The Charity of a Viscount

by Sande, Linda Rae

  He cringed when he thought of Charity. Perhaps he was the wrong man to take on this case. By doing so, he was sure he would lose any chance of making a life with the widow. This young lady was evidence of her late husband’s infidelity, not to mention a version of the daughter Charity might have given birth to if her husband hadn’t taken a mistress or two. He couldn’t blame her if she’d hate him.

  The oddest pain in his chest had him suppressing a grunt just then.

  “He gave me some money the week before he died,” Marguerite said. “A hundred pounds. Said I should use it for a modiste. To have clothes made for my come-out, and for the subscription to the Wednesday night balls at Almack’s.”

  “And did you?”

  She shook her head. “I won’t be of an age to make my come-out until this next Season,” she explained. “When Benedict—that is to say, Lord Wadsworth—paid a call on me at Warwick’s this past spring, I knew my mother and I would require those funds for food.”

  Marcus regarded her with a wan grin. “Wise girl,” he murmured. “I understand Lord Wadsworth told you of his plans to cut you off whilst you were in school. Tell me. Had you met your brother before that day at Warwick’s?”

  Marguerite nodded. “Many times, when we were children.”

  This bit of news surprised Marcus, and he straightened in his chair. “Indeed?”

  She nodded. “We... used to play together, although he’s a few years older than me, his brother, Benjamin, and I got along quite well.”

  “Did you... did you know they were your half-brothers?” Marcus asked, rather surprised the children had been allowed to know one other.

  “Oh, of course. Father always referred to them as such when he spoke to me,” she replied. “Is that... is that not usual?”

  Marcus blinked, not sure how to respond. He didn’t have any by-blows of his own, but he knew others who did. “It depends,” he hedged. On if the wives would put up with the knowing or not, he didn’t add. He held up the will. “Might I keep this? Just for this evening? So that I might take notes before I inform Lord Wadsworth I’ll be suing him on your behalf?”

  Marguerite’s eyes rounded. “Suing him?” she repeated in alarm. She turned to Analise and then back to Marcus. “I don’t wish to make trouble for him,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

  Frowning, Marcus regarded the young woman a moment before he said, “Well, only if it’s necessary. It may not be. Wadsworth might be compelled to do the right thing without this having to proceed in the legal sense.”

  Tears once again threatened, and Analise allowed an audible sigh. “You must allow my father to do what he can for you,” she murmured to her friend. “We can’t have you and your mother cast out of your home.”

  The word ‘home’ had Marcus deep in thought. He knew Wadsworth Hall was an entailed property of the earldom. Benedict lived in a townhouse. But did Wadsworth have other houses in London? Entailed properties he would have been unable to lose whilst gambling? If he proposed one of those to Benedict, perhaps the young man would allow the women to move into it. The cost wouldn’t be so great to the earldom, then, if rent monies were an issue.

  And if not, he thought of the house Charity occupied. If she married him, she would move into Stanton House. Benedict could occupy Wadsworth Hall, and that would free up his townhouse so Marguerite and her mother could move into it.

  Or there was the house in Suffolk. The one Charity had lived in by herself all those years her husband was in London with his mistresses. If it was an entailed property, then perhaps they could move there.

  Could all this happen in just a few weeks, though?

  He blinked when Analise’s hand passed in front of his face.

  “You’re doing it again, Father,” she said in a whisper.

  Marcus blinked. “Indeed, but for good reason.” He turned his attention back to Marguerite. “If a suitable arrangement cannot be made before the end of the month, you and your mother shall move into this house,” he stated. “At least until a townhouse can be arranged.”

  “Father!” Analise said in awe, a smile lighting her face for the first time that afternoon.

  “However, I do believe I can encourage Wadsworth to do the right thing.”

  Marguerite nodded. “Then you may keep the will,” she said quietly. “But I would like it back.”

  “And you will have it,” Marcus replied. He moved to stand up. “I’ll leave you two to discuss the matter of suitors,” he teased, and then he suddenly sobered. “Well, not seriously, I hope,” he added as he gave a bow and took his leave of the parlor.

