Lachlan led her down the aisle. “Father Bartholemew—”
“This church is Catholic?” interrupted Charity.
“Not precisely,” Lachlan said. “Father Bartholemew came to Ashton not long after I met Gregory, my unofficial tutor, and I have always suspected he came from England at Gregory’s urging.” He stopped and pulled Charity up against his side, curving an arm around her shoulders. “Before that, Ashton did not have a church. A small group of Christians met each week in homes and shops, but there was really no formal religion. Some residents were pagan, and some held no beliefs at all.
“I never attended church as a child,” he admitted. “Neither of my parents were spiritual. Even if they had some belief in Christianity, my mother would never have taken us to worship with the people in the village she viewed as common. What I now know of religion I learned with Gregory, at first from his many books and then from his example. He was devout, and mentioned to me once that he studied to be a vicar. He never told me why he gave up that plan. I strongly suspect he fell in love and lost her for some reason, but I never asked him personal questions. We had rather an unspoken agreement that such things were not to be discussed.”
Charity rubbed her cheek on his jacket. “I love it when you speak of your childhood.”
Lachlan kissed the top of her head and sat down in the first pew, pulling her down onto his lap. “One day, when I arrived at Gregory’s cabin, there was a stranger visiting him. He wore the robes of a man of the cloth and smiled kindly when I walked through the door. I apologized for interrupting, but both men encouraged me to stay. Gregory introduced me to Father Bart, and then gave me my daily assignment. I sat down to study at my little table but kept one ear on the conversation, the first of many such conversations to which I avidly paid attention.
“They were talking about building this church on the outskirts of the village. The project was to be privately funded, though they did not discuss from where the funds were to come, and there was to be no intention of changing the way the villagers currently chose to worship. Rather, Father Bart would offer himself and his church as an alternative to the unorganized congregation that already existed.
“Before long, most of the villagers who were inclined toward Christianity began to attend services on Sunday. My family still did not, but my religious education continued in Gregory’s cabin, just like all my other lessons, with Father Bart frequently joining our discussions. After Gregory went home to England, I found myself stopping here.”
Charity chewed on her lower lip. “Won’t Father Bartholomew be disappointed that you did not get married here?”
“Why, yes. He is both surprised and disappointed.”
Startled by the voice that came from behind them, Charity twisted around in her husband’s lap to see a tall, thin gentleman in a simple black robe coming down the aisle from the doorway. Both she and Lachlan stood, and when the clergyman drew near, Lachlan stepped forward, a broad smile wreathing his face, and embraced the older man.
He turned back. “Father Bart, please meet my wife, Charity Kimball.”
Charity was still unused to hearing her new full name spoken, and for a moment it did not register that Lachlan meant her. When the men eyed her curiously, she gave a little start of surprise. “Oh! You mean me, don’t you?”
Both men laughed, and she blushed a little, smiling along with them. “Forgive me, Father.” She wrinkled her forehead. “I’m not really sure if I should curtsy or . . . ?” Her words trailed off, and she turned her hands palms up and shrugged. Her religious upbringing had been cursory, at best, since the death of her mother when she was three. Before that, the family had attended the small church in Pelthamshire headed by the dour-faced Reverend Teesbury who, when children saw him out, inspired them to run the other way so that they wouldn’t have to address him.
Father Bart took both of her hands in his, stepped forward and pressed a kiss onto her cheek. “You are delightful, my child.” He glowered in Lachlan’s direction. “I can’t say the same for your husband.”
The marquess looked unperturbed. “I thought it best that we get married at the border for a couple of reasons.”
Bartholomew crossed his arms. “They had better be good reasons.”
Charity laughed, loving the sight of her powerful husband put in the position of explaining himself.
“Well, in the first place,” said Lachlan to the tall, spare clergyman with a dampening look at his wife, “I was not entirely sure Charity wouldn’t change her mind if I gave her too much time to think about it.”
