Sylvie Sommerfield - Noah's Woman

by Unknown

  "If it will melt his heart, I'll cry my eyes out."

  "If he refuses," Charity muttered, "we both will. All right, here I go." She inhaled, then knocked quickly before she lost her nerve. She gave Beth a quick, encouraging smile when Josine called for her to come in. Then she opened the door and stepped inside.

  Charles stood up as she entered and turned to face her. He took in her fragile beauty and knew in an instant that his judgment had been correct. She was the most beautiful creature he'd seen in a long, long time.

  "Charity, come in, my dear," Josine said. "I want

  you to meet your benefactor. Mr. Brentwood, this is one of my favorite girls. Charity has been with me since she was a baby."

  Charity walked closer, trying to match Charles's smile. She wasn't quite successful.

  "Hello, Miss Gilbert," Charles said. "It is a pleasure to meet you. You have no idea what a welcome addition you will be to my household. Do you have any questions you might care to ask me?"

  "Yes, sir. If you don't mind."

  "Ask away."

  "Is your house very large?"

  "Yes, very."

  "Do you have many servants?"

  "Actually not many. Mrs. Devere is head of housekeeping. She has two maids that come in daily, and a fabulous cook. There are no servants that stay all night. I have been taking care of my wife at night so I had no use for them. Of course, you will have your own room and live with us, so you will not have to go back and forth from here. As I said, you will be a welcome addition."

  "I realize that I don't know you very well, Mr. Brentwood," Charity said earnestly as she came to stand close to Charles. "But I want to promise you that I'll try to be as good to your wife as I can. I'll do everything required."

  "I'm sure you will, my dear," Charles replied. He was smiling, and fighting the urge to reach out and touch her.

  "Could I . . . could I ask you for one favor?"

  "Charity" Josine began.

  "Please, Mrs. Gilbert. This is so important and I have to ask."

  "A favor, Charity?" Charles said calmly. He was willing to grant her just about anything she wanted if it would keep her grateful . . . and docile. "What is this favor?"

  "I have a friend . . . a very dear friend"

  "Charity! Really, now"

  "What is it you want for this friend?"

  Charity swallowed heavily. She had not expected such warmth in his eyes, or the smile to remain on his lips. Again a shiver of unnamed fear touched her. But she was fighting for Beth, and there was no way she could back away now, much as she wanted to.

  "I . . . I want you to take her too." It came out in a rush of words she could not stop. She put a hand on Charles's arm. "She's a good worker and she'll work for practically nothing. She hardly eats anything! She's polite and an excellent reader. She can run errands and she'll be quiet! You'll hardly know she's around. I'd be so grateful! I'd work without being paid. I'll do anything"

  "Charity, Charity." Charles's voice finally brought her to a breathless stop. He could feel her slender fingers on his arm, and the clean scent of her filled his senses. He also heard her last words, "I'll do anything . . ." It seemed clear to him that Charity's friend would provide a hold over her that he couldn't afford to pass up. ''What is her name?"

  "Beth . . . Beth Knight," Charity said, her eyes wide and filled with hope.

  "She is the same age as yourself?"

  "Yes, actually we were born on the same day."

  "Well . . . for your benefit . . . perhaps I can find a place for her. She can come with you for the time being, and if I find something more suitable, then we'll proceed from there."

  Charity's eyes filled with tears of gratitude, and Charles was well pleased with himself.

  "You'll never regret it, I swear," Charity said softly, fighting the tears.

  "I hope not." Charles smiled. He planned on not regretting it.

  Charity left his side and raced to the door and threw it open. Neither she nor Charles paid any attention to the now silent Josine. Charity drew a very nervous Beth inside and watched her eyes light up with happiness when she was told she'd be going with them.

  There was excitement, confusion, and repeated good-byes before Charity and Beth were safely tucked in Charles's carriage and on their way to his home.

