“Quite the hoyden,” her brother grumbled from behind them.
Lord Markham dismounted before moving to assist her slide to the ground. At the touch of his hands, the sandalwood scenting his nearness, the warmth in his smile—just for her!—her heart thumped loudly again. Oh, Lord Markham was everything she had ever dreamed!
Charlotte hooked her train over one arm, and they led their horses to a spot slightly away from Henry, who still muttered nonsense about how such wild riding would never be countenanced in Hyde Park.
“Hyde Park is pretty enough, but here”—she gazed around the extensive parklands, the view stretching as far away as the dome of St. Paul’s—“here one can breathe.”
She glanced around. Yellow laburnum flowers hung in golden chains. In the distance she could see a group of fallow deer frolicking in the sunshine.
Lord Markham’s colt nickered, regaining her attention. He tugged the reins. “Does this remind you of your home in Devon?”
“A little. But without the sea air, of course.”
“Of course.” His lips lifted in that easy way she’d come to know and love. “Shall your family spend time there again this year?”
“Probably. We usually go in September, but only for a month or so. Mama much prefers London.”
“And you prefer Devon?”
“I …” His eyes watched her carefully, as if begging her to an answer he wished to hear, but what was it? “I … find things appealing about both parts of the world.”
He nodded, taking a step toward her, the colt now obscuring them from Henry’s view. “I wonder …”
“You wonder what, my lord?” She tilted her head to see him better. Up close, he was so much taller than she. And even more handsome, with sunlight dancing in his laughing eyes.
“I wonder, do you think your parents agreeable to a visit?”
Her heart bumped against her ribs. He wished to visit? Oh! She forced her answer, her demeanor to be all that was demure. “My parents enjoy visitors.”
“I wonder if they’d mind a visit from a particular acquaintance.”
“That may depend on just whom that particular acquaintance might be.”
“As wonderful as they are, it was not your parents I would wish to see.”
The intent look in his eyes chased away all coherent thought.
“Nor”—he drew nearer still—“your brother.”
She felt heat fill her cheeks, a fluttering in her midsection.
“Do you think your parents might be amenable to my paying you a visit, my lady?”
His smile sent tendrils of happiness curling the edges of her heart. “They might well be. Mama seems far more …” Resigned? Accepting? “Happy at your visits now.”
The thumping grew louder, as his smile widened. “You must know how much I enjoy your company.”
“Oh, and I do yours!”
He sighed. “It relieves me to hear you say so, for at times …” His brow lifted.
“Surely you cannot doubt my regard?”
“I merely want to be certain.” His gaze dipped to her lips, then he drew closer, closer. She closed her eyes, excitement fizzing through her veins—
“Lottie?”
Her eyes flew open. Henry. Holding the reins of his horse—and a frown in his eyes.
“Markham, if I didn’t know better, it would seem you intend to kiss my sister.”
Mortification heated her chest, her cheeks. “Henry!”
“Charlotte and I were only talking,” Markham said with his disarming smile.
Which didn’t appear to disarm Henry. His scowl only deepened. “Didn’t look like that was all you wanted to do. And it’s Lady Charlotte to you.”
Now Lord Markham’s cheeks mottled, prompting her to interject, “Henry! How dare you?”
“I dare because you know Mama would be cast into a swoon should she hear of such things.”
“Then she best not hear of such things,” she said, tossing her curls.
“Excuse us,” Henry muttered, grasping Charlotte by the arm, pulling her out of Markham’s earshot. “You forget yourself when you are around him.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong. He is a perfect gentleman.”
He snorted. “Might I remind you it takes very little for a lady’s reputation to be harmed?”
“At the risk of repeating myself, I have done nothing wrong.”
“Not yet,” he muttered.
He released her arm, returning to Lord Markham, whose air of curiosity made her hurry forward with a smile. “Please excuse my brother. He is somewhat overprotective.”
Blue eyes flicked to her brother, the sardonic gaze growing more pronounced. “I’m sure he’s merely thinking of your best.”
No, he was only thinking of how to spoil her hopes and dreams.
Nothing more was said of Devon or visits or anything really, the ride home rather too short and too silent. Lord Markham returned to his lodgings, making no promises about meeting tomorrow, despite the fact she’d sent him her best smile and most concentrated thoughts of such a plan in an effort to induce him. Once they had returned the horses to the mews and she had changed, Charlotte found her brother reading a book in his bedchamber and, coming in, sat on the edge of the coverlet.
“Please don’t say anything to Mama.”
“I cannot like it, Lottie. I see the way he looks at you—”
“How does he look at me?”
“Not like a gentleman should.”
Oh. Oh! “How can you say such things? I thought he was your friend.”
“I knew him at university, but we were never close.”
“Well, I think you’re grossly unkind. If Mama has no concern for me being with Lord Markham, I don’t see why you should.”
He shook his head. “You are aware that, for all these visits, Father will never countenance Markham as a potential son-in-law.”
“What? Of course he will.”
The frustration in his eyes now layered with something more like pity. “You’re actually serious about him.”
“Of course I am! He is kind, handsome, charming, and titled.”
