“Entirely unnecessary, I assure you,” Wycliffe said dryly. “Besides,” he added, leaning close, “I cannot have them saying that I smell like rotten eggs.”
“My lord, my lord.” Jenny was tugging at Wycliffe’s hand, and when she gained his attention, she pointed a stubby finger across the street to the pastry shop. Charlotte watched in amusement, waiting for Wycliffe’s reaction.
“Aha! You want to go there, do you?” he asked, leaning over to address the little girl. Jenny nodded solemnly. “Since I can deny a beautiful lady nothing, you shall have your wish.” Charlotte made a scoffing noise as he took Jenny’s hand, and he glanced at her sharply. “Are you maligning me, my dear girl?” he asked.
Charlotte did not demur, but began walking toward the shop. Had he really called her “his dear”? Struggling to maintain the light, bantering air, she rolled her eyes heavenward. “What fiddle-faddle!” she said. “To spout such nonsense when you cannot even remove your coat for me.”
“My dear Charlotte, I vow you have me blushing!” Wycliffe teased. “But if you are truly that insistent upon seeing me in my shirtsleeves, perhaps we can arrange something.”
Charlotte felt a rush of warmth. Although she knew he was only joking, the suggestion conjured up a variety of visions from Wycliffe without his coat to Wycliffe without even his shirt. What would his chest look like? Feel like? Blushing furiously, Charlotte was thankful they had reached the shop.
“Hello, Charlotte, Kit, Jenny,” called a red-faced man, wiping his hands upon his apron.
“Hello!” Charlotte answered. “My lord, this is Mr. MacGregor. Mr. MacGregor, this is Lord Wycliffe, the new owner of the Great House.”
“My lord, a pleasure!” Mr. MacGregor said. “I hear that you are doing up the place proper. It is a shame that old Mr. Hesby let it go so long, but now it will be better than ever, or so I have heard.”
Wycliffe smiled and nodded. “It is a fine house.”
“My lord, my lord,” Jenny said, tugging at his arm.
“Oh, is he now, little Jenny?” asked Mr. MacGregor, leaning over to speak to the girl. “A bit old for you, I would say, but not for your lovely sister, eh?” Much to Charlotte’s dismay, Mr. MacGregor winked at her before he picked out a tiny cake for Jenny. “Your favorite, miss, and what will you have today, Kit?”
“You are really going to have to control that tendency to blush, if you are ever to become a success in town,” Wycliffe whispered. Charlotte darted a startled glance at him and ordered a sugared biscuit while he laughed softly. She felt like pummeling his chest with her fists for teasing her so, but decided that such antics might be frowned upon by a member of the nobility.
Instead, she stuck her tongue out at him when Mr. MacGregor was not looking. She was unprepared for the intense look she received in return. Wycliffe stared at her, the strangest expression on his face, and then looked away. “Why do you always refer to the manor as the Great House?” he asked when she had finished eating. “Its name, I believe, is Casterleigh.”
“No one ever calls it that,” Charlotte said, dusting off her fingers. “Casters haven’t lived there for years upon years, and besides, no one ever liked them, anyway. The village held a grudge against them and never called the manor by name.”
She bent down to wipe cake from Jenny’s face. “Perhaps you can give it a new name,” she suggested. Glancing up, she smiled at him only to be startled by his intent regard. His big, dark eyes were focused on her straining bodice. Charlotte stood up quickly, and he moved to the door, holding it open for them.
“I think not,” Wycliffe said, “for I shall probably not be in residence very often.” Charlotte turned sharply, searching his face. Was he jesting? “It is very nice here, to be sure, but Casterleigh is one of many small holdings of mine. I am most often in London or at my seat,” he explained.
“But all your plans for the Great House...” Charlotte protested.
“Naturally, I like to make it comfortable for those times that I do visit, but I have many small manors like it,” Wycliffe said. Jenny was lagging behind, and he stooped to pick her up.
