“Livvie!” Charlotte hurried to her side. “We were not expecting to see you.”
Lavinia gave a wan smile. “I had to welcome our visitors.” As she murmured greetings, Charlotte sent the dowager countess a narrow look. Her chin tilted and she looked away.
“Sit down, Livvie, do,” Charlotte urged. “Before you collapse.”
Lavinia obeyed, turning to Clara as the older ladies resumed their separate conversations. Her eyes, her smile appeared tired as she said, “And how are you, Miss DeLancey?”
“Well, thank you.” There was an awkward silence.
Charlotte eyed the brunette, whose pale cheeks almost rivaled Lavinia’s. Did she still hold a tendre for the earl? How could she be so bold-faced as to appear? Granted, they could not have known what sad circumstances would greet them, but still …
Clara glanced at her mother, before saying in a lowered voice, “I … I am very sorry for your loss.”
The words, uttered in a kind tone, caused her cousin to wince. Lavinia managed to thank her, in a choking voice, before casting Charlotte a pleading look, which prompted her to engage Miss DeLancey in discussion of her trip north from their current abode, near Brighton.
Such innocuous conversation made Clara seem so ordinary, without the malice of her mother, who kept casting pitying looks at Lavinia. Perhaps Clara was a prisoner of circumstances as much as any daughter bound to her parents’—and society’s—will.
Later, when the dowager escorted her guests to their rooms, Lavinia said much the same when her aunts questioned her concerning her fortitude with Clara and her mother.
“I do not think Clara vindictive, even if her mother might be. And even if she is, what better expression of grace than offering mercy to those who cannot appreciate it?”
“But they are using your good nature!”
She shook her head. “They are using God’s good nature. For what is His mercy to us if we cannot extend that same mercy to others?”
“But what of the earl? Do you not worry about him and Clara?”
“Aunt Constance, I know Clara loved Nicholas, but she is only a threat if I allow her to be. I do not doubt my husband’s love. I trust him.”
Charlotte’s eyes blurred. This was what love looked like: quiet confidence in another person, believing the best, looking for good, persevering in trials, trusting.
As Mama and Aunt Patience returned to discussing London, Lavinia turned to her. “Thank you for helping me earlier. I confess I found her sympathy a challenge. You’re very good to me, Charlotte.”
“Oh no.” Charlotte shook her head, only too aware of her many faults, her vanity, her caprice, her resentments. “I’m not good at all.”
“Then let us agree that God is good. He proves His goodness to me in so many ways.”
“How can you say that, Livvie, when He took away your child?” She pressed a hand to her mouth, as Lavinia’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean …”
Lavinia shook her head. “I … struggle, but I still believe that our Lord is good and … somehow works all things together for our good.”
Charlotte studied the floor. She needed to remember her cousin’s example. She needed to remember that God loved her and His plans were for her good, also.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ANY STRAIN CAUSED by unwanted visitors was resolved by the earl’s declaration that he and Lavinia would remove to Gloucestershire the following day. His mother looked shocked, Lady Winpoole disappointed, but Charlotte thought she detected more than a mite of relief in Clara’s demeanor. The earl had said Charlotte was welcome to join them, but because she suspected this was mere kindness on his part and that they would prefer to be by themselves at this time, she refused, much to her own mother’s relief. “Good, for now we can return to Hartwell.”
“But Mama,” she said when they were alone, “have we not already outstayed our welcome?”
“Believe me, child, the duke is anxious for your return.”
Anxious? She suspected it was her mother who was anxious for their return, but she did not comment, leaving Mama to write to Father and Henry in London, informing them of their new plans.
The next day saw a flurry of departures: the earl and Lavinia, Charlotte and Mama, Aunt Patience. It seemed that even Lady Winpoole was determined to travel farther north, not wishing to outstay the welcome offered by the dowager as originally announced.
