Caroline Linden
Page 11
CHAPTER SEVEN
Susan didn’t say a word on the way home, and ran up the stairs as soon as they got there. Charlotte delayed a few minutes, trying to quiet her guilt at kissing the same man she had commanded Susan not to speak to, and to calm her still-fluttering reaction to that kiss. Then she went upstairs and tapped on Susan’s door. When there was no response, she opened it a crack.
“Susan? May I come in?”
“Why bother asking?” came Susan’s bitter reply. “You’ll only do what you want to do anyway.”
Charlotte bit her lip and eased into the room. There were no candles burning, and the room was very dark. Silhouetted against the open window was Susan, her back to the door. She didn’t turn around as Charlotte closed the door.
“I apologize,” she began quietly. “I know you were looking forward to the Martins’ party.”
“No, you were. I thought it would be a dreadful bore, but no one asked if I wanted to go.”
“But dearest, it’s the best society in town.” Charlotte was surprised and a little hurt. She thought Susan wanted to go out at nights. She was trying her best to provide appropriate entertainments.
Susan sniffed. “Dull old Tunbridge Wells. What I wouldn’t give to leave it at once.”
Charlotte had no reply to that. She knew her niece longed to see London, and by next spring, when Susan was eighteen, Charlotte told herself she would be ready to go. She changed the subject. “I am sorry if I embarrassed you in front of Mr. Drake.”
Susan said nothing for a long moment. “Why do you hate him so much? You hardly know him.” Her tone was flat, almost devoid of emotion. Charlotte hesitated; she had expected another blazing row, not this quiet resentment.
“Because he reminds me of someone I once knew,” she said slowly. “Someone who made me believe he loved me, when I was young. Just about your age, in fact. And when I had fallen completely in love with him, I discovered he was after nothing more than my inheritance.”
“Who told you? Some interfering relation?”
Charlotte sighed at Susan’s scornful question. “My father, who did me a great favor by exposing the man.”
“And then you ran away to Paris to nurse your broken heart,” said Susan. “How terribly you suffered.”
No, Charlotte wanted to tell her, my father sent me away because he couldn’t stand to have such an immoral child in his house. He foisted me and my humiliation off on a distant cousin and refused to acknowledge me for the rest of his life. It wasn’t my idea at all.
Susan suddenly whirled around, fists at her sides. “How do you know he’s only after my fortune?”
“He is destitute,” Charlotte began to explain, but Susan snorted impatiently.
“So I may only marry someone with more money than I’ve got. How am I supposed to meet such a man, here in bloody boring Kent?”
“You’re only seventeen.”
“And how old were you, traveling across Europe by yourself? Papa used to tell me about you when I was a child: ‘Aunt Charlotte, who lives in Paris,’ then Nice, then Spain and Italy.”
“It wasn’t as romantic as you think,” Charlotte warned.
“And I have never even been so far away as London,” Susan went on savagely. “How I long to be out of here! I am always too young, or too rich, or too—too ... Oh!” She dashed one hand across her eyes. “Just go! You don’t know anything about me or what I want, and you can’t make me live my life to atone for all the mistakes you made in yours!” Charlotte felt as if Susan had struck her; was that how it appeared to her niece? “I wish my father had never made you my guardian!” With a flounce of her skirt, Susan turned her back again.
“I am trying my best,” said Charlotte softly after a moment. “I’m sorry if you don’t agree but your father did appoint me your guardian, and I shall continue to do what I think best. I hope you will understand one day.” Susan huffed loudly, but said nothing.
Reluctantly Charlotte turned and left. She went down the hall to her own room and sank onto her dressing table chair. For the first time, she was intensely glad she didn’t have children of her own. She would have been a wretched mother, to judge from the way she got along with Susan. Perhaps she had been foolish to expect to become friends immediately, but she simply didn’t understand why Susan viewed her with such animosity. It couldn’t be just Stuart Drake, although he was a major obstacle; Susan argued with her over everything. Charlotte’s suggestions about everything from the height of her slipper heels to the best time to walk in the park displeased Susan, and Charlotte simply didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t just allow Susan to do anything she liked, but it was breaking her heart to argue with the girl constantly.
