CHAPTER 20
Charlotte entered her room, her emotions once again tangled into knots of frustration and disappointment. Harry raised his head from his pallet when she came in, then did a nose count of the kittens nestled along his side before going back to sleep. She quickly changed into the nightrail the maid had draped over the coverlet for her and slipped into bed.
When Lucien kissed her, her mind had blanked, and she responded to the delicious, overwhelming pleasure of his mouth and tongue as he teased her senses and sent waves of desire to her core. He'd gone beyond kisses and caressed her breasts... and she had let him.
She knew a lady did not permit such familiarity, but the sensation of his touch had sent glorious fissures through her. When he'd pressed her closer, she’d felt a firm ridge against her stomach and realized that the drawings in the naughty book might be accurate after all. She’d wanted to press against the ridge, instinct telling her that to do so would ease the heated need his touch fired. If he’d wanted to do more, to do the things detailed in the books, would she have allowed that too? The question worried her and made her press her thighs together to ease the restless ache that made her embarrassingly aware of herself.
Lucien had stopped without attempting more, though. She couldn’t help but wonder if he had kissed her to distract from her dark memories. If so, he had succeeded—until his parting words. Frustration added to her disappointment over Lucien's assessment of Lady Dalton's situation.
When she’d decided to tell the duke her fears, and to confess the secret she had carried inside for so long, she'd hoped all would be settled. Once he knew the truth about Dalton, she'd been sure Lucien's title and standing could be brought to bear and make things right. She’d spent the hours until he came home imagining various scenarios wherein Lord Dalton was exposed as an evil murderer who would pay for his cruelties to both Martha Franklin and Lady Dalton.
Yet Charlotte was not so naive, as Lucien obviously believed, that she didn’t know how unfair life could be. One had only to look around to see examples of it every day. However, that didn’t mean everything must be unfair or that some things could not be made better. She couldn't save every mistreated dog, but she'd saved Harry. She couldn't save the cat by the river, but she'd saved the kittens. She hadn't saved Mrs. Franklin, but she would save Lady Dalton.
Lying in the dark, her thoughts jumbled, Charlotte searched her mind for some way to help. She needed to know exactly what had happened to Lady Dalton– but who would know the truth of the matter, and not simply what Lord Dalton told his friends? It struck her suddenly that Lady Littlemarsh had learned of Lady Dalton's situation from her maid... who had heard it from her sister... who worked for the Daltons.
She would call upon Millicent first thing tomorrow and ask to speak to her mother's maid. She would discover when the maid's sister had her half-day and when Lord Dalton would be away from home. Once she could do so without fear of Lord Dalton being present, she would call upon his wife to see how she truly fared. What she would–or could– do after that would depend on what she found. Lady Dalton had denied needing help at the Winterstone’s musical evening, but would she now?
Charlotte rolled to her side, determined to settle into sleep. If Lady Dalton refused her help this time, she’d do as Lucien asked, and pray that Lady Dalton didn’t suffer the same fate as Martha Franklin.
LADY LITTLEMARSH'S maid had described her sister as a sweet mouse of a girl who could disappear in plain sight. The girl at the teashop who slipped into the chair opposite her at her invitation fit that description– mouse brown hair, large brown eyes and slightly prominent front teeth that became more prominent when she smiled in response to Charlotte's greeting.
"You must be Margery,” Charlotte greeted her.
"Good day, Miss." She bobbed her head. "Jenny said you wished to speak with me? Anne's maid had accompanied Charlotte on her errand and Margery glanced at her. The maid gave Margery an encouraging smile before moving to a table a short distance away. "She didn't say why."
Charlotte poured them each a cup of tea. "I hope you can relieve my concerns about Lady Dalton's health." She handed the cup to Margery and lowered her voice. "I understand she had a recent... disappointment... that requires her to remain housebound for some time."
The girl's eyes widened in surprise, and she nearly dropped the cup. "Beg pardon, Miss. You startled me." She surveyed the shop as though checking to see who might hear her answer. She looked back and Charlotte and said, "I didn't know Jenny said anything to anyone else... It isn't my place to spread gossip about my employers."
