by Regina Scott
“I won’t,” he said. “One’s too much as it is.”
“You’ll be marvelous,” Charlotte predicted. “I will make sure of it. We can start on Thursday.” She stood. When he didn’t, she regarded him.
He pushed to his feet. “Am I always supposed to stand around?”
“If a lady stands, you stand,” Charlotte instructed him.
He scowled. My, but the look ran in the family. “How am I supposed to know which are ladies and which are plain misses?” he demanded.
She certainly had her work cut out for her. “Allow me to be clear,” Charlotte said. “If a female older than ten who is not of the serving class stands in your presence, you stand until she either leaves the room or sits.”
He nodded, scowl easing. “Very well. But can I ask them to sit if they hover about too long?”
“I refuse to believe those legs tire quickly, sir,” Charlotte said. Then, suddenly aware of how long and strong those legs appeared in his brown trousers, she retreated a step.
“That should be sufficient for now,” she told him. “I’ll be back Thursday at eleven, as agreed.”
She wasn’t sure whether to be glad or disappointed when he didn’t argue.
Her friend Lilith, however, argued quite enough for all concerned.
Charlotte had known Lady Lilith, now Mrs. Villers, since Lilith’s brother, the Earl of Carrolton, had become friends with Worth, having attended Eton together. Lilith had been vibrant once, the most sought-after lady at any event. But something had happened, her personality leaking away until she had been reduced to a bitter shell. Charlotte blamed the disappointments on the marriage mart.
Lilith had favored Beau Villers, a man of dubious character and repute, but her late father had refused to allow her to marry him. They had been reunited earlier this year, and Lilith’s brother had been willing to allow the two to wed. Now that Lilith had married her dearest love, Charlotte had every hope her friend would blossom again. Soon.
“You were not at home,” Lilith complained when Mr. Cowls, Miss Thorn’s elderly butler, showed her into the elegant yellow and white withdrawing room. Miss Thorn had stepped out for the moment, but Fortune glanced up from her place at the window to eye their visitor with a certain calculation.
“I no longer live with my brother,” Charlotte explained. “Miss Thorn was kind enough to allow me to stay for a while.”
Lilith glanced around at the curved-back sofa and brace of satin-striped chairs, the tasteful display of Wedgewood and Sevres inside the glass-fronted cabinets. Fortune hopped down from the sill to pad up to her. Lilith ignored her.
“You should have your own home,” she proclaimed. “A husband. I’ll see to it.”
Charlotte felt as if her friend had plucked the wrong string on the harp. Lilith didn’t just resemble an Amazon with her impressive height, commanding figure swathed today in sapphire and white, black hair, and strong jaw. She tended to state her opinions loudly and forcefully as well, and it was a foregone conclusion that everyone in the vicinity would agree and obey.
“I’m not seeking a husband, Lilith,” Charlotte told her. As if she quite concurred, Fortune abandoned Lilith and came to wind herself around Charlotte’s grey skirts.
Lilith frowned. It was not as intimidating as Matthew’s scowls, but it wasn’t far off. “Why not?” she demanded. “I can assure you being a wife is a tremendous blessing.”
“For some,” Charlotte allowed. When Lilith’s frown didn’t ease, Charlotte took her hand and led her to sit on the sofa beside her, mindful of Fortune close by.
“Make no mistake, dearest,” Charlotte said. “I’m so glad you are happy with your choice. But I’m not convinced I’d be as happy married.”
“Few are,” Lilith said with a contented sigh.
Fortune hopped up between them and glanced back and forth, as if considering which lap to possess first. Lilith hitched away from her. Fortune promptly pounced into her lap. Lilith recoiled.
Charlotte leaned across, picked up Fortune, and deposited her in her own lap. The grey cat pouted.
Lilith composed herself. “But even if you cannot dream of reaching my level of happiness in marriage, I can think of any number of gentlemen who might be good partners for you. Didn’t I hear you were fond of Mr. Curtis last Season?”
