Noble Destiny

by Katie MacAlister

  “As I do not have at hand a dictionary, I shall be forced to rely upon my own interpretation of the English language; in this case, the word unspecified is commonly given to mean…” The glare Dare turned on him caused the smart retort to wither on Batsfoam’s lips. He cleared his throat and respectfully dropped his gaze to the boots in his hands. “She did not say.”

  Dare’s nostrils flared for a moment as if he smelled something foul. Then he snatched up his hat and stormed out of the bedchamber. “I see I’m going to have to inform my wife of a few definitions of my own—marriage, loyalty, and help being three of them. Have Jupiter brought around immediately, Batsfoam. Send one of the footman for him, it will be faster.”

  Dare waited in the library, his riding crop beating out a tattoo on his leg as he tried to conceive of what would send Charlotte to Weston’s servants. Ultimately, the realization that no matter how long he was married to her, he’d never understand the way her mind worked calmed him enough that he didn’t take out his temper on Batsfoam when he announced that the horse was waiting.

  Weston lived in a fashionable part of town, something Dare had never given a thought to until he rode the distance from his own modest leased abode in a rather overcrowded section of town to the wide streets and cream-marbled splendor of Britton House. He was suddenly uncomfortably aware of the differences between the circumstances of Charlotte’s life before marrying him and the present. Regret flashed through him with the realization of how much she had given up, but it was easily pushed aside when he reminded himself that she loved him, not his title or money. That Charlotte had fallen in love with him despite living in a modest house with few servants and none of the trappings she was used to simply proved the depth of her feelings for him. He might not be able to worship her with riches, he thought grimly to himself, but he certainly could with his mind and body. Not to mention his help with whatever problems she found herself burdened with.

  Such moody reflections ended in steely determination as he dismounted before the entrance to the large house. He tossed the reins to the footman who accompanied Charlotte’s carriage in the role as coachman.

  “Tie him to the back of the carriage.”

  “Sir?” Jackson’s eyes opened wide as Dare started up the steps to the front door.

  “I’ll be back in a minute. With my wife. Stay here.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Lady Charlotte?” Dare asked grimly to the slight, golden-haired footman who opened the door.

  The footman looked surprised. “No, I’m Charles. Lady Charlotte is a female.”

  Dare took a deep breath and unlocked his clenched fingers. “I’m looking for my wife, Lady Charlotte. Is she here?”

  “Yes, sir.” The footman blinked at him, a pleasant, but slightly vacuous, expression on his face.

  Dare fought to keep from rolling his eyes. Or throttling the man. Either action had its attraction. “Might I see her? Today? Now?”

  Enlightenment dawned. “Oh! You want to see her. If you will come this way…”

  Dare strode past the man into the oak-paneled hallway and summarily ignored the footman when he held open a door to what was obviously a small sitting room used by guests awaiting attention by the family. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, put his hands on his hips, and threw back his head to bellow, “CHARLOTTE!”

  The noise echoed most effectively around the long hall, up the stairs, and through the length of the second floor. The footman danced around him as his keen ears picked up the sound of a door on the floor above opening. He stomped up the stairs, ignoring Charles’s suggestion that he wait in the sitting room. “Charlotte? I know you’re here. You cannot hide from me!”

  “Why would I wish to hide from you?” his wife asked as he reached the top of the stairs. “Alasdair, what are you doing he—oof!”

  Dare knew his wife well enough to recognize the stubborn set of her chin. That chin decided him in an instant. He would forgo explanations and get right to the point.

  “I am collecting you,” he said as he scooped her up and over his shoulder, turning carefully and starting back down the stairs to where his carriage waited. “There’s no sense in arguing, woman, you are coming with me. Save your tears and tantrums, my mind is made up. You are coming with me.”

  “So I have gathered, Alasdair.” Dare’s mood lightened. She didn’t sound upset or hysterical. Still, with Charlotte, you never knew. Better safe than sorry.

  “Since I am forbidden tears and tantrums, would you tolerate a simple question?”

  Dare stopped at the bottom of the stairs and allowed his wife to regain her feet, although he kept a firm hand on her arm lest she suddenly try to break away. “Perhaps, if it’s pertinent to this situation.”

  “How very generous of you,” she replied, but he had to admit she didn’t look at all grateful. If the thinned line of her lips and the fire in her eye were anything to go by, he judged he was about to be on the receiving end of her temper. “Might I then inquire what the devil you think you’re—oh, Crouch, there you are. Would you please fetch my reticule and memorandum book?—doing here, and why have you suddenly been taken with the desire to sling me about as if I were a sack of—” Charlotte waved her hands around to express her inability to finish the simile.

  “Flour?” Dare asked at the same time that Charles the footman helpfully offered, “Bulldogs?”

  Charlotte transferred her glare to the hapless man for a moment before returning it to Dare. He glared right back at her. “The question, madam, is what are you doing here?”

  “I needed to speak with Crouch about something.” Dare’s lip curled in a snarl at her mention of the butler’s name. She ignored his lip and continued. “Since you seem to have an abrasion to him, I thought it best to meet him here rather than at home.”