The trip back to Hartwell passed without incident and was filled with Mama’s warnings about Charlotte’s conduct and what she must do to secure the duke’s affections. “For I cannot like the fact you’ve been parted so many days. Although”—she brightened—“absence might encourage his affection. One can only hope.”
Charlotte stared out the window. Had absence warmed the duke’s heart? Even if she had secured his affections, would his affections remain secured? Hadn’t he despised his wife?
“Charlotte, I do wish you’d stop frowning. No man likes to see a lady with a scowl permanently etched between her brows.”
Charlotte chewed her bottom lip as they passed through the tiny village of Hartwell. Farm laborers near stone houses eyed them as the carriage passed. How would they feel if they knew the potential next duchess was passing by? Had they respected the previous duchess? Would they—could they—respect her?
“Mama—” She glanced at where Ellen sat, apparently asleep, and lowered her voice. “Why did the duke forsake his wife?”
Mama shook her head, causing a tiny feather to escape her coiffure. “It was all a silly misunderstanding.”
“Was it? I just do not understand how a man who seems so gentle could be accused of such wickedness.”
“His was not the wicked act, my dear.”
“You mean his wife—?”
“Played the harlot. Now, there’s no need to look at me like that, Charlotte. It’s a well-known fact that woman could bat her eyelashes at any man and have him come running.”
“I don’t understand. Why would the duke wish to marry a woman like that?”
Mama shrugged. “She was utterly beautiful. He is a man. What more needs to be said?”
But Charlotte knew that while others might commend her looks, nobody would ever accuse her of being this season’s beauty. Is that why the duke seemed to prefer her? She would not be a threat and run away?
Her emotions were in a turmoil by the time they returned. Their arrival caused no small manner of surprise; it seemed Mama’s note had arrived but an hour earlier, and their rooms were still being prepared. The duke’s sister and her husband were still in residence, though on a visit to Northampton today; the duke himself was out inspecting a road, so the butler informed them.
Mama’s look of distaste seemed to suggest she considered a road beneath the duke’s attentions. “Then we shall wait.”
“Very good, my lady,” Travers said before withdrawing.
As they settled down to wait, Charlotte couldn’t help but wonder what their host would think of their return, and whether their unlooked-for arrival would be greeted with more irritation than gratification.
Afternoon shadows stretched across the newly repaired road. A hush of breeze shivered through the branches of the nearby oaks and birch. William studied the road, then looked back at his foreman. “That should hold sufficiently, do you not agree, Wilkins?”
“Aye, sir,” the foreman agreed, with a decided nod.
William noted the nod and wondered if it were perhaps just a little too determined. Did Wilkins have doubts, after all? “You know, if there is any concern I would prefer to be told sooner rather than later.” He eyed the foreman carefully.
“No doubts, Your Grace. It’s all as it should be.”
“If you are quite certain?” Again the nod. “Then please continue. I would not have Mr. McAdam’s project hindered any longer.”
“Of course, sir.” The foreman turned to shout orders to his team, a hefty-looking crew whose necks seemed wider than his thigh.
No doubt any of these men would be more than capable of causing a great deal of damage to someone of his size.
He shook his head at himself. He was becoming fanatically mistrustful! How ludicrous to think his life might be in danger, simply because of a few odd occurrences. He really needed a firmer grasp on reality.
With a word of farewell, he turned Neptune back to the Abbey. A short ride, nothing more than a mile and a half, through the woods that formed this part of the Forest of Salcey, and he would be home.
Home.
Hartwell Abbey might be his primary dwelling, but surely a home was made of more than bricks and mortar. The Abbey felt too big these days, too cold, too lonely, even if Cressinda still insisted on inflicting him with her company.
Neptune jumped over a log, forcing him to catch his breath. He should probably pay closer attention, but his horse knew the trail, could probably ride it in pitch darkness, and really, he’d far rather muse on the young lady whose presence was never far from his mind, no matter how many miles lay between them.
