Small minds, the lot of them, she decided. Just because nothing had been announced yet – and even though Francis could not be found – that did not mean an announcement would not be forthcoming. It simply hadn’t been made yet.
Determined not to be like the other catty women or the dragon matrons, Charlotte cut a path through the crowd, directly to the other woman’s side. “Miss Worth. How lovely to see you this evening. It is quite a crush, is it not?” Charlotte pasted on her best Town manners and hoped for the best.
“Er, um, yes.” Miss Worth flushed a bright pink. “I am afraid that I am not at all accustomed to such events. I find this all a bit overwhelming.” She bit her lip worriedly for a brief moment, though to her credit she did not twist her hands, showing some degree of polish and poise. “Mama prefers smaller, more intimate events.”
“Smaller events can be lovely,” Charlotte agreed quickly, “but I do find that balls such as this one give me a bit of a thrill. Terrible of me, I know, but there you have it.”
“Yes. Of course.” Miss Worth looked as if she was ready to run screaming from the ballroom. “Just the thing. As you say.”
This conversation was not going at all how Charlotte had anticipated. “Is something amiss, Miss Worth?” Given that the conversation could not sink much lower, there was no reason not to ask the young lady what was wrong.
The younger woman clutched her fan seemingly for all it was worth. “Forgive me, my lady, but it is just that I cannot understand why you are speaking to me in the first place. I mean, you are, well, you, and I am simply the backward country girl who injured the debonair Lord Snowly with a pall mall mallet. Much to my everlasting shame, I should add.”
Charlotte patted Miss Worth’s arm in what she hoped was a comforting fashion. “As if I have not attracted my own degree of scandal today. It is nothing, really. More to the point, despite the pall mall incident, you seem like a lovely young woman,” she replied. “I could also very much use a friend. The truth is, I am afraid that I do not know many people here. I was invited at the last moment and other than Lady Priscilla, this is not my usual set of friends.”
“Oh.” Miss Worth looked around the ballroom again quizzically as if she still couldn’t believe Charlotte was speaking with her. “Well, I am afraid that I cannot be of much help, for I do not know many people either. Mama doesn’t allow me to mingle much with the ‘country folk’ as she calls them.”
Charlotte just bet she didn’t. “Yes, well, I am really only looking for one person.”
“Lord Underhill?” The other woman offered a bit timidly. “He was here not too long ago. I believe he left through the terrace doors.” She pointed at the far door on the opposite side of the ballroom. “Through there. He was limping, though he seemed in a bit of a rush.”
A rush to leave her, Charlotte wondered, or a rush to leave this party entirely? Possibly. But no. She could not do this again. Her mind was being unfair. She could not and should not put thoughts into Francis’ head nor words in his mouth. She had done that too often as of late. They needed to speak and then she would know his mind. However, she was tired of waiting.
“Thank you, Miss Worth.” Charlotte gave her what she hoped was a serene smile, for she had been in sore lack of those as of late. “I really must run off to find him. We need to speak about something rather important.”
“Before the announcement. Of course.” Whatever this announcement was, Miss Worth knew more about it than Charlotte did. “I shan’t keep you.”
Anxious now, Charlotte was about to head off in the same direction Francis had taken but she paused, knowing that she could do one more worthwhile thing this evening. “Miss Worth? You say that you live in London most of the year?”
“A good deal of the year, yes.” She blushed again. “My great uncle, Viscount Marshfield, has his country seat in Northumberland, so Mama and I venture there for the Christmastide season. Otherwise, we are in London at our town home.”
“Then I shall call upon you there when we both return to Town, Miss Worth. Would that suit?” Charlotte was hardly turning into a crusader of any sort, but she did like Miss Worth and she was aware that the young woman who had injured Noah might need a friend once she returned to Town, especially once word got out – if it hadn’t already – regarding the unfortunate incident.
The woman bobbed up and down so fast she looked like a jack in the box. “Yes, Lady Charlotte. I would enjoy that very much.”
Charlotte squeezed her hand again. “Please. It is just Charlotte. And I look forward to seeing you back in Town.” Then with a final word of farewell, she left Miss Worth and set off through the ballroom after Francis.
Except that when she reached the terrace, Charlotte saw no sign of Francis. Only a folded piece of paper and an empty champagne glass. Opening the paper, Charlotte read the words, her lips becoming set in a hard line.
So that was how it was to be then? Fine. She knew exactly what she had to do.
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Nineteen
Looking around the so-called “love nest,” Francis had to admit that when Phin agreed to assist with a plan, he threw himself into the mission wholeheartedly. That afternoon when Francis had approached the duke about being granted time alone with Charlotte – preferably away from the manor house – to sort things out between them, there was a part of him that assumed that the duke might refuse. Except that when Francis had mentioned to Phin that Charlotte seemed to be hiding from him and that nothing could be resolved until they spoke, the duke had seemingly come alive.
Together with Cilla, the siblings had hatched a plan to place both Francis and Charlotte back at the love nest that night so that they might hash things out and come to a resolution. For Cilla had confirmed that Charlotte was hiding – despite her brave words to the contrary earlier – and that it was unlikely she would emerge from hiding until the ball began.
