When the heavy boom of cannon reverberated through the air, her mother’s head snapped up. “What was that?”
Charlotte’s voice caught as she replied, “I hope it was a warning shot across the bows of the French ship. I know they wanted to avoid a pitched battle and seize her with all hands alive.”
“Charlotte! Must you talk like a common sailor?”
“Sorry. I must have picked up a few terms from Rafe.”
Mama gave her a hard stare. After a moment, she asked bluntly, “Has he asked to marry you?”
Charlotte was grateful for the darkness and hoped Mama wouldn’t see the guilty flush on her face. She cleared her throat. “Actually, he has. But I haven’t given him an answer.”
Her mama threw up her hands. “Thank heaven he understands the proprieties. I have to assume you’ve been seeing rather more of the man than has been apparent.”
There was no point denying it. Once Mama had hold of a scent, she’d never veer from the trail. Gripping the strap as the carriage rattled over a bump, Charlotte took a moment to steady her nerves, then said sheepishly, “I have.”
“What were you planning to do? Repeat what happened with—”
“Hush!” Charlotte swiftly admonished.
The reverend and Mrs. Daniell, though no gossips, would no doubt be interested to hear what had occurred with Justin, and there was no guarantee that his whole congregation would not hear the tale soon thereafter.
Mama harrumphed. “I’ll say no more on the matter for now. But when we get home…” Her expression was icy, but the fact that her only daughter had been proposed to by an earl should, surely, temper her disapproval.
Assuming Rafe didn’t change his mind in the cold light of day, finally realizing that Charlotte was a completely unsuitable bride.
The shame—and the loss of him—would be unbearable. But she must prepare herself for the worst. He was an intelligent man and must see the awful consequences of a match with the daughter of a criminal.
The carriage lurched over a pothole, and she fell forward, suddenly feeling faint. Smelling salts and sal volatile were produced by Mrs. Daniell, and she was brought ruthlessly out of her faint.
“We’re nearly home, my dear,” Charlotte’s mama said, in a kinder voice than she’d heard her use in a while. “You’re exhausted and overwrought and need your bed. A decent night’s sleep will restore you admirably, and if not, Dr. L. E. Campaign will doubtless have a remedy for it.”
If Charlotte weren’t so tired, she would have gaped at her mama. Since when had she been an advocate of Dr. L. E. Campaign?
Five minutes later, they arrived at the gate of the cottage. Hester and her family called out their farewells from their carriage and continued on through the village as Reverend Daniell pulled his horses to a halt to drop off his passengers.
Immediately, the front door flew open and Flora, still in her evening gown, came hurtling down the path.
“Thank goodness!” she cried. “Oh, Reverend, please don’t go! I’ve caught one of them, and I don’t know what to do. The servants had the night off and I’ve been all alone with this dastardly villain.”
“Caught one of whom?” Charlotte asked as the startled cleric leaped down from the box and tied up his horses. She jumped to the ground without waiting for assistance, while Reverend Daniell hurried toward the house.
My goodness, but paving stones were chilly and rough when one had no shoes on! Charlotte hobbled along in his wake, then stopped in her tracks when she reached the parlor and looked upon Flora’s handiwork in admiration and shock.
Propped awkwardly against one of the parlor chairs, a weaselly-looking man was snoring gently. One eye was red and starting to puff closed, and his clothes and hair were disheveled. Charlotte thought she’d seen him before but couldn’t quite place his mangled face.
After an anxious glance at Mama, Flora hurtled into an explanation. “When Mr. Harris brought me home, he left me at the gate. The front door was ajar. But how could I tell if it was Charlotte or a burglar? Taking a leaf from Charlotte’s book, I entered cautiously, like a spy.”
“You didn’t!” Mama exclaimed.
“I did, and what did I hear but rustling and bumping noises coming from above! My instincts told me this was no neighborhood cat, nor a billowing window curtain. I grabbed the warming pan and quietly stole upstairs. Peeping into Charlotte’s bedroom, I saw yonder fellow rummaging through her tallboy, his back to me.”
