“Very little, once I set her straight about Charity’s background and family.” Lewiston watched his brother swing up into the saddle. “She’s taking a trip into the village this morning. Said something about obtaining a proper lady’s maid.”
“For Charity?” Lachlan’s voice registered surprise. “What an uncharacteristic thing for her to do.” Apollo danced sideways, eager to get out and run free after weeks in the paddock. The marquess stroked his neck soothingly.
“I think she means to find one for herself,” Lewiston clarified, his tone wry. “She’s never had one in all the time we’ve known her, but now that you’ve brought an English lady into the house who is accustomed to such a luxury I suppose she intends to do whatever she can to appear less provincial.”
“Ah. That makes more sense.” Lachlan nodded at his brother and tugged on Apollo’s right rein, pointing the horse toward the gate. “Ironically, the only time Charity has ever had a maid was during her very short time in London this Season. And I believe she shared the maid with her twin sister.” He grinned and dug his heels into the stallion’s flanks. “Have a good morning,” he tossed back over his shoulder.
A rustling punctuated by occasional bumps and knocks slowly penetrated Charity’s consciousness. She woke slowly and opened her eyes to the gloom of a dark, unfamiliar room. When she heard the sound of a drawer being quietly opened and then closed again, she pushed herself to a sitting position, clutched the bedclothes to her chest, and scraped tangled curls from her face.
After she registered the fact that she was alone in the most enormous bed she’d ever occupied, it took a few seconds for the events of the previous evening to come flooding back. She blushed a little, and then a slow smile spread across Charity’s face. She stretched one arm upward, yawned hugely, and tilted her head back, reveling in the sensation of her hair swishing across her shoulders and the decadent feeling of her naked legs against the soft sheets. With a happy sigh she plunked back down into the soft pile of pillows, snatched one up, and hugged it to her chest. There was, she decided, a very naughty sort of beauty to waking up nude in her husband’s bed. She doubted she would ever sleep clothed again.
Expecting to find Lachlan near the wardrobe getting dressed for the day, she glanced toward the source of the noise. Instead, she saw a short, burly man she didn’t recognize rifling through the contents of her husband’s drawers, his back turned to her. With a quickly stifled gasp of alarm, she sat up, tugged the sheet from where it was tucked at the end of the bed and gathered it around her body in a silent, desperate attempt to cover herself.
Keeping an eye on the intruder, she scooted, as quietly as possible, toward the side of the bed nearest the doors to the bathing chamber. Without warning, the bed creaked. Loudly. Charity froze. The man straightened and turned toward her. His face was lined, craggy, and distinctly menacing.
His dark eyes locked on hers, surprise evident in their glittering depths. When he took a step forward, Charity scrambled into action, calling out, “Don’t make another move!” She gathered the sheet more securely around her body. “My husband will be home soon,” she warned. “Any minute now he’ll be back.”
The man stopped in his tracks and stood frozen, watching her warily. Charity slid down from the bed, taking her makeshift dressing gown with her, and sidled toward the fireplace, hoping to secure one of the long iron tools from the stand to use as a weapon.
The man followed her progress and, realizing her intention, hastened to reassure her. “My lady, I mean you no harm. I simply did not realize you were in the bed.” He smiled but was utterly unaware that his effort to be charming only made him look even more frightening. “I’ll just go on downstairs—”
Charity lunged the last few steps to the fireplace. “You’ll do no such thing!” She grabbed the poker and spun around, brandishing it like a sword. “I’m not afraid to use this!”
With her head high, her chin outthrust, and her eyes spitting blue sparks, she looked absolutely glorious, even clad only in a wrinkled bedsheet. The man’s smile broadened into a grin, and he held up a placating hand. “I believe you!” He chuckled. “Aye, his lordship must have his hands full with you, lass. I am Niles, my lady. Your husband’s valet.”
Charity lowered the poker a fraction of an inch and glared down its length. “You don’t look like a valet,” she accused.