  Charity looked around her in awe as they entered the affluent neighborhood in which they would soon be living. She had never seen such luxuries as a well-manicured garden, or the clothes the ladies in passing carriages wore.

  They carried ruffled parasols and wore elaborate hats with ostrich plumes, over hair so elegantly coifed that Charity felt dull and drab.

  She had always hated the plain blue, high-necked, long-sleeved, cotton dresses the girls at the orphanage wore. Not to mention the black stockings and

  high-laced black shoes, which might have been dependable but were certainly far from pretty.

  As they disembarked before Charles's home, both girls gazed up at it in wonder, but only Charity noticed a passing carriage. Several young women had glanced her way, then bent their heads together to whisper and laugh. Charity's cheeks flushed, and she tasted the nauseating feeling of acute embarrassment.

  She was unaware of Charles's eyes upon her and his satisfied half smile. Yes, this girl didn't like the position she was in. She wanted pretty clothes and all that went with them. She had her price and he meant to pay it.

  Once inside, Beth and Charity soon discovered that they were not to share the same room, as Charity had hoped. Beth was given a small room behind the kitchen, where her duties would be to help the cook prepare Mrs. Brentwood's meals, then to carry them to her on a tray. Unless she was sent for, she was not to go upstairs.

  Charles told Charity to follow him, and they climbed the wine-colored carpeted stairs, first to the second floor, then to the third. Here Charity was shown to the room she would occupy. To Charity it seemed she was far away from the woman she was to help care for, but she shrugged the thought away with the idea that of course Mr. and Mrs. Brentwood wanted their privacy when they settled down for evenings together. She promised herself to be smart enough to keep to her own floor unless she was needed and not to disturb the family when she was not.

  To have a whole room to herself was rare indeed, and she intended to enjoy her own privacy as well.

  Charles watched as Charity smilingly surveyed the room. She had not yet realized that it was a room whose door had no lock.

  Chapter Two

  Three Months Later

  Charity pulled the door to Jessica's room closed, carefully balancing the large tray that held teacups and service. She hummed softly to herself as she started down the hall toward the back stairs that led to the kitchen.

  She considered that, with the exception of Charles Brentwood, her life for the past few months had been both interesting and enlightening. Early on, Charity had realized she had a flair for acting. On the occasions she and Beth were able to spend some time together, she had mimicked Charles and his guests so well that Beth had been convulsed with laughter. At these times she realized that Beth had no idea of the darker side of Charles Brentwood. Of course, he had

  never looked at Beth the way Charity had discovered him looking at her.

  Even Charity had to admit he had kept his word. Both Charity and Beth had received new clothes. Not the very best, but certainly better than either of them were used to. Her room was quite comfortable, as was Beth's, and on the day and a half each week that they had off, both girls were given a few coins and the opportunity to shop or just spend the day together.

  This they did, exploring parts of London they had never seen before. They visited shops where they were smiled upon and greeted warmly. This alone was a novelty.

  Charity also liked Jessica Brentwood. She felt a deep sympathy for her. She often sat and talked to Jessica, especially in the evenings when business called Charles away. She knew one thing for certain. Charles Brentwood constituted Jessica's world
. She nearly worshiped him.

  Jessica told Charity that she had come from a well-to-do family, and her parents had sheltered and pampered her until, at seventeen, she met Charles. He had swept her off her feet in a whirlwind romance that was the envy of all Jessica's friends. Of course, he did not have a great deal of money, but both parents and daughter were so charmed that they tended to overlook this.

  She married Charles in one of the largest and most elaborate weddings London had ever seen. Her parents spared no expense, even giving the young couple a honeymoon trip that circled the world.

  When her parents died shortly after the wedding, the wealth they left her bought the elaborate and massive mansion in which she and Charles now lived.

  They had lived together happily for ten years, but then one catastrophe had followed another. She had been involved in several accidents. Once, she admitted, she had almost died from something she had eaten. Then, just a few years before . . . the carriage accident.