"I do not ask from idle curiosity, nor do I blame you for speaking frankly to your kin," Charlotte noted the way Margery's face paled and that she twisted the cloth napkin in her lap. "But it is of grave concern to me to know if the babe was–” She hesitated slightly– “The only health issue Lady Dalton suffered at the time of her loss." She hesitated but continued when she remembered that this young woman had worked for the Dalton's for nearly five years. She must know the truth. "You see, I knew Lord Dalton's first wife before she died."
She watched understanding dawn in Margery's brown eyes and waited to see if she would deny what they both obviously knew about Lord Dalton and his violent temper.
"Oh." Margery put her hands over her mouth and tears glistened before she blinked them away. "You know– I mean–”
"How badly is she hurt?" Charlotte asked. "Can you arrange for me to see her without Lord Dalton knowing?"
"Oh, no, Miss. I couldn't do that." She leaned forward and whispered, “If I did, and he found out, he would kill me." She sat back, wide eyed and pale faced. "I tried to hide her from his wrath once and he swore he would kill me if I ever tried to interfere again." She shook her head, her eyes bleak. "I wish I could, but I dare not."
Charlotte understood the girl's fear. She, too, had been threatened by and lived in dread of Lord Dalton's anger. "Why didn’t you seek other employment?"
"I thought about it, but even if Lord Dalton consented to provide a reference, Lady Dalton needed me. I have learned ways to redirect his anger without seeming to interfere. I tend her minor wounds and bruises. I believe,” she let her gaze drift around at the ladies chatting with each other. “It sounds impertinent from a lady’s maid, but I believe I am her only friend."
"Then as her friend,” Charlotte implored her. "will you tell me Lord Dalton's schedule? I shall come to the back of the house when he is away. I promise to speak with her for just a short time and be gone. He need never know I was there, but I must talk to her."
Margery sat silently, clearly wrestling with her conscience and her fear. A serving girl approached and offered a fresh pot of tea and Charlotte realized that both cups sat cold and untouched on the linen covered table. The serving girl left to exchange the cold pot and Margery’s lips firmed before she nodded her head.
"All right." She bobbed her head and her lips firmed. "He told his valet he will attend a sporting event in Southwark in two days’ time. Cook will be at market at noon, though I’ll still have to slip you past the butler. With the master gone, though, he and the valet will most likely share a tipple in the butler's quarters."
The serving girl placed a fresh pot of tea on the table and Margery took a sip of the fresh brew before adding, "He is to leave around eleven in the morning, and we don't expect him to return until perhaps four in the afternoon. He has an engagement at a gaming hell in the evening."
Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you." She noted Margery's shaking hands when the girl took another sip of tea. "If you ever do decide to seek new employment and Lord Dalton refuses to give you reference, contact me and I shall provide one." She nodded her head toward the Caldwell maid who'd accompanied her to the shop. "I am not able to offer you a position myself, as I must borrow my host's servants, but I shall do all I can to help you find a respectable place."
Charlotte rose from her seat, “No, stay and enjoy the rest of the tea." she said wh
en Margery started to stand as well. "If Lord Dalton's plans change, send word, otherwise I shall present myself at the servant's door at half noon in two days. And again, thank you."
Leaving the bakery, she and her borrowed maid visited a nearby shop to purchase embroidery floss. She didn’t need it, but she'd used the floss as a reason for her trip to Bond Street.
TWO DAYS LATER, CHARLOTTE slipped down the stairs to the servant's entrance of the Dalton's townhouse and tapped at the door. Several minutes passed and Charlotte feared the maid might have lost her nerve, but then the door opened, and Margery put her finger to her lips, and they crossed the kitchen to the back stairway. They passed the ground and main floors of the house to reach the second floor where the maid cautiously opened the door. Stepping out from the back stairs landing, she checked that neither the valet nor the butler were in evidence, then let Charlotte down the hall to Lady Dalton's room.
"I told her you were coming," she whispered. She opened it and stepped back to allow Charlotte to enter.
"Lady Dalton?" Charlotte walked across the room then stopped, aghast at the sight of Lady Dalton's battered face.
