by Candace Camp
They were almost to Charity’s house, their steps desultory as they talked. A man rounded the corner, walking briskly, a gold-headed walking stick in his hand. He pulled up when he saw them, and a smile crossed his face.
“Ladies!” he cried, and came forward to bow to them, sweeping off his hat. “What a pleasant surprise to come upon you like this.”
“Mr. Reed,” Charity replied, smiling. Beside her, Venetia stiffened, and, though she nodded to Reed, she said nothing in greeting.
“I have just come from your charming mother, Miss Emerson, and I was desolated to find you not at home. Little did I know how fortune would smile on me—that I would not only see you, but find you with Lady Ashford, as well….” He smiled pointedly at Venetia, who still said nothing, only looked away from him.
Faraday turned back to Charity, saying, “You have no need to introduce us, you see. Lady Ashford and I have known each other for years.”
His eyes seemed lit with an inner amusement that Charity did not understand. He turned and escorted them to Charity’s house. Charity noticed that Venetia shifted position so that Charity was walking between her and Faraday. Venetia’s behavior seemed odd to her. Simon obviously did not like Reed, but Venetia seemed more uncomfortable than loyalty to one’s brother required. Charity wondered once again what had happened to make Simon and his sister dislike Faraday Reed.
Reed escorted them to Charity’s door. Charity started up the steps to her door, but Venetia stopped. “I—I must get home now,” she said, turning toward her carriage, which had brought home their purchases and now stood waiting for her.
Charity glanced at Venetia curiously, but said only, “All right. Thank you for taking me shopping.”
“I had a lovely time,” Venetia assured her honestly.
She started toward her carriage, and Reed stepped forward quickly, politely taking her arm. “Let me help you into your carriage, Lady Ashford.”
Charity continued up the steps as Reed escorted Venetia to the elegant barouche.
“Have you thought about what I said the other night?” Reed asked in a low voice.
Venetia looked up at him, her eyes wide. “No. Please, you aren’t really going to say anything to George, are you?”
Reed smiled coldly as he reached out to open her carriage door, giving her a little bow as he did so. Venetia knew that to the world he looked like a gentleman being polite; to her, he looked terrifying.
“Of course I am. Unless, of course, you were to help me out a little. I think a hundred and fifty pounds should be enough.”
“A hundred and fifty pounds!” Venetia gasped. “I couldn’t possibly.”
“It’s amazing what one can do if one is pressed.” Reed handed her up into her carriage, squeezing her fingers so tightly that Venetia had to press her lips together to keep from crying out. “I’ll give you one week, my lady.”
“No, please.”
“Yes.” His voice was firm, and his eyes were as hard as stones as he closed the door.
The carriage rumbled off, and Reed turned away. He smiled up at Charity, who waited on the upper step, watching him. He hurried up the steps to join her.
“I am sorry to have kept you waiting.”
“It’s perfectly all right,” Charity assured him. She paused, then probed curiously. “Lady Ashford seemed a trifle…uncomfortable.”
Reed sighed. “Yes. It’s sad. We once were friends, but now…Well, she is a loyal sister.”
“Why does Lord Dure dislike you?” Charity asked impulsively. “I don’t understand. You’ve shown yourself to be a good friend. Even the other day, when I received that note, you didn’t take the opportunity to malign him. Instead, you promised to help me find out who is saying such things about him.”
Reed shrugged.
“No, please. There must be some reason. Please tell me. Dure refuses to say a word about it—as if I were a child who only needs to be told what to do, not why.”
Reed looked at her consideringly for a moment, then took her arm. “Let us take a little stroll, and I will tell you.”
They started down the street in the direction from which Charity had just come. Reed began, “We were never friends, Dure and I, only acquaintances. I knew Venetia—I mean, Lady Ashford—better. But after…our falling-out, I bore him no grudge. It was Dure who was unable to forgive me. ’Tis odd, since it was he who won. But, then, when it comes to an affair of the heart, it is not always easy to be rational.”
