The Deceptive Earl: Lady Charity Abernathy: A Regency Romance Novel

by Isabella Thorne

  Francesca giggled.

  “What is so funny,” Lavinia demanded.

  “You, a proper married lady,” Francesca said.

  Captain Jack Hartfield and Baron Fawkland had returned to the group with cups of lemonade to go around. “Who is a proper married lady?” the captain asked as he offered a cup to his wife, and the other ladies.

  “Why, Lavinia,” Charity said, thinking that she wanted most of all to be a proper married lady herself. “And of course, Julia, but Julia has ever been proper.”

  Lavinia feigned dismay and slapped Charity with her fan. Charity grinned at her.

  “Yes,” the Baron said, as he touched his wife’s shoulder. “And although it is not quite the fashion to dance with one’s wife, I would like to borrow this married lady for a twirl around the floor.” He caught Julia’s hand and she looked into his face with such unabashed love, that it hurt Charity’s heart. Was it possible for her to find such a true love, or was it already too late for her?

  ~.~

  Chapter Eleven

  It was with a heavy heart that Charity partnered with Mr. Fulton, one of James’s friends. He was a perfect gentleman throughout, and when he escorted her back he bowed politely, but Charity’s eyes were already on the dancers that were lining up for the next set, a quadrille. The rogue, Neville Collington, The Earl of Wentwell, had apparently asked Miss Macrum for a dance. It would have been impolite to refuse, but Charity thought she would have done so, if she had been a dear friend of the woman he had so recently ruined. Flora Muirwood joined Charity; and James and Michael Poppy appeared, most solicitously, with refreshment for the two girls. The ghost a frown passed James’ face as Michael asked Flora to partner him for the dance, and Charity expected James to ask her to dance as well. He did so with an affected pomp that made Charity smile.

  Upon the arm of her friend, James Poppy, Charity allowed herself to be led to the floor. With the Poppy brothers lined opposite, the other positions were soon filled in with nearby dancers. Charity averted her eyes and raised her chin as she saw Lord Wentwell and Miss Macrum join the adjacent set.

  Let them, she thought. At least I shall not have to clasp hands with him for he is not my opposite.

  The music began and Charity allowed James to parade her in the circle alongside his brother and Flora. Whenever they passed Lord Wentwell and his partner, it was polite to give a small nod of acknowledgement, but Charity could not bring herself to smile. Instead, she narrowed her eyes, gave her nod, and moved on as she might if she had never met the man. He seemed surprised, at first, by her ability to ignore him in such a smooth manner. Charity did not care. She would do nothing to encourage any further interactions.

  She focused her attention entirely on her partner, and their friends across the way.

  It was not until the set was nearly complete that she sensed something amiss. The pair, Miss Macrum and Lord Wentwell, had appeared to get on well enough during the dance. The lady had showered her partner with smiles and whispered words. Charity imagined she was passing some secret message from her friend, to Lord Wentwell. However, Lord Wentwell seemed rather put out by the exchange. Instead of encouraging the flirtations, he gave hardly a response and a tic began to jump in his clenched jaw.

  James lay a hand on her arm as the quadrille ended. “Walk with me and take a moment to catch your breath. I have something I would like to ask you.” James murmured.

  Charity glanced briefly back at Lord Wentwell, and then smiled up at James and took his arm as the quadrille ended. She would be glad to be absent when Neville Collington brought Miss Macrum back to the group of women seated on the outskirts of the hall. She did not want to see him.

  Miss Macrum had her claws dug into him for the set, but as soon as it ended, Charity noticed that he did not escort her back to her chaperone. Instead, the strangest thing occurred. Charity caught sight of the lady’s flushed face as Lord Wentwell, turned and left her standing on the dance floor unescorted. He hurried out of the room altogether.

  “What a cad,” she murmured, but James did not deign to answer. He appeared to be deep in thought. Walking together, the two moved away from the others and made their way out of doors towards a large fountain.

