He shuffled a pile of papers to one side, quickly glancing through them. Perhaps he should get another secretary to assist with the filing. Things had become sorely disorganized of late. Another layer of weight settled on his shoulders.
Light shimmered from without, drawing his eyes to the window, through which he could see his houseguests playing a game of pall-mall.
His spirits lifted. At least one project held the tantalizing possibility of good news. Charlotte was coming around. She had even smiled at him this morning, such a happy smile it had kindled the corners of his heart. Surely it would not be long before his proposal would be met with an affirmative response. It could not come soon enough. Holding her in his arms, brief as it was, had been enough to plague his sleep again, hoping, praying, longing for her to finally let him love her as he dared in his dreams.
He pushed away from the desk and drew nearer the window to eye the young lady who consumed his thoughts. She stood beside her brother as he struck the ball with his mallet. The ball missed the iron ring, and she laughed. The tinkling sound warmed him inside. She was so pretty, with that golden hair and artless smile, so lighthearted, so vibrant, in every way the opposite of her predecessor. His pulse quickened. Heavenly Father, help me be the man she could learn to love.
She glanced at the window, spotting him, if the smile and tiny wave were any indication.
He lifted a hand. When young Featherington gestured he should join them, he shook his head and moved back to his desk, his spirits strangely unsettled. He probably should join them. Show them something of his willingness to enjoy life. He didn’t want Charlotte to think him a misery. But if he abandoned duty to accompany her every time he wished, this work would never get done. With a sigh that wrenched from the very depths of his being, he forced his heart and his thoughts back to the layers of chaos and stress.
After an hour or so, a knock came at the door. He looked up. “Hawkesbury.”
The earl moved inside at the gestured invitation. “I apologize for disturbing you, but I fear our pleasant interlude must conclude far sooner than I hoped.”
William placed down his quill, fixed his full attention on his guest. “I’m sorry to hear so.”
“It is Lavinia. She is not well, and at this time, well …”
“You want her somewhere where she can relax and feel comfortable. I understand.”
“Hawkesbury House is not the environs either of us find truly comfortable, but travelling to Gloucestershire at this time is quite out of the question.”
“Of course.” A couple of hours travel was far preferable to a couple of days. “I hope she will feel easier there.”
The earl gave a shadow of a smile. “My mother does not make it her aim to put one at ease, but I’m hopeful she is prepared to overlook her own desires in wishing to see the future heir’s safe arrival.”
“We all hope for that.” He maintained the smile, though his spirits dipped. Would the departure of her favorite cousin lead to the loss of Charlotte’s company, too? He shook his head at himself. How selfish to be thinking such things in this moment! Lord, forgive me.
“I am terribly sorry we shall be disturbing the house party, but I feel it’s in Lavinia’s best interest. You know what she is like, always thinking of others, but I’m afraid I cannot be so unselfish.”
“Of course not.”
William’s heart ached. This is what he had missed out on, what his wife had deprived him—the ability not only to have a child, but then the chance to celebrate and protect them.
He fought the envy, found a smile, held out his hand, which the earl clasped warmly. “I trust you will stay for dinner?”
“Thank you. We shall leave tomorrow, if that is not inconvenient.”
“Of course not.”
With the departure of Lord Hawkesbury, William rang for his butler, informing him the dinner tonight should be extra special. He forced his thoughts to his work, and attempted to ignore the disquiet in his heart and soul.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LAVINIA WAS not well.
Charlotte eyed her cousin across a dining table groaning with a veritable feast of delicacies, nearly none of which Lavinia had touched, let alone sampled as enthusiastically as Charlotte had managed. No, her cousin, she who never complained, had a distinct look of illness about her—something about the shadows underscoring her eyes, the cheekbones that had sharpened, the way she did not participate in conversation to her usual sociable standard.
She caught Lavinia’s eye, raising her own brows in inquiry. Her cousin gave a half smile, a half shrug, which her husband seemed to notice, for he cleared his throat and eyed the table.
