by Corwin, Amy
“I cannot agree, Lady Beatrice. I believe you mistake the strength of my affection for you.”
“But surely…. You cannot be so blind to the dangers around you!” She raised her blue eyes to his face. They shimmered with unshed tears. “Truly, it is the best way to protect yourself! Let me help you.”
“I appreciate your concern—”
“Then you will at least give it some thought?”
He nodded. “Of course. Now, if you will excuse me, I am late for an appointment.”
It was everything he could do to escort her back to Gunter’s and calmly climb into his curricle. He felt sickened.
Would she truly hand over his lapis to Bow Street and tell them not only where she had found it, but that she had seen him running away from Lady Anne that fateful night? Lady Beatrice was quite correct in realizing that Bow Street would undoubtedly take this as the last bit of evidence needed to complete their case. He would hang.
His temper soared. That fate was preferable to an engagement to a female viper. As he pulled his curricle around and headed back toward his home, his hands were shaking with the desire to strangle Lady Beatrice. His mind kept circling back to her veiled threat. Over the past few weeks, it had been obvious she favored him, but he had not realized she was so determined to become a duchess.
Well, he had no time to worry about her, now. He needed to find the real murderer and convince Charlotte that he loved her.
Unfortunately, it seemed Lady Beatrice was not going to make it easy for him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Affrays.—An affray is the fighting of two or more persons in some public place, to the terror of the King’s subjects, for if the fighting be in private it is not an affray but an assault. — Constable’s Pocket Guide
The idea of attending the Italian opera in Haymarket did not excite Charlotte. Despite the solitude of her imprisonment, she did not want to be put on display in Nathaniel’s box. The Archers thought it would be the ideal way for her to settle back into Society. She saw no reason to do so, and spending time with Nathaniel made her want to weep.
Why couldn’t they just leave for Brighton or the country? Everyone else was leaving London. Summer was already well advanced. It was time to depart the heat and dirt of the city.
Now that she was no longer quite so rich, Nathaniel would no doubt lose his interest in her. He would go back to Lady Beatrice.
Thank goodness she had not accepted his ridiculous offer yesterday. Soon, they would leave London, and she could forget…everything.
Or almost everything.
Mr. Archer had been so kind when he showed her the letters about her inheritance. He had put an arm around her shoulders and assured her that he would do his utmost to see that what remained was invested wisely. Despite the awkwardness in his gesture, she could feel the generosity and love.
How she wished she had come to the Archers first instead of a long series of guardians who despised her.
Nonetheless, Mr. Archer assured her she would be comfortable, even on a meager third of what she once had. She would simply not be as fabulously wealthy. She might even earn five hundred pounds a year or so. Certainly enough to support herself.
And Mr. Archer hastened to assure her that no one would find out about her losses unless she chose to tell.
“Have you told His Grace?” she asked Mr. Archer.
He fidgeted in his chair and pulled out his watch. “Not yet, my dear.”
“Are you going to do so?”
“If you are worried he may no longer find you as attractive, I can assure you that that is not true.” He patted her hand. “He is very much in love with you. You must forgive his, ahem, infelicitous proposal yesterday. He was merely overcome at finding you safe.”
“Overcome with pleasure that his kidnapping scheme ended so well?” she asked, her voice sharp. She gritted her teeth remembering how pleased she had been when he opened the attic door and strode inside.
Her savior. Ha!
“Now, Miss Haywood, you know he did not kidnap you.”
“Indeed? Then it must have been Lord Dacy. One wonders what his motive was.”
What a trembling, pathetic fool she had been and all because she wanted him to love her. Even when she knew it was not possible and that his words had been a sham.
And now dear Mr. Archer was trying to help her by saying he would keep it secret so that his nephew would still find her desirable.
But she did not want to be loved for her money. Nor did she want to see the look on Nathaniel’s face if he married her and discovered she had very little money left.