Charlotte flinched at the fellow’s name, and Fortune’s ears twitched as if she didn’t much like it either. “A momentary aberration,” Charlotte assured her friend, running a hand down Fortune’s back. “We will not suit.”
“Pity.” Lilith eyed them a moment as if still considering the matter, and Charlotte willed her to offer another name rather than that of the man she’d once thought might be her perfect match before he’d proven himself a liar and cheat.
Lilith merely shook her dark head. “I’ll have to give the matter more thought. Perhaps Beau might know someone.”
Beauford Villers had supposedly reformed, but Charlotte had never been entirely convinced of the matter.
“No need to trouble your dear husband,” she said, continuing to pet Fortune, who cuddled closer. “I’m firmly on the shelf and never happier about the fact. In fact, I’ve found a new calling.”
Lilith’s smile was resigned. “Please tell me you aren’t going to continue with natural philosophy. It simply isn’t done.”
“I did quite well the last few years,” Charlotte said, hand stilling. “But no, I don’t intend to continue. Thanks to Miss Thorn, I’m assisting those new to the peerage to acclimate themselves.”
Lilith stared at her. “You’re a chaperone?”
“Chaperone, advisor, something along those lines,” Charlotte said with a wave of her hand. Fortune watched her fingers with interest. “My first assignment is Mr. Bateman, who saved the prince’s life.”
Lilith’s brows reared up like startled horses. “Mr. Bateman, the fellow who worked for you? The Beast of Birmingham? Charlotte, you must know he’s a joke.”
Charlotte’s spine stiffened. So did Fortune’s. “If he is, it is only among people of low intelligence and lower character.”
The pink in her friend’s high cheeks suggested to which camp she and her husband belonged.
“Beau and I don’t hold with people advancing themselves,” she said, proving Charlotte’s suspicions. “There is an order to the world, and all are more content when we strive to maintain it.”
“Intriguing point of view,” Charlotte said, fire building inside. “Did Beau think of it before or after he married into the aristocracy?”
Fortune rose and stalked up to Lilith. This time, her friend put out a hand, but more to stop the cat then to welcome her, Charlotte thought.
“That is hardly the same thing,” Lilith protested. “The Villers’s family is well known on the ton, welcome in all the best houses.”
“And Mr. Bateman is admired by the Prince Regent,” Charlotte countered.
Lilith patted Fortune on the head. The cat jumped down and stalked off, tail in the air and a glance of disdain over her shoulder.
“Let us not quarrel,” Lilith said, watching Fortune. “I suspect you will grow weary of this pastime, just as you did those silly experiments of your brother’s. When you come to your senses, I will be delighted to find you the perfect husband.”
Charlotte merely offered her a polite smile. She had come to her senses sometime ago and realized she was too independent for marriage. Nothing Lilith said could change that.
~~~
Matthew was glad for a break on Wednesday from Charlotte’s distracting presence. He left off the tight coat and dressed in his more comfortable loose trousers, cambric shirt, and waistcoat. He didn’t even bother with a coat or cravat. He spent some time in the rear yard jogging and ferrying weighted sacks from one side of the space to the other. Might as well keep up his strength. All this sitting about could drive a man to Bedlam.
Tuny, however, had other ideas about how he should spend his time.
“Are you going to
fight again?” she asked when she came out into the yard to tell him Ivy was ready for tea.
Matthew dropped the sack among the weeds. “No.”
Tuny crunched up her face. “Why? You were good at it, and you won a lot of money.”
He had, most of which was invested in the Exchange and bringing in a sizeable quarterly income, but he didn’t intend to share that with his littlest sister. “Gentlemen don’t fight, Sweet Pea.”
“Ladies either, I suppose,” she said with a sigh.
Matthew chuckled. “Definitely not ladies. What did Ivy bake today?”
Tuny brightened. “Sugar biscuits. Come on in, then.”
He stopped by the kitchen to wash his hands and face, then followed her to the sitting room at the front of the house, where his sisters liked to gather.