Cilla had also pointed out that if Charlotte remained in the manor house, there were too many possible escape routes she might take if she felt cornered, and she had confirmed that Charlotte was feeling a bit cornered, not to mention a little confused, just then. Francis had suggested the conservatory as a possible meeting spot, but Phin had dismissed that location as being just as escapable, not to mention full of sharp implements if Charlotte didn’t like what Francis had to say.
Francis rather doubted that Charlotte was the sort to come after him with a gardening implement, but then, one never knew.
When Cilla had suggested the love nest, Francis had balked. After all, a night there had, in some ways, created more problems than it had solved. Phin, however, had declared it the perfect spot and had summoned a veritable army of servants to make certain the place was cleaned and prepared for use that night.
Francis had objected, pointing out that he and Charlotte would be alone again – the very thing that had placed them in this predicament in the first place and something that the duke should not approve of in the least. To which Phin had countered that particular horse had already left the proverbial barn, so there was little use worrying over the situation now. Which implied that the duke knew exactly what had gone on between Francis and Charlotte that night – as if he hadn’t been able to figure it out from the first anyway. The man might be cold, but he was also rather clever.
So now here Francis was, tucked away in the same cottage he had spent the previous night, waiting for Charlotte to arrive. For Phin had assured Francis she would arrive, even if the duke had to carry her there himself. Again, such measures seemed a bit extreme to Francis, but then the duke, like Candlewood, seemed to tend to the extreme in a good number of things.
The cottage was also far more hospitable now than it had been last evening. The entire place had been cleaned from top to bottom, the small larder restocked so that neither guest would go hungry for the evening, fires burned cheerfully in every grate, and branches of candles were strewn about everywhere.
Francis wasn’t certain why Phin
had done any of this or had even come up with this plan in the first place. After all, if things went as Francis hoped, he meant to bed Charlotte again. The duke had to know that.
The only reason Francis could come up with was that the duke was, deep inside, a bit of a romantic with a soft heart. The man had lost his first wife, a woman he was rumored to have loved very deeply. He was raising his son essentially on his own, though nannies and governesses were doing much of the work now, including spiriting the lad away to the dowager house for the duration of the house party, insisting that it was a game so the lad was not influenced or distressed by anything he might see or hear his father doing. The duke, Francis reasoned, had been hurt to his very marrow by the death of his wife and was likely still hurting. Perhaps he did not wish for Francis to hurt as he did.
Whatever the reason, Francis had the love nest at his disposal for the evening, with a vow to make things right between him and Charlotte. All he had to do was wait for her to arrive.
Thankfully, he did not have to wait very long.
When he heard the clatter of carriage wheels on the dirt path outside, he had to restrain himself from rushing to the window. Instead, he forced himself to sit in one of the wing chairs that faced the door and wait for her to enter. It would not do if he rushed to the door. He would appear far too eager. Though he was eager. However, she didn’t need to know that yet.
“Francis?” Charlotte called as she opened the door. “Are you here?”
“Come in, Charlotte,” he replied softly, “and secure the door behind you if you would, please.”
She seemed momentarily confused by his request but did as he asked, closing the door and then latching it securely. Then she took a step further into the cottage and into a pool of light cast by one branch of candles. She almost quite literally took his breath away.
She was glorious in her blue silk gown, the diamonds in her hair and around her throat glittering in the flickering light. Her creamy bare shoulders were enough to tempt him to the most wicked of fantasies, and he had dreams of sliding his tongue along the smooth column of her throat. Unsurprisingly, he went instantly hard.
“I was not certain you would come, pet,” Francis continued, fighting the urge to rise and simply sweep her into his arms and into the waiting bedchamber. “You’ve been avoiding me all day.”
Charlotte licked her lips and once more, Francis simply wished to pounce on her, but he managed to restrain himself. “I had my reasons.”
“Because you had no wish to tell me about the nefarious plans cooked up by your father, the Duke of Springford and Snowly?” This time, Francis did rise, though he took small, slow steps toward her as moving was a bit painful just then, given how his cock was restricted by his trousers.
“You know?” Her voice was breathy. “But how?”
“I have my ways.” Francis was not about to reveal the source of his information just yet.
Fullbridge.” There was accusation in her eyes.
He shrugged lazily. “Gentlemen do talk nearly as much as ladies. Especially over a fine glass of scotch.”
This time it was Charlotte who stepped toward him. He could tell she was afraid but she was also trying so very hard to be brave at the same time. “Does that change anything?”
“Were you going to accept Snowly offer, pet?” Francis asked even though he already knew the answer.
This time, she bit her lip in hesitation. “At one point? Yes. Maybe. Perhaps. But no longer.”
“What changed?” He had to know the answer. From her lips and not Fullbridge’s.
“I did.” Another step forward, so close that her delectable breasts were almost pressed against his chest. He had never damned fabric quite so much as he did just then. “I realized that I could not go through with something so vile.”
Francis raised an eyebrow. Dare he hope that this would be easier than he thought, that he would not have to seduce her into choosing him over Snowly? Of course, Fullbridge had hinted at as much, but Francis had difficulty believing him. “And?”