“What?” Charlotte asked, alert now. “My dresser?”
“Indeed. I crept forward, raised the warming pan, and— Oh, I do so hate to inflict pain upon a fellow creature. But he must have been evil, mustn’t he, to be rummaging through Charlotte’s drawers like that?”
Charlotte thought the story sounded a bit too glib, but everyone else was too enthralled to notice.
Flora concluded, “I aimed carefully and landed him the hardest blow to the pate that I dared, and the man just collapsed.”
“How courageous of you, Flora,” Mrs. Daniell said. “Well done!”
At that, Aunt Flora looked self-conscious. Was there more to this tale than met the eye? Charlotte would never have expected such violence from her soft-hearted aunt.
“What happened then?” asked Thea, her eyes bright.
“I knew I should tie him up, but I had no rope, and I didn’t want to get too close for fear he’d lay hands on me. So it occurred to me I might keep him unconscious long enough to get help. I fetched a bottle of Dr. Campaign’s sleeping draught, rolled the man over, and poured the entire bottle into him.”
“All of it?” Charlotte was horrified. “You might have poisoned him!”
Aunt Flora gave her a stern look. “Ephraim’s most potent medicines are only sold in very small bottles. There’s no risk of poisoning from any of his nostrums, I assure you.”
Charlotte hid a smile. “Of course not.”
Flora continued, “Soon afterward his breathing changed, so I knew he was asleep. But I couldn’t leave him up in Charlotte’s bedroom, could I? That would have been highly improper. So I took him by the heels and dragged him down here to the parlor.”
“What, all the way down the stairs? By yourself?” Mrs. Daniell asked incredulously.
Flora flushed and looked down at her feet. “Well, yes. But his head bumped about dreadfully. That may have been how he acquired his bruised eye.”
To Charlotte’s surprise, her mama swept forward and embraced Aunt Flora. “My dear, well done!” she enthused. “I never would have thought you had it in you. I’m sure I’d have done exactly the same thing myself.” She turned to Charlotte and smiled. “I feel very proud that we’re such a resourceful family.”
Reverend Daniell asked, “What would you like me to do with this miscreant thief?”
“He’s no ordinary thief, sir,” replied her aunt. “I should tell you—”
Her words were cut off as a loud cry rent the air.
Charlotte swung round in alarm and saw Thea standing transfixed, staring with a look of horror at the open doorway behind them.
Her friend screamed, “It’s the highwayman!”
Chapter Forty-Four
Reverend Daniell pulled his daughter behind him and stepped forward to confront the tall figure. Charlotte scanned the room for something to use as a weapon but kept a tight rein on her fears—they were six against one, so unless the fellow turned a pistol on them, the odds were in their favor.
“What do you want?” demanded the parson, his stocky bulk quivering with indignation. “Shame on you, frightening God-fearing women in their own home at this hour of the night.”
Their unwelcome visitor was breathing heavily. He held no pistol, Charlotte observed, and his sword was still sheathed at his side. Surely, if he wished them harm, he’d be brandishing a weapon?
Just as realization dawned on her, the man removed his hat and yellow hair spilled out. He was still tugging down his mask when she swept forward to embrace him, greatly sur
prising her companions.
“Justin!” she exclaimed, hugging, then releasing him.
“Reverend Jessop’s son?” queried Reverend Daniell. “What in the Lord’s Name are you doing in that outlandish rig, boy? You’ve not turned villain, have you?”
“No, indeed. Forgive me for startling you all. This is but a subterfuge ordered by Lord Beckport—apparently, it’s a disguise he’s oft used himself.” Justin turned to her. “Miss Allston, I’m so pleased to see you free and unharmed.”
It seemed a bit silly now for him to be bowing politely and kissing her hand when she’d just thrown herself at him in so public a manner. Blushing furiously, she released him and stepped back.
“I promise Justin’s no highwayman,” she assured everyone. “We’re quite safe.”
“Absolutely.” He pressed his battered cocked hat to his chest.
She realized then how bedraggled he looked. There was a distinct smell of salt and gunpowder about his clothes. He must have come from the beach.
