The elder woman gaped at her son and Lady Charity, but finally nodded, waving absently for Charity to take a seat near her, but Charity hovered uncertainly near the doorway of the parlor, until the woman fair shouted at her.
“Sit girl” and Charity sat perched uncomfortably on the edge of a chair. The woman then turned pleading eyes to her son.
“It is bad this time, Neville. Do be careful. I have called for the doctor as well, and Danvers tried to get some laudanum into him, but it only spilled on the floor.”
Lord Wentwell nodded as a loud crash rang out from some far corner of house. He gave the women a short bow and rushed from the room.
Charity sat in uncomfortable silence. She commented on the weather, but received little response. She ventured to ask questions about the large home, but was ignored. About this time, one of the servants entered with tea, but Lady Wentwell ignored it. Charity knew it was not her purview to pour. She felt terribly ill at ease. She then tried to venture a question about Lord Wentwell, at which point his mother put her needlework down and looked at Charity with piercing green eyes. Charity couldn’t help but notice they were the same extraordinary green as her son’s.
“I have no interest in getting to know you, young lady. I know your mother and that is enough, Although you have grand aspirations for my son, I will have none of it.”
“Grand aspirations,” Charity repeated. “I am an earl’s daughter.”
The woman looked at her askance, and Charity felt a blush coming to her cheeks. She did not know why. Charity sat back in her chair and stared at the older woman. Well, it looked like both she and Lord Wentwell where going to have to deal with their mothers.
“He has asked to call upon me,” Charity said loftily and I have given him my permission.”
“Your permission?” the lady said.
“Only after due consideration of course. He is a rogue and a shameless flirt.” finished Charity.
“But he is an earl and rich,” the Dowager countered..
“And I am an earl’s daughter and wealthy as well, such does not speak to one’s character.”
“How dare you come in here on the arm of my son and then insult him?”
“Inviting rumor seems to be your son’s pastime, not mine.”
“So you are free of rumor?” the dowager asked. “Except for the Lovell name,” she added.
“The Abernathy name is as revered as the Collington name,” Charity retorted and then clamped her mouth shut wondering if she had said too much. Lord Wentwell’s mother had a barely bated grin that seemed determined to cross her face, despite her best efforts. She seemed pleased with Charity’s response, as if she had yet to meet a lady with a bit of spunk to her. Charity did not wish to argue with his mother, even if it seemed to raise her in the elder’s esteem. Instead, she lapsed into silence, and after several minutes Lady Wentwell returned to her needlework. The tea sat cooling in its pot.
In the silence, the women heard crashes and muffled yells from somewhere in the house, causing both to lean forward in their chairs. Then there was silence. Charity counted the seconds and Lady Wentwell looked as if she could sit still no longer. There was a muffled sound and then a loud crash which seemed to make the entire house shake. The lady jumped to her feet with amazing alacrity, for one of her age, exited the room, following the sounds.
Lady Charity followed the Countess to the room where the two brothers were locked in a struggle. Danvers tried ineffectively to pull Edmund off of Lord Wentwell while Edmund screamed something about fire.
Charity noted that Edmund had the same tensed jaw as his brother, when he was upset. Edmund’s nostrils were flared and his eyes wild, his dark hair mused. Charity caught her breath. Already a bruise was appearing on Neville’s cheek and his brother seemed not to recognize him or by his coarse language, the fact that there were ladies in the room.
“Edmund!” The Countess spoke with authority, but Charity had eyes only for Lord Wentwell, who looked to be having the short end of the fight, with the combination of his brother’s size and the fact that Neville did not want to hit his brother. It was obvious that Neville was trying to hold him still, while calling his name, over and over again, but the plan did not seem to be working, and Danvers seemed to be of little help.
“Oh!” Charity called rushing to the brothers’ side. She was not sure how she could help, but she only knew she must. She had no idea what she did, but Edmund’s eyes seemed to clear a bit as she spoke.