Would Charlotte return? The days had seemed too long without her, his endeavors pointless. What did road repair matter when his heart felt sadly undone?
His sister’s presence had not made matters easier, her oft-vocalized doubts about Charlotte’s aptitude for the role of duchess fueling unease about his decisions. After all, his first bride had proved a grievous mistake. How could he be sure he would not make the same mistake again? Would Charlotte cope? He gritted his teeth. Of course the daughter of a marquess would cope. Would she stay? That was the real issue.
Heavenly Father, help me find strength and grace in You. Help Charlotte see—
Something whizzed cool air past his cheek, arcing into a tree with a bang.
Neptune reared, whinnying in fright, forcing William to dig his knees in and cling desperately to the reins, before the stallion took off at a fast gallop through the trees. Above, branches clung together, resisting light, while limbs and twigs variously slapped and clawed his cheeks. The stallion’s hooves thundered, echoing the pulse racing in his ears.
The stallion continued frantically, as if being chased by a lurking monster. William glanced over his shoulder, but no figure appeared.
Suddenly there was another ping of branches. With a terrified neigh, Neptune plunged from the bridle path into the undergrowth.
“Whoa!” William tried in vain to wheel the horse around, but Neptune plunged on recklessly.
Blood rushed wildly through his ears as he sought to order his thoughts. The lack of an echoing ricochet suggested it was not a gunshot, as he’d first imagined, but a rock striking a tree that had so startled Neptune. But to what end? To instill fear—or something more sinister?
He peered over his shoulder again. Through the bouncing leaves he could see no one. But would they try again? Would they succeed?
He nudged the horse’s flanks with his knees, urging Neptune onward, praying his hooves would not stumble on the uneven ground. Finally, the stallion resumed the path, and it wasn’t long before they cleared the trees. Weight dropped away. Soon he would see the Abbey, and whoever was following would be—he hoped—reluctant to trespass any farther. He wheeled the horse around, searching the woods. Nobody would dare encroach the clearing. And whoever was hunting him, would soon be hunted.
He wheeled the horse around and galloped to the stables. “Hie, there!”
Evans appeared, brows raised. “Sir?”
“Get the men. There is someone in our woods who means me harm.”
“What has happened?”
“Follow me.”
William hurried Neptune back, gritting his teeth. He may never have been to war, but he felt like a field marshal now. Within minutes he had seven men with him and had divided them into pairs, readying to search the woods.
“Spread out. I want to know if someone is in our woods.”
“A tramp?”
He shook his head. “A tramp does not throw rocks at a horse rider, not unless he is mad. And if he is, then all the better we flush him out. No, I strongly suspect that whoever did this also bears responsibility for the road destruction and for setting fire to the carriage house.”
The mutters and nods indicated renewed determination, just as he’d thought mention of the carriage house fire might. If he mentioned poor Barrack, a long-popular member of staff, he was sure to have them helping with the search until nightfall.
He pushed into the woods, back to where he’d experienced the first encounter. Neptune resisted, ears flattened, obviously still terrified.
A twig cracked.
Evans gestured for William to stay back. He slid from his horse and crept noiselessly through the thicket. Heavenly Father, protect him, protect us all, help us find who is responsible …
A minute later the head groom reappeared, a sheepish smile on his face. “Nothing, sir, save a stray doe from the deer park.”
William nodded, patting Neptune on the neck. “Frightened by a girl, were you? Never mind.” In a louder voice he said, “Let’s keep looking.”
But two hours later, with no sign of anything, save a small rock that might have been the one that had nearly clipped his ear, William was forced to concede. Still, he warned the men, additional guards would need to be posted.
The Abbey had just emerged into view when Evans coughed. “Begging yer pardon, sir, but I forgot to mention earlier, you have visitors.”
“What visitors?” Not Pamela’s parents again. Hadn’t he told them to write? “My sister has returned?”