  “I have an aversion to him, wife—”

  “Whatever you wish to call it,” Charlotte interrupted, waving her hands again until Dare captured both of them in his. “It’s a silly thing.”

  “It is not silly, the blasted thug kidnapped me.”

  “That was years ago!”

  “He knocked me unconscious.” Dare still had a scar on the back of his head where Crouch had used a lead pipe to immobilize him.

  “Five years ago.” Charlotte’s hands twitched in his. He tightened his grasp on her fingers. “That’s a very long time to be holding a grudge against Crouch.”

  “The coward had two men hold me down while he beat me on the head.”

  “Crouch is not a coward, Dare.”

  “Thank you, m’lady,” a deep voice said behind him. Dare turned and narrowed his eyes at Weston’s brute of a butler as the man marched down the stairs, a dainty bead-encrusted reticule dangling from his hook. “’As it ’appens, I needed the two other blokes to keep ’is nibs ’ere from killin’ me. ’Eard enough about ye to know I’d be carryin’ my ’ead ’ome in a basket if I’d tackled ye by my lonesome.”

  “I’m not quite certain—I never am with Crouch; the way he mangles the King’s tongue is utterly atoastious—but I do believe he’s praising you,” Charlotte whispered in Dare’s ear. He was distracted for a moment by the sweet sensation of her breath teasing his suddenly sensitive ear, but he quickly reminded himself he was outraged and angry, and outraged and angry husbands did not kiss their wives silly in the presence of their rival’s servants, especially ones who made it a practice to kidnap him.

  “Regardless, I would remind you that I have good reason to demand you not continue your acquaintance with Crouch or any other of Weston’s servants. You have an entire house full of servants. If you need serving, ask them.”

  “We are economizing,” Charlotte protested as Dare hustled her toward the door. She pulled one hand free long enough to snatch the reticule from Crouch’s hook as they passed him. “I cannot ask our servants to take time from their employment to te
nd to my…er…little project.”

  Dare stopped and frowned down at her. He’d completely forgotten to ask her what was so important she had to seek the help of a roughneck like Crouch. Where had his wits gone? One glance into her lovely blue eyes was the answer—he was so besotted with her, he’d couldn’t think logically when she was near him. “What exactly is the nature of your little project?”

  “Oh.” Charlotte considered him for a moment, then flashed her dimples at him. “I think it’s best if you don’t know. You’re bound to not like it, and as I have engaged Crouch’s help, I’m sure that I will have no further need for assistance, so truly, it is best if you were to simply forget about it.”

  He counted to ten, still felt like yelling, so repeated the process three more times before he managed to get out, “Statements like that are not the least bit likely to generate disinterest on my part. I insist you tell me what your project is and how Crouch is to help you.”

  Charlotte patted his arm and turned toward the door. “I’m trying to be a good wife to you—I’m only thinking of your happiness, Dare. The plan would upset you, so you must trust me that on this, ignorance is better. Thus, I shall keep you in ignorance, and all will be well.”

  “Wife—” he warned through gritted teeth, but it did no good. Nothing much did with Charlotte.

  “My lips are silent on the subject, husband. You may take red-hot tongs to me, but I shan’t divulge even the smallest morsel of information, and it’s no good looking at Crouch in that manner, for his lips are just as silent as mine.”

  Dare handed his wife up into the carriage. He looked back at the pirate butler, who stood with his arms crossed over his chest, one hip leaning against the door frame. “Do I assume that my wife speaks correctly on your behalf?”

  “Aye, sir. I’ve given ’er m’word.”

  “I see. In that case, just as soon as I have seen my lady home, I will return to…discuss…the matter with you in greater detail.”

  If Dare didn’t know better, he’d swear a look of amusement flashed in the butler’s eyes. “I ’ad a feelin’ ye would be, sir. I’ll ’ave the cook lay in a supply of ice.”

  Dare nodded and climbed into the coach after Charlotte. Life suddenly looked very good. He gave his wife a small smile, amused by the worried looks she was casting over at him as he cracked his knuckles and flexed his fingers. For once he was grateful for her stubborn streak; rather than forcing him to press her until she told him what she was up to, he would find out the same information from Crouch—with the added satisfaction of settling the score between them. His smile deepened into a grin as she started to wring her hands.

  This revenge was going to be sweet, very sweet indeed.

  ***

  “I appreciate the fact that you wish to attend the opera tonight, husband, but how are we to explain that?” Charlotte pointed, standing at what she considered a safe distance from where Dare lounged on the chaise in his bedchamber.

  Her husband removed the thick piece of beefsteak from his face and flexed his jaw, grimacing in pain with the slight movement. “I don’t see that we have to explain anything. It’s no one’s concern what I do with my face.”

  Men! As if no one would notice the swelling on his jaw. “People will want to know, nonetheless. I just hope Crouch is all right. I have need of him tomorrow—you did say you left him with nothing broken? Even so, I hope you didn’t injure him so greatly that he is unable to attend to my project.”