“Well, begging your pardon, love, but you don’t look much like a marchioness.”
She narrowed her eyes at his audacity.
Niles chuckled. “I believe I like you, my lady. What do you say we drop the animosity and begin again?” His voice held only the slightest trace of a Scottish accent, and his words were cultured and intelligent, in startling contrast to his rough appearance.
Charity cautiously lowered her arm, which had begun to ache with the effort of holding up the long piece of heavy metal. With a toss of her reddish-gold head, she drew herself up as tall as possible and gifted him with a withering stare. “If you would be so kind, I’d like for you to leave.”
She tightened her grip on the sheet that served as her only covering as Niles nodded and glanced at the scattered scraps of clothing she had worn the previous day, now littering the floor beside the bed. Color flooded her cheeks.
“I brought your things from London, if you’d care for something fresh,” he announced. “The trunks have already been taken to your chamber.” He gave the fire poker a last rueful glance and then bowed and left.
The second the door closed behind him, Charity dropped the poker and fled through the bathing chamber to the safety of her own room.
“Ah, Niles. You’ve arrived sooner than I’d expected.”
The valet looked up from his task of putting away the things he’d brought with him from London, a gruesome smile on his craggy face. “Aye, my lord. We made good time by traveling at night and stopping only long enough to rest the horses.” He reached into a pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper, which he handed to his employer. “This is from the Duke of Blackthorne, my lord. His grace was of the opinion that you would need me here as soon as possible, so he told me to hurry.”
He glanced toward the doors that connected to the marchioness’s chamber. “Now that I’ve met your young lady, I imagine he thought you’d need someone to watch your back.” His dark eyes danced with humor.
Lachlan slipped the note into his pocket without reading it, followed the direction of Niles’s gaze, and fixed the burly valet with a questioning look, refusing to acknowledge the shorter man’s insinuation that he might need physical protection from his wife.
The valet’s grin broadened. “Quite the lady, my lord. She wields a rather mean poker.”
The marquess raised his eyebrows. “You appear provokingly unharmed,” he drawled. “I trust my wife is the same?”
“Aye, my lord. Nothing hurt but her pride. I didn’t realize she was asleep in your bed when I arrived. We . . . Hmm.” He paused as though searching for a properly descriptive word. “We surprised one another,” he finished.
Lachlan gave the valet a long look. “My wife was not dressed when I left her, Niles.”
“No,” he agreed. “Nor when I arrived.” He tilted his head toward the bed. “I imagine the maids will be wondering where the sheet has gone when they come to tidy up.”
Lachlan’s eyes roved from the bed, to the doors, and then back to his valet’s amused face. “So you’re telling me my wife held what she thought to be an intruder at bay with a fire poker while she was clad in nothing but a sheet?”
Niles nodded. “The poker wasn’t her only weapon, my lord. She was also armed with a rather hot temper. With that mop of the thickest reddish-blonde hair I’ve ever seen in my life, are you sure she isn’t Scots?”
“Quite sure,” Lachlan answered over his shoulder. He had turned on his heel and strode toward the connecting doors.
“Well, I like her,” called Niles at his master’s retreating back. “I like her a great deal,” he finished t
o himself, and returned to his task.
When Lachlan entered his wife’s chamber he saw Charity kneeling on the floor before her giant wardrobe, muttering darkly to herself as she tried to find places for all the shoes her sisters had sent from London. He couldn’t help but grin.
“Who in the world needs this many pairs of shoes, and why did I let them talk me into ordering them?” Without looking around, Charity reached back for another pair and then abruptly lost her balance, falling backwards onto her trim derriere. The location of her personal items in the mess she’d made unpacking her trunks was still a mystery, and she hadn’t been able to properly brush her hair. With an exasperated sigh she shook tangles of her curly hair from her eyes.