Charlotte sighed, catching sight of herself in the mirror. She didn’t even look like a maternal woman. Her skin was still golden from the Italian sun, and her face was artfully painted with cosmetics. Her hair was arranged in the contrived disarray Piero had favored, claiming it made her look more alluring, and not in the neat, proper curls English ladies wore. And her dress ... She had always loved colors, and wore them with abandon. She looked, Charlotte realized numbly, like an expensive courtesan. What had been stylish and bold in Milan appeared brash and vulgar in England. No wonder she was failing so miserably. Charlotte dropped her head into her hands and said a silent plea for George’s forgiveness, for failing in her every effort to raise his daughter the way he would have wanted.
She could do better. She would do better. George had trusted her with his beloved daughter, and she couldn’t let him down. George was the only person who hadn’t condemned her all those years ago, when her youthful indiscretion had exploded in scandal. When her father banished her to the Continent for her behavior, George had made sure she was safely on a decent ship, and told her he would miss her. Charlotte hadn’t expected him to save her—he had had a wife and baby to take care of—but he was the only person who sympathized with her, a scared seventeen-year-old girl thrust into the world alone. And all her years abroad, George had written to her, somehow finding her once or twice a year no matter where she roamed.
Charlotte pulled the combs from her hair. She removed her jewelry and slipped out of her brilliant gown. It was time to start looking her age, or at least dressing it. She was used to being the focus of attention, particularly male attention, but it was time for her to assume her proper place with the matrons.
The next morning, she scrubbed her face but left it bare, pinned her hair into a simple twist, and wore her plainest gown. It was a deep bronze—hardly ordinary, but it was the simplest one she owned. Charlotte brushed one hand wistfully over the bright silks and muslins, then closed the wardrobe door and went down to breakfast.
Lucia stared at her. “What happened? Has someone died?”
“No. Why?”
“You look dreadful. Have you run out of rouge?”
Charlotte reached for her coffee. “English ladies don’t wear so many cosmetics, so I decided not to, as well.”
“Then you did not see Mrs. Fitzhugh last night,” said Lucia. “She must have used a butter knife to apply it. English ladies wear cosmetics, just not well.”
“Nevertheless, I am giving it up for a more dignified style. I am not a young woman anymore.”
“All the more reason to wear it,” said Lucia sotto voce. “Without it, you look so ...” She put her head to one side, grimacing. “Bucolic.”
Charlotte shot her a dark look. “Susan hasn’t come down yet?”
Lucia shook her head. “I would not know if she did. She does not speak to me.”
Charlotte sighed. Naturally, Susan would resent Lucia, who behaved with every bit as much license as Susan envied. When she had invited Lucia to visit, she had never thought of the bad influence her friend might be on her niece. “Perhaps she’s sleeping late. We had another argument last night.”
“It is hard not to argue with her. The child is spoiled.” “She is at a difficult age, in difficult circumstances.”
> “Her papa would have taken a strap to her, and you know it. You are afraid she will never like you if you are harsh with her.”
“I’ve ordered her to stay away from Mr. Drake, haven’t I?” exclaimed Charlotte.
“For all the good it has done, no one would know.” Lucia rose. “I go to the lending library this morning. What book would you like?”
“The library?”
“Si.” Lucia smiled coyly. “A young man I met last night has offered to read me poetry there. Such adventures I have when you abandon me with the English.”
“Enjoy it. I’ll wait for Susan.” Lucia left and Charlotte finished her breakfast in silence. Of course she wanted Susan to like her, and of course she didn’t want to be too harsh with her. She didn’t want to be as strict as her own father had been with her, because she truly believed she would have behaved properly if he had trusted her more. But neither could she allow Susan to run wild and ruin her reputation while she was still too young to know better. Perhaps if she simply explained that to Susan, her niece would understand better.
She waited all morning, but Susan never came down. When luncheon came and went and still Susan hadn’t appeared, Charlotte braced herself and knocked on Susan’s bedroom door. There was no reply. An hour later there was no reply, and finally Charlotte knocked one more time. “Susan, please come out.” Still silence. “Then I am coming in,” Charlotte warned, putting the key in the lock.