“I’m terribly sorry to cut our visit short, but we will be returning tomorrow to Hawkesbury House.”
“Oh, must you?” Mama said plaintively. “Things won’t be the same without you both.”
“Mama, I am sure they would not be leaving without very good reason,” Charlotte murmured in an undertone.
“But what possible reason could be more important than seeing you safely settled?” Mama hissed in reply. “I am sure,” she said in a louder tone, “that it is something that could be altered, if one chose to.”
“I am sure,” he said with a tight smile, “it cannot be altered, Lady Exeter.”
Ignoring her mother’s small moue of protest, and having heard the edge in the earl’s voice, Charlotte escaped the post-dinner chitchat as fast as she could to visit Lavinia in her room. She knocked on the door to be met by a maid, whose frowning refusal of admittance was cut short by a breathy voice.
“Who is it?”
“Lady Charlotte, my lady.”
“Oh, she can come in.”
She hurried in, saw her cousin lying in bed, her face as white as the pillow. “Oh Lavinia! What can I do?”
“Nothing.” Lavinia patted the bed beside her. “I’m so dreadfully tired, that is all.”
Charlotte hardly dared ask, but concern refused silence. “And the baby?”
Lavinia’s lips tightened. “The doctor believes all should be well.”
Should be.
The element of doubt in the answer struck a chord of fear within. Charlotte sought to hide it with a smile. “I’m sure he’s right. And I will pray that God would make you feel better in the morning. And keep the babe well, too.”
Lavinia’s eyes shimmered. “Thank you.”
Charlotte said her good-nights, before heading to her own room. She ignored Sarah’s fussing as prayers filled her heart and lips: for Lavinia, for the earl, their child, their journey—even the dowager countess. She finally succumbed to the darkness, as hope battled fears too dreadful to contemplate.
THE PRAYERS DID not work.
When Sarah drew back the curtains the following morning, accompanying her chocolate and rolls was the news that Lavinia was feeling more poorly, and she and the Earl were leaving in an hour.
“An hour?” Charlotte pushed aside the pillows. “Who accompanies her besides the earl?”
“Oh, he is riding ahead to get the doctor. It will just be her maid with her.”
“She goes by herself? She cannot possibly travel such a distance by herself in her condition.”
“She will be well looked after. Lily is a good girl.”
“I’m sure she is, but I would hate to be forced to travel in such a fashion, feeling unwell as she is.” She frowned, thinking furiously. “Sarah, please pack a small case. I need to speak with Lavinia.”
“A small case for you, my lady?”
“Yes. I’ll need enough clothes for at least a few days.”
“In a small case?”
“Yes,” Charlotte said, ignoring her maid’s skeptical tone. “But not a word to Mama, do you hear?” She eyed Sarah sternly.
“Yes, my lady.”
Charlotte hurried from the room, down the hall to Lavinia’s bedchamber. When the maid opened the door, she rushed past her to the bed. “Lavinia, I’m coming with you.”
Her cousin pushed up to an elbow. A smile flickered across her face. “It is hardly a pleasure jaunt.”
“Do you think I care only for my own pleasure?” Her eyes filled; she blinked the moisture back. “I cannot let you travel alone.”
“I will not be alone. I’ll have Lily for company.”
“But it is not the same.” Charlotte shook her head. “You need a friend.”
Lavinia opened her mouth as if to protest, so Charlotte hurried on. “I mean a real friend, Livvie.”
“But Aunt Constance—”
“Will have to cope. Besides, she cannot object to my wishing to be helpful.”
Lavinia’s lips pushed into something that could almost be called a doubting look. “What about the duke?”
Charlotte shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll survive. Besides, coming here was never my idea.”
“But it was arranged with you in mind.”
