“I say, Charlotte does look well this evening,” Hector said appreciatively.
And Hector was right; Charlotte looked truly beautiful. She was wearing a very well-fitting gown in a shade of blue that was so dark it reminded him of the midnight sky.
It suited her pale complexion very well, and he could see her chestnut hair, thick and expertly twisted up at the back of her head, gleaming under the light of the chandeliers.
The long white gloves which finished just above the elbow were immaculate, and the skin of her upper arms exposed between them and the short, puffed sleeves of her gown, looked soft and delicious.
“And since you seem to have lost the power of speech, my poor dear boy, I am bound to tell you that her father is deep in conversation with Lord Morley seemingly. So, perhaps you will get your chance of some quiet conversation with her if you make haste.”
Hector was staring at him, his eyebrows raised. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get over there. Leave me to it; I shall be perfectly alright. In fact, if I see Lucas Cunningham breaking away from Lord Morley, I shall see to it that he has the perfect distraction in me.”
“You really are a dear friend, Hector,” James said, and it was the most sensible and serious comment that had passed between the two of them in years.
Before he was halfway to her, James could see that Charlotte had already spied him and was staring intently. There was that little lift in her smile, that beautifully sardonic tilt, and he felt his longing for her grow with every step.
“I see you are in cahoots with my cousin,” was her greeting, and she smiled broadly.
James was certain that she had cast an eye over his appearance appreciatively, and he found he rather enjoyed it. He was glad that his valet was an attentive man, even if he had not been so himself that evening.
“In cahoots?” James said with amusing innocence.
“Yes, I could see you both looking over here in your little conversation. No doubt Hector is to intervene if my father finds himself suddenly in want of a conversational partner.” It was not a question but a statement, something which she clearly knew for a fact.
“I cannot tell if you are pleased or displeased by my little plans.”
“No, I cannot tell either, so that makes two of us.” She laughed lightly, and he closed his eyes for a moment to enjoy the beautiful melody of it.
“Tell me, do you think you will always play with me as a cat plays with a mouse, Charlotte?”
“I am not so cruel as a cat, James. I just like to amuse myself on occasion. I daresay I have been very carelessly brought up.”
“And I find myself very glad of that. It is my opinion that your father did a very fine job.”
“I shall pass on your kind words.”
“Indeed, but would you mind awfully passing them on later? I would not like to waste a minute since I do not know how many we shall get alone this evening.”
“Quite so,” she said, and he was pleased to see that she did not look as upended as she had done when he had previously attempted to show her just a little taste of the passion that was raging within him.
She did not look cornered as she had done first time. No doubt she had mastered her emotions in that regard; she had evolved. But he would have expected nothing less of Charlotte Cunningham, a woman as bold and as clever as she did not quiver for long.
“I wonder if you would care for a little fresh air? It is a little stifling in here this evening, is it not?” he said hopefully, wondering if there really would be a chance for them to slip away from everybody’s gaze for just a few minutes.
“It is perfectly cool and comfortable in here, James,” she said with an amused smile. “But yes, a little fresh air would be nice,” she added, and there was something in her eyes that told him most exactly that she understood his meaning, his need to be alone with her for just a while. “But perhaps I should go first, so as not to incite comment.”
“Very well,” he said, feeling suddenly excited and unable to find anything more than that to say.
He watched as she left, quietly picking her way through the crowd without drawing a moment’s attention to herself. He noted that she turned right as she left the ballroom, away from the main entrance.
Concerned that he might not discover the place from which she made her exit, given that he had never been to the home of Lord Morley before, he quickly, and as unobtrusively as possible, made his way out of the ballroom also.
She had disappeared from sight, and he was forced to try three doors before he entered a room where he felt a cool evening breeze.
He squinted into the darkness and could see that the French windows had been left ajar. He hurried through and peered out, his heart pounding a little harder as he spied her standing in the corner of the terrace in the moonlight.
He made his way out, pulling the door up behind him, and hurried across the terrace to join her.
As she turned to face him, he was suddenly incapable of any thought at all. He could think of nothing to say, no amusing little conversation to start between them. All he knew was that he wanted to reach for her, to touch the soft skin of her upper arm and pull her to him.
In the end, he did just that. Without a word, he gently laid his hands on her arms and was transported to realize that they were even softer in the flesh than he had imagined. She looked back at him with the faintest of smiles on her face, showing no sign of the fear that he was sure he had seen in her father’s drawing room just weeks before.
