*****
“Have you made a decision yet?”
Rafe shook his head. He sat in his mother’s private parlour, a tea tray between them, as the steady rain ran down the window pane.
“I have not. I can conclusively say that there are a number of them I will not consider. Starting with Lady Anne. But amongst the others, I have not reached a decision.”
The Duchess sipped her tea, and frowned at him.
“There are only a very small number of days left to Christmas, Rafael. You must choose soon. For myself – I would have thought that the choice might have become obvious by now – but if you are not sure yet, then you must redouble your efforts to speak with them, to assess which one you think you could come to bear an affection for.”
Even as he shook his head again, the image of Lady Charity came to his mind.
She was certainly more pleasant than any of the others – but would she welcome his suit? Did she wish to marry? Or was she here because her family required her to be? And, most important of all, could she come to feel any affection for him?
He would have to find some way to ask her – about her feelings on the matter, without declaring himself prematurely. Perhaps a quiet ride together on the morrow? He would attempt to invite her to that, tonight.
“I will mother – but I will not rush, I will not risk making the wrong choice, just by wanting this whole process over. I will tell you my decision, by Christmas Day, as I vowed.”
The Duchess regarded him with an expression which he could almost have interpreted as amusement – but she said nothing more, simply sipping her tea.
*****
When Rafe entered the parlour before dinner, he found himself automatically looking for Lady Charity. She was seated beside her mother on a couch near the fire, wearing a gown which was stunning, although simple, in a vibrant violet colour which he was sure matched her eyes. It was a far darker colour than young women usually wore, but she carried it off well.
He scanned the rest of the room, and noted that all of the other young women were present – all gathered together to one side. In contrast to Lady Charity’s vibrant gown, they were all dressed in varying pastel shades. Clustered together as they were, they rather reminded him of a pale cluster of hydrangea flowers, past their summer prime, and fading.
It was not, he acknowledged, a flattering comparison, but it was the image which had popped into his mind. They seemed to be whispering amongst themselves, and punctuating whatever was being said with little gasps and sideways glances – glances in Lady Charity’s direction. He wondered, immediately, exactly what they were discussing – and whether it represented a new way in which they planned to torment Lady Charity.
Casually, he circulated in the room, speaking to various of the older people, and to his gentlemen friends, before moving carefully to place himself close to where the young women gossiped. Fortuitously, Lady Waterton, who was his great-aunt, and somewhat hard of hearing, was seated close to them. He dropped into the chair beside her, and she nodded, smiling, not expecting him to actually talk. He settled himself to eavesdrop.
“Surely not! You cannot mean it!”
That was Miss Woodfield, he thought.
“I am completely serious – I saw it with my own eyes – and she even admitted it, outright!”
And that was Lady Anne, unmistakeably.
“But… where was she, how did you come to discover this?”
Lady Anne’s voice lowered, taking on the sort of tone which indicated that this was a shocking part of the tale.
“It was quite scandalous – after all, she was in a place where anyone might have come upon her, as I did.”
“Shocking!”
By now Rafe was fascinated – Lady Anne was quite a storyteller, keeping her audience hanging upon her every word. He, as much as they, wanted to know what the scandal was.
“It was – I near fainted at the sight. She was in the conservatory – I had asked a maid if there was a conservatory, just from curiosity, for the rain had made the morning so dismal. The maid directed me there, and you can imagine my horror when I entered to find her there, sitting at a little table, with the evidence of her shame spread all over that table.”
There were gasps again, and Rafe stifled laughter – Lady Anne belonged on the stage.
“What, exactly, was she doing, Lady Anne?”
“She was… making things… with feathers, and pearls, and sewing thread. Making the sort of things that a milliner might make, with her own hands.”
“Making things?”
“Yes, making things – like a commoner. Doing work unsuited for a lady!”
“But… why would she do such a thing?”
“When I asked, she claimed that she did it for her own pleasure – can you imagine that? It’s enough to make me feel quite ill. I knew that she had nothing in the way of social graces, but this! Really, I can’t imagine that she will ever be accepted in society again once people hear about this!”
Rafe sat there, listening to them continue to witter on about how shocking it was, but his mind was whirling. Now, he knew what she did with the feathers – and he was, far from horrified, rather impressed. She did something useful with them, instead of just collecting them to display somewhere! More and more, he was coming to realise that Lady Charity was the only woman at this house party that he could ever consider marrying. It was time for him to get serious about discovering what she thought.
He rose, nodding to his great aunt, and resumed his circulating in the room, eventually coming to stand close beside where Lady Charity sat. She looked up, meeting his eyes, and hers were full of misery – she obviously knew that she was being gossiped about.
He had a momentary urge to pull her to her feet, and into his arms, to console her, and wipe that misery from her gaze. That impulse shocked him, and he held himself perfectly still for a moment, considering it. Then, after being sure that her mother was completely engaged in conversation, he spoke in a whisper.
“Lady Charity, might I suggest a ride, very early tomorrow?”
Despite that misery, for a moment, there was a smile, and the light of something positive in her eyes.
