by Ella Quinn
“Yes, ma’am.” After all, his mother had nothing to do with the way he behaved. Not that Charlotte would disobey Lady Bellamny in any event. She had been a friend to Charlotte’s mother and now to Grace and the rest of the family.
“Neither will I have you showing that Friday face to her ladyship. It is her son to whom you are betrothed.” Charlotte tried to paste a polite smile on her lips and failed miserably. “It is my experience that everything always turns out the way it is meant to be.” Lady Bellamny lapsed into silence for a few minutes, but Charlotte did not expect it to last, and she was right. A few moments later, her ladyship continued. “You could do much worse than Kenilworth. He does not gamble or, as far as I know, drink to excess. He has an excellent reputation in the Lords. As a matter of fact, he has worked with Worthington to pass some important bills. I am positive that when you have had an opportunity to rest and reflect on your situation, you will come to the conclusion that you could have done much worse. It is a good match.”
Not if he bought women, it was not. Lady Bellamny’s sharp gaze focused on Charlotte, and she felt compelled to respond. “Yes, my lady.”
Satisfied, Lady Bellamny closed her eyes and dozed, leaving Charlotte to her thoughts.
Mostly she just wanted to go home. She wanted to be with her sister and the children and not have to think about what had happened, or what could have happened, or what might happen.
If only she had not sent her footman, Frank, back to the house for her shooting gloves, he might have been able to fight off the miscreants until other help had arrived. With him there, and if she had practiced with her dagger more diligently, she could have stabbed one of the men and got away.
Tears pricked the back of Charlotte’s eyes, and she gave herself a shake. There was no point in crying over what was already done. She would find a way forward. A way that did not include marrying a man she had detested long before she’d made his acquaintance.
At least Jemmy would have arrived in Berkeley Square by now with the message that she would be rescued. That was a happy thought. Although, she wished her champion had been someone else. That situation, though, was beyond her control . . . for the moment.
She could not stop her mind from wandering back over the past day. At first, Lord Kenilworth had seemed so nice, and she could not deny he was handsome, and there had been that kiss. Still, handsome is as handsome does and . . . She really had to stop thinking about Kenilworth.
Matt and Grace wouldn’t be home yet, but Cousin Jane would come as soon as she received the letter giving her the direction of Lady Kenilworth’s house. Perhaps her cousin would have some ideas Charlotte could not think of. After all, Jane had successfully managed not to marry the man her father chose for her.
Charlotte would write to Dotty as well. Her friend had always helped her find the best solutions to the problems Charlotte faced. And Dotty would understand why it was impossible for Charlotte to wed Lord Kenilworth. After all, she was the one who had discovered Miss Betsy’s brothel and what she had done to the poor ladies there.
In the meantime, Charlotte would stay out of his lordship’s way. After Charlotte’s ordeal, perhaps his mother would expect her to be ill or out of sorts for a few days, and allow her to take her meals in her chamber. Normally, she would scoff at such mawkish behavior, but in this case she’d make an exception.
In a day or two, Jane would have arrived to take Charlotte home. And maybe her sister would already be waiting for her. And, if she wrote to Dotty right away, she might be in Town as well. Charlotte started to feel better, more hopeful. She wished Louisa could come, yet she was newly married and it would not be fair to drag her back to Town.
If only Lord Braxton and Lord Gerald had not been there, none of this would be necessary. Still, they had been, and Charlotte must think of a way out of this tangle.
She nodded to herself. She would write to her oldest sister and to her friend and tell them everything that had occurred—well, maybe not about the kiss—and among them, they would figure out a way for her to jilt Lord Kenilworth. He shouldn’t even care if she ended the engagement. He did not want to marry her in any event.
Lady Bellamny was right. Everything would be as it should be, just not as her ladyship expected.
* * *
Less than thirty minutes later, Con turned down the familiar drive lined with linden trees. Leaning forward slightly, he waited until the Elizabethan manor house came into view. Even the horses seemed to sense his excitement and sped up a little.