  Analise blushed a bright pink before Marguerite smiled for the first time that afternoon.

  Chapter 25

  A Viscount and Countess Discuss an Earl’s Motives

  Four o’clock in the afternoon, 30 Oxford Street

  Having driven his curricle to ‘Finding Wives for the Wounded,’ Marcus glanced about in search of a street urchin to see to his horse. He didn’t expect to be in the charity’s office long, but he didn’t dare leave the equipage unattended.

  “I can see to your horse,” a liveried groom said as he stepped forward.

  Marcus turned to find one of the Wadsworth Hall grooms holding out his hand. Behind him was a town coach, apparently the one belonging to Charity. “Much obliged,” he said, fishing a coin from his waistcoat pocket. “Has she been here all day?” he asked.

  The groom shook his head. “She had me take her to a few shops in Bond Street in the middle of the day, so she could pass out cards.” He lowered his voice. “She’s been after eligible ladies,” he added, a self-conscious grin displaying a broken tooth. “An hour later, and three of ’em were waiting for her here at the office.”

  Marcus nodded his understanding. Apparently the countess had found a way to encourage young, unmarried women to seek her out so she had possible matches for all the men who had already applied for wives. He briefly thought of his randy maid and wondered if there would be a match in her future.

  He rather doubted there would be one in his. Not after what he was about to tell Charity.

  He made his way into the office and held his hat in both hands as he watched Charity finish a conversation with a petite brunette. Although the young woman was plain of face, she was dressed rather fine, and her posture appeared perfect as she made her way past him to the door. He hurried to open it for her and then turned his attention back to where Charity was sitting.

  Except she wasn’t.

  She was pulling on her pelisse even as she made her way in his direction.

  He gave a bow. “Good afternoon, my lady,” he said before taking her hand in his.

  “Yes, it most certainly is,” she replied, her manner suggesting she might actually be pleased to see him.

  “I was hoping for a moment of your time,” he hedged, realizing she was in a hurry to get out.

  “You have it. In fact, you can have an hour if you’d like.”

  Marcus blinked, his eyes following her retreat from the office before his legs had a chance to catch up. “Does that mean you will join me for that ride in the park?” he asked.

  She seemed to give the query a moment of thought before she said, “How about a walk in Berkeley Square? I really need some air.”

  His eyes widened with mischief. “And an ice at Gunther’s Tea Shop?” he countered, as he helped her into his curricle.

  Her eyes widened, as if she hadn’t remembered the confectionary.

  “Follow us to Berkeley Square,” she said to the groom who held the reins. “You can take me home from there.”

  Once they were both settled, Marcus had the curricle merging into the late afternoon traffic in Oxford Street. “May I ask what made this day especially good for you?” he asked.

  Charity grinned, but kept her attention on the equipage in front of them. “I made some matches today,” she said proudly. “Three of them. Two I am quite sure will work.”

  “And the third?”

&nb
sp; “Possible, but doubtful. It would work if he weren’t so tall and she wasn’t so short, I think. They seemed to really like one another, though, so I suppose it could work.”

  Marcus was about to imagine what sexual congress might be like for such a couple, but had to keep his mind on the here and now. He didn’t want to be lost in his thoughts whilst in the company of Charity. Not when he finally had her in his curricle.

  “Congratulations are in order then,” he said. “And your favorite flavor of ice.”

  Charity sighed. “Would you believe me if I said I had never been to Gunther’s?” she asked.

  He was about to say ‘no’ when he realized she was telling the truth. “May I ask why not?”

  Sighing, Charity regarded him for a moment before she finally allowed a shrug. “I’ve been in Suffolk so long, and I can’t say as I’ve been of a mind for such an outing since my return to the capital.” She didn’t add that she didn’t think she could afford the extravagance.

  Money had been far too tight these past few months, and she hoped Benedict had been successful in staunching the losses the earldom seemed to have suffered under his father. The Year of No Summer couldn’t have been responsible for all of them. “How are things in Parliament?”