The woman lay against stacked pillows. Brilliant red, violet, yellow and blue bruises discolored her face and neck. A bed jacket hid the rest of the bruises that Charlotte knew had to cover her body and a splint supported her left arm. Lady Dalton opened blood-shot eyes that must have been swollen shut in the first days after the beating. The swelling had subsided, but the intense color told Charlotte her fears had been justified.
"I believe you were right about my husband," Lady Dalton's hoarse voice held an ironic note and she tried to smile, though her lip had been split and must be painful.
"I am so sorry,” Charlotte said as she finished crossing the room to take a seat at the edge of the bed. "Did he know about the child when he did this... or when you–?"
Lady Dalton gave a dry chuckle that turned to a choke of pain. "Of course he knew. It is why he beat me." Charlotte took her hand as she explained, "He doesn’t like children, nor does he care if the title goes dormant once he is gone."
Charlotte didn’t know what to say to such a shocking sentiment.
"You once suggested that you wished to help me," Lady Dalton said. "But I don't know what you could do. He is my husband."
"Does he allow you a physician?" Charlotte noted that the splint anchoring Lady Dalton's arm had the look of a field dressing rather than the neater bindings she associated with a medical professional.
"Only if I am not marked badly. He is usually careful not to mark my face." She closed her eyes a moment and a tear rolled down her cheek and onto the pillow. "He had Margery tend to me this time." Another tear hit the pillow. "The babe came quickly... He took it away."
The door opened suddenly and Margery, her features drawn in fear, cried. "He has returned early. You must leave immediately."
Charlotte jumped up from the bed and turned back to Lady Dalton. "I don't know what I can do– but I will try to do something."
"Miss Longborough, hurry!"
Charlotte escaped the room, reached the back stairs, and started down as silently as she could. As she made her way, she could hear Lord Dalton bellowing for his valet and the butler, his fury enough to make Charlotte worry for Lady Dalton at the same time as Charlotte trembled to think what would happen if he discovered her in the house. She reached the servants hall and opened the door to the kitchen a crack to be sure the cook had not returned early as well.
To her dismay, the butler stood at the far end of the kitchen and she couldn’t reach the door to the street unseen. When he turned and started toward the back stairs Charlotte drew back and looked around the landing in alarm. A door to the left caught her panicked gaze. She peeked around it and relief surged through her when she saw it was a linen closet. She managed to slip in and shut the door before the butler reached the landing and started up the stairs to answer Lord Dalton's demand for brandy.
CHAPTER 21
Lucien studied the dossier he'd requested on Lord Dalton after Charlotte's revelations. It confirmed that Albert Franklin, now Viscount Dalton, had indeed been married and widowed before receiving the title he held. It raised no question regarding her death, though, listing it as an accidental drowning.
Lucien frowned. Children often misinterpreted what they saw, yet if Charlotte's story was true, Dalton had covered his guilt well. A body washed downstream in a fast-running river would be battered and broken by rocks and tree root snags. The incident at the orangery proved the man capable of striking a woman in anger, though, and Lucien accepted that Charlotte truly had witnessed a violent crime.
The report gave Lady Dalton's history as well. Orphaned the year before she married Dalton, she had no other close relatives to whom she might turn in need. He leaned back in his chair as he read. She’d inherited cash and properties from her maternal grandmother in addition to the generous dowry provided in her father's will. He turned the page as he reflected that it had made her all the more susceptible to unscrupulous fortune hunters like Dalton.
The Dalton title had provided him nothing more than a rundown estate. It didn’t surprise Lucien that Dalton had offered for the heiress. Upon their marriage he had taken up residence in his wife’s inherited townhouse but had recently placed both her other properties up for sale. Neither had yet found buyers.
The clock on the mantle struck the hour and he put the report into the drawer. It had revealed nothing of practical value. He didn’t know if he’d expected it to, but he believed he owed it to Charlotte to discover if suspicion surrounded the first wife's death. He crossed the hall and climbed the stairs to dress for dinner. At the top of the stairs, he found Elizabeth and Sarah huddled together, engaged in a whispered argument. Hearing Charlotte's name, he suspected their argument was of a family nature and he pretended to be unaware of their altercation as he passed them on the way to his rooms.
