Charity laughed. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.” Her eyes sparkled and she leaned toward him as if sharing a confidence, her voice a bit lowered. “Perhaps you should take a break. I’ve just come from the garden, and it’s a beautiful day. I won’t tell anyone.”
Desmond recovered his composure and drew himself stiffly upright. “I’m sure I have far too many things I must attend, Miss Ackerly, for me to waste time cavorting in the garden.
“Suit yourself,” returned Charity agreeably. “Have you seen Amity?”
“She’s in the drawing room with his lordship, Miss. Perhaps you would be kind enough to go in there and inform Lord Roth that my wages do not cover doing everything in his home. Next he’ll be wanting me to cook the meals and tidy the bedchambers.” He turned away, muttering darkly under his breath, just loudly enough for Charity to hear, about it not being his job to manage the whereabouts of everyone in the ridiculously full household.
Charity watched him with a smile until he turned the corner, and then she set the book she was reading down on a table in the foyer. She glanced into the mirror above the table and tightened the bow on the aquamarine velvet ribbon holding back her strawberry blonde curls. Her color was high, her eyes sparkled with good humor, and her lips were curved in a smile she couldn’t seem to dislodge.
After the debacle of her morning ride with Amity and the Marquess of Asheburton the previous day, Charity had gone straight to her room to take stock of the situation. She’d come to an almost immediate conclusion: nobody was going to ruin the Season for her. Especially not Lachlan Kimball. Her mind made up, she’d spent the rest of the day putting him out of her mind, and with firm resolve she’d confronted Amity about the ball that evening.
“I need to stay in tonight. Couldn’t we ask Aunt Cleo to accompany you? She’d be an excellent buffer between you and the marquess.”
Amity, after giving her sister a long assessing look, agreed. Together they composed a quick note to Cleo Egerton, carefully worded to keep the astute older lady from guessing there was anything afoot. Their eccentric aunt had replied almost immediately that she would be more than happy to act as chaperone, and Charity breathed a sigh of relief. She’d spent the evening quietly at home, visiting with Faith, who was tired of being confined to her bed and happy for the company. She’d gone to bed early and woke refreshed and ready to embrace the rest of her stay in London with a peaceful, tranquil heart.
Now, satisfied with her reflection in the foyer mirror, Charity walked across the hall and quietly entered the drawing room so as not to interrupt the conversation between her sister and Gareth, who was standing just inside the doorway. Her sister was seated on a settee, her posture correct and primly erect.
Amity’s eyes grew round when she saw Charity appear behind her brother-in-law. Gareth spun to see what had caused her expression to change, and when he moved aside, Charity saw that they were not the only people in the room. The Marquess of Asheburton sat there as well.
Charity felt a sudden spurt of annoyance. With an effort she recalled her intention to not allow anyone, especially this particular man, to spoil her Season. She pasted a pleasant smile on her face and greeted the marquess with a curtsy. “Good morning, my lord. I didn’t know you’d stopped in.”
Lachlan stood and bowed politely. “Good morning, Miss Ackerly. I hope you’re feeling better today.”
Despite her resolve, Charity narrowed her eyes, assuming he was referring to her hasty exit from his vehicle. The man had no couth at all. “Feeling better?”
Lachlan’s smile faltered and he looked at Amity, who stood as well. “Aunt Cleo mentioned your headache on the ride to the ball last night,” she said.
Charity counted to ten, her irritation now internally directed. “Desmond told me you were in here, Amity. I’ll just look for you after you’ve finished . . . um . . . entertaining your guest.”
She backed toward the door and, quite forgetting he was there, bumped into Gareth. When she apologized and glanced upward, her brother-in-law’s golden brown eyes twinkled down at her.
“Why don’t you stay and talk a bit, Charity? I was just leaving to check on Faith. Dr. Meadows should be here momentarily, and this way we can be sure Ashe is”—he smirked—“entertained.”