  He allowed a shrug. “Boring, sometimes. Interesting at other times,” he replied, deciding he had the perfect opportunity to broach the topic of Wadsworth’s will. “I’ve actually had to return to my former profession to take on an interesting case, one I hope doesn’t result in any legal action on my part.”

  Charity frowned, noting the seriousness in his voice. “Someone hired you to be their solicitor?” she guessed.

  Taking a deep breath, Marcus decided this was the moment he’d been dreading. “Something like that. Tell me, were you ever shown a copy of Wadsworth’s will?” he asked.

  Her head swiveled in his direction so fast, her hat was nearly pulled from its pins. “His will?” she repeated. “Of course not. What’s this about?”

  Marcus cleared his throat. “I read it yesterday,” he said. “Twice.”

  Charity gave her head a shake. “But, why?”

  “I’ve taken a client. One who is mentioned in the will. She... and her mother... were promised a certain sum. It’s spelled out quite clearly in the will, but it seems the current Earl of Wadsworth has seen to cutting them off.”

  Her eyes wide, Charity stared at Marcus for a moment before she faced straight ahead. “He must have had a good reason,” she suggested, thinking she should be angry with the viscount for having brought up the matter with her.

  “Possibly,” Marcus agreed. When she turned to regard him again, he added, “There are rumors that the Wadsworth earldom... suffered some losses—”

  “They are not rumors,” Charity interrupted. “Benedict has discovered a number of... inconsistencies in the accounts. It seems my late husband’s man of business was benefitting from the earldom far more than he was entitled. Thought he could hide what he was taking by simply writing it off... as if it were a gambling loss,” she explained. “Losses, I should say.”

  Alarmed, Marcus was about to steer the curricle to the curb so he could better concentrate on the conversation. He saw the square up ahead, though, and waited until they were under the shade of a plane tree across from Gunther’s before turning to regard her. “Has he done anything to recover the stolen funds?” he asked. “Sued the man? Or had him arrested for embezzlement?”

  Charity shook her head. “I... I don’t know. He’s managed to learn the books. Knows the businesses—has a head for it, even—but I don’t know that he has the contacts or the means to do anything about the man who stole the money. He’s only eighteen years of age.”

  “So, he hasn’t reported it?”

  She gave a shake of her head. “I’m sure I would have heard something,” she murmured. There was a reason she had a subscription to The Times and The Tattler. She took a deep breath and let it out just as a waiter ran up to take their order.

  “I meant for us to go inside,” Marcus said to the waiter.

  “Let’s not,” Charity said, motioning for the waiter to stay. She didn’t want to become the next on-dit in Mayfair parlors, although being seen in the curricle with Lord Lancaster might have tongues wagging as much as sitting together in Gunther’s.

  “You’re not too cold?”

  “I’m fine. Truly,” she replied, noting his look of concern. “But I’ve no idea what to order.”

  Marcus regarded her with a wry grin. “What’s your favorite flavor of all the fruits you have tried?”

  Charity dipped her head. “Strawberry, I suppose,” she hedged.

  “One strawberry ice and one bergamot pear ice,” Marcus stated. The waiter nodded and hurried off into the tea shop.

  They sat in silence for a time before they both started to speak at the same time. “You go first,” Marcus said, knowing his words would ruin an otherwise perfect outing.

  “I was going to ask you about the will. About the woman you said my son has cut off.”

  “Women, actually,” Marcus clarified, wincing as he said the words. He allowed a long sigh.

  “Is Marguerite one of them?”

  Marcus’s eyes rounded before he turned to regard the widowed countess. “You know about Marguerite?” He stared at her a moment and then gave his head a shake. “Of course you would. Your boys would have mentioned her, since they played together as children,” he murmured. “I’m so sorry about this—”

  “You needn’t be,” she interrupted. “But I don’t understand what it is Benedict did.”