Her gaze fell on the only sensible pair of footwear she’d been able to find, a sturdy pair of walking boots, and inspiration struck. She grabbed one and began pulling out the length of leather used to lace it up. Once the thong was freed from the eyelets, she gathered her tousled curls in one hand and began clumsily trying to wrap the unruly mass, intending to tie it all back at the nape of her neck.
She’d quite nearly managed when she felt the unexpected touch of a hand on hers. With a startled shriek she scrambled away, crablike, and crawled around one of the open trunks, trying to put something solid between her and the intruder. “I knew I should have used that fire poker on you!”
There came a chuckle, and at the sound of her husband’s low laugh, Charity peeked over the top of the trunk. She scowled when she saw him standing there, the piece of leather she had dropped dangling from his fingers.
He composed his features and gave her an innocent look. “I was only trying to help.” He glanced around. “From the look of things, you could use someone with more talent in that capacity.”
Charity sighed and stood. “I had no idea I owned so many useless articles of clothing,” she admitted. She held out her arms in a helpless gesture. “Most of those shoes wouldn’t hold up ten minutes if I were to wear them out walking in this terrain.”
Lachlan smiled. “It appears I married a very practical girl. What an unexpected delight.” He took two long steps in her direction, reached for her chin and tilted her face up to his.
The last remnants of Charity’s irritation evaporated, along with her ability to breathe. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispered, just before he took her lips in a long, soft kiss.
When he lifted his mouth from hers and turned her around so that he could see to gathering her hair, Charity closed her eyes, embarrassed by her inadvertent statement. Had she really told him he was beautiful? Again?
“There,” said Lachlan. “A temporary solution to your grooming woes.” He dropped his hands to her shoulders and pulled her back against him. “I need to go into the village today.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Would you like to go with me? We could find you a proper lady’s maid, and I could show you around.”
Charity swallowed, not trusting herself to speak without blurting out more nonsense about her husband’s beauty. Instead, she nodded.
Lachlan held her a moment longer, then let go and stepped away. He bent to pick up the boot from which Charity had removed the leather lace. “You made quite an impression on my valet, kitten.”
At that statement, Charity found her voice and spun around, words suddenly tumbling over one another in their rush to escape her lips. “He sneaked up on me and . . . and . . . he smirked at me in the most horribly menacing way.” She gesticulated wildly. “Why in the world do you employ someone who looks so frightening?” Shuddering, she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “And I was naked,” she hissed.
Lachlan hid a smile. “Well, he likes you.”
Taken aback, Charity straightened and closed her mouth with a snap. She frowned, her forehead furrowed in confusion. “Did he not tell you that I threatened him with a fire poker?”
“He did.” Lachlan nodded, still struggling to keep a straight face. “I believe you threatened me with the same fate when I came into the room just now.”
She blushed. “Well, it isn’t my fault. Does everyone in this house intend to continue skulking about, sneaking up on people and scaring them half to death?”
Lachlan finally gave up and laughed. “You are exactly what this place needs, love. A bit of life and fire. Now let’s find you a pair of reasonably serviceable shoes and get going. I’ll send Niles to see if he can make sense of this mess while we’re gone. He’ll have to do until we get you a lady’s maid.”
The coach carrying the Marquess and Marchioness of Asheburton had scarcely cleared the gates of the keep when, unnoticed by the occupants of either vehicle, it passed the dowager marchioness’s conveyance just returning from the village. The smaller carriage clattered over the drawbridge and circled around the drive, coming to a stop before the wide, shallow steps that led up to the great doors.
Lewiston, who had only just stepped inside after seeing Lachlan and Charity off, walked back out to help his mother alight. To his surprise, once Eloise Kimball was safely on the ground, another woman emerged from the confines of the carriage. He took one look at the newcomer’s face and sucked in his breath.
“Mother,” he hissed, “have you lost your mind?”
Eloise looked back at him, her eyes wide with innocence. “You remember Beth Gilweather.” She smiled at the young blonde girl, who bobbed a quick curtsy in Lewiston’s direction. “Of course you do, darling. Beth has graciously agreed to come be my lady’s maid.”
