Moon and Stars

by Elizabeth Johns

  Charlotte groaned out loud. When had she become such a sorry case? Sometime after graduating from Miss Bell’s finishing school, is when it began, she thought. She could recall the sadness and loneliness she had felt those first few months at home, away from her friends. She had ceased to be herself then, burying her emotions in novels and biscuits. She had endured a short-lived come out, but when her brother’s divorced wife returned, causing scandal, they had retreated to the country. Lady Olivia, her dearest friend, had still made a match with the younger Captain Harris that Season, while Charlotte had returned home to her eccentric mother—and had dabbled in ten spinster Seasons since then.

  Burying her face in her pillow, she muffled her tears, trying not to opine over her one glimpse of what heaven might be like. She cursed David Douglas for giving her a taste. When she had thought herself content, he had stepped into her life—for not even an hour—and turned it upside down. Drat him for toying with her…but it had been magical! It was impossible to count the number of times she had relived the kiss or ached to find herself in his arms again.

  Sitting upright with self-loathing, she threw a punch into her pillow sending downy feathers flying, thus causing the three cats atop her coverlet to pounce in a frenzy to capture them.

  “No longer!”

  What could she do? Her mother had tired of England, favouring the warm Mediterranean winters for her rheumatism. Charlotte was hardly in her dotage. She did not even feel eight-and-twenty! She was considered of far too high a station to become a companion or governess, yet Society restricted her from having other freedoms. If only she were a widow she could do as she pleased. Perhaps she should find one of her papa’s old cronies and ask for his name...she shuddered. Such a plan could backfire. She had known of some men living well into their eighties and nineties and that would never do. Why could she not attract a real suitor? Of course, Yardley could arrange something, but could she bear a loveless marriage when she was surrounded by love matches?

  Did that one night truly happen?

  He had made her feel small and delicate—dainty even. Attractive.

  Putting herself in front of the mirror, she looked what she was: a virginal spinster with little attraction and not worthy of attention. Her once blonde hair had faded into a dull golden hue; her eyes mirrored her brother’s green—but they reflected her sadness. Her bosom overflowed from her dressing gown, a stark reminder her figure could be considered more suited to a scandalous profession. Should she accept her fate? But she was not like those other demure ladies sitting against the wall during balls. She did not like to gossip and titter and flutter her fan as though she enjoyed sitting with the octogenarians and wallflowers. Everyone else had proceeded with their lives. She was the last one alone.

  Self-pity was such an ugly emotion. Well, why should she sit at home, feeling sorry for herself? How much damage could she really do to her reputation if she enjoyed herself a little? It was not as if she planned on opening a brothel or gaming hell or even racing a high-perch phaeton down St. James’s. Maybe she would not attract anyone she wished to marry, but she could have a little fun and do something meaningful.

  Lord and Lady Easton had orphanages and schools.

  Lord and Lady Fairmont ran a veterans’ home.

  Lord and Lady Ashbury had a home for ruined women.

  Her brother was active in the Lords with political reform.

  Listing everyone else’s causes only made her feel more worthless.

  She shook her head and reached for the bell to summon her maid in order to dress for riding.

  An hour later, she was mounted on her chestnut mare for the first time in years, heading towards Wyndham. Feeling emboldened by her decisions of the morning, she eschewed an escort and rode alone. Oh, no doubt there was a groom following discreetly behind her at the Duke’s order, but she would allow herself to think she had freedom. Urging Minerva into a trot at the thought, she wondered what she should do to make herself happy.

  As she cantered by the estate’s cottages along the eastern border of Langborn, she caught sight of a tall man—a gentleman by his bearing, though a heavy beard masked his features. A flash of recognition crossed a familiar face a moment before she was too far past to look back or risk her safety doing so. Could it have been her mystery man come looking for her? A rush of elation shot through her before rational thought intruded. Why was there someone on her property? Could he perhaps be visiting the steward? She urged Minerva forward, vowing to take a break from novels and read some improving works. Her head was spinning fairy tales out of straw.