  "Charles was so wonderful then," Jessica said in her perpetually gentle voice. "Even when the doctors told him I would never walk again. He has been so kind and so considerate."

  "He must love you very much," Charity had said.

  Jessica was a small woman who looked lost in the huge four-poster bed in which she had spent so many years of her life.

  "I know how difficult it is for him to spend much time with me. Business is so demanding. It was a wonderful idea to bring you here. Charles has grown quite fond of you and has certainly found great pleasure in seeing that you are rewarded for your diligence and care."

  "Beth and I are very grateful."

  Charity had taken to bringing Jessica's tea each afternoon, and after a while, at Jessica's insistence, she had remained to share it and to talk. Jessica had a neverending interest in the world outside her home.

  Charity had also taken to avoiding Charles as much as she could, for as the days went on, she realized he did not miss an opportunity to touch her, or remind her of his generosity.

  Each time they met, Charity could feel her legs tremble, and she did her best to avoid looking directly at him. Each time she became more and more aware that the warmth of his gaze was not that of a man for a servant.

  She could feel his gentle touch on her arm when, on these occasions, he stopped her to speak to her, and it made her flesh quiver. Still, there was nothing she could do, and Beth actually admired their benefactor, which often made Charity feel she was frightened of shadows.

  Now she moved down the hallway, alert for sounds and feeling her nerves stretch. She hated the idea that she was afraid without any reason for being so. But she was afraid.

  She was within a few feet of the back staircase when she heard Charles's door open. She was surprised, for he usually was not home at this time of day.

  "Charity." He spoke her name quietly. Reluctantly she turned to face him, supporting the heavy tray with both hands.

  "Yes, Mr. Brentwood?"

  "My dear girl, how many times have I asked you not to be so formal? You are not exactly a servant. I should prefer for you to call me Charles." He smiled as he approached to stand close to her. Only the tray stood between them.

  "I . . . I don't think it quite proper, sir. I would feel . . . I just don't think I should."

  "You look quite pretty today, Charity. Green is a

  lovely color on you. You like the new dresses I sent you yesterday?"

  "Yes, sir. You've been more than generous. I really have no need for any more clothes."

  "Now," he chuckled, "I've never seen a pretty girl who didn't like pretty clothes. Your friend, Beth, does she enjoy them?"

  "Yes, she does."

  "And . . . she likes it here? She's being treated well?"

  Charity felt, for a minute, that this was a subtle kind of threat. Would he consider sending them back, orthe thought shook hersending Beth back alone?

  "Oh yes, sir. She really does. Cook is very kind, and her room and all the lovely things you've given her are such a blessing."

  "Good. Charity . . . I want to talk to you about something . . . special."

  "Special?" Charity's heart began to thud heavily.

  "It has been so long since my wife has been able to accompany me anywhere. I know my being so lonely has caused her great sorrow. I have a theater box, and Jessica has insisted I go to the play tonight. It is one I have longed to see. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me? I assure you, you will be home by midnight. It would ease Jessica's mind. I . . . I do feel uncomfortable asking you to give up your time, but"

  Charity felt the guilt and sympathy Charles had planned on. Guilt that she would refuse him a favor

  after all he had done for her and Beth, and sympathy for his worried wife.

  "I . . . I really have nothing appropriate to wear to such an affair. I'm sure I would disgrace you."

  "Hardly." Charles smiled warmly. "As for something to wear, I have been presumptuous and have bought you a gown. It's in your room on the bed."

  "Oh." Charity was still too intimidated, and much too young to cope with this situation. This man had done a great deal for both her and Beth, and she was too inexperienced to know how to handle a well-planned frontal assault.

  "Be ready by seven-thirty, and don't eat any dinner. I have arrangements made for that."

  "Yes . . . yes, sir," Charity reluctantly replied. Charles smiled again, but did not touch her as she had almost expected. She reached for resistance against something she could not quite define. It was like doing battle with cobwebs. Charles, capable seducer, knew this better than she did.