“Is that so?” she asked, her eyes dancing impishly.
“Quite.” His expression softened. “And I was quite determined, you see, to have her as my wife.”
Although his words were directed at Father Bart, Lachlan was still looking at Charity. Her heart did a happy little flip.
Father Bart noted with satisfaction the way they were looking at one another. It appeared the many worried conversations he’d had with Gregory about their fears that Lachlan would never find a suitable mate had been unnecessary. He had no intention, however, of letting the boy off that easily. “The border is a very short drive from here,” he admonished.
“Yes,” agreed Lachlan. “But I thought it best to arrive at the keep already married.”
“Ah.” Bartholomew nodded. “Well, I cannot disagree with that.” He turned back to Charity. “It is a decided pleasure to meet you, my lady.”
“And you as well,” she returned with a warm smile.
Soon enough they were on their way from the church, Charity promising to drop in any time she felt the inclination. They clattered in their coach across a wooden bridge atop a small stream and entered the village proper. It was neat and orderly and charming in every way. Lachlan escorted Charity to many of the shops and businesses along the main street. Without fail, the villagers greeted her with warmth and open friendliness, and she could tell they had nothing but affection for their young lord. Lachlan went out of his way to ask after family members and livelihoods, taking the time to genuinely listen to each and every person with whom he spoke.
Charity remembered his previous words. In the millinery, she admired a pretty little hat on display. When the hatter offered it to her as a gift, she sweetly thanked the woman but declined, saying she had no clothing that matched. Instead, she ordered one just like it with apple green trim to match the dress she wore. The hatter beamed happily as Lachlan paid for the purchase in advance.
They visited the bakery, the blacksmith, and the tanner, and then finally the general goods store at the end of the road. When they emerged back into the sunshine, Charity, clutching a wrapped box that contained a new hairbrush, comb, and mirror for her vanity, noticed a group of children playing next to a wooden building that could only be a school. Lachlan followed her gaze and smiled.
“Would you like to see my contribution to the village?” he asked. He held out his arm and also took her package from her.
They strolled across the street to stand at the open gate of the fenced building.
“Gregory built the church, but you started a school,” she realized. Her heart warmed.
He nodded. “A proper school, with up-to-date educational materials, a lending library, and two teachers. No child in Ashton will ever have to go without an education again.”
Charity watched the youngsters play for a few moments before she noticed a boy of about ten sitting alone under a nearby tree, a crutch propped against the trunk. She let go of her husband’s arm and walked over to him. When he saw her approaching, he started to get up, but Charity quickly closed the distance and crouched before him so he wouldn’t have to struggle.
“Good afternoon,” she said, holding out a hand. “My name is Charity.”
The boy regarded her with serious brown eyes from under a disheveled mop of dark brown hair. After a moment, he placed his hand in hers. “I’m Tommy.” He looked over his shoulder at Lachlan, who still stood beside the gat
e and added hastily, “My lady.” The marquess hid a smile.
“It’s hard to play with the other children when you have to use a crutch, isn’t it?” Charity’s eyes were kind.
Tommy nodded, clearly wondering where her ladyship was going with this.
She sat down beside him with little regard for grass stains or dirt on her pretty frock. “When I was a little girl, I was sick a great deal of the time,” she confided. “I used to sit in my bedroom window and watch while my sisters and friends played outside, and I would get so angry that I couldn’t join them. Do you ever feel that way?”
Tommy chewed on his lip and nodded. “But only sometimes.” He gave her a proud look. “I can read now, so it isn’t so bad. Someday I’ll—”
“Tommy!”
Charity looked up to see a young woman hurrying across the street from the apothecary shop. “That’s my sister, Enid,” said Tommy. He pushed himself up and reached for his crutch.
The newly arrived girl bobbed a quick curtsy as she passed Lachlan and then hurried through the gate. “I’m so sorry I’m late.” She curtsied again in Charity’s direction. “The shop was busy this afternoon.”