Charlotte felt a sudden pang of envy for her sister. Watching Wycliffe smooth the child’s blond curls, she wondered, dizzily, what it would be like to feel those fingers threading through her own hair. She swallowed hard and tore her gaze away. The Great House...small? “Your seat, Wycliffe Place, is much larger?” she asked, with no little skepticism.
“Yes,” Wycliffe answered absently. “My great-grandfather built the original, but, of course, there have been many additions over the years. Balanced additions,” he noted, slanting a look at her. “Not a hodgepodge like some of these country places. It is quite beautiful, actually, thirty-two bedrooms and lots of modern baths. Father had water piped upstairs.”
Charlotte was not even listening, but following along blindly beside him. She had seen drawings of the palaces and such, but thirty-two bedrooms! It was beyond anything she had ever imagined. It was...monstrous. For the first time since having her talk with Sarah, Charlotte suspected her elder sister might have a point. Wycliffe was above her touch, above all their touches.
Charlotte knew herself to be dreadfully stubborn. Strong-willed, her father, bless him, called it. All too often, she seized an idea and stuck with it, resolved to see it through, not always with the best of consequences. This time, Charlotte decided, she might do better to change her course.
Although she could easily picture herself in Wycliffe’s arms, she could not envision herself as the mistress of Wycliffe Place. It was intimidating to a girl who had never been intimidated by anything.
Sarah was right, Charlotte acknowledged. She was nothing more than a wet goose to consider herself a fitting wife for Wycliffe. Charlotte felt her throat clog up with tears, and she sniffed when they reached his curricle. The bright, shiny vehicle, with its prime horses champing at their bits, seemed to mock her.
Wycliffe was handsome and wonderful and beyond anything, but he was not for her. All a poor country miss could hope for from the Earl of Wycliffe was friendship, a pale imitation of what she had desired, but better than nothing. With grim determination, Charlotte abandoned the dozens of half-formed plans she had made.
They would be friends only.
CHAPTER FOUR
Maximilian lingered over coffee as he went over his lists in the dining hall of Casterleigh. He was scheduled to depart at noon, a half hour away yet, but his attention kept wandering from his trip to his surroundings. Dark walls were hung with hunting portraits and heavy draperies covered the windows, making the room a dreary place. Maximilian found that he craved light and made a note to remind his architect that the windows of the old house were to be used to their best advantage.
“My lord.” His thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of the butler, one of the staff members he had retained. “Yes, what is it, Richardson?”
“Miss Trowbridge is here to see you,” the butler said, a slight twitch of his lips giving away his amusement. Impudent rascal! Maximilian did not like the man above half. He preferred his butlers to be staid, silent and unsmiling. “Shall I show her in?”
Show her in? Charlotte? Here, alone? Maximilian was momentarily at a loss. He frowned and drummed his fingers upon the table. He did not like surprises, nor did he favor unexpected guests, especially at his breakfast table. However, a flash of pink behind Richardson forced his decision. “Of course,” Maximilian said. Compelled by courtesy, he rose from his chair, vowing that he would deal with the butler later. Guests were to be shown into the drawing room, not trotted about the house....
Charlotte walked into the room with a fluid grace, easily diverting his mind from his troublesome servant. Her hair was up again, tucked under a small straw chip with a pink ribbon that matched the pretty but rather childish gown she wore. Obviously, she had outgrown it, for it strained across her breasts, and Maximilian felt an answering tightening of his breeches. She held out his walking stick.
&nbs
p; “Hello! You left this at the house,” she said, smiling. Despite his disdain for unexpected callers, Maximilian felt himself returning her salute. Suddenly, the gloomy dining hall seemed bright with life and sunshine. Did Charlotte have her own supply that she flung about her like a May Queen?
“Thank you,” Maximilian said smoothly, taking the stick from her hands. “You need not have bothered. I have several.” He put the “affectation” aside, uncertain whether he would ever carry one of them again, and contemplated Charlotte.
She was tall for a woman, the top of her head reaching above his shoulder. Young, sweet and alluring, she stood before him with her hands together and her angelic face turned up in a serene pose, as if she had not the slightest notion of her effect upon him. He frowned. “You should not have come alone, Charlotte. It is quite improper.”