“He’s also heavily mortgaged and, Lottie, I hate to say this, but Markham is hardly the type of man to refrain from enjoying the favors of other ladies.”
She gasped.
“I’m sorry if I shock you, but you cannot be so naive as to think our parents would permit you to marry anyone less than an earl.”
“But I don’t want to marry an earl! I want to marry him!”
“Charlotte! Calm yourself.”
“Now you sound like Mama.”
He shook his head. “I’d be doing you a great disservice to allow you to continue in this infatuation.”
“It’s not an infatuation! He feels the same way, too.”
His brows pushed together. “The same way as what, precisely?”
“He … he holds me in regard.”
“He’s said that?”
“Of course!” She frowned. Wait. Had he? Or had she said that? He must if he wanted to visit her in Devon! She shook away the uncertainty. “This is none of your business, anyway.”
“Where the family reputation is concerned, it is my business, Charlotte.”
“How dare you?”
“Keep your voice down, unless you want Mama in here.” He leaned close. “Have you already forgotten the scandal surrounding Pamela Hartington? The duchess has been dead for weeks, but still the gossip doesn’t die. I cannot allow my sister to conduct herself in a manner conducive to wagging tongues.”
She bit back the anger, forced in a deep breath, let it out on a sigh. “Henry.” Relief at her sufficiently calm tone helped her smile. “Truly, I appreciate your concern, but I assure you, I’ve done nothing improper.” He opened his mouth to speak so she hurried on. “Neither has Lord Markham. He is a gentleman, someone I have come to admire, and yes, I enjoy his company very much. I wish you could trust me.”
“I trust you.”
/>
“Just not him? Then we shall need to prove ourselves, won’t we?” She hopped off the bed, moved to the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To see Mama.”
“Why?”
“Because I want her to know how much of a gentleman he has been.”
“I don’t think that wise—”
“Thank you, brother dear, but you have shared enough of your opinions for the moment.”
“This is a mistake!” he called, as she walked down the hall.
No, it wasn’t, she thought. A mistake would be letting her parents continue in the misapprehension that she planned to give up her friendship with her handsome lord for a future with a man she had yet to meet.
Marry someone she did not love? Why, the idea was ludicrous!
Hartwell Abbey
“And how are you keeping, sir?”
“Well, thank you, Lady Hawkesbury.”
She nodded, the afternoon light streaming through the drawing-room window, the Gothic glass highlighting copper strands in her hair. “And how do you fill your days?”
William mentioned something of his agricultural and scientific interests and his hopes for the asylum at Bethlem before returning the question. As she and her husband answered, he thought on the past fortnight since his last visitors had left in such high dudgeon.
The days had slid past slowly, counted by sunrises, the exact measurements of barley, and the hushed murmurings of his servants whenever he passed. He’d never noticed just how cavernous the Abbey felt, how empty it seemed. During his brief, tumultuous marriage, Pamela had never been content with just his company, and the house had been filled with guests, some of whom he met for the first time on their arrival. He hadn’t minded at first, had initially thought she too would see the Abbey’s beautiful, historic features and grow to love Hartwell as he did. Just hadn’t counted on her appreciating certain historic elements far more than others.
Lavinia glanced around at the pointed arches, ornate ceiling frescos, the aged tapestries lining the wall. “This is such a lovely building, with many ancient tales, I’m sure.”
He told her something of the Abbey’s history. Like many an abbey claimed by Henry VIII, Hartwell had its share of secrets: concealed passages, hidden rooms, tunnels that linked the cellars and stables. The medieval features of an age of hidden priests had fascinated him as a boy, had led to many a game of hiding with his sister.
He didn’t tell his guests how the secret passages had apparently also held appeal to his wife, as a way of ensuring her exit from her bedchamber to that of her paramour. Jensen had first alerted him to his wife’s indiscretions at William’s ancestral home. He had not believed his ears, until one night’s silent watching had given proof of her infidelity, and he’d been forced to believe his eyes. Then he’d been forced to dismiss his coachman Rogerson for helping the duchess in her immoral activities.
Strange. Remembering such things did not sting the same anymore. Perhaps he was growing too accustomed to the lifestyle of those who’d populated the Abbey hundreds of years ago. Surrounded by others, yet rarely talking, content instead to fill his days with nature, with contemplation—albeit of scientific pursuits—finding comfort for his sins from the Bible. He was content. Wasn’t he? Or did God want something more from him? More for him? Hope flickered, dwindled.
Lord Hawkesbury spoke briefly about Hawkesbury House and his mother, the dowager countess, before saying, “Sometimes it is more conducive to marital harmony if we are not at home.”
William uttered a rusty-sounding laugh, then stopped, surprised. What was it about this couple that made him feel at ease?
Returning his teacup to the low table between them, he said, “How do you find this part of the country, my lady? I understand you are originally from Gloucestershire.”
“Yes. Northamptonshire is lovely, with so many ancient churches and grand houses, but I suspect one shall always prefer the scenery of one’s childhood.” She gave a sweet smile. “I lived quite close to the Cotswolds, you see.”
“One of the prettiest corners of England. I can appreciate such partiality.”
