Her Officer and Gentleman

by Karen Hawkins

  “I know.” Beth bent and cut one more flower, then placed the knife and the rose in her basket. She had about two dozen; enough for a nice centerpiece for the mahogany dining table.

  Thunder rumbled overhead, the wind rustling restlessly. Beth gathered her skirts and joined Charlotte on the terrace. They went inside together.

  Charlotte bent to smell a rose. “Those are lovely.”

  “I thought we might make an arrangement for the table.” Beth set down the basket and removed her gardening gloves.

  She laid them in the basket over the knife and went to the mirror over the fireplace to right her hair. “Oh dear! I look like Medusa.”

  “Oh, I don’t think it’s so bad,” Charlotte said, tilting her head to one side and smiling nervously. “All you need is a hairpin here and a hairpin there and it will be good as new.”

  Outside, thunder cracked, rattling the windows. Charlotte jumped, her hand rising to her throat.

  “That was a bit abrupt,” Beth said. Her stepmama seemed even more nervous than usual. “You never liked storms. I remember you used to be terrified.”

  Charlotte absently rubbed her arms as she looked out the window at the rapidly darkening sky. “I have always hated them. Your father used to get very impatient with me for that. He loved storms.”

  “Yes, and would stand out on the terrace and get soaking wet sometimes. I always wondered how he kept from getting struck by lightning.”

  Charlotte nodded absently.

  Beth smoothed her hair where the wind had tousled it, her mind going back through the conversation she’d heard while under the desk with Christian. Charlotte knew whatever it was Grandfather was hiding. But why would Grandfather have confessed anything to Charlotte? He thought her a nitwit and worse.

  Charlotte had to have stumbled upon the information by accident. It was the only explanation. It would explain why Grandfather was forever worrying she was not taking her medicine—because he feared she might tell something she’d discovered.

  Beth began to feel ill. There was so much she didn’t know. So many secrets that seemed to be lurking. With all her heart, she did not want to believe that Christian was right.

  Thunder crashed, lightning blinded Beth for a moment. Charlotte cried out and covered her eyes.

  Beth went to Charlotte and put an arm about her thin shoulders. The older woman’s skin was hot to the touch. Beth frowned. “Come. Sit down. I’ll call for some tea and—”

  “No,” Charlotte said, her chin firm, though she trembled head to toe. “It is time I was not afraid.”

  Beth smiled. “Good for you! You will see that there is nothing to hurt you here. Shall I get you some ratafia? Perhaps that would be better.”

  “Yes. I would like that.”

  Beth went to pour her stepmother a glass of ratafia. She carried it to Charlotte, waiting until her stepmama had taken a few sips and was steadier. “Charlotte, may I ask you something?”

  Eyes still on the dark sky outside, Charlotte nodded absently.

  “Did you know my fiancé’s mother?”

  Charlotte’s eyes widened just as a huge strike of lightning flashed. In the blinding light, Beth saw Charlotte’s white and terrified face.

  Beth instinctively took her stepmother’s arm, but Charlotte jerked free, dropping the glass as she backed to the doorway. “Stay away from me!”

  Beth blinked. “Charlotte! I just asked if you knew—”

  “No! Just stop it!” Charlotte pressed a hand to her mouth. “You cannot say that woman’s name. Bennington says—” She pressed her fingers over her mouth. “I won’t do it.”

  Bennington? Beth hadn’t thought of him, but he had been quite a close friend of Father’s. The rather somber lord also could have used the Massingale coach. It was not unlikely, for the lord frequently used it if he rode to the house and the weather turned abrupt, as it was now. Beth’s heart quickened. Was this it? Was Bennington the missing link between Christian’s mother and Massingale House?

  Beth placed a calming hand on Charlotte’s arm. “What does Bennington say, Charlotte? What does he have to do with…the lady I mentioned?”

  “Nothing. He and your grandfather, they don’t like to hear of her. Every time I say her name, they yell at me and make me take more medicine.” Charlotte shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes. “I am not going to do that anymore, Beth. The medicine isn’t good for me. It makes me sleep and sleep and I cannot think and all sorts of things.”