He’d know how Rafe fared!
Good lord. Was that why he’d come?
She dug her nails into her palms and tried to reassure herself he didn’t have the look of a man with ill tidings.
“Mr. Jessop! You know you’re forbidden my house,” Mama said, glaring at his outlaw disguise with obvious distaste. “How dare you come here, frightening myself and all my neighbors in this ridiculous manner? I should have Reverend Daniell seize you by the collar and throw you into the street.”
“Ma’am, until I know the particulars, I have no wish to lay hands on a colleague’s son,” the clergyman said with infinite politeness.
“Please, Mama, don’t,” Charlotte begged, stepping between her and Justin. “Can’t you see Mr. Jessop’s brimming with news?”
“Lord Beckport’s safe and unharmed, if that’s what you wanted to hear,” Justin said, and she was gratified there was no note of enmity in his voice. “He sent me direct from the beach to tell you the mission’s been successful. We’ve netted five English smugglers, a brace of French spies, their ringleader Culverdale and his henchmen, not to mention a shipload of enemy sailors who’ll be docking at Portsmouth shortly. Have we managed to miss one of the smugglers, perhaps?” he asked, eyeing the collapsed figure on the floor.
“My aunt’s handiwork,” Charlotte said proudly, her heart filled with relief that Rafe was safe.
“I’ll take him with me when I go. Mrs. Allston, could I trouble you for a glass of water? It’s been a very trying few hours.”
The Daniell family made themselves at home while Justin devoured the beef and pickles Flora quickly fetched for him. Having washed these down with a tankard of ale, he regaled everyone with the full story of the ambush by the beach. He assured them all danger from the spies and smugglers was now over. Once the head—meaning Culverdale—was cut from the body, it ceased to function and surrender came quickly.
Comforted by this reassurance, the reverend and his family said their good-byes and made their way home. On her way out the door, Thea gave Charlotte a smile, though her gaze strayed briefly to Justin before departing.
In a very business-like manner, he was tying the remaining traitor securely with a spare sash cord. Charlotte went over and knelt by his side, watching his long, slim fingers secure the knots.
“Did Rafe have to fight much?” she asked. “Was he in any danger? Did he overcome many of the brigands?”
“Much as it pains me to praise my rival, I have to say that, once he returned, Beckport made good account of himself, behaving as any good general should—though perhaps more foolhardy, since he was at the head of his men, not behind them. I, too, acquitted myself quite well, I believe, posing as him while he rescued you. Were it not for present circumstances, I might think twice about quitting the army.”
“It was a brilliant idea, changing places with Rafe,” she remarked, handing Justin another piece of sash cord.
“He feared the men might lose faith if he weren’t there leading them. So, I stepped in.”
She was still impressed that Rafe had given Justin command, after all the rivalry between them. It just proved how noble both men were.
Mama came into the room and said brusquely, “Charlotte! Do get up off the floor. That is not the behavior of a future countess. Must I keep reminding you about etiquette? You never were good at maintaining decorum.”
As she got to her feet, Justin turned his face away and his ears reddened. This was not the way Charlotte would have wished him to learn of Rafe’s proposal.
She shot a scorching frown at her mother, which did no good at all.
Once his work was done, Justin stood up, avoiding her eyes. “Yes, Lord Beckport mentioned you were to marry.”
He did?
Justin pushed at the unconscious smuggler’s body with his toe. “In any case, I must remove this fellow and be on my way.”
Charlotte moved to help him, but he waved her away. He dragged the sleeping smuggler to the front door, ruthlessly ignoring the bumps the hapless fellow had to endure. Once outside, he heaved him onto his waiting mount. Once his captive was settled across the horse’s neck, he lifted himself into the saddle. Wheeling the animal round, he raised a hand in farewell and trotted off into the night without looking back.
Charlotte’s heart was sore in the knowledge that she had hurt him, but maybe one day there’d be a chance to put everything right between them.
Shaken and weary as she was, there was one thing that buoyed her up.