Charity’s head snapped toward him, and her heart began to pound furiously. She felt a sudden, inexplicable rage, and it was difficult for her to keep her voice steady as she said, “You and Dure fought over a lady?”
A smile curved Reed’s lips. “Well, we did not actually come to fisticuffs or pistols at dawn or anything so dramatic. And the woman in question was not exactly a lady….” He let his voice trail off suggestively, then finished. “But we were competitors.”
So the two of them had competed over the favors of a soiled dove! No wonder Dure had not wanted to explain the matter to her. Charity clenched her jaw and thought of a dozen cutting things she would like to say to the Earl of Dure the next time she saw him. She would not, of course. Ladies were not supposed to even know of the existence of the women of the night, let alone take their fiancés to task over a former relationship with one. Men were granted their little peccadilloes, as long as they were discreet. Besides, that was something that had happened before she even met Lord Dure; it was no concern of hers. It would be most unfair of her to be angry at him about it.
She was, in truth, a little astonished that she was as upset by the knowledge as she was. But reason had little to do with the red-hot lance of jealousy that stabbed through her. What really hurt, she realized suddenly, was not so much that Dure had sought out such women, but that he had cared so much about the woman in question that he still despised the other man. Had he loved her deeply? Did he still love her? It had been bad enough to learn from Venetia that Simon had loved his first wife very much. It was even worse to think that there might be a woman still around whom he loved. If that was the case, it would probably preclude his ever loving his new wife. It also made her wonder if, even now, while he was engaged to marry her, he might still be keeping a mistress.
Tears sprang into her eyes at the thought, startling her.
“Thank you for telling me, Mr. Reed,” she said in a slightly choked voice. “I am pleased that you thought enough of me not to keep me in the dark. But I think I should like to go home now.”
“Of course,” Reed said smoothly, turning and starting back along the street. “I hope I have not upset you by telling you.”
“Of course not.” Charity put on a pleasant, if rather forced, smile. It was foolish and unworthy of her to allow this jealous anger to overcome her. Theirs was not a marriage of love, after all, but an arrangement of mutual satisfaction. She did not love Dure, and she could not expect him to love her.
Still…it was one thing to have a husband who did not love you, but it was quite another thing altogether to have a husband who loved another! Who might, even at this moment, be spending a happy evening with his mistress.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHARITY WAS AWAKENED a few mornings later by the screeches of her younger sisters. A quarrel had broken out between Horatia and Belinda. Cooped up as they were in the city, without their normal outlets for their energy and denied the entertainments that occupied their older sisters, the two girls had become restless and irritable. The slightest provocation was apt to start an argument between them. This one had begun over a hairbrush, belonging to Belinda, which Horatia had borrowed and not returned, and before long it had escalated into screeches and hair-pulling.
Elspeth then began to scold them for giving her a headache, and Serena and Charity ran into their room to pull them apart. It was no easy task, and Serena had to almost shout to be heard over the din the other three were creating.
“Hush!” Serena cried. “You stop
that! You, too, Horatia. Whatever is the matter with you? You will wake Mama.”
The others, acutely aware of their mother’s formidable wrath if she was to be awakened and pulled into the scene, subsided into mutters and vengeful looks.
“It was her fault!” Belinda said, grimacing at her younger sister. “She never returns anything.”
“At least I’m not a selfish crybaby like you!” Horatia retorted hotly.
“Girls!”
“They’ve been cooped up too much,” Charity offered, yawning. “I have, too. We’ve hardly been out since we came to London—I mean, not parties and things, but just out for a walk or…or a romp on the lawn.”
“At least you get to go to balls and soirees and the opera,” Belinda put in sulkily. “I’m stuck here with this brat all day and all night.”
“Don’t call your sister a brat,” Serena responded automatically. “Charity, you’re right. I think what we all need is a breath of fresh air. Why don’t we walk over to Hyde Park? The girls can run there, and it will do us good to get a little sunshine.”
“It sounds heavenly,” Charity agreed.