  “Charlotte! That is horrible. Why do you take it, then?”

  “Your grandfather says I cannot live here unless I do. That I will have to go somewhere else, all alone. Beth, I loved your father, though he may not have loved me. I am closer to him here and—and I need that.” Charlotte clutched at Beth’s arm. “Do you understand? Please say you do and don’t tell your grandfather that we talked about this. He would send me away and I could not bear it.”

  Feeling ill, Beth quietly asked, “Is that what Grandfather told you, Charlotte? That he would send you away if you mentioned…her name?”

  Charlotte nodded, her eyes wide. “I dare not disobey him. No matter what happens, he will think it is my fault. That’s why he wants me to take the laudanum.” A sly look entered Charlotte’s eyes, surprising Beth. “Sometimes I take it and sometimes”—she leaned forward to whisper—“I don’t!”

  Beth eyed Charlotte uneasily. “Did you take it today?”

  Charlotte smiled, looking absurdly pretty and youthful. “Of course.” She tilted her head to one side, her blond ringlets falling back from her cheek. “You don’t know it all yet, do you? I thought you did, but you don’t.”

  “All I know is that Christian’s mother was wrongly imprisoned and she died there. Charlotte, did Grandfather put her there? Did he put her in prison?”

  Charlotte stared, her eyes wide. Slowly she nodded. “Yes.”

  The word was a whisper. Light and frothy, it hung between them.

  The room whirled about Beth, and somehow, she found herself sitting on the settee, blood rushing behind her eyes, her heart pounding raggedly. Christian was right! He had been right all along. “I-I can’t imagine Grandfather doing such a thing.”

  “Perhaps you don’t know him as well as you think.”

  “I know him better than anyone.”

  “No, you know the kind part of him better than anyone. There is a side of him…Even your father was not comfortable with him.”

  A low rumble of thunder made Beth look toward the windows. “The storm is moving out,” she said absently, her mind whirling with this new information.

  Charlotte nodded, her gaze locked on Beth. “It is a pity you found out, but I suppose it was bound to happen.”

  “I suppose so. Christian is coming here this evening. We are going to ask Grandfather for the truth tomorrow morning. We were looking for a necklace his mother—”

  “No!” Charlotte clutched Beth’s arm. “You can’t do that! He will lock you both away or worse!”

  Beth shook off Charlotte’s hands. “Nonsense. Even if Grandfather did this, I know he would not hurt me.”

  “You don’t know him!” Charlotte’s brow furrowed. She bit her lip, her eyes flickering here and there. Suddenly, she nodded. “I know what you need.” Charlotte looked around as if to make certain they were not heard, and then she leaned forward and whispered, “The necklace, the one you were speaking of. I know where it is.”

  Beth sucked in a deep breath. “I need to see it.”

  “Then we shall go. It is not far from here. We can walk. Lord Bennington hid it for your grandfather, away from the house so it would not be found.”

  “What has Bennington to do with—”

  Charlotte took Beth’s elbow and pulled her to the door. “I will explain as we go.”

  Beth resisted. “Charlotte, I can’t. Christian will be here soon and—”

  “You will be back before he returns.” She took Beth’s hand and pressed it between hers. “Please?�
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  Beth saw the tears in the woman’s eyes. Poor Charlotte had been guarding this information for so long. Beth squeezed Charlotte’s hand and glanced at the clock.

  Christian would be here in half an hour. She would have the necklace by then. She would meet him at the door and hand him the final piece of proof he’d been looking for—the evidence that would condemn Grandfather forever in Christian’s eyes.

  Beth’s heart ached. What would Christian do then? What would any of them do?

  “You want to marry Westerville, don’t you?”

  The simple question gave Beth pause. “Yes,” she finally said, her voice so soft, Charlotte had to lean forward to catch it.

  “Then you must solve this riddle, else the viscount’s life might also be at risk. The only reason the duke would countenance such a match is to keep Westerville where he could be watched.”