“Oh, Kit and Jenny and Carrie came with me, but they ran off to chase the geese by the pond. I expect they will be in shortly,” she said, carelessly waving a hand toward the door.
Maximilian stared. This was a way of life to which he was wholly unaccustomed. He was used to schedules and discipline and strict rules of behavior that forbade a lady of quality from breezing into a gentleman’s home unescorted. Maximilian told himself that although such conduct might be acceptable in Sussex, he ought to persuade Charlotte to leave, for her own sake.
If she were any other woman, he might suspect that she had planned this visit to ensnare him into marriage, but not Charlotte. She was all guileless innocence as she glanced wide-eyed around the dining hall.
“A bit gloomy, isn’t it?” she asked.
“I am having it done over,” Maximilian answered tersely, annoyed that her views so echoed his own. He ought to toss her out on her delicate ear for waltzing in here alone. How would the poor child ever get on in town? She had no notion of... Abruptly, Maximilian was assailed by a startling vision of her blithely visiting some gentleman in London, and his fingers twitched. He decided to enlighten her as to society’s strictures. “Won’t you sit down?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you,” she answered happily. She positively beamed at him, and Maximilian felt himself responding to her genuine pleasure. He relaxed into his own chair, and then caught himself as he realized the girl radiated a warmth and gentleness that drew him in an alarming way. He tamped down his attraction.
“I’ll ring for another place,” Maximilian said.
Fortunately, the footman who answered his summons saw nothing out of the ordinary in the sudden appearance of a young lady at his breakfast table. “Some coffee or tea perhaps?” he asked Charlotte. When she agreed to tea, Maximilian pushed his papers aside a bit impatiently and settled down to broach his topic.
“My dear girl, I feel it is my duty to prepare you in some small way for your life in London,” Maximilian began. He pressed his fingers together into a steeple, pleased to note that he had her complete attention. “I am afraid that things here in the country are a bit more...informal, and it might be acceptable for you to call upon those whom you have known all your life. However, in town, a young lady must never be seen without a chaperone, or at the very least, a respectable lady’s maid.”
Maximilian paused while the footman set a place before her and departed. He drew a breath to continue, but halted when his gaze was caught by Charlotte’s ample breasts, which strained against the material of her gown as she reached for a piece of toast. Fascinated, he watched while she spread marmalade on the edge and lifted it to her mouth, his train of thought completely lost.
Charlotte was just beginning to take a bite when noise erupted from the kitchens. What the devil? Maximilian half rose from his seat in expectation of some mishap. Then the doors to the kitchens flew open and Kit raced in, followed by a giggling Carrie and a solemn Jenny.
Kit had his mouth full of something, but waved merrily before seating himself comfortably at the table without even pausing for an invitation. “Do you ever walk?” Maximilian asked.
Kit swallowed a great lump of food and grinned toothlessly. “No fun in that,” he said.
Maximilian firmly quelled the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Nevertheless, in my home you shall walk, young man,” he said.
“Yes, sir...uh, my lord,” Kit said, looking noticeably chagrined.
“My lord, my lord,” Jenny chanted. Coming around to Maximilian’s chair, she crawled onto his lap without preamble and rested her back against his chest. Maximilian felt his irritation at this morning’s interruption disappear in a rush of warm feelings. The child’s devotion to him was something that touched him deeply, and he had to admit there was something to be said for the easy familiarity of the Trowbridges, so different from his own upbringing.
He was glad they were not at Wycliffe, however, for his servants there would faint dead away to see him surrounded at table by small children, including one who was comfortably ensconced upon his lap. “What treats has this scamp been stealing from the kitchen?” Maximilian asked, inclining his head toward Kit.
The footman grinned. “I believe cook gave him a bit of cinnamon bun, my lord. Shall I bring in some more?”
“Most definitely. And more toast and...milk,” he said. He looked in question at Charlotte, and she nodded.