Could it be true that she wanted him as he wanted her? Unable to speak and unable to wait another moment, he moved forward, drawing her slightly towards him as he did so, and kissed her gently on the lips.
It was a single kiss; it was over in no time at all, and it had been wonderful. Although she did not speak, Charlotte had not pulled away from him. She was looking into his eyes in the moonlight as he was looking into hers, and he knew he had not misjudged her feelings for him.
Once again, he kissed her, and this time she responded in a way that made him want to lose himself entirely, forget where he was altogether.
When the kiss was over, Charlotte drew back just a little. But it was not to repel him, he knew.
“And now I must go back inside,” she said, her voice low and smooth. “Before anybody realizes I am gone.”
“I will give it some minutes before I return,” he said hoarsely.
She smiled at him before turning to leave, and he knew that they had truly reached a further understanding in their relationship.
This time, the journey was a little longer than it had been to Thurlow Manor, and they quickly found themselves on the edge of a great estate which Charles Holt knew must be that of the Earl of Morley.
Charles made the driver continue past the entrance of the estate and draw in a little way down the road and out of sight. There was no way he could possibly drive right into the place for a better look, even though more than one carriage had turned down the great driveway.
“So, an evening at a fine ball for him to enjoy!” Charles said to himself through clenched teeth.
Once again, he was swayed by his envy, and it took him a moment or two to overcome it for long enough to think what he should do next.
In the end, he decided he would have to approach on foot and under cover of darkness. Whilst the driveway through the Morley estate was well lit with torches for most of its length, it was also flanked by woodland on both sides, perfect camouflage for the irritated and hungry attorney.
It had occurred to him to send his driver out instead, but he knew that if there was anything to be seen, he must see it with his own eyes. Of course, tonight’s event being a ball, it was unlikely that he would see very much at all.
However dark it was, Charles knew that he could not simply make his way right up to the building and peer in through the windows. He would be bound to be spotted by a member of the household staff, and if some commotion came about, James Harrington himself might even se
e and recognize him.
No, he did not think he could expect much of the same success he had already achieved, but he was there to do a job, and he would do it.
He waited in the carriage for another half an hour until there appeared a break in the constant stream of arriving guests. It was getting late, and no doubt the event itself was well underway.
As Charles picked his way through the woodland, his path lit by only the moon and the pale light coming from the torches on the driveway, he quietly cursed his master. Charles had certain ideas of himself and grubbing about through woodland in the dark did not fit with them at all.
However much he might have wanted to upend James Harrington, he did not want to do so at the cost of his self-esteem. To Charles, his self-esteem was all.
But, by the time he had made his way through the woods, reaching their edge, he cheered up again. He had made it through without falling over or otherwise disarranging himself, and he had certainly picked the right side of the drive to sneak through, for it afforded him a very fine view of the hall and, more importantly, the brightly lit windows of what he now could see was a ballroom.
The windows of the hall were very grand indeed, being tall, narrow, and arched. He could see the guests inside perambulating, secretly studying one another, and occasionally dancing.
It was always the way with the upper classes, they could not attend an event for the sake of it; there was always a statement to be made, an advantage to be taken, and it struck Charles that they studied each other like two dogs preparing to fight, each of them weighing up the opposition.
As good as his view was, he could see no sign of the Duke’s son. After a further twenty minutes and adding a little cold now to his extreme hunger, Charles began to grow frustrated once more. He had been about to give up and make his way back through the woods when a little movement at the side of the hall caught his eye.
He continued west through the woods, sticking to the edge, heading away from the ballroom. He squinted in the moonlight and suddenly made out, quite clearly, a young woman coming out through the French windows and walking to the corner of a little terrace.
Although he could not see her face clearly, he could see enough of her to know that she was rather a well-made young lady. She wore a dark gown and very white long gloves that suited her perfectly, and he thought he quite liked the look of her.
But just minutes into his silent study of her, another figure came out through the French windows, gently closing them behind him. The man was tall and broad and instantly recognizable as Lord James Harrington.
All of Charles’ senses were suddenly heightened, and he strained to listen in case any conversation they had between them might make its way to his ears. When he heard nothing, he began to feel a little disappointed, until he realized that they were not speaking at all. They were simply looking at each other, staring right at one another, and Charles was certain that his success was about to be complete.
James walked up to the young woman and reached for her, holding her upper arms and staring at her wordlessly. And the young woman, for her part, did not seem at all dismayed by his brazen behaviour.