  “No! Charlotte, Grandfather is not—”

  Charlotte sighed and dropped Beth’s hand. “You do not believe me. I will go and fetch the necklace myself, then. But you have to promise to protect me from your grandfather. When he is really angry…” Charlotte shuddered.

  Beth bit her lip. She could not allow Charlotte to go alone; Charlotte never went anywhere alone unless Lord Bennington—Beth paused. Was that why Bennington always escorted Charlotte? Because he was in Grandfather’s confidence and they did not trust her to be out in the world, where she might talk?

  Everything suddenly seemed so sinister. Beth’s mind simply could not countenance the fact that Grandfather could possibly be anything other than who he’d always been.

  Charlotte went to the door. “I shall leave now and—”

  “No.” Beth stepped forward. “I shall go with you. But we should leave out the terrace doors so the house servants don’t realize we’ve gone.”

  Charlotte managed a tremulous smile. “I shall fetch our pelisses from our rooms.”

  Beth caught her hands. “Be careful. I-I have an uneasy feeling about this.”

  Charlotte nodded. “I have had an uneasy feeling for over twenty years.” She squeezed Beth’s hands, and slipped out the door.

  Beth looked outside at the rain-filled clouds. Huge thunderheads loomed over the countryside, casting a dark pall over her beautiful garden. A tingle of foreboding traced through her. Perhaps there were other bits of evidence with the missing necklace. Something that would exonerate Grandfather. Beth squared her shoulders. She would do this. Do it for Christian and Grandfather. Only the truth would help them now.

  Bracing herself, she went out the terrace door and looked out, pausing beside the basket of flowers. She fingered the roses, her expression thoughtful. If only things were as simple as the flowers.

  Moments later, Charlotte returned, wearing a pelisse and carrying another. Beth was by the far window, but she turned when her stepmama entered. “The rain has not begun yet.”

  “Good!” Charlotte held out a gray pelisse. “It’s an old one of mine. Annie was in your room and I didn’t dare let her see me.”

  Beth took the pelisse and drew it on.

  “Are you ready?” Charlotte said, opening the terrace door.

  Beth nodded. Within moments, they were making their way through the garden and out the back gate, Charlotte almost skipping in her excitement, Beth walking heavily, her heart as dark as the sky overhead.

  A half hour later, Christian rode Lucifer up the long, winding drive to Massingale House. Rain threatened overhead.

  He glanced up at the sky as a rumble of thunder rolled across the sky. “Not yet,” he murmured. “I would that you’d wait until dinner.”

  Though it was silly to address the clouds, they heeded him and didn’t deliver a drop. Christian reached Massingale House at ten ’til six and tossed his reins to the waiting groom, then ran lightly up the stairs. He could not wait to see Beth. It was odd how one could long for something and yet dread the brevity of it at one and the same time.

  Jameson met him in the foyer and took his coat, hat, and gloves. “My lord. We didn’t expect to see you again today.”

  “Lady Elizabeth is to ride with me. Is she ready?”

  “I shall send a footman to her room now.” The butler glanced at the nearest liveried man, who bowed and immediately left. That seen to, the butler turned back to Christian. “Would you like to await Her Ladyship in the sitting room?”

  “Of course.”

  Jameson went to lead Christian to the sitting room.

  A thump came from behind them. “Ah! Westerville!” called the duke’s aged voice from the door of the library. He stood leaning on his cane, his blue eyes shrewdly regarding Christian. “Thought I heard your voice. Come! Join me for some brandy.”

  Without waiting for an answer, the duke turned and limped back into the library.

  Christian stifled a sigh. He didn’t want to do anything but see Beth. But there was little he could do about an invitation—if one could call it that—from the duke. Christian followed the old man into the library.

  The duke settled into his chair by the fireplace. “Jameson, two glasses of brandy, please.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The butler went to pour the brandy.

  “Well, Westerville. We’ve not had the opportunity to talk, have we? Perhaps now is the time.”

  Christian’s jaw ached, it was set so tight. But he could do no more than nod.

  “Your brandy, my lord.” Jameson handed a glass to the duke, then turned to Christian. “And yours, my lord.”