“Very good, my lord,” the servant said, bowing and disappearing into the kitchens.
The children were soon sitting down to a lively feast, Cook having also thrown in some tarts for good measure. “Kit, please try to chew your food,” Maximilian said, eyeing the boy askance. “I imagine without teeth that is a difficult task, but a gentleman does not gulp.”
“Humph,” Kit grunted, nodding his agreement. Charlotte muffled a giggle behind a slim hand, and Maximilian shot her an admonishing glance, but the sparkle in her green eyes made him chuckle. He leaned back in his chair. Deuced if he did not feel good.
Maximilian looked around him, noting the astonishing change in the hall’s atmosphere. Just a short while ago, the room had been silent and forbidding, but now it was filled with noise and high spirits and a companionableness that he had known only at the vicarage.
Amazing as it seemed, he enjoyed the low mumble of youthful voices, and he was content to hold Jenny on his lap, even though she had a tendency to wipe her jellied fingers upon his expensive sleeve instead of her napkin. He realized that he had never quite finished explaining the appropriate rules of behavior to Charlotte, but when he glanced at her, his eyes focused on her bright curls, which threatened to escape from their pins at any moment. How he wished he could be the one to release the soft cloud of her hair....
“My lord!” Maximilian heard a gasp and swung his head around. His valet, Levering, who was accustomed to check with him before their trips commenced, stood staring aghast at the assemblage.
“Yes, Levering?” Maximilian asked mildly.
“My lord, I...” It took the valet a good minute or so to recover. “I...I just wished to report that all is in readiness for your departure.”
“You’re leaving?” Kit’s outraged question rose above the sounds of the others, and Maximilian sent him a silencing look.
“Very good, Levering,” Maximilian said. “You may go.” The poor man turned and walked from the room as if in a daze. In all his years of service, he had never seen Maximilian or his father upbraided by a boy of six, of that Maximilian was certain.
Before Maximilian could reprimand Kit for interrupting, the cook, a large, burly woman with a white mobcap, opened the kitchen door. “Charlotte, the boys are here. Shall I send them in?”
Charlotte had the good grace to glance at him. “My lord?”
Maximilian’s fingers twitched. “My good woman,” he said to the cook, “in the future, please be so kind as to address your questions to me.”
“Yes, my lord,” she said, but she did not looked chastened, only extremely harried.
Maximilian sighed. “Send them in.”
Even before they entered, the arguing voices told him that James and T
homas were on their way. “Hello, my lord!” they chimed, pulling out chairs and glaring daggers at Charlotte.
“You could have waited for us!” Thomas said.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were coming to the Great House?” James asked.
“I did not think his lordship would appreciate the whole family accompanying me, and now I am certain that he does not,” Charlotte explained, her face pink.
All heads at the table, with the exception of Jenny, swiveled toward Maximilian, and ten pairs of eyes focused on his in the dead silence. Although he understood her embarrassment at her family’s foibles, Maximilian thought it an awkward time for Charlotte to finally exert her authority. She was giving him an opportunity to shoo them out, he realized, but to do so would brand him an ogre in their eyes forever. And despite the disruption to his household, Maximilian had to admit that he was enjoying himself. “Where’s Jane?” he asked gruffly.
The tension in the air immediately dissolved, and chattering voices rose up around him. The beleaguered footman brought in more plates, and James and Thomas each tore into huge helpings of eggs and ham as if they had never eaten a thing in their lives.
“Is that why you are leaving, my lord? So we won’t bother you anymore?” Kit asked suddenly.
“Of course not,” Maximilian answered. “I have a tight schedule, and business calls me back to London.” Their faces drooped, and Maximilian was struck by the strangest feeling. Had anyone ever been upset at his departure before? He had friends in London, to be sure, friends who protested when he left, but the sadness here was palatable and sincere. It touched him somewhere deep inside.
And Charlotte? She seemed to be the least affected by the news, for she was studying a ghastly hunting scene above Kit’s head with intense regard. Maximilian found himself slightly irked that she did not share her siblings’ disappointment.
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