"As are most men." Lady Ridley said bluntly. "Those who are not independently minded are generally feeble minded." She gave a sniff of disdain, "A man of strong mind will only do what he wants to do–which is why we ladies know how to make a man think our wishes were his idea."
She rose and accepted her shawl from her maid. "Now I am off to pay my respects to Lady Rutledge and meet the latest in her brood. This new one makes number seven, I believe. An heir at last." She smiled at Jane, “Perhaps this time next year you will present Lord Chalmers with an heir as well."
She took her leave and conversation turned to several other ladies who had recently presented their husbands with offspring. Jane, her face pink after Lady Ridley's comment, excused herself to inspect the model of a dress style Madame Fochet suggested for the wedding. Once she was out of earshot, Lady Littlemarsh lowered her voice and said, "I would not dampen Lady Jane's excitement with sad news, but my maid told me this morning that Lady Dalton has suffered another miscarriage and will be unable to attend any entertainments for at least two weeks."
The Duchess released a brief murmur of sympathy before commenting, "I believe she suffered a similar loss last Season. She must be quite devastated."
"Nor was that her first." Lady Littlemarsh clarified. "According to my maid's sister, this makes four misfortunes for her in as many years. I believe she may be one of those unfortunate women who is unable to carry a child to term. My maid's sister has been employed at the Daltons since they married, and she holds out little hope for an heir."
Jane returned to the table and everyone turned back to the samples under discussion. Charlotte, though, found herself alarmed at the news that Lady Dalton was once more too ill—or was she again injured—to take part in the various parties and balls that remained of the Season. Was Lady Dalton unable to carry a child to term because of nature... or Lord Dalton's ill treatment? Martha Franklin had also suffered multiple miscarriages.
Charlotte would never forgive herself if she made no effort to rescue Lady Dalton from abuse–or death—at the hands of her handsome, but remorseless, husband.
CHAPTER 19
It was nearing midnight when Lucien returned from dinner with Ravencliffe at his club. Timmons took his cloak and hat before clearing his throat and telling him, "Miss Longborough asked that I inform you she wished to speak to you in the library if you arrived home before midnight."
In the library? His body responded immediately to the memory of their last encounters there. "Is the Duchess with her?"
"No, Your Grace, though her maid was with her when she made the request. The rest of the ladies retired an hour ago."
Nothing too personal then. Charlotte Longborough might be a bit naive, but she was not stupid. If she needed to wait up to speak to him, it must be a matter of concern. "Then I suppose I must see what it is she wants."
He started up the stairs, then stopped and looked back. "Please tell me she has not rescued any more beasts–?"
"Not that I am aware of, Your Grace."
He looked down at his butler and gave him a wry grin. "How soon did you know of the kittens?"
Timmons drew himself up proudly, “Within the hour, Your Grace. Miss Longborough requested a box of dirt and a bowl of warm milk for her room."
"I’ve always admired your powers of observation and interpretation regarding matters of household operations," he said as he turned back to the stairs. "It is a bit late for swilling tea and I suppose whatever Miss Longborough has to confess will not take long," he added over his shoulder. "Go to bed, Timmons. I shall require nothing more from you tonight."
When he reached the library, he found the door open and Charlotte staring into the fire, an embroidery hoop lying neglected in her lap. He saw no maid.
His entry attracted her attention and she jumped up, dropping the hoop on the floor. "You are home," she said with a quick glance at the mantle clock.
"Timmons said you wished to speak with me?" Lucien didn’t venture deeper into the room. With no maid in attendance, he didn’t trust himself not to take advantage of the situation once again. Still, she did not look like a woman in search of further intimacies.
"I heard something today that greatly concerned me, and I hoped you might assist me to discover the truth.” Charlotte said in a rush before she stopped, obviously unsure and a little embarrassed. Her eyes searched his and her cheeks flushed. She clasped her hands tightly together, her agitation undeniable.