  “First Miss Danbury and now her dear friend, Miss Macrum. She must be more careful. The man has no shame. I tell you, I would not have danced with him. I would have cut him direct.”

  “Who?” James asked.

  “The Earl of Wentwell,” she replied. “With such rumors flying, I would not have danced with him at all, Earl or no.”

  “Truly?” James said. He stopped and looked at her.

  “Truly,” Charity replied. “Even you could not dispel the rumors about poor Miss Danbury.”

  “I have heard the rumors, but I am not sure that Miss Danbury is entirely innocent.”

  Charity considered the fact. Innocence or no, Miss Danbury’s intention could not absolve a gentleman from taking what should be left to the sanctity of marriage.

  They walked in silence until they came to a foot bridge. As they started across it, Charity stopped her eyes wide, her body suddenly tense and ready for flight. James glanced at her in surprise, but then he followed her gaze to the center of the bridge where none other than Neville Collington, The Earl of Wentwell stood with his head bowed, leaning on the rail and looking away from them. He seemed lost in thought and shadowed in frustration. If Charity had not seen what had just occurred she might have felt sorry for him and asked what was the matter.

  “Shall we change directions?” Charity asked, looking at the earl.

  James patted Charity’s hand and spoke lowly to her. “He is my friend,” he said. “I think he may have unduly suffered from these ill-advised rumors.”

  Charity looked up at James. The word of a Poppy meant much to her. If James trusted Neville Collington, though she might not agree, she must at least consider his opinion. “So he is not a rake?”

  “Well, perhaps, but he is not one to be afraid of. Believe me; he has no need to force a woman.” James’ face reddened. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I forgot myself; to speak so frankly to a lady.”

  Charity hid her own blush behind her fan. That the Earl had no need to force a woman had never been up for debate. Women seemed to fall to his feet, or wayside more like. No, the Earl might not have forced Miss Danbury, but that does not mean that their encounter was altogether pure. That in itself was a crime in Charity’s book.

  James voice dropped even lower. “He has enough trouble as it is,” he muttered. “Why less than a fortnight ago…” James broke off, patted her hand again and said, “I will not leave your side, but I am eager to speak with him. I want to ask after his brother.”

  As James had not left loose of her hand in the crook of his arm, Charity really had no choice in the matter. Oh she supposed she could have protested and James would have relented, but it seemed silly with her cousin by her side. What harm could a simple conversation cause? They were not, in fact, alone. No scandal could be had for she was upon James’ arm, and not the Earl’s.

  Charity took advantage of the Earl’s distraction and observed him more closely as he looked off of the bridge and into the distance. His handsome face was dark and brooding; his brows drawn together in a frown. She wondered at how different his face looked when he was smiling, as if there were two versions of the person inside of him, the mocking rake and a more serious man.

  James and Charity were nearly a stride from Lord Wentwell when he heard them and abruptly turned to face them.

  “Poppy,” he said greeting James, but his eyes were on her.

  “Hello, Wentwell. I believe you know my cousin, Lady Charity Abernathy.”

  “We have been introduced,” Lord Wentwell confirmed acknowledging her with a nod.

  Charity breathed a sigh of relief that he made no mention of their earlier encounter. Let James think they had made only bare introductions. Charity found her manners and curtseyed prettily, and the earl took her hand
to kiss it and greetings were exchanged.

  She felt the scrutiny of his eyes upon her like a physical touch. Even through the gloves she felt the heat of him. His was voice a deep rumbling baritone that went straight to her heart and pounded in her ears. She felt a strange churning sensation deep in her belly.

  Why now was he so able to influence her? Was it because she had not taken charge from the start. Truly, Charity’s resolve was always stronger when she was fueled with purpose or anger. It was strange that only minutes ago, she had been determined to scold him. She had not felt this breathless abandon. In the moment she had none of that righteous anger, and perhaps the gentleman had the upper hand. That was it, she thought. It could not be that he made her breath or her heart race for reasons other than that she was without control of the situation. Certainly she could never care for the man, and she would not let him get the better of her.