  Charlotte knew something was wrong the moment she rode up the drive to Wyndham Court. The usual hustle and bustle of a large estate was absent and there was straw covering the drive in front of the house, the curtains were drawn and the knocker was off the front door. The old Earl must have finally succumbed to the lure of Heaven. Charlotte hesitated only a moment, but she did not turn and leave. Their families had been friends and neighbours her entire life and she would at least enquire if they were in need of anything before she left. She rode on to the stables and a groom took the reins from her. Once she arrived at the house, the long-time butler, Hendricks, opened the door before she reached it.

  “Good day, Lady Charlotte.”

  “When did it happen, Hendricks?” she asked as she walked into the bright, marbled entrance hall.

  “Just last evening. Lady Olivia came in time to say farewell,” he said sadly as he moved to take her cloak.

  “I will not stay and intrude, then. I was coming for our weekly tea. Could you please give Lady Wyndham a message when she is not indisposed?”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  “Charlotte, is that you?” Elly, now Lady Wyndham, asked as she looked out from the drawing room, her usual merry self. “Do not stand on ceremony with us! You are as good as family. Do come in and meet our guests.”

  “If you are certain,” Charlotte said hesitantly, and allowed Hendricks to take her hat and cloak before following Elly into the blue drawing room, which was warm and very welcome after the cold ride.

  “Adam and Olivia are upstairs. He went peacefully, you know. He said he was ready to trade his old bones in,” Elly said with a gentle smile. “He strictly forbade mourning, as well.”

  “That sounds like him.” Charlotte smiled, though she had a lump in her throat. Anyone who knew the old Earl had instantly loved him.

  “Lady Charlotte, may I introduce Lady Brennan and Miss Dickerson?”

  Charlotte walked over to greet the strangers, who had been seated near the large stone fireplace. She thought Lady Brennan seemed familiar, but she did not recall anyone named Dickerson. It appeared that Lady Brennan could not use her legs, for she did not stand and was in a strange chair with wheels attached to it.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Charlotte. We have come at a horrific time, it seems. We were visiting Lady Wyndham to try some new treatments for my paralysis,” Lady Brennan said, in answer to Charlotte’s unspoken question.

  “Yes, now they are insisting on leaving us, due to the Earl’s death. Please help me convince them to stay! They mean to return all the way to Westmorland,” Elly said, clearly exasperated although she sat down and poured Charlotte a cup of tea.

  “Perhaps I may be of service? Would you feel more comfortable staying with me while things are settled here? I only live a few miles away and have more than enough room. My mother is travelling on the Continent, if you do not mind the quiet.”

  “I do not wish for you to leave at all,” Elly insisted. “However, if it will keep you from leaving all together then I will encourage it.”

  Miss Dickerson looked to her mother, who gave a slight nod.

  “We would be very much obliged to you, Lady Charlotte. Maili has mentioned that I should befriend you whilst here,” Miss Dickerson spoke.

  “I will be pleased to have you, especially if you are Maili’s friend,” she replied with a genuine smile. “It has been mo
re lonely than I expected with Mama gone. Is there anything else I can do for you, Elly?”

  “Nothing at all. I will send them in the carriage at their convenience. Olivia would want to see you before you go, though.”

  “Of course. I shall give her my condolences.” Charlotte made her way up the stairs, wondering what she was getting herself into by offering to host Lady Brennan and her daughter. For Lord Brennan had been the one David Douglas had been involved with, had he not?

  David stopped short as he watched a lady pass by on a dark chestnut. Lady Charlotte was here? No wonder Yardley had made that command. He would have rethought Yardley’s offer to stay here had he realized this is where his sister lived. Had Yardley known he was asking the impossible?