Charity grinned. “Your brother and I were having a little chat. Do your parents own the apothecary?” The girl didn’t look old enough to be out of school herself.
Enid’s face clouded. “No, my lady. I just work there during the day.”
“Our parents are dead,” offered Tommy. Enid looked down at her feet.
Charity glanced past her and found Lachlan watching. She tilted her head toward Enid, and Lachlan nodded imperceptibly.
Sensing the girl wouldn’t like to be considered an object of pity, Charity kept her voice deliberately light, although her heart went out to the pair of young siblings. “Oh, it’s too bad you already have a position with the apothecary. I came to the village to find a lady’s maid, and I was really hoping to find someone like you, who is closer to my own age.” She leaned forward and added conspiratorially, “Asheburton Keep is rather dreary, you see, and I’m accustomed to having my twin sister around to keep me company.”
Enid looked up swiftly, searching Charity’s face for signs of pity. When she found none, she said hesitantly, “It would be difficult to meet Tommy after school if I worked so far from the village.”
Pleased that Enid was considering the opportunity and mindful of the girl’s pride, Charity affected a look of confusion. “But I thought if you decided to come you would simply bring Tommy with you. It would be a simple matter to get him back and forth to school with one of the footmen.” She stopped, afraid that if she offered too much, Enid would see it as a charitable gesture and refuse.
“I’ve never been a lady’s maid. I don’t know how to go about it.”
“Well, then, we can learn together,” said Charity. She glanced at Lachlan again and lowered her voice, confiding, “I have absolutely no idea how to go about learning to be a marchioness, either.”
The village children looked at one another, Tommy’s eyes pleading with his sister to accept the offer. After a long moment of silence, Enid glanced at Charity and nodded, her eyes huge with grateful tears she struggled not to shed.
“Excellent, then,” said Charity briskly. She looked down at Tommy to give Enid a moment to regain her composure.
The boy gave her a tentative smile. “I’m going to be a doctor,” he said.
“My sister is married to a doctor, so that means I will know two doctors,” she replied.
Enid spoke up. “We should go home to dinner, Tommy.” She addressed Charity. “I’ll just give my notice at the apothecary, my lady, so they have time to find someone else.”
Charity nodded. “Of course. Send word to the keep when you are ready.”
Enid nodded and curtsied, and the pair of children left.
Lachlan smiled as they passed and waited for Charity to join him at the gate. “Did I just hire a lady’s maid, or did I adopt two children?” he joked.
“I didn’t have a mother for much of my life,” said Charity softly. “But I had a father. They have neither, and she strikes me as a brave, strong girl.”
They walked down the street toward their waiting coach. Lachlan provided some background information: “From what I recall, their mother died years ago, their father more recently from an excess of drinking. He never really recovered from losing his wife. Enid’s never been to school. She’s worked at one job or another since she was Tommy’s age.”
They reached the coach and climbed in. Charity sat in pensive silence until the conveyance began to climb the hill back to the keep. Finally, she looked at her husband. “Thank you,” she said, tilting her face up for a kiss.
Lachlan pulled her close, folded her in his arms and softly took her lips. His mouth moved over hers, coaxing her lips to part. When they did, he dipped his tongue inside to taste her sweetness. Charity kissed him back, touching his tongue with her own until they both went wild. She pressed herself closer and ran her hands along his chest, slipping one inside his jacket and around his waist.
Lachlan tugged down one side of her bodice until a rosy-tipped breast popped free. With a groan he covered it with his hand and began rolling her hardening nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Jolts of sensation shot to her core, and Charity whimpered, her hand wandering down his torso and between his legs. She found him hard and ready, and tore her mouth from his.
“Make love to me,” she said.
“Here?” he asked breathlessly, astonished again by her uninhibited ardor, her willingness to embrace new experiences.
“Yes, please,” she murmured into his neck. Her lips found his earlobe. “Here.”