  She bowed her head and tried to make a show of social grace, but by then his attention was already back to James. She felt bereft, and a bit peevish at being so suddenly ignored. She snapped her fan open.

  “James, old chap! It is so good to see you here today. I thought to find Lord Percival Beresford and ask him what the duce happened in London, but I haven’t seen the Beresford brothers. In fact, in all this crush, I have found no one I know. Can you believe it?”

  “Now that is an untruth,” Charity replied without thinking. She fluttered her fan artfully, drawing Wentwell’s eye. No doubt he meant that he saw no other gentlemen, that he knew, but now that she had spoken, she had to continue with discrimination, or look the fool. “You know Miss Macrum, surely,” Charity said. She did not bring to mind their past conversation, but instead referenced the dance just past. “Just now, I saw you dancing with her.”

  He turned those burning green eyes back on her and she fell silent, squirming under his gaze. His voice was rather tight, and she found the deep timbre unsettling now. “I do not believe I know Miss Macrum at all,” he said. “And even if I did, I fear she has grown rather…irksome.”

  “Irksome?” Charity repeated incensed for the lady. How could he deny her when he had so easily ruined her friend? She wanted to chastise him. She wanted to gain the upper hand that he had gained back from her with only a look. “Was it not you who just spurned her on the dance floor? Now you call her irksome? You are unkind, Sir.” She fluttered her fan artfully, waiting for his apology, both for his lie and for his mistreatment of the lady.

  James tightened his grip on her arm. “Charity,” he began, but she just gave him a look and he was still.

  “No, James. It is quite all right,” Lord Wentwell interrupted. “Lady Charity is correct. I spurned her friend, but I think, perhaps, you do not know Miss Macrum as well as you believe.”

  His arrogant, superior, attitude annoyed her, and Charity wanted nothing more than to prove her point. She was after all, not blind, nor was she a liar. Just days ago she had spoken with Lord Wentwell and Miss Macrum in the same conversation. She assumed from his current lie, that lies were his routine practice. What had begun as a bit of flirtation, now was joined in earnest.

  “I know that every rumor has a bit of truth in it. Now you say you do not know Miss Macrum, and I know that is not true.” He was lying plain and simple, and she would not let the lie stand. It went against her grain to do so.

  “I only said I did not know her at all considering…” He broke off clenching his jaw. “Considering,” he repeated.”

  Charity felt him falter and pressed her advantage. “Considering? Considering what?” Charity urged. When Wentwell did not answer at once, she continued, sure in her victory now. He would certainly apologize for his base behavior and perhaps he would do right by the Miss Danbury. The thought gave her a moment’s pause, and for just a second, she could not breathe with the thought, but she pressed on. She did not want the man for herself. She did not. Any man who could treat a lady so would never make a good husband. She took a breath and continued her attack. “Still in as much as leaving a lady on the dance floor is an ill piece…”

  “I left no lady,” Lord Wentwell remarked, interrupting her in a rude fashion.

  Charity fired back. “Leaving one to her own devices when the gentleman is just as much a part of the act as she, is vile beyond what I thought even a rake capable of.”

  Wentwell set his penetrating green eyes upon her and in a moment spoke. “Be plain,” he said tightly, and Charity blushed to speak of it, but she pushed through regardless to her embarrassment. If she could help the poor lady, she must do so, mustn’t she?

  “You know of whom I speak,” she said lowering her voice.

  “Charity,” began James again, but she shook him off with a shrug.

  “All of the Ton saw her in your company. Both Miss Danbury and Miss Macrum and both are covered in rumor.”

  “That is not my doing.”

  “Then whose?” Charity challenged him.

  He turned to her, his jaw still tight, and his green eyes flashing with anger. She had felt the chill in the conversation with him and Macrum, but she had not thought how it would feel to have that cold directed her way. Something inside of her shivered at the biting rejoinder he delivered.

  “Perhaps you should talk to your good friend Miss Macrum,” he said coldly. “She seems to know everything you need to know, and all the Ton believe her like gospel,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Miss Macrum should know what happened to Miss Danbury. Miss Danbury is her friend.”