“Please, sir, be still. It is alright. You are home.”
He spoke to her in a hash smattering of French, “Sortez l'enfant! Avant que les soldats viennent.”
She realized that he was telling her to get the child out while he held off the soldiers. What was he thinking? What child? She wondered, but instead of saying her thoughts, she remembered how she humored her father to keep him calm. She only said. “We are safe. We all are safe. Look around you. You are safe here with your family.”
Edmund did look around and had a moment of confusion, but he stopped struggling against his brother’s hold as he took in the furnishings of his own house. The tension went out of his body.
“Let him go, Neville,” his mother said and Neville did so. Danvers also stepped back.
Edmund rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry,” Edmund said, sinking to the floor. “I’m so sorry. I did it again, didn’t I?”
“It’s okay, brother,” Neville said laying a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay.”
“No. It’s not. You should lock me up before I hurt someone. I hit you again, didn’t I, Neville?”
“You didn’t know what you were doing.”
The Countess came forward and lay a hand on her younger son’s shoulder. Charity felt supremely out of place in the family moment. “How did she bring you back to us?” the Countess asked with a shrewd eye. “Think Edmund. Tell us what happened. Something Lady Charity did made a difference. It turned you around.”
“Lady Charity,” Edmund said with a groan, as if he just realized she was there. “I cannot. It is too awful for feminine ears.”
“What did you do?” the Countess asked Lady Charity.
Charity shook her head. She wanted to help, but she did not know what she did. “I do not know,” she said. “I was doing nothing, but what Lord Wentwell was doing. Asking him to be still. That is all.”
“No. What happened, Edmund?” Lady Wentwell asked. “Think. She touched you, and…” his mother began, but Edmund shook his head.
“No. She didn’t touch me, Mother. Praise God, or I might have hit her too. I was back there in the fire and pain and the smell of death, blood and gunpowder, but then, I smelled lavender. Lavender.” He looked up a light in his eyes. “It was her perfume. It was the lavender. It was such a shocking scent. It did not belong in war, and for just a moment, there was woman beside me and she could not be where I was, and then I could see the room again, the furnishings and I knew what I had done.” He covered his face with his hands.
“You should rest, Edmund,” his mother said. “Danvers? Have the physician see him in his room.”
“Right away, milady,” Danvers said.
“Yes,” Edmund agreed standing and he let Danvers lead him away.
“It always takes so much out of him,” Lord Wentwell commented as he rubbed a hand over his face.
A red mark marred his cheek and Charity wondered if he would soon have a black eye. Charity took a step towards him with the intention of touching him, and then realized how improper that would be. She didn’t want to give his mother any more reason to think she was improper. She froze within steps of going to his aid.
“If you would give me a moment,” Lord Wentwell said, gesturing to his uncharacteristic disheveled appearance. “I am truly sorry to have gotten you involved in our family drama, Lady Charity. I must ask you to please not share what you saw with anyone. There is enough fodder for the gossips. As far as anyone else knows, my brother is simply ill from recent tr
avels.”
Charity nodded. “I would not break your trust. I shan’t tell a soul, but I’m afraid the eminent bruise on your face may speak for itself regardless.”
Lord Wentwell inspected himself in the glass at the far side of the parlor. “Hmmm… Yes. It is rather worse than I first thought. I shall have darkened my daylights.” He turned and flashed her a grin. Even with his battered features, Charity still thought him exceedingly handsome, and she could not help smiling back. “I shall think of something,” he said. “Perhaps I got into a match of fisticuffs over a pretty lady. The Ton will love that sort of story.”
Charity heard his mother groan in frustration at his storytelling. It was clear that she disapproved of his ploy, for whatever reason, to be known as the most uncouth gentleman of the land.
“I do apologize,” he repeated in all sincerity. “Might I play host and invite you to join my mother and I for dinner? As it is, your date for tea is well past fashionably late.”