Trapped, Charity barely managed to keep from scowling. When the knocker sounded from out in the hall, nobody moved. It seemed an opportunity. “I-I could get the door,” she stammered. “Desmond was going toward the kitchen a few moments ago and—”
“There is no need for you to do my job, Miss Ackerly,” interrupted the butler from the foyer, his tone haughty and affronted. “Although I am impossibly overworked, I believe I still manage.” He glided off toward the door with his nose in the air.
Lachlan looked astonished at the servant’s audaciousness. “Honestly, Roth, I don’t understand why you continue to employ that man.”
Gareth grinned. “Desmond was a great favorite of my mother’s,” he explained. “My father consistently complained about him, but my mother was indulgent and talked the old earl out of firing him on multiple occasions. When they died and Jonathon became the Earl of Seth, he hired another man but kept Desmond as his under-butler, and when I eventually needed a butler, Jon was more than happy to send him over.”
“Well, I like him,” said Charity stoutly. “One shouldn’t have to be constantly hushed simply because their behavior is deemed unseemly.” She raised challenging eyebrows at Lachlan, as if daring him to disagree. He stared coolly back and didn’t respond.
“Dr. Meadows, my lord,” announced Desmond, who looked pointedly at the Marquess of Asheburton. “At least he was expected.”
Charity snorted sharply with laughter. Amity gave her a hard look.
“Amity?” Faith’s voice floated down from the balcony, where she was not supposed to be. “Do you have a moment?”
Charity’s twin jumped up and left the room, followed closely by Gareth and Dr. Meadows, all three loudly admonishing Faith for being out of bed. Their voices faded into the second level of the house, leaving Lachlan, Charity, and Desmond alone in the drawing room. After a moment of awkward silence, the butler cleared his throat. “I suppose you’ll be needing some sort of refreshment delivered, Miss Ackerly.”
“No,” said Charity.
“Yes,” said Lachlan.
They stared at one another.
Desmond bowed. “As you wish, Miss Ackerly.” He left the room without a sound.
Charity spoke first. “Do you always come into other people’s homes and order their servants about?”
Lachlan ignored her. “Why are you so angry with me, Charity?”
The sound of her name on his lips washed over her warmly, and Charity blushed; the memory of the kiss they’d shared floated unbidden into her mind. “I’m not angry with you, my lord,” she said in a low voice.
Mistaking her blush for an attempt to control her temper, the marquess persisted. “I wish you could see yourself, Charity. The look on your face, the way your fists are clenched at your sides . . . everything about you tells me you’re vexed and trying to hide it. Why don’t you just come out with whatever is on your mind? Get it out into the open so we can deal with it.”
At that impossible suggestion, Charity panicked. Tell him she was remembering how it felt to be held in his arms, that she couldn’t get the desire to feel his mouth on hers again to go away? Unthinkable. Unable to come up with a response, she crossed her arms and glared at him in renewed animosity.
Lachlan shook his head. “Someone should turn you over his knee and give you a sound spanking.”
She sucked in her breath. “I dare you to try.”
That was how Gareth and Matthew Meadows found them, returned from getting Faith settled back into bed: anger arced almost visibly between the two.
Gareth spoke first. “Amity asked me to let you know she’s going to stay with Faith a while, and to thank you for the visit, Ashe.”
His words broke
the pervading air of conflict. In silence, Charity waited while Ashe took his leave, shame at losing her resolve stilling her tongue, then she left the room as well, murmuring something about the book she’d left on the table in the foyer.
Matthew and Gareth watched her leave. “That was interesting,” said the latter.
Matthew recalled the look Lachlan had given Amity after their drive the day before and saw a sudden chance to keep his rival for her affections out of the Lloyd town house. He paused a moment and then took the plunge. “I hate to bring this up, because I know the marquess is your friend, but . . .” He allowed the sentence to trail off and waited.
Gareth eyed him curiously.
“Well, there just seems to be a lot of turmoil between him and Charity. I don’t think the constant atmosphere of tension and excitement is good for Lady Roth’s precarious condition.”
Gareth’s eyebrows beetled in a frown.