Charlotte was quiet so Francis pressed her again. “And was there a specific reason why you could not debase yourself in that manner? Other than it is a completely wretched thing to do?”
Her brown eyes were bright now. “It was because I…” She faltered, drew in a deep breath and tried again. “Because I…” Once more, she fell silent before completing her thought.
Francis reached out and pulled Charlotte to him, pressing his body tightly against hers. “Is it perhaps because you care for me?” he asked softly as he began to nibble at her neck. He was a man, after all, and not above using such tactics to wring an admission from her. “Maybe even love me as much as I love you?”
As he had expected, Charlotte gasped at his words even as she offered him more of her creamy skin as he kissed his way across her shoulder. “You love me?”
“I do and I have from the first,” he confessed, tracing the bare line of her shoulder with his tongue. “I always believed you knew.”
Charlotte sighed with delight as he cupped her breast. “I hoped. But I was never certain.”
“I should have told you,” Francis admitted as he pulled back before he allowed himself to become too lost in her, for he had his own secrets to confess. “I wanted to, Charlotte, but your father, my situation? It was all so very complicated.”
As she reached for him again, he could see she was distressed when he gripped her hand tightly in his before she could touch him. “I do not see why.”
“Because of my past.” Confessing to Charlotte was more difficult than Francis had imagined.
“I don’t care about your past. You know that.” This time when she reached for him, he did not stop her. “And if there is some scandal waiting to come to light? We shall weather it. Together.”
Francis drew in a deep breath. “What if I am already wed to another?”
This time, Charlotte did gasp and pull away as he had imagined she would. Her actions hurt far more than he had expected them to. “Are you? Already married, that is?” It was clear from her wary but not completely surprised expression that she had imagined something like this as well.
“I don’t know.” Francis was ashamed that after all this time, he still had no answers. “Among the papers retrieved from Cross Hill, there is a mention of a Violet Denton, but no mention of who she is, nor even a hint of how she fits into my life. And, as of yet, no one, not even Nick’s men, has been able to locate her. So I’ve no idea if she is my wife, my sister or someone else entirely. The only person I can say for certain she is not is my adoptive mother.”
Now that the words were out, Francis felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted from his chest. He was still afraid of Charlotte’s continued reaction, but at least she knew. No more secrets.
For a long moment, Charlotte was silent, seemingly absorbing the news. “Was there any sign of a child?” she finally asked far more calmly than he had expected. “Or perhaps a hint that a younger lady had been in residence there?” When Francis stared at her blankly, she sighed again, this time in exasperation. “New lace strewn about? Refreshed draperies? New china or reupholstered chairs? Spots on the wall where old paintings had been removed and new ones added?
“Ah, not that I am aware,” Francis admitted, “but as you know, I’ve not made the journey to Cross Hill yet. Though Harry assures me everything looks as if it has been undisturbed for the better part of a decade.” He was, of course, referring to famed Bow Street Runner, Mr. Harry Greer, who also happened to be in the employ of the Bloody Duke, not to mention one of Francis’ good friends as of late.
“Then Violet Denton, whoever she is, cannot be your wife.” Charlotte made the pronouncement as if she had the definitive word on the subject, shocking Francis.
In fact, he was all but incredulous. “How can you be so certain when Nicholas’ best men cannot be.”
Charlotte shrugged, a sly smile twisting her lips. “Because I am a woman and I know female be
havior. A sister, aunt or other relation would have put her stamp on your house within the first week of becoming your wife. We know that you were not wed when your adoptive parents passed away six years ago, correct?”
“Correct.” There was still much of Francis’ past that was unknown, but the couple who had either purchased him or, more likely, unwittingly adopted him from Mrs. Poppy Green all of those years ago, had passed away only six years ago, according to the local parish registry.
“And Harry says the house has been unchanged in décor for over a decade or more, yes?”
Charlotte was toying with him now and Francis rather wished she would come to the point. “Yes, though I don’t see what any of that has to do with anything.”
“Follow my logic.” Her eyes twinkled. “The house is unchanged for well over ten years. Your adoptive parents died six years ago. Therefore, if you had wed, you and your bride would have resided there at Cross Hill. We both agree that a new bride would have changed the house to suit her tastes, and yet that was not done. While I do not generally trust men to know about current styles, I do think Mr. Greer an exception to that rule. It is his business to notice these things, after all.”
Francis narrowed his eyes. “Go on.” This was becoming far more complicated than he had imagined.
“You vanished from Cornwall about five years ago. This wife, if she ever existed? Even if she despaired of you ever coming home to her, I’ve also no doubt that she would have remained at Cross Hill, living a life of luxury in her grand, new home with an army of servants to see to her every need, for she was obviously a country miss of some sort, given that she was not known in Town.” Charlotte laughed lightly. “Believe me, Francis, a woman from that station in life would hardly abandon such luxury, nor the title of viscountess.”
“So you are saying she is most likely my sister?” After all of this time worrying, it seemed to him that Charlotte had used simple, feminine logic to deduce what he and nearly twenty of the Bloody Duke’s best men had been unable to.
A Lady to Desire Page 23