“Oh!” Charity squeaked with the thought. “Amelia and Patience! They shall be frantic, wondering where I am,” Charity said.
“Oh they know,” Lord Wentwell said. “Or at least they know that you were in my company. Who do you think sent me to escort you?”
“Oh,” Charity said again a blush filling her face at the implications.
“I imagine they will make our excuses, separately of course,” Lord Wentwell said. “They are our friends.”
Charity blushed all the more. “But they will still be frantic,” Charity said softly, but for a different reason entirely, she thought. “I should send a note with my regrets.”
“Do you think that will help?” Lord Wentwell asked eyebrow raised.
“Not a bit.” She bit her lip. “Perhaps it would be best if you would take me home.”
Lord Wentwell nodded. “As you wish.”
As Charity gathered her reticule, she realized that she had vials of the mineral water as well as lavender water with her. She had decided on the day after her father’s near disastrous excursion that she would not be without some recourse again. She paused and dug through the contents to find the correct bottle, and hesitated but a moment. If she did this she would be tacitly agreeing that her father was not well. She turned to Lady Wentwell who had been chaperoning them with quiet competence.
“I know that this is a most unusual gift, a half filled bottle,” she said holding up the vial, “But the lavender water seems to calm my father, and help him to sleep. If it will help your son, and Lord Wentwell’s brother, I should like to gift it to you.”
Lady Wentwell raised an eyebrow. “I have misjudged you, Lady Charity, and I am sorry you are not staying for dinner so that we might become better acquainted. You are not the lady I thought you to be,” she said taking the vial from Charity’s hand. “I shall send my regards to The Lord and Lady Shalace,” she said loftily. “Perhaps dinner shall have to wait for another time. I hope that your parents will accompany you on your next trip.”
Lady Charity gave the woman a curtsey, all the while thinking how would she manage to get her mother to read Lady Wentwell’s missive much less accept an invitation to Lady Wentwell’s home.
~.~
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ten minutes later, Lady Charity was seated in the carriage with Lord Wentwell once more.
“Do you mind if we go the long way and take a drive past the garden? I always find the ride soothing,” he said. “I could use a moment of calm.”
Charity nodded her consent, and Lord Wentwell directed the driver the route to take. Her own head was reeling with today’s events. Still, she thought it could not matter much if she was any later, she was already quite beyond excuse, but having seen a much deeper side to man she had previously discounted, curiosity got the best of her.
“Might I ask a personal question, Lord Wentwell?”
He nodded sagely.
“You have painted yourself as a flirt and a rogue. I have seen with my own eyes how you have bounced from one maiden to another leaving rather horrible rumors in your wake…” she paused and stared into his deep green eyes, “and yet, you have never been ungentlemanly with me, and tonight… The depth of your commitment to your family… I admit I am puzzled.”
~.~
Neville said nothing for a few minutes, but he realized that he had already trusted Lady Charity with the biggest secret of his family.
“You will think me a fool, I fear.” he started, she frowned, but he continued. “I am not so flippant as the picture I present. I love my home. I care for the people of my estate. I thought someday I would marry to further the line, but I was in no rush. I see no reason to hurry fate.” He thought of the disastrous Miss Katherine Dubois, but Lady Charity was nothing like her. He could trust the lady with his heart.
“I see,” said Lady Charity, although the situation begged more explanation.
“So I decided to do whatever I could to push the young ladies away. If I could make myself disgusting enough in character, even my money, my title, my appearance should discourage matchmaking and the like. I assumed that the dowagers would warn their charges against me, and I would be free.”
Lady Charity burst out laughing, and then covered her mouth embarrassed by the unladylike loudness of it.
“What, pray tell, is so funny?”
“You thought the ladies would actually listen to their mothers and their chaperones?”
“Why yes. Of course, I thought so. It is in the nature of women to obey…their fathers….their mothers…their husbands.” His own grin quirked as he thought of the irascible Lady Charity. “I believe I may have misjudged women kind in general.”
