”
He divested himself of his pantaloons and small-clothes as he spoke, giving Charlotte a startling glimpse of the size and strength of his desire.
She couldn’t help staring. “I didn’t know they came so big.”
He chuckled. “How many have you seen, Charlotte?”
“Just the one, you know that.”
“Well, mine is at your exclusive service. However, let’s not get distracted. Are you done with that bath?”
She nodded, and he lifted her out, wrapping her in a linen towel.
After seating Charlotte in the armchair closest to the fire, James lowered himself into the soapy bathwater. “It’s still fairly warm.”
“So we’ve seen each other naked.” Charlotte wondered what that meant.
“I hope it will be the first time of many more.” He took a deep breath. “Charlotte, all these doubts and moral qualms are unnecessary. I have reason to believe that you are not legally married to Conway, and thus free to marry me whenever we can rustle up a special license and a willing priest.”
Charlotte blinked, and her mouth opened in surprise, as words failed her. Had he gone mad?
She shook her head impatiently. “That is wishful thinking on your part, James. I was there in that church, the banns had been duly read. My father gave me away, and the vicar delivered an affecting speech about the sanctity of marriage. It was very real.”
“I am sure it was real as far as you and your family were concerned. But in May 1811, Peter Conway was still married to a woman called Lydia Treppanner. They had a daughter, who is still alive.”