She took quick breath and crossed the room to stand before him. "It is indelicate of me to speak of such matters—But, this afternoon Lady Littlemarsh reported that Lady Dalton has recently lost a child before term and that she will be bedridden for several weeks." She faced him with determination in her stance and anger in her gaze. "I believe it is her husband and not nature that has caused her loss."
"I know he behaved badly toward you," Lucien said cautiously, "But I made inquiries about him after he accosted you in the orangery. No one has ever seen him treat his wife inappropriately and all say that he is devoted to her. He may well have intended to give you a fright, and nothing more."
He stopped her protest with a finger to her lips. "I know the behavior I saw puts that in question. However, those same friends also assure me Dalton has consulted many physicians about his wife's fainting spells. The doctors believe a childhood illness has made her susceptible to heart palpitations and headaches. These make her dizzy and further prone to falls and mishaps. It could also make childbearing difficult or even impossible."
"That is according to Lord Dalton,” Charlotte protested. "He might well have created the scenario of her childhood illness– I understand she has no family to contradict his description of her early health problems."
"Which the lady herself could deny.”
"Many women are afraid to contradict their husbands or fathers lest they bring down further recriminations." Her eyes narrowed and she wrapped her arms around her waist when he didn’t respond. "I see you are unconvinced.”
"I admit it’s hard to believe a peer would be so lacking in honor that he’d cause his lady actual injury. But you don’t know if her situation is because of poor health or maltreatment, only that Lady Dalton has lost a child. Either way it is a sad situation, to be sure."
"It is more than, sad,” Charlotte declared, “It is wrong. Lady Littlemarsh says it’s not the first time Lady Dalton has suffered such a loss. I am sure Lord Dalton is beating her regularly. And to such an extent that she has miscarried. If he continues, she will lose her life as well." She crossed the room to stand in front of him. "We must stop him."
"If true, I wish we could,” Lucien said. "But truth be told, Lord Dalton is within his rights to strike his wife if he so chooses. I find such behavior repellent, but it is his legal right."
"Even if he kills her?"
"No. Of course not. That would be murder."
"But he can cause her continuous injury so long as she doesn’t die?"
"It’s not right, but yes, he has the right." Lucien reached out and took Charlotte's shoulders, wanting to ease the shocked pain reflected in her eyes. "A man must take full responsibility for his household. To do that he must have full control of those in his charge. That’s why the law gives him the right to enforce his decisions in any way he deems necessary."
He watched her eyes, willing her to accept the reason, if not the occasional flawed result of the law. "You don’t know that he caused her loss, even if we accept that it is possible. Some men," he told her, "do not deal well under pressure or disappointment. Wrong as it might be, her inability to carry a child to term might be a reason for his frustrated mistreatment."
She jerked out of his hold and her eyes suddenly sparked with anger. "So, it is her fault that he beats her?"
"No, of course not. But many men blame their loss of control on others rather than take the blame upon themselves." Lucien's frustration made his voice harsh. "His behavior with you might have been despicable, Charlotte, but it does
n’t mean he has caused all of his wife’s accidents– or this miscarriage.”
"I am sure." Charlotte’s voice resonated with conviction. "Whether directly or indirectly, it matters not. And there is no excuse that would make it pardonable. "
She stared up at him, her gaze demanding he give her hope that he couldn’t give. Dalton had frightened Charlotte as a child long before his near assault in the orangery. It was no wonder she interpreted his wife’s unhappy event in the worst possible light. Much as he despised men who treated their wives badly, he had no authority to intervene in another man’s marriage. And even if he did, he had no proof.
"How can I discover if she has been injured in any other way?" Charlotte asked. "Perhaps she didn’t lose a child, but he doesn’t want her seen in public until the bruises heal."
"I believe you’ve allowed your dislike for Lord Dalton to elevate a sad situation into an overwrought event." Lucien gently stroked her cheek. "You imagine the worst scenario when it may be nothing more than an unhappy fact of nature. And if it is not, there is still nothing you can do. You have a good heart, Charlotte, but you can’t rescue everyone and everything."