Lewiston glanced at the girl, a carefully blank look on her pretty face, but her green eyes were calculating and knowing, and she was listening intently. With an exasperated sigh he took his mother’s elbow and pulled her a few steps away.
“Lachlan’s going to know exactly why you’ve brought his former fiancée here, Mother.”
“Of course he is,” she returned in a reasonable tone. “He is well aware of the fact that I intended to find a lady’s maid. You did tell him that’s why I’d traveled to the village, didn’t you?” She was unable to quite keep the look of triumph from her eyes.
“Yes,” Lewiston bit out. “I told him.”
Eloise laid a hand on her younger son’s cheek. “Darling. You seem vexed. Have you had luncheon? You always become irritable when you are hungry.”
Lewiston shook his head. “I wash my hands of this, Mother. You deal with Lachlan yourself when he learns what you’ve done.” He turned away, nodded once at Beth, who smiled back sweetly, and strode inside.
Twenty-seven
I think Scotland might be the most beautiful place in the entire world.” Charity turned away from watching the passing scenery and smiled at her husband, her eyes shining with happiness.
“I tend to agree, kitten,” he replied, giving his bride an indulgent smile that lent his normally stern expression an engaging boyishness. “If that is the case, it has only been made more beautiful by your presence.”
“Charming wretch.” Fascinated by the difference a simple smile made, Charity stared at him a moment and then tilted her face up to his for a quick kiss. “Tell me about the villagers, please,” she said, picturing a small, intimate group of people not unlike the close-knit community of her childhood. Everyone knew everyone else in Pelthamshire, which could be provoking at times but was, for the most part, rather wonderful. “Are a great many of them employed by the keep?”
“The village exists to support the Marquess of Asheburton, which means it is my duty and responsibility to ensure their livelihoods are protected and secure.” He tugged at one bright red-gold curl. “I don’t, however, consider them employees.”
The road beneath the wheels of the coach had gradually changed as they approached the village, smoothing out and causing fewer jars and bumps for the occupants. Charity pushed away from her husband and scooted back to the window, watching as they passed outlying farms and fields. Without fail, the people working in those fields looked up, smiled, and waved as the burgundy coach drove past with its coat of arms emblaz
oned on the doors.
Charity waved back cheerfully, and Lachlan shook his head, still smiling at the look of childlike wonder in her large aqua eyes. Young boys and girls appeared from nowhere to run along the road a ways before falling off pace as they tired or were called back by their mothers.
It was, all in all, the most enjoyable day she’d experienced since leaving Pelthamshire for her London Season. Without warning, the coach turned off the road to the right. Thrown off balance, Charity plunked back on the seat next to Lachlan, and then leaned over him, trying to see where they were going through the window on his side. He laughed and tugged her across his lap so that she could see more easily.
“Relax, kitten,” he told her. “We’re going to stop here. You can get out and see all there is to see.”
Sure enough, as soon as the coach stopped the door opened from the outside and a liveried footman bowed and offered his hand to help Charity down. She disembarked with a grateful smile, followed closely by Lachlan, who took her by the arm and guided her around the back of the coach. There, nestled into a copse of elm trees, was a quaint little gray stone church. A set of steps led up to the white oak doors, which stood open, inviting all who passed to come inside. Lachlan held out a hand.
“It’s so pretty,” said Charity, placing her hand in his. She followed him up the steps and into the dim interior.
Fifteen rows of wooden pews and kneelers flanked a wide center aisle that led to the chancel, three shallow steps up from the nave. A simple lectern stood to the right on the chancel, and a pulpit to the left. Though the building itself was small, the windows were not. Three soaring stained glass windows depicting biblical stories marched along both sides of the nave, topped with half circles of clear glass to allow natural light to flow through during the day. Charity looked around in wonder, fascinated that such a beautifully simple structure existed in the rustic area.
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