  “That woman doesn’t know the meaning of the word friendship,” he said. “And I purport that Miss Macrum is not Miss Danbury’s friend, if she ever were, she would certainly be no longer.”

  A frown crinkled Charity’s brow. Did he mean that Miss Macrum wanted a title so badly that she was willing to try her hand at Lord Wentwell even after he ruined her friend Miss Danbury? The thought gave her pause, but even if Miss Macrum was false, that still did not excuse his villainy with Miss Danbury. No. He was simply trying to confuse her to be exonerated of his crime. She would not have it.

  “Still, you further the destruction of a good woman’s name. You are the cause of this rumor. Why will you not put it right?”

  “I am the cause of nothing,” he insisted. “Miss Macrum is a busy body who should mind her own business.”

  Gads, he still stubbornly denied the charge, Charity thought as he continued.

  “Has it occurred to you that Macrum is after a title and does not care who she tramples to get it?”

  She was right then, about Macrum, but that did not excuse the issue with Miss Danbury. “What of Miss Danbury?” she asked directly.

  “What of her?”

  Charity gritted her teeth. The man could not be so dense. He was only being stubborn. Stubborn and obnoxious and arrogant. He deserved to be castigated. She stepped into him, and looked up into his face, trying to find the measure of the man. “You speak harshly of Miss Macrum. I understand you do not like the lady, but what has that to do with Miss Danbury, and the deed done? Miss Macrum has no control over that surely, but you do, and will not speak to it. You are a coward as well as a reprobate.”

  James tried to step forward at her words, but they were toe to toe now. Wentwell’s green eyes darkened in anger. He was so close she could smell his scent, and feel the solidity of him. “Upon Miss Macrum,” he said. “If she had one shred of class in her wretched body, she would not have spoken.”

  “Spoken?” Charity replied. “My discourse is not of speech. My discourse is of the deed and you take no responsibility for you actions? Shame.”

  “Miss Macrum had deeds enough to defend the devil. She and Miss Danbury both. He bit his lip, a tic in his jaw jumped. “As you said earlier it is not only gentlemen who have leave to act, but ladies as well, much to their folly.”

  He would turn her own words on her? She would not allow it. She straightened her shoulders.

  “How dare you plead innocence when this stain has ruined poor M
iss Danbury? You are steeped in the mire sir. Do you lie to save you own honor when you have besmirched that of another? I have nothing more to say to nor to do with you. You are a cad and a reprobate of the lowest order.” She narrowed her eyes and looked upon him like he was some offal that she had stuck to her shoe. “You are so bored, that you must accost innocent ladies for your own amusement.”

  “Accost?” he repeated, and she knew she had over stepped the bounds of polite society but she would not take the words back. He had clenched his jaw and the tic moved in his cheek, but she pressed on.

  “Innocent ladies,” she repeated, gripping her fan tightly between both hands.

  “There are no such creatures,” he spat. “You do not know the difference between lies and truth. You are but one of your sex, filled with guile and falsehood to the brim. You claim honesty, but you would not know an honest word if it bit you like a snake. You would cozy up to Macrum and Danbury like birds of a feather.”

  “Which am I now? Snake or bird?”

  “Viper, if you must know; and ladybird as well for they are one and the same and both as filled with falsehood as the devil himself.”

  Wentwell looked like he might explode. “Miss Macrum should have kept her mouth shut and Miss Danbury should have kept her legs shut, and that is the end of the matter.” He snarled.

  “Wentwell!” James interrupted. “You forget yourself! Go cool down before a new rumor is brewing. Lady Charity with me, but Lady Charity pulled from James. Her temper stoked, she was determined to get the last word.

  “Shame, sir,” Charity shot back.

  “My only shame is that I should have hired a more respectable stable master,” Wentwell spat

  “We will speak at the club,” James said as he practically dragged Charity from Wentwell, who stood gripping the railing as if he would break it in two.