“I’d like to see her make it at least one more week before the baby comes,” Matthew continued, pressing his advantage. “I think it would make all the difference in the world for both Faith and the child.”
The marquess paced a few steps, deep in thought. He knew that Ashe had an eye on Amity, quite possibly as a matrimonial prospect, and that Amity had neither voiced objection to his suit nor encouraged anyone else. Asking Ashe to stop courting her wouldn’t be fair to either of them. He turned back to his friend and said, “You’re right, of course.”
Matthew silently congratulated himself . . . until Gareth’s next words registered.
“I’ll just have to send Charity to stay with Trevor and Grace for a while.” He clapped Matthew on the back. “This is exactly why I wanted you to come into Town from Rothmere. Thank you, my friend. I’ll just go up and discuss it with my wife. Can you see yourself out?”
“Of course,” Matthew replied, stunned by how quickly his impromptu plan had backfired. He walked slowly to the door then turned to watch Gareth’s back as the man made his way upstairs.
He retrieved his hat and coat from the stand, and then, feeling helpless, glanced toward the stairs, wishing he could take back the entire conversation. A soft smile worked its way across his face. Amity was making her way downward.
“Were you leaving so soon, Dr. Meadows?” she asked.
Was that a note of disappointment in her voice? Matthew hung his coat back on the hook, and then tried to do the same with his hat while still keeping an eye on Amity. He missed, and the object fell to the carpet with a soft thud.
“Oh, you dropped your hat,” she said, and rushed forward to pick it up just as Matthew did the same. They bumped their heads together and straightened, laughing softly, Amity with the hat in her hands. “Here you go,” she said, holding it out. Suddenly shy, she couldn’t look up to meet his eyes.
He reached out to take it. When his fingertips touched hers, he threw caution to the wind and took her hand instead. “Amity,” he said.
Her heart pounding, Amity closed her eyes and bit her lip. “Yes?” Tingles worked their way up her arm, and she shivered delicately.
“Look at me, please.”
Amity lifted her face, her eyes shimmering with newly awakening feelings. It was more than Matthew could take. Dropping his hat, he gathered her close and lowered his head to take her lips in a tender kiss.
“This is a disaster!” Charity swept into the room and threw herself across Amity’s bed. Most of her curls had escaped the ribbon she’d used to tie them back that morning and now fell forward around her face, obscuring her view of Amity, who was seated on the window ledge. She impatiently pushed the hair back and peered at her twin.
Amity was staring off into space, wearing a dreamy expression. “He kissed me.”
Despite her dramatic entrance, Charity felt herself soften. She pushed upright into a sitting position. “Dr. Meadows? Kissed you?” Her smile widened. “Well, gracious me. I didn’t think he had it in him to make a move so soon.”
Amity hugged her knees to her chest and blushed, then belatedly realized what Charity had said as she came in. “What’s a disaster?”
Her sister blew at another errant curl. “Oh. Um.” She looked sheepish. “I’m being sent off to Grace and Trevor’s until after the baby comes.”
Amity uncurled in alarm, her feet hitting the floor. She leaned forward, her eyes wide. “This is a disaster!”
“I know!”
The twins looked at each other for a long moment. Amity stood and started pacing between the window and the bed. “Well, I’ll just have to spend a lot of time visiting you when Asheburton typically comes to call.”
“Definitely,” agreed Charity. “He doesn’t know Trevor all that well, except through the Duke of Blackthorne, so it would look odd if he followed you there.”
Amity sighed. “But if I’m over there too much, that means I won’t get to spend much time with Matthew.”
Both girls fell silent, Amity contemplating ways to maximize her encounters with Dr. Meadows while minimizing those with the Marquess of Asheburton. Charity, however, was thinking about kissing.
She slanted a glance at her sister’s bemused profile. “What did it feel like?”
Distracted from her thoughts, Amity regarded her with confusion. “What did what feel like?”
“Kissing.”
“Oh.” She sat down next to Charity and squeezed her hands. “Like . . . warm and floaty. I can’t find the right words, but it was the most wondrous thing I’ve ever experienced.”