“Verily,” Lady Charity agreed, still giggling. “Silly man.”
“What is so silly about not wanting to be leg shackled to one… you do not love?” Lord Wentwell asked. He bit his lip. It was too soon to be speaking of love. He planned to be at least forty before he even considered the idea, but the idea was there, blooming in his heart.
“Nothing,” Lady Charity said sobering. “Nothing at all. I hope for the same for myself.” She looked at him through her lashes, and he thought, he could love this woman. Perhaps he did love this woman. She was so unlike Kathrine or even Danbury.
“I do believe the rumors got quite out of hand,” he said. The specter of Miss Macrum’s lies sat there between them, but neither acknowledged her part in the scandal. She did not matter. She could not matter.
~.~
Charity watched a myriad of emotions track across Lord Wentwell’s face. He looked out of the window for a moment and then back at her, as he spoke. “I have never heard so many untruths strung together. It became quite alarming actually,” he said.
“Untruths?” Charity asked. “All of them were untruths?” Her heart beat fast as she thought of Miss Danbury, and Lady Amelia’s succinct sum up of the situation. If he were a gentleman, and the lady had his affections then he would be lost to you.
He quirked an eyebrow. “Pray, of which did you wish to inquire?”
She felt her face burn as she plowed on undaunted, “I mean….Miss Danbury? The word is, she is ruined.” Her voice dropped to whisper. Her heart beat fast. Would it change? Would the world change for her if he had a bastard child? Her heart climbed to her throat. She hoped that she had it in her to forgive him, but Julia’s words flashed through her mind. Once a rake, always a rake. She twisted the fan in her lap. A man who did such, was not a gentleman. She breathed, and stilled her roiling thoughts. She laid the fan purposely aside, and just listened. She knew that what happened before their meeting was beside the point. There was only this moment. And then he answered her.
“And Miss Danbury might well be,” he said matter-of-factly. “But not by me.”
Relief flooded her. She looked up into his green eyes then, and believed him. The atmosphere of the carriage became quite serious, and Charity felt a bit lost. What did one talk about after such a conversation?
Every judgement
that she had ever made about the man had been thrust out the carriage window. It had all been a ploy, a ploy to protect his own heart because, deep inside of him, he was nothing like the image he portrayed. He was, she now realized, the best and most faithful of gentlemen.
“I heard tell that you were once to be married,” she murmured.
He stiffened.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She knew immediately that her curiosity had taken the conversation too far. She should not have spoken, but she did want to know. She wanted to know everything about this enigmatic man, but perhaps wringing all the secrets from him in one night was not the best strategy.
“Bloody Reg and his sister,” Lord Wentwell muttered low enough that she might pretend she did not hear the coarse language, but she found that she liked the sudden heated passion. He was not so cold a creature as he pretended to be. She remembered that he had once said the male was a creature of cool and calculating logic and a woman a creature of emotion. She had proved that assumption wrong, in a horribly hurtful way, but she had proved it so nonetheless. Still, he clung to the idea, and she understood why.
“It was Lady Amelia who told me, of your past engagement. But yes, she most likely heard the tale from Lord Barton’s sister,” Charity revealed. “I believe she made an attempt to excuse your behavior, that I might look beneath the guise and see more.”
“Yes,” Neville said, “Reg will do such things. In fact, I see evidence of Reginald’s fingers all over this.”
“You are not cross with him?”
“Not at all,” he smiled. “Not if it is preventing you from being set against me.”
“Here I am,” she replied in a breathless whisper.
“Yes,” Lord Wentwell seemed similarly affected in his ability to breathe. “I suppose it is best you hear the truth from me, than from rumor,” he said. “The lady that I was to marry was named Miss Katherine Dubois, he continued. “She was young, beautiful, and all too skilled at convincing me of her love.”
The Deceptive Earl: Lady Charity Abernathy: A Regency Romance Novel Page 21