“Yes, that would be wonderful, Your Grace.”
“Dawn, then.”
He gave her a small bow, and as he did, he pulled a feather from the bundle which never left his person of late, and, as he turned away to seek his gentlemen friends, he allowed the feather to drop from his fingers, to land in her lap.
Chapter Eleven
The next morning was blessedly clear. Charity slipped out of the house as the pre-dawn light began to paint the eastern sky in shades of faded rose. Her thoughts were no less in turmoil than they had been the previous afternoon and evening. That turmoil was not just from the fraught question of what to do about the gossip which Lady Anne and the other young women would spread amongst the ton once this house party had concluded - but also from the question of what the Duke had meant by dropping that feather into her lap at that moment. For he had, almost certainly, heard the gossip – heard about the true extent of Charity’s failings, with regard to possibly being a suitable choice for his Duchess.
That he had still asked her to ride with him this morning seemed very odd – unless it was simply an act of friendship – an attempt to make up to her, in some small way, for the fact that she was his guest, and was being treated badly – even if it was not in any way his fault. Perhaps she should not have agreed – but she could not bring herself to miss the chance to ride.
Sage greeted her with a soft whicker and a nudge of her nose, and Charity thought, with wry amusement, that at least horses did not judge a person by anything other than their basic character. The Duke appeared beside her as she led Sage into the stableyard, Valiant’s reins looped over his arm.
“Good morning, Lady Charity. I thought that, today, we might go the other way along the coast, towards where the river meets the sea. It is quite pretty, with a number of st
reams coming down to join the river along the way. And it is far less visible from the house.”
Charity winced internally at his words – that such a thing should need to be a consideration both annoyed her, and made her embarrassed – for it was her peace of mind that he hoped to protect from Lady Anne and the like. She met his eyes and smiled, determined not to let him see how much the last few days had discomposed her.
“That sounds delightful, Your Grace.”
At that moment, Simms came out with the gelding he would ride, following them, and Charity mounted up, hoping that the feel of a horse beneath her, and the clean cold air, would restore her spirits.
The frosty ground crunched under the horses’ hooves as they went down the lane, and Charity automatically scanned the hedges as they passed, hoping to find feathers caught amongst the leaves. When she saw one, she urged Sage up onto the narrow verge, and stretched for it, glad that the horse gave her extra height to reach it.
Only then did she consider that the Duke was likely watching her, and she felt her cheeks flush red. Now she had foolishly reminded him of the content of the gossip! What must he think of her?
She tucked the feather in between the buttons of her habit, and urged Sage on down the lane. The Duke moved Valiant closer beside her, and, after a moment of quiet, began to speak.
“Lady Charity… might I… might I be so familiar as to enquire about what happened yesterday morning, which resulted in Lady Anne being so… vocal… about her opinions?”
Charity’s heart sank. She could not, politely, refuse to speak at all, yet she did not wish to discuss it, no matter how kindly he approached the matter. She would have to answer – honestly, but in a manner which would hopefully allow her to avoid any further discussion.
“Your Grace, it is of no import – it was my own fault, for choosing to go to the conservatory, rather than staying in my own rooms. Lady Anne happened upon me, and her reaction was far more negative than I might have hoped.”
There. That was honest, without delving too deeply into the matter – hopefully, he would let the discussion end at this point. She did not meet his eyes, but instead kept hers turned to the lane ahead. They had passed the stile, and the gate, and were now approaching the final end of the lane, where another gate blocked it completely. He was silent beside her, with no sound but that of the horses’ hooves on the earth beneath them, and hope rose in her that he might allow the subject to drop.
He opened the gate, and she rode through. The fields stretched before her, with a line of scattered trees in the middle distance indicating the likely location of one of the streams that he had mentioned. Sage sidled, keen to be off, feeling Charity’s disquiet and agitation. The Duke’s voice came again.
“Lady Charity, I cannot see that you should blame yourself for Lady Anne’s propensity for turning anything she can to gossip.”
Charity turned to him, and the words tumbled forth, before she could call them back.
“Perhaps not – but I can blame myself for doing something which provided her with material ideally suited to gossip about! I should have known better than to do as I did.”
“But… if what I heard is true, I do not, entirely, see why she believes your actions to be so terrible. It is not as if you operate a milliner’s shop!”
Charity swallowed, suddenly on the edge of tears.
If only he knew the truth of it, of just how close to that she was, with supplying ready made pieces to the milliner in the town near their estate, through the intermediary agency of Maggie… he would no doubt be as horrified as Lady Anne had been.
Yet the small amounts of money that those pieces had returned were what had allowed them to keep all of the servants on, over the last two years of poor crops, rather than having to turn some of them off. She could not regret what she had done, and when she had told Lady Anne that she made the pieces for the pleasure of it, that had also been true.
She did not know what to do, and the urge to escape the moment overwhelmed her.