“You have always appeared to be an intelligent young lady,” Mr. Archer said. “While my nephew may have indulged in many schemes—some of which may have been a trifle rash, if not ludicrous—his heart was in the right place. And if I am not mistaken, your heart is not entirely unengaged.”
“It would not matter if it were. I intend to go to Egypt. I cannot spend my life idly sipping tea and gossiping: I require more than that. The duke himself explained the many duties he has. Even if I believed he loved me, he cannot spend lengthy periods away from his estates. They’d fall into disrepair just as mine have done from mismanagement and lack of attention, just as I would do if I were to remain here.
“So don’t ask if I love your nephew or he me. It makes not one jot of difference to either of us. He will marry some fine English Miss, and I will go to Cairo. It will perhaps be more difficult without the funds I expected to have at this juncture, but I will make do, somehow.”
With sudden, shocking vehemence, she wished she were a man. If she had been, her letters requesting information about her estate would have been answered. She would never have been brushed aside with a complacent pat on the head and an indulgent smile.
The box her father had given her containing a puff of cotton and tobacco leaf should have meant more than just a painful memory. To her father, it was not just a reminder that her fortune was based upon those two crops, but a symbol of her responsibility: an iron-bound duty.
But she had failed in her duty to watch over her estates because she had been too young and unable to obtain the necessary information.
In the future, she could not allow that to happen.
Archer shook his head, pushing his teacup around in circles on its saucer. “You will not reconsider?”
“No.”
“Even if you received word that the man who is to lead your expedition is no more than a trickster bent on fleecing the gullible? He knows no more about Egypt than I do—probably considerably less.”
Charlotte felt her cheeks flush. “What proof do you have?”
“I have been doing inquiries. It seemed wise.”
“Just like your inquiries into the state of my inheritance?”
He glanced at her, his eyes full of compassion. “You are upset. It is understandable when one hears that matters are not to their liking, but be assured that I did indeed make thorough inquiries on your behalf.”
“My understanding is not so limited that I don’t see that.” And she did. She touched his hand and he grasped hers in return. Her voice shook when she said, “I cannot thank you enough for giving me refuge the way you have. You have done more for me in this short time than all my other relatives during the last eight years. But don’t you see how important this is? It is not some passing fancy. If you assure me that Mr. Mainwaring is not to be trusted, then I will set about on another search and discover some other expedition to join. There will be many such forays planned over the next several years. One of them will most assuredly have room for one poor female.”
“Don’t give up your dreams, Miss Haywood, but don’t throw away your heart away, either. Matters are not so hopeless yet, and I will apply my mind to drawing a winning hand. I will think of some scheme, you will see. Now come, we must get ready for this infernal opera my wife has set her heart on.”
Charlotte laughed though inside she felt shaky and nervous.
If Nathaniel were there, how would she face him?
If only Mr. Mainwaring had been honorable, then she could have convinced Mr. Archer to let her go to Egypt immediately. Surely once she left England, the hot, dry wind and sand would burn away her feelings for Nathaniel and leave her in peace. Despite Archer’s assurances, she could not see how marriage to Nathaniel was possible without giving up what she held most dear.
And worse, how would he react when he found out her fortune was mostly gone?
When she at last changed and joined the Archers in the hallway, she found Lady Victoria wearing a beautiful ice blue gown trimmed with several black-corded bands of lace around the hem. A black rose made out of velvet and lace was pinned to the center of her bodice and long jet earrings dangled from her ears. The gift from Charlotte. The sight made her give Lady Victoria a brief hug.
Charlotte surreptitiously brushed away a few tears, shocked at her emotional reaction.
“Are you ready, Miss Haywood?” Lady Victoria said, gently disengaging herself. After a brief examination, she loosened one of Charlotte’s long, red curls to twine down the back of her neck. “You look very fetching.”
Charlotte glanced down at her heavy white silk gown. The hem was trimmed in black like Lady Victoria’s skirts, but the decoration consisted of jet beads sewn amongst black silk flowers embroidered around the hem and up the front of the dress.