  Brushing his hands along his scruffy beard, he did not think he had been recognized. On hindsight, he should have changed out of his gentleman’s attire before arriving—not that it was of the first stare. Having changed, he ran his fingers under his scratchy wool shirt—the shirt he had never thought to wear again along with his ‘Captain Deuce, the smuggler’ persona. He had thought that mask buried along with Lord Brennan. Of all the things for the King to request of him, this never would have occurred to him! Exiling him back to Barbados, yes; paying an extortionate bribe, yes; but returning to free-trading? Never.

  Pulling on his oldest boots, he sat in the small, upholstered chair in the cottage Yardley had provided for him to operate from. Having to be on Yardley‘s property, knowing his sister was there, was the devil’s own punishment in and of itself. He must have seen them together that night at the ball and disapproved. Certainly, David had not intended to raise Yardley’s ire, especially when he agreed with the Duke. He had no business being anywhere near Lady Charlotte. She had been on his mind entirely too much the past month and now, the possibility of seeing her often was going to make it impossible for him to get her out of his mind.

  He was here as the supposed gamekeeper in said cottage, though there was not much game in these parts to be had other than the occasional wild boar and fox. Yardley had set him up nicely, however, for the larder was stocked and the place was cosy enough for a bachelor.

  Having unpacked and donned his disguise, it was time to begin his mission here. He walked to the stables where he had left his stallion in the hands of most capable grooms. Even at his secondary properties, Yardley kept an impressive stock of cattle. Perhaps the Dowager and Lady Charlotte were horsewomen. He would dearly enjoy watching more of Lady Charlotte handling a horse. What would he do if he came face to face with her again? It could happen, even if he took pains to avoid her. Would she recognize him in the light of day? By now, she probably knew who he was and had been warned away from him, even though he had tried to do so himself. It was very likely Yardley had guards escorting her about the property, with him in residence!

  He had spent the past month trying to find out everything he could about Rottingdean’s free-trading and he thought he had enough information to insinuate himself into the smuggling gang. It had been one thing, when he was a wild young buck, to become part of the operations locally where he was known. It was going to be another matter altogether to be trusted by a group that did not know him. He could never play the stupid, brawny fool and be mere manual labour for a gang. No, he would have to earn the leader’s trust. He only wondered what the cost would be. He might have the King’s authority, but it did not mean he would be protected from harm.

  Entering the stables, he greeted each of the horses as he made his way to his own trusted mount, Gulliver, who was a horse befitting a giant such as he. He bridled and saddled the stallion himself as a beautiful chestnut mare nickered, trying to get his attention. She was a beauty to be sure, and perhaps, if all went well, Yardley would allow him to breed Gulliver with one of his stock when this was over. He would love to see the results of an Andalusian with an Arabian or other fine cattle—perhaps make a new breed and new name for himself. Lord Easton also had some of the best stables in England, and he hoped he would soon be able to visit them at Wyndham, along with his sister and Letty.

  After he led his stallion out of the stable, he mounted and reluctantly headed toward the Black Horse Inn to begin his descent into his past life again.

  The inn was much as he imagined it would be—like any other you would find along an English road. It had a low-hung ceiling inside, with dark wooden walls, and the odour of smoke, ale and sweaty men greeted his senses. David had come purposefully early in order to watch the usual crowd gather. There was a full moon and clear sky, so no smuggler worth his salt—or his neck—would be out working his trade that night with the Revenue about.

  He removed his hat and gave a nod to the innkeeper as he chose a discreet table towards the back of the tap-room.

  A lusty-looking wench approached him with a saucy smile. “You’ll not want to be sitting there, sir. That’s where Cap—some usual customers sit.”

  “Well, since I’m looking to become usual I’d best find my own table. Where do you suggest?” he asked, reminding himself to lose his Etonian accent.

  “’Tother side, sir. Are ye new here, then?”

  “Aye. Just in from the West Indies. I’ve taken the gamekeeper’s post at Langborn House.”