Daisy and Ivy were back in comfortable clothing as well, muslin day dresses with little printed flowers speckled about the soft folds. He took his spot on the largest chair, a massive upholstered thing that sagged when he sat but nevertheless fit his frame. Daisy and Ivy were already on the sofa, the light from the windows streaming past them as Ivy took up the chipped rose-patterned teapot and poured for them all.
“I like her,” Tuny announced when they’d had a few sips and one of Ivy’s biscuits.
“Who?” Daisy asked from her spot beside Ivy on the sofa.
“Miss Worthington,” Tuny said.
She wasn’t the only one. Matthew grabbed the teapot and poured himself another cup of the thick brew, trying not to remember the feel of Charlotte in his arms yesterday.
“I don’t,” Daisy said, shifting on the rose-patterned upholstery and wrinkling her muslin gown in the process. “She’ll have all sorts of rules. You wait and see.”
Funny. Tuny was generally the skeptic in the house.
“Rules aren’t so bad,” Ivy mused, hands cradling her cup as if she relished the warmth. “They keep us safe. They help us build character.”
Daisy tossed her head. “Perhaps I don’t need more character.”
“Perhaps we could all do with a bit of polish,” Matthew told them.
“Not you,” Tuny bragged. “You’re top-of-the-trees. It was in the paper.”
“Don’t believe everything you read,” Matthew said. “I’m still the brother you know.”
“And love,” Ivy said with a smile. “Still, she is right, Matty. You’ve moved in higher circles far longer than we have. You know about all these rules.”
“I’ve worked with Lord Worthington for a year,” he countered. “That didn’t prepare me to enter Society. He’s a good sort, but not what you call conventional. Nobs have their own way of doing things.”
“Like what?” Tuny asked, clearly fascinated.
“Well,” Matthew allowed, “did you know a gentleman’s supposed to stand when a lady does?”
“How’d you know which are ladies?” Tuny demanded.
Matthew slapped his knee with his free hand. “That’s what I asked.” The tea sloshed, and Ivy send him a look of reproach.
“What did Miss Worthington say to that?” Daisy asked.
“That any woman over the age of ten who wasn’t a servant counted,” Matthew explained. He leaned back to mop the spots of tea from the arm of the chair with his napkin. It took him a moment to realize that the room had fallen silent, as if they were all waiting.
Glancing up, he found Tuny on her feet, triumph gleaming in her eyes.
“What?” Matthew asked.
Tuny raised her brows and gave him a look. Just like Charlotte. Matthew popped to his feet without thought.
Tuny tipped up her chin, then sat on the chair with a smile of satisfaction.
Matthew started to sit, and Daisy popped up. He straightened.
Daisy sat. Matthew sat. Tuny stood. Matthew stood. Tuny sat, Matthew sat, and Daisy rose. Matthew glared at them all.
Ivy started laughing, and they all joined in, even Matthew. It did his heart good to hear his sisters so happy. That’s what they deserved. Maybe all this business with Charlotte and the prince would bring more happiness to his family. Why go through with it otherwise?
“Oh, Matty,” Ivy said as they finally resumed tea. “I almost forgot. A letter came for you.” She set down her cup and went to fetch it from among the miniatures on the mantel.
“Maybe it’s from the prince,” Tuny ventured, watching her sister as she returned to hand the letter to Matthew.
“Not likely.” He broke the seal. The first few words sent his stomach plummeting to his knees.
“Matty?” Ivy asked, straightening beside him. “What’s wrong?”
“Is it Mrs. Bateman?” Daisy asked with fear in her voice.
“Has something happened to her?” Tuny asked, her own voice starting to shake.
Matthew folded the note and rose. “It’s not about your stepmother or the prince, but I need to take care of the matter. I’ll try to be home for supper, but if I’m not, don’t wait for me.”
Because it was highly likely when he returned, he wouldn’t have an appetite.
Chapter Four
The gentleman’s lodging house had seen better days. So had most of its occupants. The manager answered Matthew’s knock.
“Good thing you came,” the thin fellow intoned in a deep voice that sounded as if it echoed from the grave. “The physician says it won’t be long now.”
Matthew slipped a coin into his hand. “See that he has all he needs.”