“Perhaps. But I’m sure he won’t miss me,” she said, thinking of his many schemes and projects. “Regardless, his concerns are not mine right now. What does concern me is you.” A knock on the door revealed Sarah, clutching two valises. “Ah, thank you, Sarah. But did I not say one?” She turned back to her cousin. “See? I am ready.”
“But your mother—”
“Understands.” Well, she would as soon as she read the note Charlotte planned to leave with Sarah. She hoped Mama would understand, anyway …
Lavinia gave a soft chuckle.
“What is it?”
“I’m put in mind of something our grandmother once said to me.” Lavinia’s brows lifted. “‘You remind me of someone.’”
“Who?”
“Me.”
Having farewelled Lord Hawkesbury immediately after an early breakfast, William made his way outside for the departure of the countess. As he neared the carriage he heard a higher-pitched voice, one he was not expecting. Spirits sinking, he drew near, only to have his fears confirmed. “Lady Charlotte! I … I did not expect you to be leaving us.”
Her smile was small. “I am sorry, Duke, if it appears untoward, but I feel it is necessary for Lavinia to be accompanied home.”
Emotions clashed within him. Relief that the countess would have a friend, mingled with admiration for Charlotte’s kindness, and surprise at the marchioness’s largesse—all underscored by the dismay he could feel permeating his soul. “I trust your trip goes well.”
“Thank you,” Lavinia said, heavy-eyed.
“You will be in my prayers,” he said softly.
She nodded, eyes glimmering with tears.
His chest constricted, and he turned to her companion. “You are a good friend, Lady Charlotte.”
Her cheeks pinked, and she ducked her gaze.
He silently pleaded for her to look at him, to give him a sign all was well. She denied him that reassurance.
Relief came with the arrival of a basket of food, carried by a servant. “Ah, here is a little something for your journey. I trust there are sufficient quantities.”
“Thank you.”
Seeing the weariness in Lavinia’s eyes, he turned to the coachman, who had spent the past minutes trying to calm his ready-to-spring horses. “Travel safely, and Godspeed.”
“Aye, sir.”
William lifted a hand as the carriage pulled away. From her position by the window, Lady Charlotte turned, catching his eye, her manner all serious, without the hint of a smile.
Leaving him to fight the sense of loss and the disquieting certainty that, had her cousin not been ill, she would have soon found another way to leave Hartwell Abbey.
And him.
AN HOUR LATER, having decided to try drowning his unease with letters to Bethlem’s chief physician and another to Barrack’s caregivers, he heard a scream. He hurried from his study to see the marchioness on the landing.
“Madam?” He stopped at the base of the stairs. She appeared uninjured. “Are you quite well?”
“No, I am not.” She lifted a hand to her forehead in a manner reminiscent of Mrs. Siddons at Covent Garden. “I have been most cruelly abused!”
What had happened now? “I beg your pardon?”
“Thankless vipers!”
He stared at her. “Madam?”
“Do you know what it is to raise a daughter and be treated in such a manner?”
He held his tongue. Raised his brows.
“No, I don’t suppose you do. Silly girl.”
He moved beside her, encouraging her to accompany him to the drawing room where they could speak without being overheard by the servants. When the doors were closed, he turned to his guest. “I presume you speak of Lady Charlotte?”
“She had the nerve to leave this!” She waved a note fiercely. “Begs my forgiveness but she simply must accompany poor Lavinia home.” Lady Exeter sniffed. “Poor Lavinia, indeed.”
“Begging your pardon, madam, but the countess is quite unwell.”
“She has nothing but what countless other women have had. Simply because one is increasing is no reason to be sickly and demanding such attentions.”
“I hardly think the countess could be accused of demanding attention, madam.”
She sniffed. “Why else would Charlotte have thought it necessary to attend her?”
“From the goodness of her heart?” he suggested, putting up his brows. “Lady Hawkesbury is very unwell. I suspect her husband fears she may lose the child.” And possibly his wife.
“What? No. That cannot be.”
