Weddings and Scandals: Regency Romance Collection

by Alec, Joyce

  “It is foolish of me to ask it, I know,” Emily said, shaking her head as her flushed cheeks burned red. “You have not suspected, I think.”

  “Never,” Charlotte declared honestly. “I have never even thought that he….” She trailed off, frowning.

  “You have never thought that he might consider me,” Emily murmured, looking away. “We have been introduced, of course, but he—”

  Charlotte shook her head, not wanting to upset her friend. “No, Emily, that is not what I mean at all. It is more that my brother has never shown particular interest in courtship, not with any young lady that has crossed his path.”

  “He is like you in that regard, then,” Emily suggested, with a faint look of humor.

  Charlotte’s lips twisted. “No, not in such a way as I,” she disagreed. “He is determined that I must wed first, although he enjoys dancing and conversing and the like. He has a good few ladies that he seeks out particularly, I know, but is quite determined not to court any of them until I am, at the very least, courted myself.”

  Emily nodded, the color fading in her cheeks.

  “Why did you not say anything to me before?” Charlotte asked, turning again so that they might resume their walk. “You might have told me that you thought well of my brother and I could have aided you in some way.”

  Emily laughed sadly and shook her head. “I do not think that your brother would even consider me, Charlotte,” she stated plainly. “I am a wallflower because I have no engaging conversation, no beauty with which to snag a gentleman. You may be so because you have chosen it for yourself, but that is not the same for me.” She sighed heavily and Charlotte felt her heart wrench for her friend, feeling frustrated and guilty that she had not known of this before now.

  “I think you have enough beauty and engaging conversation for any gentleman,” she replied honestly. “Your confidence is lacking, that is all.” She glanced down at her friend, taking in her dark curls that had escaped from underneath her bonnet. Emily had something of a square jaw, with a snub nose and large green eyes that gave her an almost incredulous expression when she was merely watching everything that went by. However, when she smiled, her face was transformed and Charlotte was sure that she could be considered a beauty. It was unfortunate, however, that Emily’s father, Viscount Hornsby, seemed to care very little for his daughter and had done nothing but decry her lack of beauty and her quiet spirit to almost everyone who would listen. It did not matter to him whether she wed or not, for his son and heir was already married and settled, which was all that had ever concerned him. With a mother long in the grave, Emily had not had a single friend to turn to until she and Charlotte had met last year. It had been a friendship that had been formed almost instantaneously, as though they had found a kindred spirit in one another.

  “You have not answered my question, Charlotte,” Emily said hesitantly, glancing up at her before her eyes darted away again. “Would you be so kind as to even consider me to suggest to your brother?”

  Charlotte smiled at her friend, a sense of contentment rising within her. Wickton was sure to fail and thereafter, Charlotte would be more than happy to state that he needed to court Emily. Surely there would be ample opportunity for him to further his acquaintance with the lady, which then might lead to a gentle affection and thereafter, matrimony. She had to hope that such a thing would occur, for her friend’s sake at least. “I would be glad to, Emily,” she stated firmly, seeing the look of relief that flashed into Emily’s eyes. “It would give me no greater pleasure than to see you happy and content, even if it is with my brother.”

  Emily pressed Charlotte’s hand for a moment. “I am truly grateful,” she said, her quiet voice barely reaching Charlotte’s ears. “I do not know how else I shall have the opportunity to further my acquaintance with him.”

  Charlotte’s smile grew, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “I shall have to try and goad my brother into failing in his promise just as soon as I can,” she said, making Emily laugh. “The ball is only a sennight away so I am certain that the day after the ball, I shall be writing to inform you that my brother has failed entirely.”

  “I can but hope,” Emily agreed, her eyes dancing. “I am glad to have been able to tell you, Charlotte. These strange feelings have been weighing on my mind for some time and it is a relief to be able to speak them aloud.”