As he approached, the windows sparkled as if diamonds had been set in the glass panes. Wooden beams crossed not only the cream-colored wattle and daub but the red brick as well. Although hidden from the front, the gardens in back had been restored to their original splendor, and he could not wait to see them once more. The manor house was easily the favorite of all his properties.
And even though Charlotte had given him nothing but trouble, he wondered if she would be as impressed by the manor as he always was.
He slowed the pair to a stop, jumped out of the phaeton, and threw the ribbons to a groom who had run up.
When Lady Bellamny’s traveling coach stopped, Con opened the door and let the steps down.
“My ladies, welcome,” he said, offering his hand. Once Lady Bellamny was out of the carriage, he turned to assist Charlotte down, almost expecting her to refuse his offer. Instead, she was standing in the door gazing in what appeared to be awe at the house’s façade.
“It is lovely,” he murmured, praying this new side of her would last.
“Yes. It is beautiful.” Her expressive blue eyes sparkled. “I love the wattle and daub, and the windows. Is it in an E shape?”
“It is indeed. You know your architecture.” He had never before met a young lady interested in old buildings, and his appreciation of her grew. Had Lady Bellamny said something to Charlotte to make her change her mind about him? He had never before been rejected by a woman, and it pricked his pride that the lady he must marry did not want him.
“Did one of your ancestors build it?” She scanned the front of the building as if she was attempting to take in everything about the structure before entering.
“It has been in my family for only about one hundred years.” Con offered her his hand again. “There are knot gardens in the back as well as a maze.”
The massive double doors to the house opened, and a butler emerged. “My lord, welcome. Her ladyship shall be here directly.”
A bevy of footmen swarmed the carriages, then fell back looking confused. Good God. How had he forgotten how singular it would appear for two ladies to arrive with no luggage?
“There is no baggage, Dalton.” Con held out one arm to Lady Bellamny and the other to Charlotte, and he almost sighed with relief when she placed her slender fingers on his jacket. “It will be here later along with my valet and Lady Charlotte’s maid.”
For a scant moment, the butler’s lips pursed as if he had tasted a particularly sour lemon. The man needed to work on keeping his thoughts to himself. “Very good, my lord.”
He escorted Lady Bellamny and Charlotte as they made their way into a grand hall. Removing her hand from his arm, Charlotte stared up at the carved wooden beams darkened by age, then looked down, taking in the checkerboard pattern of the marble tiles in dark blue and white.
Before his mother had moved in, old weapons adorned the walls. They had been replaced by old paintings and even older tapestries.
“One could easily spend a lifetime exploring this house and the grounds,” she said, strolling around as she gazed up at the walls.
“Almost.” Was that a pang of regret in her voice? He hoped it was. “I certainly have not been able to explore it all, and it was not from lack of trying.”
He was congratulating himself at how well things were going, when his mother, a tall woman with russet-colored hair, descended the stairs. Her skin was still flawless. It was as if she had not aged a day since the last time he had vis
ited. Mama glanced from Con to Charlotte, then to her ladyship.
No one could accuse her of being stupid. In the brief time she’d traversed the stairs, he could tell she had apprehended most of the situation. Finally, she was going to get her wish that he wed.
Slowly, Mama’s lips formed a wide smile. “Almeria, I am overjoyed to see you. What have you brought me?”
“As I am to see you.” Lady Bellamny touched Lady Kenilworth’s outstretched hand and bussed her cheek. “You must come up to Town more often.”
The older ladies embraced before his mother turned to him, raising a brow as she did. “Constantine?”
Immediately, he bowed and made a nod in Charlotte’s direction. “Mama, this is Lady Charlotte Vivers—”
“Carpenter,” Charlotte corrected him in a firm but cordial tone as she made an elegant curtsey. “Vivers is my brother-in-law, the Earl of Worthington’s, family name.”