  “Welcome to ye, then. I’m Gertie and if you’re ever needing something more fulfillin’, you know where to find me.” She winked. “Will ye be wantin’ some meat pie with yer ale?”

  “Please. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Gertie, I’m called Douglas.” That was the name he had settled on. Captain Deuce would be known even here. He tried for the balance between interest and open invitation. She would be a source of information in the future.

  “The pleasure will be all mine, I’m sure,” she said with a saucy grin as she turned and walked towards the kitchen with an enticing sway of her hips.

  The food was decent, and the ale good. David sat and watched the villagers slowly come in from their day’s work. It was easy to spot the leader of the gang. Having been one, he knew all the signs. A man in charge had a certain aura about him and the other men were deferential, whether they realized it or not. Captain Dunn looked like a weather-beaten sailor, with leathered skin, grizzled hair and dark, beady eyes which looked very sharp.

  As he suspected, there were whispers and not-so-subtle glances in David’s direction, and Gertie was the one to supply the answers to their inquisitions.

  David slowly drained his ale and wiped his mouth before rising to his feet and throwing some coins on the table. Putting his hat back on, he gave a small nod of acknowledgement to the leader and his men, then another smile and a wink to Gertie before he sauntered out of the door. His first order of business for the night had been accomplished.

  Chapter 4

  They say Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but I rather feel as though my brother will give Hell a run for its money when he hears of my plans...once he overcomes the shock of it. Why is it so difficult for men to give up control?—2 Feb

  Even the short journey from Wyndham was exhausting for Lady Brennan, so she was immediately shown to her room to rest. Fortunately, there were apartments on the ground floor to accommodate her wheeled chair, since the house was built partially into the hillside.

  “This is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen!” Miss Dickerson exclaimed as Charlotte led her into the drawing room. The room had an entire wall of floor to ceiling windows, overlooking the white chalk cliffs and English Channel on the Sussex coast. Even after living here for many years, Charlotte was not immune to its beauty.

  “In the summer, I prefer to sit outdoors on the terrace, but if the fires are built up enough in here I can almost forget how cold and dreary it is outside.” The rest of the room was charming and cosy, done in pale blues and creams with several comfortable sofas placed around the wall of windows for advantageous viewing.

  “This is my first English winter since I was small, and I feel as though I shall never be warm again!” Miss Di
ckerson rubbed her arms as she spoke.

  “Forgive my manners! I shall ring for tea. It will warm you.”

  “I did not mean to—” Miss Dickerson began to protest, but Charlotte just smiled and waved away her objections.

  She walked over and rang the bell-pull before sitting down again. “I am unused to entertaining,” Charlotte confessed. “Where have you been living all these years, then, if not in England?”

  “An island named Barbados, on a sugar plantation. Do you live here all alone?” Miss Dickerson asked as she sat near the windows.

  “My mother lives here with me, although she seems to have discovered an affection for wintering in the Mediterranean. I can scarce blame her since I too prefer a warmer climate. Perhaps I shall join her next time.” Charlotte smiled.

  “You would love the West Indies,” the slight lady with intriguing blue-grey eyes and dark hair said. “It is always warm and the waters are incredible shades of blue and green,” she added wistfully.

  “I recently met someone else who had come from the West Indies,” Charlotte recalled. She could still not quite make out the relationship to Sir David, though there must be one, and she dared not ask her at this early stage of their friendship, even though she searched for similarities between them.

  “You choose to live apart from your brother?”

  “My brother chooses to live apart from my mother, is more the truth of it,” she answered dryly. “She prefers the milder climate, as do I. It is not to say we are at odds, but some families are more in peace with each other at a distance.”

  “I am becoming accustomed to a large family. I had never known family other than my uncle until recently. Now, it seems, I have aunts, uncles and cousins everywhere I turn!” she exclaimed.

  “It can be a blessing and a curse!” Charlotte laughed.

  “May I be so bold as to ask what you do with your time here? I saw little in the way of habitation for some distance,” Miss Dickerson remarked.