  Making to answer, Charlotte’s attention was suddenly drawn to two gentlemen who appeared to be standing over something that was lying on the ground. She could not quite make it out, her steps slowing as she drew closer to them.

  “What is it?” Emily asked, reaching out to grasp Charlotte’s arm. “Oh, do be careful, Charlotte.”

  Charlotte frowned harder as she continued to study what it was the gentlemen were looking at. She did not know what it was and certainly did not think that it could be anything particularly distressing given that it was in the middle of St James’ Park and that very soon, it would be the fashionable hour. “Is it some poor creature?” she asked, to no one in particular. “We should see if we can be of aid.”

  “I do not think—”

  Emily’s protest was swallowed up almost at once as a sharp, painful cry rent the air. To Charlotte’s horror, one of the gentlemen laughed and then kicked out at the thing on the ground. The second raised his hand high, a riding crop held tightly in his hand, before he leaned over and brought it down, hard. Another shout of pain ripped through the park, making Charlotte gasp in shock.

  The thing on the ground in front of the gentlemen was not an animal, as she had first thought, but was, in fact, a person. She could not believe what she was witnessing, seeing the second gentleman make to strike the person again with his crop.

  “Stop that!”

  Before Emily could stop her, before sense told her to keep well away from two gentlemen intent on doing another harm, Charlotte found herself flying towards them both, seeing one man turn towards her, his eyes narrowing.

  “Stay away, if you please,” the first man said, holding one hand up in front of her as though that would prevent her from coming closer. He twisted towards her as she continued to approach them, his anger evident. “I said, you need to stay away.”

  “Whatever are you doing?” Charlotte asked sternly, not allowing his apparent irritation at being interrupted to prevent her from putting an end to this violence. “This is abhorrent!”

  The second man grasped her arm roughly, sending pain into Charlotte’s arm and filling her with anger. She glared at him and jerked away from him roughly, shaking, going hot all over. “Do not dare touch me.”

  “This is nothing to do with you, miss,” the second man said, taking a step closer to her. “Go and rejoin your friend.”

  “I shall do no such thing,” Charlotte replied, coming around to stand behind the man who was lying, bruised and bloodied, on the ground by her feet. “I do not care what this fellow has done nor who he is to you, but you have no right to beat him with such force!”

  “We have every right,” the first man said gruffly. “Now, I can tell that you are a lady of quality, are you not?” He gave her a slight nod, his sharp grey eyes roving over her. “You need not concern yourself with this matter, miss. You may be assured that, as a gentleman, I have everything in hand.”

  Charlotte studied him closely, taking in his grey eyes, his thin frame, long nose and shock of black hair that swept over his brow. He was immaculately dressed and certainly gave every appearance of being a gentleman, although that could not be said of his behavior. The other man was shorter than the first and a good deal stockier. His thick chin stuck out above his cravat, a thin nose leading to small, narrowed brown eyes. His mousey brown hair was thinning at the top, although he had done his best to conceal it by styling his hair in a specific manner. Certainly, they both looked to be gentlemen of quality, but even still, she could not allow them to continue injuring this man in such a horrific way.

  “I do not care whether or not you have everyth
ing in order, sir,” she stated plainly, seeing Emily edge towards them, her hand at her mouth. “This fellow is not even able to stand and yet you insist on beating him?” She felt her anger flare hot again and planted her hands on her hips to glare at them both. “I will not permit you to continue. In fact, I shall be taking this fellow away with me and ensuring that he recovers completely, before you send him to the grave!” So saying, she glanced down at the man at her feet, seeing his eyes tightly closed, with one swelling in a most alarming fashion. A jagged cut ran across his lips, grazes and bruises all over his face. Bending down, she touched his shoulder, only to hear him groan aloud.

  “You are not gentlemen,” she said harshly, looking up at the two men. “You are nothing more than monsters.”

  “Step away, miss,” the first man said, taking a step closer. “Else it will be the riding crop for you.”