Charity nodded slowly, biting back questions. She wanted to ask if it felt like the floor had suddenly dropped out from beneath Amity’s feet so that she had to hold on to Matthew for safety, or if her stomach felt as though stars had exploded into butterflies of light which then took flight to the most embarrassing places. She wanted to know if it felt the same way it had when Lachlan kissed her in the garden, but of course she couldn’t bring that up.
Amity, though, guessed her sister’s thoughts. “I’m sure that when you kiss someone you love it will be different than when Asheburton kissed you,” she said gently.
Charity nodded. But inside her head, hidden even from the twin sister who was also her best friend, the same thought kept flashing.
What if I don’t want it to be different?
Twelve
For the next several days, the plan worked beautifully. Amity left the Lloyd town house in the morning, just after breakfast, and she visited with Aunt Cleo or with Charity and Grace, avoiding the Marquess of Asheburton completely. She returned late in the afternoon and spent some time talking quietly with Faith, keeping her sister up to date on the happenings in town. Matthew adjusted his schedule to coincide with Amity’s returns, and after he was finished with his patient they managed to snatch a few moments together before she had to begin preparations for her evening activities. Cleo and Charity would arrive together to pick her up, and they’d go as a group from function to function, the girls keeping an eye out for the marquess. On the odd occasion they did see Lachlan at a ball, they hastily gathered up their aunt and whisked her away to another event before he even had a chance to speak with them.
It worked splendidly until the day the baby came. Faith went into labor in the wee hours of the morning, prompting all the Ackerlys in London to arrive at the Lloyd town house to be there for the blessed event. Trevor Caldwell even came along with Grace to lend moral support to his good friend.
Hours passed with no word from Dr. Meadows or the midwife he’d brought along, and Gareth was becoming more and more agitated. By the time the clock in the hallway chimed the noon hour, he was beside himself. “I’m going up there,” he announced.
“You most certainly will not, young man,” barked Cleo Egerton.
“She’s in good hands,” said Grace, gently. “If you show up looking so concerned, you’ll only make Faith worry about you. She needs to focus on delivering this baby.” She gave Amity a pointed look.
Without a word, her sister nodded and left the
room to go see if she could ascertain how things were progressing. Amity didn’t make it past the foyer, though, because Desmond was just opening the door to the Marquess of Asheburton. Caught, she cast a longing glance between the stairs and the door to the sitting room, wishing she could escape up one or into the other, but he’d already seen her.
Left with no alternative, she walked to the door to politely greet Lachlan. “Good morning, my lord. I apologize, but things are rather busy here this morning.” She smiled. “The baby has decided to come today.”
“Well, that’s wonderful news!” Lachlan stood uncertainly just inside the door, not wishing to intrude on a private event. “I’ll just come and pay my respects another time.” He turned to leave.
“Amity!”
Both looked to the stairway and saw Matthew Meadows coming down, his face glowing with happiness. Forgetting completely about the marquess, Amity met the physician at the foot of the stairs. “The baby’s here?” He nodded, and they both went into the sitting room.
Desmond, tired of standing and waiting with the door open, closed it with a bang and strode off, leaving Lachlan standing awkwardly in the foyer with his hat in his hands. A moment later he heard cheers and congratulations, and then he watched as Gareth sprinted from the sitting room and up the stairs.
Trevor Caldwell appeared in the doorway and spotted him. “Ashe!” He crossed the foyer, his hand outstretched.
Lachlan shook it. “I understand congratulations are in order.”
Trevor nodded. “Gareth’s just become the father of a little girl. Come on in!”
The marquess shook his head. “It’s a family moment,” he said. “I’d have left sooner, but that wretched butler Roth employs left me standing here. I’ll just see myself out.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re Blackthorne’s cousin, which makes you nearly family—or will, anyway, if little Mercy manages to bring him up to scratch.” Trevor laughed and led Lachlan into the sitting room.
As soon as the two men appeared, Amity and Charity exchanged worried glances, and then both girls looked at Matthew, who grew notably grim.
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