The knowledge that soon she would be in Rafe’s arms again. He would kiss away her fears, and the world would cease to be upside down.
At least, she prayed it would be so.
Chapter Forty-Five
Charlotte spent all of the following day with a knot of anxiety in her stomach. Rafe would surely want to see her, but what was she to say to him? If he repeated his offer of marriage, how would she answer?
She wanted him with a fierce longing that almost consumed her, but her feelings were ruled by her heart, not her head. The seeds of her doubts tormented her with unanswered questions. Was she too tainted by her father’s name to marry an earl? Would he resent her when the ton rejected their match, and take up his rakehell ways, once more? What would become of them if they married, but their love for one another couldn’t withstand Society’s censure?
Both she and Rafe would suffer shame, ignominy, and misery. How could their marriage survive such an onslaught?
When he failed to appear that day, she despaired that he’d already thought better of his proposal and decided not to wed her, after all.
Flora and Mama bustled quietly around the house, trying to keep everything as normal as possible, though they must have seen her suffering. The fact that they had no words of comfort to give made her feel even more dreadful. By the time she retired for the night, she’d begun to hate Rafe for abandoning her to such uncertainty.
The next morning, after a tearful and sleepless night, the sound of carriage wheels in the lane outside had her leaping up from the breakfast table.
She peeped out the window and saw not one, but two grand equipages drawing up beyond the gate.
“We appear to have an august visitor!” exclaimed Mama.
Charlotte’s knees went weak. Suddenly, in spite of her resolve to be brave, she couldn’t face him. What if he no longer wanted to marry her and only came to let her down in person? What if he still did want to wed? Dare she accept?
Oh, this was all too confusing. The thought of running away and hiding was very tempting.
“I assume that’s Beckport’s carriage,” said Aunt Flora. “It certainly has a very grand crest painted on the door.”
“Of course it’s his,” said Mama. “I know the crests of all the noble families. Look at that splendid team of blacks! Whoever runs the earl’s stables has an excellent eye for horseflesh.”
“The second carriage bears no coat-of-arms, and is far less ostentatious. Though still very tasteful
, I grant you,” said Aunt Flora, peering past the curtains.
Charlotte shrank back still further. How could she possibly live up to such splendor? Although she’d pinched some color into her cheeks this morning, and arranged her curls attractively on the off-chance he might come, she wasn’t too confident of the results.
“He’s coming to the door!” squeaked Flora. “Oh my, doesn’t he look handsome? I’ve never seen him so neat and tidy before.”
Charlotte almost jumped out of her skin when the door knocker sounded. No one moved. Both her mother and aunt were staring expectantly at her.
“Well, go on,” Mama said in a stage whisper. “Aren’t you going to let him in? Flora and I will just be in the kitchen clearing away the breakfast things.”
Before Charlotte could protest, they both vanished.
Gathering her courage, she made her way to the hallway and arranged her features in an expression of polite detachment.
She hoped.
And opened the door.
Rafe had just stepped back to look up at her window. He wasn’t thinking about climbing the trellis again, was he? She smiled impishly at the memory.
When he saw her, he faltered, and stood stock still, gazing at her.
She gazed back into his warm brown eyes, and her heart did a somersault.
Here was Rafe Pomeroy, Earl of Beckport, as she’d never seen him before. Dressed in a cobalt blue coat that fitted his muscular figure to perfection and a pair of Hessians so finely polished they looked like bronze, he was every inch the powerful English aristocrat. A glistening white neck cloth adorned his throat, his fingers toyed with a silver-topped cane, and a gold-rimmed quizzing glass hung against his tightly-clad thigh.
As she continued to gaze in mute admiration at this splendid specimen of nobility, he stepped forward, bowed gallantly to her, and took her by the hand.
His touch was electric. Even through his gloves, she could feel the intensity of it, like a charge that had been building up in a cloud.
She dipped a curtsy, rose, and gazed her fill.
How long she stood there gaping at him in admiration, she had no idea, but when he looked past her into the hallway beyond, she suddenly remembered there were other interested parties in the house.
A Perilous Passion Page 26