  Charlotte laughed and shook her head as she rose to her feet. Drawing herself up, she looked at the first man steadily, not fearing his threats. “I hardly think so, sir,” she said, irony lacing her words. “For in a few minutes, it will be the fashionable hour and all of St James’ Park will fill with gentlemen and ladies. What will they say when they see two supposed gentlemen beating a lady of quality, the sister of a viscount, for no reason other than their own distasteful desires?” She arched one eyebrow, seeing the first man glance down at the second. “I suggest you take your leave, gentlemen, and leave this fellow to me. You have had your sport.”

  The second man took a step forward. “But he still has—”

  “That is enough.” Charlotte held up her hand, refusing to listen to even another word from the man’s lips. “Go. Now. Else it will be all the worse for you.”

  The air grew thick with tension, but Charlotte forced herself to hold her nerve. The two men might easily overpower her if they wished and her threat of St James’ Park filling with all manner of high society, whilst true, would not happen for a good half hour yet. The gentlemen, however, were glancing at one another uneasily, with the second looking all about him as though he expected the ton to come striding into the park as one.

  “Ah, Miss Smythe,” Charlotte called, when the men did nothing. “Might you go and fetch my brother? He is waiting by the carriage, I think. If both he and the carriage could be brought here, it would be most helpful.” Praying that Emily would understand her ruse, Charlotte held her gaze until Emily nodded jerkily, her eyes running from Charlotte to the two men and back again. And then, with the maid in tow, Emily picked up her skirts and hurried away from them all.

  As she turned back to the two men, Charlotte opened her mouth to say more, only to see that they had decided to take to their heels. It was with a good degree of satisfaction that she saw them hurrying away, with only the occasional glance over their shoulders. Charlotte remained where she was, watching them closely until they disappeared from sight. The last thing she needed was for them to take her by surprise and return to the man they had so grievously hurt.

  “Sir.”

  The moment the two men were out of sight, Charlotte dropped to her knees, not heeding the grass stains that would mark her gown. The man groaned loudly, rolling onto his side and clutching at his stomach as she put one hand on his arm. Her heart was beating frantically, fearing that he might die right in front of her given his injuries. She could not tell how badly he had been beaten, nor whether he had sustained other injuries she could not see. There was a good deal of blood on his face but as he rolled over, Charlotte was relieved that there did not appear to be any on the grass beneath him.

  “Can you stand?” she asked, feeling rather helpless. “There is a carriage nearby and I—”

  “Leave me.”

  The man’s voice was low and pained, coming out as more of a harsh groan. Charlotte swallowed hard, her hand tightening on his arm. “No, I cannot,” she said firmly, her mind already made up. “You have been gravely injured and need care.”

  The man groaned again and rolled onto his back, his eyes still tightly shut. “Go.”

  She shook her head firmly, her eyes roving over his cravat, shirt and overcoat. Was he a gentleman? “As I have said, I cannot do so. I will not allow you to lie here in such danger, sir. There is a carriage nearby and I—”

  A sudden sound caught her attention and she lifted her head to see Emily hurrying towards her with two other men following close behind. She did not recognize them but saw that they were dressed in workers clothes.

  “The carriage is waiting for us,” Emily gasped, hurrying towards her. “These two men will help carry this… fellow…” She shuddered violently as her eyes landed on the man at Charlotte’s feet. “Although they will need to be paid for their assistance.”

  “But of course,” Charlotte agreed gratefully, aware that her reticule was still dangling from her wrist. She had more than enough pin money to pay these two men handsomely. “If you would be careful with this man, please.” She directed this last sentence to the two men whom Emily had brought. “But he must be taken there at once.”

  The first man touched his cap, his eyes filled with worry as he bent down over the man. “Looks quite bad, my lady.”

  “Yes, I know, which is why we must get him to the carriage as quickly as possible,” Charlotte insisted. “If you please.”