“Not your sister, Your Grace.” His groom grinned widely. “The pretty young lady and her mother.”
He blinked. “Lady Featherington and the marchioness?”
“Aye. That be them. Glad I am she is back, too.”
“Yes,” he said, dazed. Why had they returned? His heart hammered. Surely it could only mean something good. He glanced back at his groom. “How long have they been here?”
“Oh, it must be nigh on four hours now.”
“What?” Without waiting to hear apologies, he spurred Neptune to the house. Within minutes he was striding inside, only to be met by a wide-eyed butler.
“Your Grace, I’m terribly sorry, but you have visitors awaiting you in the drawing room. Lady Exeter’s letter arrived this morning while you were out.”
William nodded, eyeing his reflection in the hall mirror as he tried vainly to adjust his appearance into something less startling. At the gasp from the stairs, he saw Jensen rapidly descending.
“Sir! I cannot let you continue a moment longer—”
“You can, and you will. I have guests who need attention.”
“They cannot require attention more than that neckcloth.”
“Nevertheless, I shall attend to them. They have been kept waiting long enough.”
Travers coughed. “I took the liberty of offering a light repast when you did not return for luncheon, Your Grace.”
“Good.” As if the mention of food was prompt enough, his stomach gave a growling protest.
“I shall tell Mrs. Bramford to prepare something for you, sir.”
“And for the grooms. We have been out searching the woods.”
“I had wondered,” Jensen murmured, eyeing his dirty apparel with disfavor.
“It appears the woods hold a rock-wielding man, whose aim is either exceedingly poor, or exceedingly good, depending on whether he intended to wound me or simply cause poor Neptune a fright.”
Both butler and valet gasped. He held up a hand to stem their questions. “I must greet our guests, change these clothes, then quickly eat something.”
“Of course.”
His servants hurried off, leaving a wide-eyed footman to open the door to the drawing room. William strode in, sweet pleasure stealing through him as the golden head lifted to greet him. “Good afternoon, ladies.”
“Duke!” Two sets of rounded eyes met his gaze.
He bowed. “Please forgive my tardiness. I’ve on
ly just returned from riding to learn I have the pleasure of such lovely guests.”
He glanced at Lady Charlotte. Her cheeks were flushed, her gaze lowered, confirming his suspicions as to who had initiated their reappearance.
“Did my note not arrive?”
“This morning, it appears.”
“Oh.” The marchioness sat back in her seat, apparently perturbed. “I did not realize …”
“Merely thought me an inconsiderate host?” He raised a brow. Saw by her flush his hit had gone home. “I may allow myself to be called many things, madam, but an inconsiderate host is not one of them.” He bowed. “Forgive me. I must exchange my riding dress for something more appropriate. I trust you shall be able to amuse yourselves for a few minutes more?”
“Of course, sir.”
With another bow he escaped their speculative looks and raced up the stairs to change.
Jensen was waiting with a hot bath and fresh clothes, and a decidedly inquisitive manner. He answered as best he could but was unable to provide more detail than what he’d already shared.
No, he was not injured. Neither was poor Neptune. No, they had discovered nothing as to the identity of his assailant. Yes, they would be increasing nightly patrols. And no, he had no ideas as to either his unexpected guests’ intentions on staying, or whom he suspected might be behind such an attack.
Nothing he was willing to admit aloud, anyway.
Less than half an hour after he’d last been in the drawing room, he returned, having wolfed down a plate of thickly sliced bread, cheese, and relish whilst scanning the letter the marchioness had written but a day previous.
“Good afternoon, again.”
The marchioness nodded. “I’m pleased to see you dressed a trifle more appropriately.”
“Mama!” her daughter whispered.
His smile grew fixed. “I am sorry if my manner displeased you, madam.”
She seemed to consider how her words had been received, inclining her head. “Oh, what is a little dirt and dust between friends?”
The Captivating Lady Charlotte Page 22