Lachlan pushed her back into the velvet squabs, following her down. He drew her breast into his mouth, sinking his teeth ever so slightly into the hard nubbin at its center. His hand worked its way beneath her skirts to find her moist center. He was just reaching for the button on his trousers when, without warning, the coach gave a great lurch and the front half crashed to the ground, tossing them both forward.
“Are you all right?” Lachlan reached for Charity, who nodded. She struggled to straighten her clothing just as the door opened from the outside and one of the footmen stuck his head in, an anxious look on his face.
“We’re fine,” said Lachlan, helping his wife up. They climbed out of the coach and took a turn to survey the damage.
“What happened?” asked Charity. Her voice was slightly shaky, both from their interrupted lovemaking and the accident.
Lachlan knelt and peered under the vehicle. “Looks like an axle broke.” He frowned. “Odd. The coach is nearly new.” He stood and began issuing orders. “Unhitch the team and see what you can do to move the coach off to the side of the road. We’ll walk to the keep and send back help.” He held out a hand to his wife, which she took without question, peering the short distance up the road to the drawbridge. They were nearly home.
They set out, the coachman and two footmen already busily following the marquess’s command. “Good thing I wore sensible shoes,” Charity remarked, her tone cheerful.
Lachlan smiled at his stalwart little bride. “It most certainly is.” He pointed to a trail they were just passing that led down toward a ravine. “If you follow that pathway and walk along the bluff for a bit, you’ll reach Gregory’s cabin.”
Charity nodded. “Perhaps you can show that to me tomorrow. Does anyone live there now?”
He shook his head, and Charity’s thoughts turned back to Enid and Tommy. It might be the perfect place for the children to live so that they could feel as though they weren’t entirely under the noses of the Kimball family at the keep. She made a mental note to ask Lachlan when they visited it.
Lachlan watched his wife’s expression turn thoughtful and wondered what was going through her fertile mind. After a moment, though, his thoughts returned to the accident. Bothered by an inexplicable sense that something wasn’t quite right, he frowned. The axle should have been fin
e. He’d bought the coach when he arrived in London, and the entire vehicle had been inspected before the purchase. He’d have to take a closer look when they managed to get it back to the keep.
Charity looked up at her husband and noted his troubled look. Thinking he was worried about her, she decided to take his mind off what had just occurred. She reached up and tapped him on the shoulder. “Race you back to the keep,” she said, her eyes twinkling, and then she took off running before he could respond.
Twenty-eight
With a shout of laughter, Lachlan ran after his wife, catching her just after she crossed the drawbridge and had almost made it to the steps of the entryway. “Oh, no you don’t,” he said, grabbing her around the waist before she could make it inside. He was sure she’d hide somewhere, waiting to jump out at him when he passed. Swinging her up into his arms, he intended to take her to his chamber and finish what they’d started in the coach. He’d send Niles to deal with the logistics of the accident.
Charity laughed merrily. “Where are we going?” she asked as he carried her inside, headed purposefully toward the great room and the wide staircase that led to the upper levels.
“Upstairs,” he said, his voice stern. “To teach you how a marchioness is supposed to comport herself.” But his eyes were twinkling, taking any sting from his words, and Charity tossed him a jaunty little smile.
He suddenly stopped walking, a scowl making its way across his face. Charity twisted her head around to see what had caused his mood to change so suddenly, and Lachlan set her on her feet beside him. Across the room, Lady Eloise stood talking to a young blonde girl. They both glanced in Lachlan and Charity’s direction, and began walking toward them.
A few steps off, the blonde girl curtsied. “Hello, my lord,” she said, her voice low and sweet.
“Hello, Beth.”
Charity looked swiftly at her husband and then back at the girl. The air between them was thick with tension, and the blonde girl looked shyly at the floor.
“Charity, go upstairs and wait for me.” Lachlan’s voice was flat.
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