And guardian. Con finally remembered that Worthington was raising his wife’s sisters and brothers along with Worthington’s own sisters. Con tried to keep his back teeth from grinding. At the rate he was going, he’d wear them down before he was much older. “My mistake.”
Perdition. How in hell could he have forgot the name she had given the landlord? Not only that, but she didn’t have the Vivers’ dark hair and lapis eyes. Carpenter? Stanstead? Hell. She must be the old Earl of Stanstead’s daughter and the new earl’s sister. Nothing like feeling a fool.
Not only that, his fumble put paid to the story he’d planned to tell his mother; that he and Charlotte had known each other before.
“Lady Charlotte, my mother, the Marchioness of Kenilworth.”
“A pleasure to meet you, my lady.”
Not batting an eye, his mother held out her hand in welcome. One would almost think he was in the habit of bringing home disheveled young ladies whose names he did not know. “I believe we shall take tea in the morning room, and you may tell me what this is all about.” Lady Kenilworth’s eyes narrowed slightly as she gazed at Charlotte and her son. “However, that can wait. Lady Charlotte shall have a chance to rest. You look as if you have not slept well, my dear.”
Although Charlotte’s back was still erect, she seemed to droop, and there was a twinge of something in the region of Con’s heart. She had been through a great deal lately.
“Thank you. I am rather fatigued,” Charlotte replied.
As if she had been waiting to be summoned, Mrs. Moore, his mother’s housekeeper, came up next to Charlotte, curtseyed, then looked to his mother.
“Here you are, my dear.” His mother maintained her smile and the light tone with which she had greeted them. “Mrs. Moore will be happy to escort you to your chamber.”
“If you will come with me, my lady, I have a room ready.”
“Thank you.” She smiled gratefully.
That was the first time Con had seen her smile since . . . well, since she discovered his name. He didn’t know what had caused this complete turnabout in her attitude, but he was grateful for it.
Once Charlotte and the housekeeper had ascended the stairs and turned into the east wing, Mama flew into action. “Dalton. We shall want tea and whatever else Cook has on hand at this hour of the day.”
In an attempt to escape, Con bowed. “Lady Bellamny, thank you for your help. Mama, I shall see you after I have rested.”
She glanced at him, both eyebrows climbing toward her hairline. “Not so fast, my boy. Before you do anything else, I shall have this story from you.”
Without waiting for him to reply, she took Lady Bellamny’s arm and turned on her heel, leading the way to the back of the house.
He followed the ladies down the corridor. At least he’d get to tell his story without Charlotte interrupting, and enlist his mother to his cause.
Chapter Eight
Charlotte followed Mrs. Moore up the grand staircase to a large, pleasant room overlooking a rose garden edged by what looked to be boxwood.
A tub and screen stood before the fireplace, which had been lit and was already warming the bedchamber.
“I’ll send her ladyship’s dresser to you.”
“Thank you.”
The door closed behind the housekeeper, and Charlotte rubbed her arms, more to stay awake than for warmth.
A few moments later, a light rap sounded on the door before it opened and a woman carrying a linen nightgown entered the chamber. “Good morning, my lady, I am Gray.” She looked around the room, then, seemingly satisfied, asked, “Shall I help you undress?”
“Yes, please,” Charlotte repeated. Unlike last night at the inn, she longed to change into nightclothes, sink into a soft bed, and sleep.
Despite Lord Kenilworth being in the house, she felt as if she was safe. Even a rogue such as he would not accost her in his mother’s house.
“I shall clean and brush your garments while you sleep.” The dresser’s voice was soothing, easing her into a feeling of contentment. “I understand your maid will arrive later today.”
“She will.” Thankfully, Lady Bellamny had taken care of that.
Charlotte turned, allowing the maid to unfasten the back of her carriage gown, when she remembered the dagger. “If you will give me a moment, I must go behind the screen.”
Gray pointed to a door nestled between two bookcases. “You will find the garderobe through that door.”