"Your Grace,” Elizabeth said. "We are worried about Charlotte."
"She is missing,” Sarah explained. "We haven’t seen her all day."
"I beg your pardon?"
"We haven’t seen Charlotte since shortly before noon,” Elizabeth said. I was involved in a project,” she flushed. "I tend to lose track of time when I am. Then Sarah had a–" she shot a glance to her sister "question– for Charlotte, but she wasn’t in her room. Nor was she with Anne or the Duchess. We’ve checked the entire house and she isn’t here."
" You say she said nothing of an errand? Might she have taken Harry to the Park?"
Even as he asked, Harry nudged his hand, and Lucien knew that Charlotte must have gone somewhere on her own. Charlotte was determined to help Lady Dalton. He had no doubt as to where she had gone. Little fool. Dalton had already threatened her twice. He wouldn’t warn her a third time.
IN THE LINEN CLOSET, Charlotte closed her eyes tightly and counted to one hundred before cracking the door open again. Upstairs Lord Dalton shouted orders, and rushing feet told her Lord Dalton's valet and butler feared his temper as much as had Lady Dalton's maid. Carefully, she checked the door to the kitchen ready to duck back into the closet if she heard footsteps on the stairs. At that moment, the door to the kitchen opened and the cook strode to the worktable at its center and set down the basket full of her purchases.
A footman followed with two more baskets. "His Lordship is home,” he commented with a grimace when he heard the shouting from above stairs. "Something must have gone wrong to bring him home early on racing day."
"Then you'd best get yourself upstairs before he finds out you left your post to help carry the groceries."
"Aye." He glanced up at the ceiling and shrugged his shoulder. "Though he sounds like he'd not need an excuse to sack me."
Charlotte ducked back into the closet when the footman left the kitchen to climb the stairs. No more than a narrow rim of light around the door edge pierced the darkness of the closet, a dim anchor in the confined space. The storeroom was small. She felt arou
nd, noting that the shelves formed a tight “U” shape. You’re stuck, but you’re not locked in. Charlotte fought rising panic that clawed her stomach and hitched her breath. You’re not locked in. She clenched her fists and settled down on the floor, her gaze locked on the ribbon of light beyond the door. You must simply wait until things are quiet. She heard the footman return with orders to bring hot water so his lordship could bathe before his evening out, and feared it might be hours before she could escape the house. She closed her eyes and repeated the one thing that kept her fear under control. You’re not locked in.
Sitting in the dark, time crawled by. It made her acutely aware of the sounds of people rushing around, the scent of soap and linen, and the steady beat of her heart. She was also aware of the sharp edge of the shelf that pressed against her back. Shifting, she felt around until she located a stack of cloths, their purpose unknown in the darkness, but their bulk made her suspect a table covering. She slid it behind her like a cushion. Much better.
She must have dozed because the next thing she noticed was the aroma of roasting chicken. Her stomach growled and she realized it had been a long time since she'd eaten her breakfast of toast and coddled egg. Muffled voices alerted her that several people occupied the servant's floor and Lord Dalton had stopped shouting. She pulled herself up, her body stiff from remaining in the same position for such a long time. Again, she eased the door open and listened carefully. The voices came from a greater distance than from the kitchen, so she quietly left the closet and tried the kitchen door. Signs of preparation cluttered the space, but the servants took their meal in a separate room. Seeing the way clear, she gratefully made her way across the kitchen to the door. On her way out, Charlotte saw a basket on a hook by the door and grabbed it as she quickly exited the house.
The sun hung low in the sky when Charlotte hurried up the stairs to the street level. She lowered her head and tucked the basket under her arm, hoping that anyone seeing her would assume she was someone's maid completing an errand. She only needed to walk three blocks to reach Wolverton House. After the hours trapped in the linen closet, her brisk walk gave her a sense of freedom she'd never fully appreciated before.
Scandalizing the Duke Page 16