Apprehension tugged within. Losing Pamela had proved a grievous time, even when his love had long grown cold. For Hawkesbury to lose Lavinia in the first flush of love was unthinkable. He silently offered another prayer for their protection.
She flushed. “Well, of course, Charlotte is a good girl, Duke. I wouldn’t want you to think otherwise.”
“I’m sure you would not,” he murmured.
“She’s just a trifle impetuous, you see, running off like this. Of course, had she asked me in the usual manner, I would have ensured you did not mind before permitting Charlotte to accompany her cousin on such a trip.”
Would you? He swallowed the sardonic response, settling for, “I think her cousin is appreciative of Lady Charlotte’s company.”
“You do?” Her pale brows knit. “How could you know? Surely you did not see them?”
He winced at his inadvertent slip. “I did. And I’m pleased that your daughter was assisting your niece—”
“And you did not think to tell me?”
He cleared his throat. “Forgive me, madam, but I was under the impression you already knew.”
“Yes, but—”
“Perhaps, madam, instead of brangling over that which cannot be altered, our time would be better employed praying for that family.”
Her cheeks flushed. “You are right, of course.” Her eyes held a tinge of worry. “Hawkesbury really thinks the child’s life in danger?”
“Yes.”
“Is … is Lavinia’s life in danger?”
Memories surged of another woman for whom childbirth had resulted in death. He thrust them away. “I pray not.”
“Oh dear.” She slumped in her seat. “I wonder … should I tell her father?”
“I believe the earl said he would write to let him know.”
She nodded, clearly abstracted. “I should inform Patience. And Mama …”
“Please avail yourself of whatever writing materials you require.”
“Thank you.” She glanced up at him. “And you do not mind?”
Somehow he knew she did not refer to her use of paper. He managed a small smile. “I am sure Lady Charlotte’s presence will prove to be a great boon to her cousin, and I trust a great boost to her spirits.”
He bowed, exiting the room, calling for a footman to deliver a supply of necessary implements for the marchioness to begin her correspondence.
And tried to ignore his own niggling uncertainties by burying himself in work and exchanging his w
orries for prayers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Hawkesbury House, Lincolnshire
Two days later
WAS IT POSSIBLE a heart could break?
Charlotte swiped away her tears, hoping against hope the dowager countess seated opposite had not noticed. But she rather doubted that; the earl’s mother had a hawkeyed sense about everything that occurred under her son’s roof.
She refocused her attention on the embroidery. Forced a shaking hand to weave the carmine-threaded needle in. Out. In. Out. Repetition calmed her scattering emotions, calming her breathing. In. Out. In. Out.
There was still hope. Nobody had descended to tell them otherwise. The doctor had been called early this morning, his carriage waking Charlotte from anxious slumber. She’d tried blocking the heavy foreboding with desperate prayers and even more desperate promises to God. But would God really be interested in her vow to marry the duke and never think on Lord Markham again, if only He preserved Lavinia’s life and that of her babe?
She peeked again at the dowager, her face like flint, her eyes like blue ice. Not for her any pretense of industry. She sat motionless, as though carved in marble, the only sign of life the faintest flicker of an eyelash whenever a creaking movement came from upstairs.
Pity jostled with apprehension. The woman had barely acknowledged Charlotte’s existence since their arrival two days ago, Charlotte’s attempts to distract the dowager from attending Lavinia falling pitifully short. Fortunately, the earl and doctor had been more successful in barring her from Lavinia’s room, forcing her to rage around the house or sit remorselessly still.
A creak came on the stairs. Charlotte turned, the opened door revealing the doctor passing by.
“Jameson!” The dowager rose. “Jameson, what has happened?”
He did not pause, did not speak.
“Oh, dear God!” The dowager passed a hand over her face. “God could not be so cruel!”
Charlotte shuddered. “We … we do not know yet, my lady. Please do not give up hope.”
She made a dismissive sound, reducing Charlotte and her opinions to dust.
The Captivating Lady Charlotte Page 19