Lady Victoria’s pearl necklace hung around her throat and a pair of earrings given to her by her aunt before she died dangled from her ears. Charlotte touched them, saddened by the memory.
So much gone and lost forever.
She pulled on a pair of white silk gloves festooned with lace around the cuffs and smoothed them over the translucent silk sleeves.
“I suppose I am ready,” she said.
The ladies joined Mr. Archer at the front door just as Nathaniel’s carriage came to a halt outside. As Charlotte feared, Nathaniel was gracious and polite, not the least bit remote, which would have made her situation vastly easier. His smile and the warmth in his eyes made her wonder again if she could give up her dreams of Egypt and settle for marriage.
Would love be enough? And was Mr. Archer right? Was there a possibility that Nathaniel did love her?
What if he did? It didn’t matter. She could have love or her dreams of Cairo and the warmth of the desert sand shifting beneath her feet: one or the other, but not both.
No one in the carriage seemed inclined to talk. They all stared moodily down at their hands, palely clasped in their laps amidst the evening shadows. The short trip seemed interminable. When they finally arrived, Nathaniel and the Archers were greeted by several couples, including Lady Beatrice and her parents.
“Your Grace,” Lady Beatrice exclaimed as her mother gave her a little push in the duke’s direction. “It is so good to see you. I hope you find the time to visit our box this evening. We have an excellent view of the orchestra.”
Charlotte waited, sure he would accept.
He smiled and took her arm. “I am sure the view from my box is also acceptable.”
Charlotte bit her lip to stop from giggling at the expression of consternation on Lady Beatrice’s face. Then he touched Charlotte’s elbow, and she allowed him to propel her toward the stairs leading up to his box.
“Do you enjoy the opera?” he asked Charlotte, holding the dark burgundy velvet curtains aside for her.
She ducked around his arm into the box and waited, her nerves tight as violin strings. She felt almost giddy. Where were the Archers? They were right behind them when they started up the stairs and yet they seemed to have disappeared.
“Yes, although I freely admit I prefer operettas. I suppose I am not serious-minded enough to enjoy the exuberant tragedy in Italian opera.” She glanced over his shoulder to see Mr. Archer and Lady Victoria talking and laughing with another couple halfway up the stairs.
“It is all hysteria set to music, if you ask me. I agree with your assessment entirely.” Nathaniel guided her to one of the chairs and then stepped back as Lady Victoria glided in to sit next to Charlotte, who was still grinning up at Nathaniel after his unexpected agreement.
“I am so pleased. I adore this opera,” Lady Victoria said.
Charlotte almost snorted as laughter gripped her. When she gazed at Nathaniel, his blue eyes danced with merriment.
“Charlotte?” prompted Lady Victoria
“Oh, yes. And it is very kind of His Grace to allow us the use of his box.”
The two men took the outer seats to sit like a pair of bookends with the ladies in the middle.
Nathaniel handed Charlotte a program and glanced around. “Would you like refreshments?”
“That would be lovely,” Charlotte answered quickly. Perhaps a glass of champagne would ease her nerves and make her feel less like she was about to explode into a gale of hysterical giggling.
What was wrong with her? One minute she felt as if she wanted to cry and the next, she felt wild with euphoria. Perhaps her confinement had affected her mentality. Perhaps she was no longer even rational.
She glanced over to Nathaniel’s empty chair feeling a sudden pang of loss. She still wanted to go to Egypt, didn’t she? Leave the damp, dismal weather and cold inhabitants of England behind for the warmth and sunshine. Although it had certainly been warm enough for anyone in that attic over the last few days. She sat back, her mind drifting to Nathaniel. His eyes were precisely the color she imagined the sky over the desert would have, clear, crystalline blue.
“Ladies?” Nathaniel said, returning with a small tray. He handed out the glasses of champagne, his fingers lingering on Charlotte’s glass while he gazed down at her. “Have you recovered?” he asked.