And so it was, with his breath held tightly in his chest, that Charles Holt witnessed the son of the Duke of Sandford kissing the unknown woman.
It had been so brief that Charles could have forgiven himself for thinking that he might have imagined it. But after a moment in which the two young people stood staring at one another once again, James Harrington pulled the lady closer to him and kissed her again, this time for a little longer.
When the two of them finally separated, the young lady spoke but, as predicted, Charles could not make out what she was saying. She made her way back into the hall, leaving James standing outside on the terrace alone.
Where Charles had once thought the young lady very pleasing indeed, her appreciation of James Harrington had instantly turned him against her.
She was no longer pleasing, not to Charles. He thought her altogether too confident in herself. He was sure he could see it in her walk, the way she held herself upright as she glided in through the French windows.
Of course, had she not allowed Lord Harrington to kiss her, had she not been so very clearly moved by the young man, Charles Holt would not have seen any of the things he imagined he saw.
But Charles Holt was not going to waste any time on reflection. He would simply find out who she was and report back to his master.
He waited in the woods a little longer, staring at James and feeling very, very pleased with himself. James, who had watched his young lady depart, still stared vaguely at the door as if in hopes that she would return.
The young man ran both hands through his thick, dark hair and seemed to blow out a great puff of air into the moonlit night. Oh yes, James Harrington certainly had a secret. Not only that, but there was something in his demeanour, his movements, which told Charles most exactly that he was in love with that young lady.
As Charles turned to make his way back through the woods, it was in very much better humour this time than when he had entered it. One way or another, James Harrington’s world was about to change, and not for the better.
Chapter 13
When the Duke came to James in the drawing room where he had been taking some tea and reading a book, he looked up with surprise.
His father really only went into the drawing room if he had a guest or was entertaining a group of guests before dinner, and James could certainly never remember a time when his father had come in for afternoon tea.
“Forgive me; I had only asked for one cup and saucer, Father,” James said, trying to be polite but heartily hoping that his father would not choose to join him.
“No, no matter, my dear boy,” he said brightly and smiled at him in a way that was not exactly warm, but certainly not very far from it.
Once again, James was assailed with the feeling that he ought not to trust this new calm and seeming understanding between them. It had never existed before, at least not for long at any rate, and it all felt rather foreign to him.
Beneath the strangeness, James could not help wondering how life might be if he and his father really did begin to get along with one another. It had certainly been a very welcome, if somewhat radical, departure to have spent the last weeks at Sandford Hall without his father growing red-faced and bellowing over some minor matter or other. And he had not once lost his patience, at least not ostensibly, with James at all.
Perhaps this was the wind of change. Perhaps there was a tide turning between them, and they might finally come to get along better as father and son.
“If you are sure,” James said again a little uncertainly.
“Quite sure, James. It is not long until dinner, and I shall take some sherry beforehand, so I shall survive.” He laughed lightly, and James really did begin to feel unsettled.
His father did not make small talk, nor did he laugh in genuine amusement. The Duke of Sandford only ever laughed when he was presiding over some victory or other in life, generally something that was not at all amusing.
“I have been out with the overseer this morning, Father,” James said, doing his best to strike up some conversation although, in truth, he hardly knew where to begin.
He and his father had behaved a certain way for so long that it was a hard habit to break. James knew that ordinarily, had his father come into the drawing room in such circumstances, he would undoubtedly have found something clever and amusing to say, something a little sarcastic that would have seen the old Duke grumbling and complaining, his blue eyes staring fiercely, and his complexion reddening further still.
“Indeed?” his father said with a look of genuine interest. “Anything to report?”
“No, just a quick inspection of the tenant farms, and everything was in order.”
“Good, very good.”
“And there is nothing outstanding particularly to be dealt with until next week. We have a clear few days, Father.”
James laughed although it felt tight and unnatural.
The fact of the matter was that he was about to announce his departure for Hanover Hall once again, something that was becoming harder and harder to do without looking guilty.
“Good, very good,” his father said again. “Because I have much arranged for us for the next few days, and it would be nice to have a clear run at it.”
“Much arranged?” James said and could hear his own disappointment very clearly.
His father had headed him off at the pass, and before he had even a chance to express a wish to head east again, James had been entirely thwarted.
“Yes, you and I are expected for dinner at Paynton Hall tomorrow evening. The Earl has asked us to dine with him and the countess and, of course, Lady Penelope.”
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