“You do not know… I…”
She shook her head, and gave in to the need to flee. She turned Sage, and sent her forward into a gallop, towards those trees which indicated a stream. The mare stretched out beneath her, happy to run, knowing that her rider wanted to escape something, and willingly attempting to help her do so. The fields flew past, the grass uneven beneath the mare, winter sere and thin, small bushes scattered about.
Perhaps the pace was unwise, on ground that she had not seen before, but, in the moment, she did not care. The line of trees was rapidly approaching, but, she discovered, there was another stream between her and them – a dip in the land had hidden it, and now, as she crested the slight rise, she was upon it. She would have to jump – the water was too close, at the speed they were going, for her to do anything else.
Sage saw it, and felt Charity’s hesitation, for the water was wider than she had thought at first sight – a very big jump to ask of the mare, with no idea what unevenness hid beneath that water, if they did not clear it cleanly. The mare went towards it, until, at the last moment, she attempted to stop, slid, and then, realising that she was too close, launched into the jump regardless.
Charity rocked and teetered on the saddle, her knee clenched tight around the pommel, fighting to keep her seat, to give the mare enough free rein for her to achieve the jump. It was the closest she had come to falling in a very long time. But she did not fall. Sage landed, right on the far edge of the water, skidded slightly on the muddy ground, then managed to lift herself back into the gallop.
Charity sank back into place, and concentrated on bringing the mare back down through canter, to a trot, and then a steady walk.
She had been a fool, again. In front of the Duke, again.
Now, he would most likely remonstrate with her about that foolishness – and he would be right to do so for, by her actions, she had endangered Sage, as well as herself.
*****
Rafe struggled to understand what he had done, why his words had caused Lady Charity to flee him, as she had. Did she believe herself to be as beyond the pale as Lady Anne had declared her? That would be madness – yet… there she was, riding ahead of him as if demons chased her.
After the initial moment of shock, when Rafe had simply watched, startled, he had urged the stallion to follow, and Valiant had leapt forward, as glad to run as the mare. Now, he was gaining on Lady Charity but, he realised as she did not slow, she did not know the lay of the land. Fear filled him – fear for her – for he knew every inch of his estates and she was approaching, at a madcap pace, a wide stream which lay concealed by the rolling land.
He pushed Valiant on harder, knowing, even as he did so, that he could not reach her, or slow her, in time. He crested that small rise to see Sage jib at the edge of the water, then launch herself into the jump, desperately reaching for it, with Lady Charity teetering on the saddle, barely holding balance. Even as cold terror filled him, in the depths of his mind he admired her anew – somehow, even as she fought to keep herself in the saddle, she managed not to haul on the mare’s mouth, not to disturb Sage’s courageous effort to clear the stream, but to help her instead.
He had never before seen a woman ride so well.
His heart pounded, and, as Valiant gathered himself to make that same jump, Rafe’s focus was all on the woman ahead of him. Valiant landed, neatly, and Rafe could see that Lady Charity had settled back into her normal stable position on the mare, and was even now bringing her back to a slower pace. But the sight did not remove the ice of fear from his heart – instead, it drove him into a moment of utter clarity.
He had nearly lost her.
She could have fallen, could have landed on the rocks which the bitterly cold water hid, and been badly hurt, even killed. If not for her superlative skill on a horse, he might have lost her – and that was a possibility he could not bear the thought of.
He had come to care for her. Perhaps even more than simply care… She was
nothing like any of the other young women of the ton – she did not, in most ways, fit any of the things that society deemed ‘required’ for a woman who would be a Duchess – and yet, the very things which society judged her for were the things that he valued about her, that he admired about her.
He wanted, when the arrival of Christmas forced him to make a choice, to choose her – he knew that, now, with complete certainty. What he did not know, was how she would react when he declared himself to her. Any of the other young women would accept gushingly, and lord it over the others, revelling in having been chosen to be his wife. But Lady Charity… he was not sure what she would do – might she reject him? It was a thought that left him feeling terrified again – for, if she did, he would have to turn to one of the others – one of the women he did not like, let alone love.
Love.
The word rang in his thoughts like a bell, even as he reached her, and pulled Valiant back to a walk beside her. He swallowed, hard. He loved her. Somehow, one quiet walk, ride, or baldly honest conversation at a time, she had become the centre of his being. But how could he tell her that, and have her believe him, given that everyone knew this house party to be, rather than just about Christmas, a bride-choosing event?
He would work it out – he had to.
“Lady Charity – are you well? You did not suffer any injury during that rather dramatic leap?”
She turned to meet his eyes, her expression truly startled, and a sheen of unshed tears made their deep violet depths glitter. He waited, unsure – her expression was odd – as if she had expected him to utter very different words.
“I… Your Grace… Thank you for your concern. I apologise for endangering Sage by my foolish actions.”
Rafe gaped at her, shocked yet again at how unselfish she was in her approach to life.
“My Lady, there is no need to apologise – you could not have known that the stream was there, given the lay of the land. And… I believe that I am the one who should apologise – for it was my words which sent you off at such speed – I did not intend to upset you so.”
The Duke's Christmas Vow: Regency Romance Page 9