“Thank you. Not everyone would …” She glanced at her husband, and bit her lip.
“My mother has never been backward in expressing her opinions,” Hawkesbury said drily.
“Hence the need for escape.” William nodded. “I quite understand.”
Regret gnawed again about the visit from Pamela’s parents. Should he have told them of the baby? He had rejoiced at his promised escape from their interfering ways, but surely it was only right that they should know about their grandchild?
“Hartington?”
William collected himself. “I beg your pardon.” He managed a thin smile. “The effect of recent dealings with one’s in-laws.”
The countess laughed, and he was brought to mind of a similarly shining face.
“Tell me, my lady—”
“Oh, Lavinia, please.”
He slid a look at Hawkesbury, who appeared unperturbed by his wife’s most unusual request. “Very well, Lavinia. Our discussion of extended family leads me to enquire about your association with the Marquess of Exeter. I understand you are connected?”
“Aunt Constance is, was”—a shadow passed over her face—“my mother’s sister.”
“Your mother being … ?”
“Grace, the eldest daughter of the Duchess of Salisbury.”
“Salisbury?” He straightened. “Forgive me, I didn’t realize.”
“Neither did I until very recently.” She sipped her tea. “Learning of my lineage proved quite a shock, I assure you.”
“I can imagine.”
“Though it did have one benefit, did it not, my dear?” Hawkesbury said, caressing her hand.
At the sight, William’s heart caught with memories of foolish feelings of romance and love. If only Pamela had returned his affection …
“But you were asking about the Marquess of Exeter,” the countess said.
“Yes. He … seems a good speaker.”
“When he attends Parliament rather than the gaming house,” Hawkesbury murmured.
“Poor Aunt Constance.” Lavinia sighed. “Have you ever noticed how some people become so caught up in imagined dramas they scarcely notice the true ones?”
Oh yes, he knew.
“I’m afraid my aunt is one such person. I can only hope and pray that Charlotte does not turn out like that.”
He strove for nonchalance. “Lady Charlotte is your cousin?”
“Yes.” She shook her head. “Poor Charlotte.”
He eyed her but could not say anything. Heaven forbid he made his interest plain.
“I’m afraid she has fallen for quite an unsuitable young man, and her parents have made something of a fuss. I’m hopeful the dowager will be amenable for my cousin to visit.”
His heart pricked. “At your place in Lincolnshire?”
“Yes.”
“Whatever Mother says about it need not alter your plans, my dear,” Hawkesbury said in an aside.
“I’d still rather have her blessing.”
Again a look was shared between them that made him envy them not a little.
William cleared his throat. “I hope for your sake she is agreeable.”
“Thank you.” Her smile seemed ripe with friendship. “But if not, perhaps we should return to Hampton Hall, and Charlotte could visit there.”
“That reminds me, Hartington. Would you be willing to visit to look over my fields? I admit our excursion today has opened my eyes to a world of possibilities I’d not considered.”
Perhaps escaping the memories enshrined in every corner of the Abbey would be helpful to his state of mind. And even though his in-laws had threatened never to darken his doorstep, he did not doubt their ability to alter their word. “I’d be delighted. Name the date.”
They settled on a time for the following week, and soon his guests made their exit.
&nb
sp; His heart lifted—from the soothing nature of his visitors or their overtures of friendship, he did not know—but their call seemed molded by the fingerprints of the Almighty.
A visit to the West Country could be exactly what God wanted.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Grosvenor Square
“I DON’T WANT to go to devon!”
“My dear, if you cannot control yourself in a seemly manner, you present all the more proof that you are quite too young to consider marriage.”
“But I love him!”
Mama sniffed. “Love! What is love but an indistinct feeling that muddles a girl’s heart and mind, only to grow cold soon after?”
Charlotte stared at her mother. “Did you not love Father when you married him?”
“Of course.” Mama waved a hand. “But I soon came to see my mother was right to insist I marry someone of our rank and substance. If I had not listened and had married someone other than your father, then my life—and yours, too, I might add—would have been very different.”
Despite Charlotte’s outraged feelings, her mother’s absurdity tickled her sense of humor. Did Mama ever hear her nonsense?
Mama sighed the sigh of the very aggrieved. “Very well then. If you refuse to visit Great-Aunt Violet, then I suppose the only other person is Lavinia, much as I despise that family she married into. She, at least, seems willing to take you.”
The words pressed against her soul like a bruise. Did nobody want her?
“There is no need to come the tragedy with me, my girl. Such dramatic airs you take on! You would not need to remove from London if you had behaved with just a little more decorum. As it is, I’ve had more than one lady of my acquaintance whisper something of their concern for you. And you cannot know how unsettling all this is to my nerves.”
“I’ve got some idea,” she muttered.
“Charlotte! I might be nearly prostrate with worry, but I am not deaf! Your actions in walking off with Markham were unconscionable! How a daughter of mine could think such behavior appropriate I do not know.”
“It was only for a few moments—”
“A few moments is all it takes for the whispers to begin, and then your chance at a splendid marriage is irretrievably lost!”
She lifted her chin. “Not if Lord Markham wishes to marry me.”
The Captivating Lady Charlotte Page 6