"I know that," her voice held a note of desperation, "But I can't let him get away with another murder."
Lucien’s lungs froze. His gaze sharpened. "What do you mean, another murder?"
Charlottes gray eyes filled with unshed tears and their expression reflected both guilt and despair. "I saw him kill his first wife."
CHARLOTTE KNEW LUCIEN had believed her fears for Lady Dalton to be wild imaginings, but her stark confession clearly shocked him. He gaped at her, not blinking, not breathing. After an eternity of silence, he took her hand and led her to a chair, then seated himself across from her. “Tell me.”
Gooseflesh rose as she remembered how deceptively charming Mr. Franklin, now Lord Dalton, had been. Where to start?
"Albert Franklin worked as the land steward for the estate beside ours. He married one of the estate housemaids, Martha, a few months later.” Charlotte plucked at her skirt, pleating and smoothing the cloth as though it would soothe her chaotic memories. “The first time Mrs. Franklin told a neighbor about her dizzy spells, she claimed she’d blackened her eye when she tripped and fell against the edge of the door." Unable to sit calmly while she described that day, she stood, turned away from Lucien, wrapped her hands around her middle, and paced the room.
"What she didn’t know was that I had been playing nearby and saw her husband backhand her for over-sweetening his tea." She stopped and looked back at him. "Neither of them saw me in the shadow of the large oak bordering the back of their garden."
She continued pacing, no longer making eye contact. "I was frightened at the force of his blow and crept away. When I got home, I told Elizabeth what I’d seen, but she didn’t believe me, so I didn’t tell anyone else. But some horrible fascination demanded I go back to see if he did it again. I saw him strike her many times after that. Sometimes it was a single blow, other times I had to cover my eyes when he used both his fists, and once, his feet, as she lay helpless on the ground.
One day, he saw me watching and locked me in the tool shed. He left me there for the whole day and didn’t let me out until almost dark. When he did, he told me that if he ever caught me near their garden again he’d throw me into the river and let me drown." She shuddered and pictured his face shoved close to hers, his eyes hard and his voice a threatening whisper.
"Then he smiled in that way he had and told me he’d be the first to lead the search party for me when I went missing. He told me he’d extend his heartfelt sympathy to my family for their loss. He said he’d even put a posy of flowers on my grave, and possibly use his handkerchief to wipe his eyes in sorrow for so young a life to be cut short by fate."
The memory chilled and her pulse raced as if he still clamped her wrist, his fingers cutting off the circulation to her hand. "I was only eight years old but I knew he could, and would, do it. He always knew the right thing to say and who to say it to. He flattered and charmed everyone with his smile and no one would believe he could be so cruel. But,” she again turned to face him and make her point, "that charming smile never warmed his eyes."
She rubbed her arms to warm them, still moving through the room, unable to sit in lady-like composure as she continued her story. "I didn’t go near their property for several weeks after he caught me. But, then, I overheard the curate say Mrs. Franklin's dizzy spells were getting worse and that Albert Franklin had told him that he worried all the more because their cottage glaring was so near the river."
Charlotte's stomach clenched as it had then, the image of Lord Dalton's face glaring into hers created as visceral a terror as if she were again the eight-year-old he dragged to the tool shed. Her throat dried and she swallowed her childhood fear.
“After Elizabeth didn’t believe me, I hadn’t told anyone else what I'd seen. But when I heard what the curate said, I sneaked back, terrified that Mr. Franklin would catch me again. But I had to see if Mrs. Franklin was alright.”
She clasped her hands together. “I hid behind a hedge when he came home, furious that his employer had dismissed him for skimming money from the accounts. I know this because he shouted at Mrs. Franklin that any estate manager worth his salt arranged deals that were of benefit to everyone, themselves included. Then he said that it was her fault that he had to sweeten the deals he made. It wasn’t long before he hit her for asking where they would now live."