  Christian took the glass just as the door opened and the footman reappeared.

  “Ah!” Jameson said. “Master Charles! Did you inform Lady Elizabeth of her guest?”

  “No, sir. Lady Elizabeth is not in her room.”

  Christian frowned. “I didn’t see her in the garden when I rode up.”

  The duke eyed Christian. “Did she know you were coming?”

  “Yes, my lord. I told her so this morning.”

  Jameson’s face creased with a frown. “She is usually early.”

  The footman opened his mouth, hesitated, then said, “Her Ladyship’s maid is somewhat upset. Says Lady Elizabeth asked for her riding gown to be laid out, but she never came to put it on.”

  The duke’s frown grew. “Damn it! Where the hell is she?”

  The footman shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know, my lord, though one of the grooms said Lord Bennington’s horse is in the stables. However, he is nowhere to be found.”

  “Bennington?” the duke repeated. “Where the devil is he?”

  Something was not right. Every instinct that had been honed in Christian’s time on the High Toby came to the fore. “Find Lady Elizabeth,” he ordered, setting his glass on a side table. “Have every room searched. She must be found.”

  The footman spun on his heel and was gone, but Jameson darted a questioning glance at the duke.

  “What’s this?” Massingale demanded, straightening his chair, his face red. “Westerville, who the hell do you think you are, ordering my servants about as if you were king?”

  Christian leaned over. “Do you know where she is? And is she safe?”

  Massingale frowned. “Safe? Why wouldn’t she be…” He paused, his face paling ever so slightly. He whipped his gaze to Jameson. “What are you doing in here? Didn’t you hear the viscount? Go and find Lady Elizabeth at once. Also find Lady Charlotte while you are at it. I want to know where they both are.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Jameson bowed. “I will report back within a few moments.”

  “Do that.”

  She will be found; she must be. Christian could not allow it otherwise. He raked an impatient hand through his hair, his chest aching as if an iron band tightened about him. She was probably out walking, thinking of the complicated issues confronting them. He winced at the thought of her being upset.

  He’d promised Beth to wait until she was present to confront her grandfather. But wouldn’t that just cause them all more pain? It would be better to speak wit
h the old man now, while Beth was not present to hear the painful truth.

  Christian put his hand in his pocket. Inside was his mother’s keepsake box that contained her letters. He withdrew the box and laid it on the small table beside the duke’s brandy.

  For a moment, there was only the ticking of a clock. The duke slowly reached over and picked up the box, then opened it. He looked carefully at the contents, his fingers trembling especially when he touched the letters.

  He lifted his gaze to Christian. “Where did you get these?”

  “From my mother’s gaoler.”

  Massingale closed the box, setting it back on the table. “I’m glad you have something of hers.”

  Christian reached into his other pocket and withdrew the letter from the bishop, as well as the small miniature. He placed those on top of his mother’s box.

  Massingale glared. “You’ve been in my desk!”

  “Yes, I have. Why do you have a miniature of my mother?”

  The duke’s expression darkened, appearing almost sullen. “I didn’t. The miniature belonged to my son. He had it in his hand when he died. He had a raging fever and didn’t know any of us the last few days.” The duke picked up the miniature and gazed at it, suddenly appearing very feeble. “But he remembered her. Every time his gaze fell on this, he’d call for her.”

  “How did he meet my mother?”

  The duke abruptly set the miniature back on the table. “This is a complicated tale.” He looked at the letters and said testily, “Westerville, what exactly is all of this?”

  Christian picked up the letter from the bishop. “You might want to read this letter.”

  The duke took the paper. The room was silent as the duke read the letter, except for the crack of the fire and the distant rumble of thunder.

  Finally, the duke sighed and returned the letter to the table. He shot an unhappy glare at Christian. “I didn’t want to have this conversation, though I knew it would eventually be coming.”

  Christian noted how the old man shivered slightly. To give himself something to do so he wouldn’t go mad thinking about where Beth might be, Christian went to stir the fire, a gust of warmth heating the room.