“I will,” Mr. Oglethorp promised, stepping aside to let him into the narrow entryway. “And when he’s gone, I hope you’ll see fit to keep paying for the room until I find another tenant.”
Matthew’s gaze was on the shadowy stairs. “We can discuss that when the time comes.”
Muttering to himself, the manager trudged back down the corridor. Matthew climbed the stairs as he had once a fortnight for more than a year. The wallpaper seemed a little dingier each time, the tears and scuffs more noticeable. But Cassidy refused to allow any more help than Matthew was already giving.
Out of courtesy, he rapped on the first paneled door on the right at the top of the stairs. No one called for him to enter, but he eased open the door anyway.
It was as pleasant a room as he could make it. He’d asked Ivy’s advice, though his sister had thought he was considering redecorating his bedchamber. Now cheery gingham curtains hung on the single window, and a quilt with blocks of green and brown draped the iron bedstead. Paintings of horses were hung here and there, a sign that life continued outside these confining walls. The man in the bed raised his head just enough to eye his visitor.
“You came.” Cassidy’s head fell back onto the pillow as his breath left him in a wheeze.
Matthew moved closer to the bed. The man under the covers had once been tall and strong enough to be known as the Giant of Lancaster. Matthew had had to have the bed especially made to fit the length of him. Now Cassidy had shrunk in on himself, his skin sticking to his skull, his limbs wasting. The light of challenge in his clover green eyes was the only sign that the fighting spirit remained.
“I always come when you ask,” Matthew said, sinking onto the spindle-backed chair next to the bed.
“That you do,” Cassidy allowed. “You’ve done more than I would have done had our positions been reversed.” He paused to cough into a handkerchief, adding another patch of red to the stained linen.
“I’m not sure I believe that,” Matthew said.
“And that’s the difference between us,” Cassidy answered lowering his hand. “If I’d hurt you in that fight, I’d have gone on with my life. You haven’t. I must admit I haven’t minded watching you suffer.”
The cough shook him again, until he curled his body around his chest.
Matthew half rose, to do what, he wasn’t sure. Cassidy waved a hand at the small table near the window. A stone jug and glass stood waiting. Matthew went to pour some liquid into a glass. The color looked too dark to be water. One sniff, and he se
t the cup down.
Cassidy made a face as the fit passed. “So, you’ll deny me that small comfort.”
“You’re a mean drunk,” Matthew said. “Mr. Oglethorp doesn’t deserve your bile.”
“And neither do you,” Cassidy agreed as Matthew returned to the bedside. “That’s why I asked you here. A man starts to think when he’s about to meet his Maker. I may not be able to stand on my feet on this Earth, but I’d like to be able to stand before Him in Heaven. So I ask your forgiveness.”
Matthew reared back. “My forgiveness?”
Cassidy’s eyes narrowed. “You know why. I goaded you that day. I thought if I angered you, you’d make a mistake, give me an opening. Instead, I nearly died under your pounding.”
Matthew dropped back onto the chair. “It does me no honor to remember.”
“And I’ve enjoyed watching you try to make amends,” Cassidy assured him, hands smoothing the covers over his chest. “But if I’m to earn my spot with the angels, I need to set you free, the rector tells me. So I forgive you as well.”
“Do you?” Matthew couldn’t believe it.
He barked a laugh and started coughing again. When he finished, Matthew had pity and went for the glass. Cassidy downed the contents.
“Yes, I do,” the former fighter insisted, shoving the glass back at him. “It was my own fault, poking the Beast. I should have known better. Put a nice stone on my grave, and go on about your life.”
If only it was that easy. Cassidy might offer forgiveness, but Matthew couldn’t accept. He’d earned the name of Beast that day, and he had not yet found a way to claim another.
~~~
Charlotte arrived for her second day of teaching with a plan and a renewed determination. Her conversation with Lilith had spurred both. The ton had a strange attitude about newcomers. A small amount of originality was rarely tolerated, while wild eccentricity was often embraced. She had no interest in making Sir Matthew and his sisters into eccentrics, but she could do what she could to help them blend in.