“It sounds tiring,” Elspeth countered.
“Oh, Elspeth, it will be healthy for you.” Serena smiled and went to take her by the arm, drawing her toward her room. “You’ll see. The spring weather will take away your headache.”
“Well, I suppose if I wore a shawl against the morning chill…”
“Just the thing,” Serena agreed, and cast a dark look back at Charity, who had let out a groan at Elspeth’s words.
Charity rolled her eyes, but she said nothing, just went to change into one of the older of the frocks that she had brought from home. She wasn’t about to wear one of her better dresses for a romp in the park, and anyway, this early in the morning, there would be no one she knew around to be appalled at her attire.
Thirty minutes later, the five sisters set out for the park. Serena had thought that they should take one of Aunt Ermintrude’s maids with them, but Charity at last convinced her that with five of them, they could hardly come to any harm, and that at this hour of the day no one would see them to comment on it.
At the park, Elspeth arranged herself on a bench, wrapped around with a heavy shawl, and Serena sat down beside her to pen a letter to the Reverend Woodson, but Charity entered into a lively game of tag with Horatia and Belinda. It wasn’t long before they were romping freely about, even Belinda tossing aside her usual airs and gleefully chasing across the grass. Charity fell down once and smeared a long grass stain across her skirt, and her hair began to straggle loose from its pins, until several wisps had escaped and clung damply to her face.
A dog trotted out of the nearby trees and paused, watching them, his ears cocked up with interest. Then, with a gleeful bark, he bounded across the grass toward them. He joined in their game of tag, barking and leaping, then flinging himself into a stop, his hind end up and his tail wagging encouragingly. The girls laughed.
“What an ugly dog!” Elspeth exclaimed from her bench. “Send him away. He’s filthy.”
“Oh, Elspeth, don’t be such a spoilsport. He’s cute.”
“Cute?” Elspeth looked affronted.
Charity turned back to look at the animal, and had to laugh. He was a large dog, with medium-length hair, absurdly long legs, and one ear that stood up proudly and another that flopped forward in a comical way. He was of some light color, indeterminate through the coat of dust and mud that covered most of his body. He seemed to grin at them, mouth parted and white teeth showing, his tongue lolling foolishly out of his mouth. He would have been an odd-looking dog under the best of circumstances, but liberally besplashed with mud, and with leaves and twigs clinging to his coat, he was undeniably ugly. Yet it was, somehow, an ugliness that was curiously endearing.
“Girls, be careful,” Serena said, rising and looking doubtfully at the creature. “He doesn’t look quite safe.”
“He only wants to play,” Charity assured her, chuckling. She looked around her on the ground and found a stick. Bending over, she picked it up, held it up for the dog to see, then hurled it away. The dog took after it delightedly.
He returned with it in his mouth and dropped it at Charity’s feet, looking up at her with merry eyes, tail wagging. “What a clever dog,” Charity told him, her heart already lost, and he reared up and planted his paws on her, mud and all. Charity patted him, heedless of the further ruin of her skirt, and threw the stick again.
She and Horatia amused themselves with playing fetch with their new canine friend, and soon Belinda joined in, not one to be left out. Charity threw herself on the grass beneath a tree, heedless of her skirt, and rested, watching the two younger girls play with the dog.
Time passed, moving toward noon, and the girls began to grow hungry. They decided that it was time to retire to their house.
“Besides,” Serena added, glancing around at all of them in their old clothes, Charity and the younger girls all liberally bedaubed with mud from cavorting with the dog, “if we wait much longer, someone we know might see us, and that would be disastrous.”
Charity chuckled, glancing down at her dress. “You don’t think I look like a future countess?”
“More like a street urchin.” Elspeth sniffed. “What’s worse, you encourage the younger girls. Horatia is becoming just like you.”
“Oh, stuff and nonsense,” Charity retorted with little rancor, too accustomed to wrangling with Elspeth to get angry. “Horatia is just like herself, and that’s far better.”