  Beth sat on the edge of the bed, nervous just because she was "above stairs" as she put it. She could tell that Charity was just as nervous as she.

  "You look so beautiful, Charity. I've never seen a gown as pretty as that. You look like such a grand lady."

  "But I'm not a grand lady. I'm just Mrs. Brentwood's maid."

  "Why are you so upset? This is a chance to wear beautiful clothes, to see a play and go to a fancy dinner. A chance like this might never come along again.

  You're lucky to get such an opportunity.''

  Charity looked at her reflection in the mirror. Beth was right, the gown was exquisite. It was like burnished gold and cut daringly low with several layers of fine lace bordering the edge which draped enticingly over the soft rise of her breasts. The waist was so fitted that the full skirt made her look even slimmer than she was. Her pale blond hair had been dressed carefully by Beth, who had a delicate touch for such a thing. It was a mass of ringlets and curls that framed her face and hung to her waist with fine, burnished gold ribbons woven thought it. Her eyes seemed wider than usual, and she knew they reflected in their emerald depths the unnameable fear she could not seem to control.

  "I'm not sure whose opportunity it is," Charity muttered, more to herself than Beth.

  "Charity, what harm can there be in enjoying an evening? Perhaps you misread him and he's just trying to be generous."

  Charity remained quiet, but inwardly she held deep reservations about this evening's affair. She didn't feel comfortable. The world was not black and white, there were shades of gray in between.

  "Perhaps he is," she replied. She watched Beth smile in relief. But still a nagging wariness plagued her. She meant to be very cautious, because she knew quite well there was no one to turn to. Who would believe her against the word of a man with Charles Brentwood's reputation?

  "The dress is beautiful, Beth, and I do appreciate it

  and Mr. Brentwood's generosity. I guess I am just a bit nervous."

  "You needn't be. You look every bit the lady, and you're such a fine actress. I've seen you mimic Mr. Brentwood's guests, you're really good. With that ability none of those well-bred ladies will think you're anything else but one of them. Remember the night you pretended to be Mrs. Devers? Cook is still laughing. You'll be just fine tonight. You'll have so much fun, and you can tell me all about it when you get home."

&
nbsp; "Of course I'll tell you all about it. I'll act out every character I meet and try to remember everything about them. We'll have great fun." Charity sighed. "I guess I'd better go. Mr. Brentwood will be waiting for me downstairs, and I don't think he will like it if I keep him waiting."

  Beth wished Charity a wonderful evening, and then left the room to dash down the back stairs to her quarters, where she would enjoy dreams of her own.

  In Jessica's room, Charles was seated on the edge of his wife's bed, holding her hand in his. He watched her slowly relax, smiling at his consideration. He'd brought her a tray for her evening meal and coaxed her with smiles and sweet endearments to eat everything. He insisted she drink all of her wine.

  What Jessica did not know was that the wine and her soup were both heavily laced with laudanum. Charles watched her eyes close and he smiled. It would take a battery of cannon to waken her this night. The house would be close to empty of servants,

  for he had already planned the evening for Beth as well.

  Beth had hardly reached her room when Cook rapped on her door. When Beth saw who was there she smiled. Cook had been kind to her from the day of her arrival.

  "Beth, my dear, get your cloak and come with me."

  "But it is past seven, where must we go?"

  "I need help to fetch the new pastries for the guests tomorrow night, from my brother's shop. Mr. Brentwood wants them tonight, and my lazy brother has not filled them all. We need an extra pair of hands. It'll most likely take most of the evening, but I wouldn't want to disappoint Mr. Brentwood."

  Beth had no recourse but to agree. She put her cloak on and walked to the back of the house with Cook, where her brother's cart awaited them.

  Charles stood at a window above them and smiled as he watched the two women leave. Cook was a kind and gentle soul, and had been easy to deceive. Especially when he had paid her greedy brother. He knew Beth would not return until quite late. He turned to look at his sleeping wife, then left the room and walked downstairs to his study.