She needn’t have bothered, for the room was empty. Charlotte’s stunned gaze veered from the open window to the undisturbed bed, and then she rang furiously for Susan’s maid. The girl came running, wide-eyed.
“Where is Miss Tratter?” Charlotte yanked open the curtains. A sturdy trellis climbed the wall nearby, not a difficult distance to reach for an agile young person.
The maid wrung her apron. “I dunno, ma’am. She never rang for me this morning, and since you told us not to enter until rung for ...”
“Why did you not tell me she never rang?”
The girl shrank from Charlotte’s wrath. “Well, I didn’t ... That is, I didn’t know it was important. Miss Tratter often sleeps late, and I didn’t think ...” Her voice died as Charlotte flung open the wardrobe doors.
“Check for anything missing. Don’t forget the new things we just bought this week.” The maid ran forward to do as told. Charlotte sat down at the writing desk and went through it swiftly. There was nothing out of the ordinary, and she moved to the bureau, which also yielded no information.
“A few dresses are gone, ma’am,” said the maid hesitantly. “They could be in the laundry, though; shall I check?” Charlotte nodded, and she scurried out the door.
The butler appeared as Charlotte pressed her hands to her forehead in growing panic. Where could Susan be? Where would she go? “Madame?” Dunstan inquired. “Is aught amiss?”
“Yes, Dunstan, Miss Tratter seems to have gone missing.” Charlotte’s voice trembled on the last word. God in heaven, what would she do if something happened to her niece? “Have you any idea, any sign of a break-in?”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am. I shall check again at once.”
Charlotte paced the room, struggling to keep calm. First she must make certain no one had taken Susan; she cursed her laziness in not hiring guards the morning after Stuart had advised her to do it. She didn’t want to believe Susan had run away, but abduction wasn’t preferable.
A bit of white caught her eye then, a triangle of paper sticking out from under the bed. She snatched it up, and read her own name in Susan’s writing across the front of the letter as she tore it open.
Aunt Charlotte
I cannot bear it any longer. Can I stay here, when my heart goes hence? I must follow my love, no less than Juliet did. I know you can’t understand—I’m sorry you won’t be at my wedding—but if this is the way it must be, so it must be. Good-bye,
Susan
She was still standing motionless with shock when the maid hurried back in. “The dresses aren’t in the laundry, ma’am. Shall I—?”
“I’ll kill him,” said Charlotte softly. Slowly her fingers closed, crumpling the note. “I shall kill him with my bare hands.”
“Madame?” squeaked the maid in alarm.
“You are dismissed,” said Charlotte as she brushed past the girl. She went straight to her room and took a mahogany box from under her bed. With fury burning in her heart, she took out a pistol and loaded it, praying she wasn’t already too late.
Stuart’s last day in Kent was turning out much better than expected. He had just enough money left to pay the rent due, which meant he could leave without sneaking away in the dead of night. His valet, whom he had sent on forced furlough a fortnight earlier for lack of funds to pay his salary, returned unexpectedly, and Stuart gratefully set Benton to packing the linens and other furnishings. He continued packing his clothing, only pausing when he folded his old cloak.
He lifted it and took a deep breath. Yes, it still carried just a trace of her perfume, and the warm, rich scent made his blood heat in memory. It had been lying in a heap on his doorstep the previous morning, but at least she had returned it. What a missed opportunity, he thought, wishing he had known things would go this way. If he had anticipated anything like the kiss they shared the night before, he would have made a greater effort to seduce Charlotte the night she broke in. Heiresses could be found the width and breadth of England, but a woman like that came along once in a lifetime, if a fellow were lucky.
A loud pounding interrupted his thoughts. Benton had gone to take the trunks already packed to be shipped back to London. Stuart put the cloak in his trunk and went to open the door.
“Where is she?” Stuart paused at the sight of the pistol in Charlotte’s hand, pointed straight at his heart. Good Lord, this woman had nerve, but he couldn’t deny the sudden jump in his pulse at the sight of her.