“I’d like to be like you,” Horatia informed her loyally, sticking out her tongue at Elspeth.
Elspeth did not dignify Horatia’s action with a reply, merely turned and started off down the path. The rest of the sisters followed her. Trotting right along with them came the dog.
“Oh, dear, look, he’s following us,” Serena said, frowning down at the creature. “What are we going to do? Charity, shoo him away.”
“I like him,” Charity protested. “Why don’t we take him home? Once I get him cleaned up, he won’t look so bad.”
“We can’t,” Serena argued. “You know that Aunt Ermintrude doesn’t like dogs.”
“That’s right.” Charity looked downcast. “She won’t let him in the house, will she?”
“I don’t think so.” Serena looked doubtfully down at the animal panting at Charity’s side. “Not even if he were clean and pretty.”
“Oh dear.”
“You’d best leave him behind,” Serena advised. She turned around and made shooing motions at the animal with her hands. He watched her interestedly, his tail wagging, but stuck close to Charity.
“Charity, do something,” Elspeth told her.
“What? I refuse to kick him or throw something at him. And he doesn’t look like he’s leaving us otherwise.”
That was certainly true. The dog was trotting along beside Charity as if he belonged to her.
“We’ll have to think of someplace to put him,” Charity said. “Maybe we know someone who would like to have him, or who would keep him until we go home. Papa would let us have him in the country.”
“What about when you marry?” Elspeth pointed out. “Do you honestly think an earl is going to let his wife keep a dog that looks like that?”
“Dure!” Charity exclaimed happily. “Of course, why didn’t I think of that? Come on, girls, let’s look for something we can use as a leash for him. We can’t take him out of the park without a lead. He might dash out into traffic and get hurt.”
“Think of what?” Serena asked worriedly. “Charity…what are you thinking of? What does Lord Dure have to do with it?”
“Why, I shall simply ask him to take the dog in. He can take him to his country estate, and Lucky will be happy as can be there, with rabbits to chase.”
“Lucky?”
“Yes, that’s what I think I’ll name him. Because it was so fortunate, you see, that he showed up there at the park at the very time we ha
ppened to be there.”
“Ill fortune is more like it,” Elspeth said darkly. “You can’t seriously expect a man like lord Dure to take that cur into his house, can you?”
“First we will take him home and clean him up. Aunt Ermintrude will let me keep him long enough to bathe him, don’t you think? Then I’ll take him to Dure House.”
“You can’t take him to Dure House!” Elspeth gasped. “Have you gone mad? It would be ruinous to your reputation—even if you are engaged to him.”
“She’s right, Charity,” Serena said firmly, fixing her with a warning look.
“All right. Then I will send one of the footmen to take Lucky there, and I will write Lord Dure a note explaining everything.”
“But Charity, I don’t think that Lord Dure will want the animal,” Serena pointed out reasonably.
“Don’t be silly,” Charity said calmly. “He will understand that we couldn’t keep Lucky at Aunt Ermintrude’s feeling the way she does about dogs, and he will see that this is the only reasonable course. I am certain he must like dogs. I can’t imagine him not.”
Serena cast another look at the dog and sighed. He was thoroughly unappealing, and she could not imagine an earl wanting to house him, even at his country estate. Nor could she imagine having the nerve to ask someone as forbidding as the dark, cold-faced Earl of Dure to take on the graceless animal.
Horatia found a piece of thick string on the ground and pounced on it gleefully. They doubled the long string and fastened it around Lucky’s neck, and then they walked out of Hyde Park, with Lucky trotting happily at Charity’s side, the makeshift leash in her hand.
Amazingly, the dog was well behaved as they walked along the streets, looking about with interest at the carriages and carts that rolled down the street and the people walking along. They would, perhaps, have done well enough, if they had not happened on the water cart.
It was stopped by the side of the street, and the horse pulling it had fallen to its knees. Beside the horse stood the carter, a man whipcord-thin and red in the face, raising his whip threateningly and shouting at the animal.