“Yes.” She smiled. “Thank you.” Her eyes searched his face, but his expression remained pleasant as if he had not a care in the world. “Have they found the madman who killed those girls?”
“No.” He shook his head, his eyes darkening. “Not yet.”
“They will,” she assured him, hoping it was true. The misogynist killer was not Nathaniel. She smiled at him, feeling her heart pound. She knew he was innocent. He was a kind man although at the moment he seemed more dangerous than safe.
They settled into their seats again and amused themselves studying the occupants of the other boxes.
Lady Beatrice’s balcony was directly across from their own. Charlotte had to clasp both her hands around her glass of champagne to keep from waving gaily. Then she realized Lady Beatrice would very likely be the next Duchess of Peckham after Charlotte left for Egypt. Her sense of superiority faded.
“Your Grace,” a man’s voice said behind Charlotte, barely audible over the chorus singing at the end of Act One. “And Miss Haywood. Are you enjoying the opera?”
“Cheery?” Nathaniel asked, turning in his chair. “Where have you been?”
“Looking for you, Dodger,” Mr. Gaunt responded.
Charlotte grinned at the sarcasm in his voice. Even Nathaniel smiled and motioned to a chair behind his. She wasn’t sure if he intended to be amusing, but Mr. Gaunt’s tone made her laugh. The two men whispered together for a few minutes until Lady Victoria told them in no uncertain tones to be quiet or leave the confines of the balcony.
When the break between acts one and two arrived, Charlotte excused herself. Slipping out, she noticed Nathaniel and Mr. Gaunt were also missing. Perhaps they had decided to take their gossiping outside in respect for Lady Victoria’s wish for silence.
“Ah, there you are! Are you enjoying the opera?”
Charlotte spun around. A plump, middle-aged man stood at the entrance to one of the small retiring rooms. She recognized his voice, though not his face: the gentleman who had kidnapped her.
“You!” she said, before she realized her mistake.
His lips twisted into a smile. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced, have we? But we do seem to know one another.”
“Hardly,” Charlotte said stiffly, gl
ancing down the hall. They were a short distance from the stairs and just outside Nathaniel’s box.
She opened her mouth to scream. He rushed forward and grabbed her around the waist, clamping a hand over her mouth. Before she could free herself, he dragged her across the hall into one of the retiring rooms.
In response, she kicked him and bit his hand.
“Damn!” he said, shaking his hand.
Before she could scream, he slammed his fist into her jaw. Pain shot through her neck and face as her head snapped back. When she reeled backward, he grabbed the front of her dress, holding her upright. She felt dizzy with pain. Her legs wobbled and she breathed deeply in an attempt to control the nausea.
“That’s better, is it not?” he asked before transferring his grip to the neck of her dress. With a jerk he ripped it.
“Now scream if you want.” He ripped it further. “Bring your guardian here. He will agree soon enough that you will marry me.”
“He may agree,” she said, lisping. Her lips and tongue felt swollen and tasted of blood. She dabbed it with her gloved hand, watching crimson stain the smooth silk.
She glared at him defiantly. “But you will not get what you want. My fortune is gone! I have nothing left.”
He raised his hand as if to slap her again, but instead he grabbed her chin. He wiped a fresh trickle of blood from her lip with mock concern. “You would like me to believe that tale, would you not? Well, you have enough to pay my debts for now. There will be other heiresses when I need them.”
When she pulled away, he reached out again to stop her. His hand clutched her dress and yanked it down, almost to her hip. She yelped, clutching the torn fabric. Charlotte backed away and stared at the door, praying for Nathaniel to come. Her head ached, and her mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with moldy cotton drenched in blood.
The sounds of an aria thundered around them, only slightly muted by the thin walls of the room. No one would hear her, even if she shouted for help, not with all the tumultuous screaming taking place on stage.