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” He turned his back on her and strolled toward his room.
“Do not walk away from me.” Charlotte’s voice shook with fury. “I will fire!”
He glanced over his shoulder. “And I could not stop you since I am, as you see, unarmed.” He went into the bedroom, and she followed with a rustle of skirts, slamming the door behind her. Her chest rose rapidly, her eyes glittered, and her face was flushed. She was magnificent.
“Tell me where Susan is, or forfeit your life.”
Stuart burst out laughing. “Did you rehearse that line? It’s very good, but a little melodramatic. Next time, try it with less emotion; when holding a gun, it’s more frightening to your victim to be calm.”
She snorted. “You’re hardly anyone’s victim. Where is my niece?”
Stuart shrugged, only mildly curious. “I’ve no idea. I haven’t seen her since last night. Why? Have you lost your charge, Aunt Charlotte?”
“You think you can swindle me as well, don’t you?” She shook her head with a caustic laugh. “I’m not fooled, not a whit. I should shoot you now, as a kindness to all women, but will give you one more chance: tell me where she is, and I’ll let you live.”
He sighed, tossing more shirts into the trunk. “As magnanimous as your offer is, I can’t accept it. I have no idea where your niece is.”
“Then where are you going?” She raised her chin. “You’re packing. Do you deny you’re leaving town?”
“The sooner the better.”
“Where are you going?”
He hesitated. “To London. Alone,” he added as triumph flared in her eyes. “Feel free to follow and see for yourself. But I’m leaving on the afternoon mail, and really must finish packing, so if you don’t plan to leave, would you hand me those boots?”
She hurled the boots at his head. Stuart caught one and ducked the other, then tucked both into his trunk. Charlotte said nothing for a minute, pacing restlessly about and peering around all the furniture. Stuart continued his packing even though awareness of her sizzled along his every nerve. He had ne
ver wanted a woman who held a gun on him before; it was rather perverse, but undeniably exciting. Under her watchful gaze he folded his trousers and shirts, whistling a tune under his breath just to annoy her. This woman, he decided, had gotten her way for too long. She needed someone to put her in her place.
“Very well, you may go to London,” she announced suddenly. “I shall go with you. In fact, I shall take you. And when we find Susan, you’ll tell her everything about your cruel plan to marry her for her fortune. You’ll tell her about your attempts to ruin other heiresses, and how you were banished from London by your own father for your wild ways. And you’ll beg her pardon for deceiving her into trusting you.”
Stuart leaned against the bedpost and studied her. She looked quite disheveled, her dark curls falling out of a loose knot and her cloak askew. “That’s the real matter, isn’t it? You’re upset she trusted me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. She was tricked by your lies.”
“You told her to avoid me like the plague, and still she sought me out as soon as your back was turned,” he said as she aimed the pistol again. “This, my dear, smacks of wounded pride.”
“It’s not your pride I’ll wound.” Charlotte wanted to shoot him just to take the smile off his face. How dare he mock her?
“All right. I’ll go to London with you, since you’re holding a pistol on me, and you can satisfy your suspicions that your niece eloped with me—that is what I’m accused of, is it not? And if I’ve lied to you”—he opened his arms in a deceptive gesture of defenselessness—“you may take your revenge in any way you choose.”
“I shall,” vowed Charlotte.
“But if you’re wrong ...” He shook his head, a wicked smile on his lips. “Then I shall get what I want. You. For one night.”
Her heart stuttered for a second. What unbelievable gall. She would never agree to such a thing. Give herself to him for a night! She would sooner give herself to a hungry bear. She swiftly considered the chance that he was telling the truth. But no, it couldn’t be. He had already proven himself a liar and a manipulator, a master of getting his way with women. He had been on the balcony last night with Susan, and Charlotte hadn’t heard a whisper of another man from anyone, not from Susan, not from the servants, not even from the gossips. It had to be Stuart Drake who was responsible for Susan’s disappearance, Stuart Drake who knew where she was or where she was going, and Stuart Drake who had just made a breathtakingly outré suggestion to call her bluff. If he thought she would be intimidated or deterred by such a thing, he was sadly mistaken.