  Dare had the audacity to look peeved. “You might at least pretend you are concerned about me. He did manage to get in one blow before I knocked him off his feet. And as for this mysterious project—”

  “Nonsense,” she said, bending over to examine his jaw. She gently felt around the swelling, then stood back to consider the overall effect. Perhaps if she were to put a little rice powder on the wound, its redness and accompanying swelling wouldn’t be quite so noticeable. “I had no fear that you were in any danger with regards to Crouch. Not only are you an earl, but I have seen you unclothed. It’s quite obvious it would take more than one man to render harm to you.”

  Dare looked pleased by her words, although heaven knew she hadn’t meant them as a compliment. Would she ever understand how men’s minds worked? She shook her head in silent answer to her own question. Men were far too illogical to even begin to reason with.

  “Your project, Charlotte?”

  She sighed. Illogical, and with minds that held tight to only one thought. “Are we back to that?”

  “We are.”

  “Then we shan’t make the opera because you will be too busy demanding that I tell you about my plan, and I shall be too busy detailing the many good reasons I have to not worry you. Shall I tell Batsfoam to have the carriage sent back?”

  “No, you will tell me what it is you have planned. Then we will go to the opera.”

  Charlotte sighed again and sat next to him, discarding her gloves and fan. They would not be going to the opera. “Very well, we shall have it your way. We will stay here and argue the evening away when we might be having a perfectly lovely time at the opera. As for what you said, Dare, I would have thought that by now you had learned enough about me to know that when I intend to do my wifely duty and keep life’s many little unpleasantnesses from you, nothing short of Judgment Day will keep me from the righteous and selfless path of marital devotion.”

  Dare rolled his eyes, discarding the beefsteak as he stood up and handed Charlotte back her gloves and fan. “Come along, selfless and devoted one. You can tell me what it is that you are planning on the way to the opera.”

  They argued all the way to the opera (or, as Charlotte noted to herself, he argued, and she merely remained steadfast in her determination to save him untold mental anguish), they argued on the steps of the opera, they argued their way into Dare’s box, and they argued right through the first two acts of the opera itself, albeit in hushed tones so as not to disturb anyone else. Charlotte had to give her husband credit. He had tried every means possible to extract the information from her, everything from threats of dire, but unspecified, acts that Charlotte knew he couldn’t possibly carry out against her, to pleas begging her to just set his mind at ease so he could concentrate on the pleasure to be found at the opera. Since only a week earlier Charlotte had heard him express in terms not for the faint-of-heart just what he thought of opera in general, she dismissed his pitiful plea as insincere, and warmed herself with the knowledge that she was doing the right thing by putting the need to keep his mental state calm and untroubled against her own desire for recognition of her unselfish acts.

  Intermission arrived at last and with it came the end of Dare’s patience. Charlotte was frankly surprised it had lasted as long as it had.

  “Since you insist on refusing to answer a simple question when I ask it, I will assume you desire my absence. As I am behind in the adjustments to the steam valve on my engine, I will take this opportunity to satisfy your wish to be rid of me.”

  Indecision warred within her. If he left her by herself at the opera, not only would everyone see that they’d had an argument, but she would also be forced to face that which she’d been successfully keeping at bay all evening—the fact that no one, not one single person, had called upon them in their box. They were being cut, and if Dare didn’t care to recognize that fact, she would be forced by his absence to acknowledge it. Should she give in and tell him what he wanted to know, soothing his ruffled feathers and keeping him by her side so she could pretend they were on their honeymoon and did not wish to be disturbed by anyone, or should she selflessly put his well-being ahead of hers? She was tempted by the former since he did not seem to appreciate the sacrifices she was making on his behalf. It certainly was hard being noble when Dare didn’t seem to realize he was being protected.

  It was the last thought that decided her. He needed her, if for no other reason than to pr
otect his reputation in Society. Since Fate had been so good as to give her what she’d wanted—to be vitally important to her husband—she would fulfill her destiny and serve him as best she could. On his behalf she’d tackle the ton head on and not concede failure until there was no breath left in her body.

  She lifted her chin and met her husband’s furious gaze with tranquillity and serenity. “Very well. If you would prefer to work on your engine for the rest of the evening, then go home. Caro and Lord Beverly are here—I shall sit with them for the remainder of the opera.”

  Dare looked surprised for a moment that she had called his bluff, then bowed stiffly and held out his arm. He was very angry at her, that she knew, so she didn’t try to jolly him out of it with dimples and sultry looks from under her lashes. Instead she allowed him to deliver her to Caro’s box, giving the Beverlys only the briefest of pleasantries before curtly nodding to her and leaving. Dare might be angry now, she told herself as she settled herself in a gold and ebony chair next to Caro’s, but she was confident that one day he would appreciate just how much she had sacrificed on his behalf.

  “Lord Car…your husband seems very angry this evening,” Caro whispered over her fan as Algernon greeted a new arrival to their box. “Is it because you both are being cut?”

  Charlotte shrugged and looked out over the edge of the box to the floor where the dandies and ladies of dubious reputation milled about. “To tell you the truth, I doubt if he’s noticed it. No, that’s not fair. Alasdair is a very astute man; I’m sure he noticed that no one had so much as bowed our way—he just doesn’t care.”

  Caroline raised her eyebrows in scandalized semaphore. “He doesn’t care? What people think of him? He doesn’t care?”