  Marcus furrowed a brow. “According to Miss Fulton, he went to Warwick’s last June and informed her he was cutting her off. That she wasn’t due anything from the earldom.” He paused a moment. “My daughter paid witness to it because she is a friend of Marguerite’s and was there in the classroom when Benedict made his appearance.”

  Charity seemed to have trouble breathing for a moment. “Did he do it in front of a whole class?”

  Shaking his head, Marcus said, “No. The others had all left. The issue is, she and her mother are in a townhouse that Wadsworth let on their behalf. Before he died. The lease is up at the end of the month. They have little in the way of funds.”

  “What will they do?”

  Marcus held his breath a moment, rather surprised that Charity didn’t demand he let her out of the curricle. Her own coach was parked directly behind them. She could take her leave of him and be off in just moments. “Well, if Wadsworth cannot see to renewing the lease and giving them the living that was promised in the will—five-hundred pounds per annum—then I will be forced to sue your son on their behalf.”

  Charity squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to control the myriad of emotions his words incited just then. She was about to lash out in anger, but the waiter had returned with their order, and she found she simply didn’t have the energy. The sight of the ices had her mouth watering and her stomach reminding her she hadn’t eaten anything since early that morning, and then only toast and tea.

  Marcus gave her a dish of pink ice and a spoon while he saw to paying the waiter. When the man stepped away, he noted how tears had begun streaming down Charity’s temples.

  One-handed—he had to hold onto his own ice—Marcus pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her cheeks. “Oh, Charity,” he breathed. “I am so very sorry.”

  She sniffled and lifted her chin. “I don’t know why I’m crying,” she whispered. “It’s not as if I am at fault.” She turned her attention on the ice and lifted a spoonful of the pink confection to her lips. She tasted it and let out a sigh of pleasure. “Oh, this is good. This is very good,” she said.

  “Just don’t eat it too fast, or your head will hurt,” Marcus warned, noting how she had already brought another spoonful to her lips. “You don’t have to give me an answer, because it’s really none of my business, but has your son been able to... to see to your allowance?”

  Charity nod
ded. “He has. He increased it quite substantially...” She was about to say “last summer” when it dawned on her just why that could be. “Oh,” she breathed. She turned her attention on the viscount. “Oh, dear,” she said in a whisper.

  Marcus thought she was about to faint and set his ice on the seat next to him so that he could take hers from her trembling fingers. “What is it, Charity?” he asked. He snaked an arm behind her back and pulled her closer, alarmed by how light she felt. How terribly thin she was. “When was the last time you had a decent meal?”

  But Charity didn’t hear his query. She was thinking about how it was all making so much sense now! How it was that Benedict had been able to pay the servants. Arrange for some much needed repairs of Wadsworth Hall. But this past month had been much like it was when she first moved to London, which meant the pantry wasn’t as full and the servants were forced to eat more lobster.

  Marcus furrowed a brow as he watched her get lost in her thoughts. He supposed she looked much like he did when he allowed his imagination to get the best of him. The moment allowed him to gaze at her without fear of repercussion.

  She was thinner then he remembered. Her collar bones had been evident the night of the ball, the design of her gown doing nothing to hide them. He was sure she had been light-headed after their waltz, probably because she was starving.

  When her head fell onto his shoulder, Marcus remembered her ice and fed a spoonful to her. “Eat, my sweet,” he encouraged. She did as she was told, making humming sounds in the back of her throat. “I’m going to take you to my house for dinner this evening,” he said, just before he turned around to look for the groom.

  When the servant noticed, he hurried up alongside the curricle, frowning when he saw how Charity was slumped against the viscount. “My lord?”

  “She needs something to eat,” he announced.

  “Very good, my lord.”

  Marcus furrowed a brow, wondering if all the servants in Wadsworth Hall knew their mistress was wasting away. “I’m taking her to Stanton House for dinner. I’ll see to getting her back to Wadsworth Hall later tonight,” Marcus explained. “No need for you to have to wait for her. Go on back to Wadsworth Hall.”