  Emily came to stand beside Charlotte as the two men lifted the man bodily from the ground. The cry of pain that came from his lips had Charlotte wincing and Emily turned her head away from the sight.

  “Your maid has been a little fractious,” Emily whispered as they began to follow behind the men. “She was with me at every moment but she fears what your brother will say.”

  Charlotte nodded grimly. “My brother will not even be permitted to complain,” she muttered darkly. “This man is in need of care and I intend to ensure he recovers, regardless of what he has done. Perhaps then we might be able to discover what it is he has done that has brought about such severe consequences.”

  Emily looked up at her, her eyes wider than usual. “You intend to find out the truth?”

  “I do,” Charlotte replied decisively. “I intend to find out as much as I can about this man and why those two gentlemen were beating him so cruelly.”

  “And what shall you do thereafter?” Emily asked as they reached the entrance to the park. “What shall you do with him?”

  Charlotte considered this, watching the two men lift the third into the carriage, settling him in a seated position although his head lolled back against the squabs. “I do not yet know,” she admitted. “And no doubt Wickton will be rather angry with me, but I am determined in my own mind to do what is right, whatever the consequences.”

  2

  How Charlotte managed to get the beaten gentleman into Wickton’s townhouse without her brother being aware of it was something of a miracle, given that Wickton was both in the house and meandering about. At one point, as she had ushered the footmen up the staircase with the poor fellow held between them, she had seen Wickton emerging from his study below stairs and had frozen in place, the footmen coming to a standstill also.

  Thankfully, Wickton had been reading something of consequence in his hand and had not looked up, his mouth moving as he read but no sound coming out.

  “Carefully, now.”

  Charlotte gestured for the footmen to lie the man down on the bed in one of their three guest bedchambers. It had not been made up and was still under dust covers but that could be easily rectified—and to have a man’s bloody clothing on a dust sheet instead of on the bed linen was a wise idea. The man groaned again as he was set down carefully, making Charlotte wince.

  “Should I fetch the master, miss?”

  “No, indeed not.” Charlotte swung around to face one of the footman, who was now looking rather sheepish. “No, I shall speak to my brother about what has happened and what I have chosen to do. There is no need for this to be mentioned to him before then.”

  The footman inclined his head. “But of cou
rse, Miss James.”

  “And you can inform the rest of the staff that these are my wishes,” Charlotte continued quickly. “Go on, now. Go below stairs and fetch me some hot water, a few rags and some bandages—and some of that salve that we have used before.” She saw the footman nod and scurry from the room, feeling relieved that Wickton would not learn of this strange turn of events from one of his staff instead of from her.

  “Take some of these sheets away,” she told the other footman as she came closer to the injured man. “Not all of them, however. Just a few—the table and the dresser.” She gestured for the footman to set to work before allowing herself to study the face of the poor fellow. His eye was just as swollen as before, his other one closed tight. His mouth was open as he breathed, the sound ragged as he lay back on the bed. His clothes were torn and muddy and, as she pulled aside his coat to see the extent of the damage, she was horrified to see a patch of dark red blood soaking into the material.

  “A surgeon!”

  The footman spun around at once, his hand holding a dust sheet tightly.

  “You must send for a surgeon at once!” Charlotte exclaimed, suddenly terrified that the man was going to die without so much as divulging his name. “This man has been—”

  “No.”

  The man attempted to open his eyes, but only succeeded in opening one of them, given that the other was still badly injured. “No surgeons. Please.”

  “I must,” she said, startled by just how suddenly he had appeared to come out of unconsciousness. “You have been injured.”

  The man closed his eye again but shook his head slowly. “No surgeons. It is only a small wound. It can be sewn up.” His hand moved across the dust sheet towards her and, to her surprise Charlotte found herself taking it in her own, heedless of the dirt and the grime that was on his fingers. “You can do it,” he hissed, his head lolling back again. “Pour brandy on it, then sew.”