“The more he hit her the more his rage grew. I was petrified and dared not move lest he see me. He kept hitting her, and hitting her, and hitting—"
She suddenly realized that tears coursed her cheeks and that Lucien had crossed the room to take her hands. "In the end," she choked out, "He finally dragged her unconscious body to the riverbank and threw her in.
The next day,” Charlotte shuddered, “when the magistrate told him they'd found her battered body two miles downriver, Mrs. Franklin's loving husband fell to his knees and sobbed. The day after her burial, he packed his things and quit the village."
Charlotte swallowed and fought back her tears. It was far too late to shed tears for Martha Franklin, but her heart ached for Lady Dalton. Lucien pulled her against his chest and held her while he stroked her back, murmuring reassurances while she regained her composure. She let him comfort her. He made her feel safe. He made her feel protected. But no one protected Lady Dalton.
In the quiet library with a fire warming the hearth and surrounded by the cultured trappings of rose-filled vases and fine furnishings, Charlotte's story of cruelty and violent death sounded implausible. Yet she knew the roses that scented the air had thorns, and a room without a fire in the hearth could be as frigid as the streets outside.
She straightened and looked up into Lucien's face. "You’re sure there is no legal recourse?"
"I’m sure." Lucien spoke softly, but a grave note of warning emerged when he added, "Lady Dalton is neither a puppy nor a litter of kittens, Charlotte. Don’t think to attempt some type of rescue. Stay out of it." He stared at her, his expression leaving her in no doubt that he expected her to follow his orders. "You must understand that if a lady leaves her husband, he can demand her return. Such an action would make her more vulnerable to his anger– especially since you’ve confirmed that he’s violent and dangerous."
Charlotte lowered her gaze to hide her frustration. If she tried to help Lady Dalton and failed, she might well be the factor that led to the fate she hoped to avoid. If she did nothing, and the Lady suffered a fatal accident, Charlotte would be plagued with far greater guilt than she'd suffered for not speaking up as a child.
"Promise me you won’t interfere." His finger lifted her chin and she looked back into his eyes. His expression softened. "I wouldn’t like to see you hurt."
He drew her back into his arms and kissed her. The emotions of the day flared into desire, burying the hours of indecision she'd spent before admitting her need to confide in him. His
mouth warmed hers and his arms sheltered her. He made her feel safer than she had since seeing Lord Dalton in the hallway at Anne's ball.
She nestled against Lucien's chest and slipped her arms up around his neck. His tongue teased her lips, and she opened her mouth to his exploration. A faint hint of brandy still clung to his tongue and intoxicated her senses. Her pulse beat faster, and the chill of her memories melted in the warmth of his embrace.
"Why is it," he lifted his lips to murmur, "that I forget rules of propriety and honorable behavior when we are alone together?" He kissed her again, trailing kisses along her neck and nipping the lobe of her ear.
She lifted her chin and angled her head to allow him greater access. When he kissed his way down to her shoulder, she yielded to temptation pressed her lips against the edge of his jaw, then instinctively touched her tongue to the beard-roughened flesh. He gave a low growl of pleasure and his hands shifted from her back to slide around and up until his fingertips caressed the swell of her breasts above her stays. At the same time, he took her mouth again, deeply, and she pressed against his hands, wanting more.
Lucien raised his head to lean his forehead to hers and she realized he struggled to slow his breathing as much as she. He shifted his hands away from her bosom, sliding them down to her waist, though she had not protested his familiarity.
"You should have kept your maid with you." He finally whispered. He gave her another long, drugging kiss, then broke away, his breath again short and harsh, his eyes hungry. "Go now, before I forget myself completely."
Still under the spell of his kisses, Charlotte made an inarticulate protest when he released his hold and stepped back. He kissed her once more, briefly and with finality. Just before she quit the room Lucien reminded her, "Life isn’t always kind, nor is it often fair, Charlotte—Don’t act rashly. You could greatly endanger yourself over matters you can’t change."
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