“I shall be just a moment.” Charlotte strode into the small room. There were shelves with folded cloths to one side. She removed the dagger and holder, placing them behind the cloths, then returned to the main chamber.
While Gray was undressing Charlotte, she had the opportunity to think back. She had been surprised to see how young Lady Kenilworth appeared. Even as she had come to greet them, Charlotte could see her ladyship’s flawless skin. Other than some small lines radiating from Lady Kenilworth’s eyes, there was hardly a wrinkle to be seen.
She had not appeared old enough to be his lordship’s mother, and Charlotte thought the lady could be a step-mother like Lady Worthington, now Lady Wolverton, was Matt’s step-mother. Yet, her ladyship’s eyes were the same beautiful leaf green of Kenilworth’s, so they must be related.
It had not been until Lady Kenilworth had mentioned resting that Charlotte had allowed herself to flag, and suddenly the hours of travel and very little sleep had caught up with her all at once.
Charlotte raised her arms, and the dresser slipped the nightgown over her head. Charlotte covered her mouth, hiding a yawn.
Gray ran a warming pan under the top bedcovers. “Well, now. Let’s get you into bed, my lady.”
A moment later Charlotte was tucked under the bedcovers, the door had closed on the maid, and nothing short of another abduction could have stopped her from succumbing to Morpheus . . . except—a plaintive chirp sounded from the basket—Collette.
Charlotte threw the covers back. How could she have forgotten her kitten?
She must be much more tired than even she had thought. After opening the basket and seeing to the poor kitty’s needs, she set Collette on the bed and climbed back in, snuggling the kitten next to her. “Now we shall have a nice nap. Once I’m rested I shall find a way out of this ludicrous betrothal.”
The bed was soft, the curtains closed, but still sleep didn’t come. Lord Kenilworth could not wish to wed Charlotte. Indeed, earlier at the inn he had not even cared enough about her to notice she was ignoring him. Then when he had given his mother her wrong last name, he had not appeared at all contrite for the mistake he had made. He clearly possessed no proper feelings. Yet another reason not to marry him.
Well, what more could she expect from the man—she would not call him a gentleman even though that was his rank—who bought a woman’s body? Women’s bodies.
Most likely, he merely did not wish to face Lady Bellamny’s ire by refusing the betrothal. That must be it. Even Matt and Merton did not like to get on the wrong side of her ladyship. The more Charlotte considered it, the more convince
d she became that Lord Kenilworth would be happy to be rid of her.
That settled, she began to feel sleepy again. There was nothing to worry about. If all went well, she would be home tomorrow evening at the latest.
* * *
Con followed Lady Bellamny and his mother down the corridor to a light-filled morning room in the back of the house.
The parlor—filled with old furniture—was comfortable rather than formal. The lower walls were painted a muted shade of apple green. The curtains and upper walls were of a large floral pattern. Paintings, mostly portraits of children, pets, and other people, covered almost every surface running up two of the walls. The French windows his mother had had installed led out to her favorite part of the garden.
“Constantine,” Mama said, motioning him to one of two chairs near the sofa next to which she stood. “Please sit where I can easily see you.”
That never boded well for him. Instead of complying, he took up a position next to the fireplace. “I believe I would rather stand.”
“As you will.” Her eyes narrowed at him as she gracefully sank onto the sofa, settling her skirts as she did.
When the butler entered bearing a large tea tray, Con was glad to see his favorite lemon tarts covering one plate. Were they Cook’s idea or Mama’s?
Lady Bellamny chose an old French cane-backed chair to Mama’s right.
Once he received a cup of tea from her, Con decided to begin with the most relevant piece of news first. “Lady Charlotte and I are betrothed.”
“Betrothed!” His mother opened and closed her mouth as if she would say more but did not know quite what. Unfortunately, that did not last nearly long enough. She had been waiting for this day since he went on the Town. “You did not even know her surname. How can you be engaged to the lady?”
Devil take it. Why did she have to focus on that slight mistake?