The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 1

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  He looked up in surprise, and then smiled. "Are you sure?"

  "I used to do it for my father, until I began to do the social rounds more."

  "Very well, then," he said, drawing another chair closer to the desk. "Come sit by me, and we shall begin."

  Charlotte gave him a last long look, and with a timid but happy smile, sat down next to her handsome husband.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Charlotte soon began to help her husband file his papers, and pay the bills. By the end of a month of hard work and study, she was able to keep excellent ledgers, and had learned a great deal about the running of the estate, and about the man she had married.

  Thomas was frugal, but by no means stingy. He was generous to the poor, and had various annuities he disbursed for orphans and the elderly. He had been telling the truth about her aunt Margaret, giving her more than enough money to live well but not lavishly, though most of the allocated sum was paid directly to the accounts he had set up with the various tradespeople in the district rather than disbursed to her personally.

  He invested in her father's and cousins' properties as well, making improvements to increase their productivity. She could also see that he accepted no repayment of the loans at all. He took an active interest in the local hospitals and asylums, and had two wards, a woman and her daughter, whose small estate he managed on the other side of Bath. When she asked about the family in question, he had little to say upon the subject.

  His expression was grim. "It was a charge left me by my father. I do what I can, though it is little enough."

  "Is there anything I can do?" she asked tentatively, smoothing down the thick cotton of her black and gold block print day gown.

  "Apart from not mention it to anyone, no, there is nothing."

  "Forgive my asking, but why the secrecy? Being generous is nothing to be embarrassed about."

  He said nothing, simply turned over the papers to her that he had been working on, and asked her to file them.

  She tried to recall the essay on suspicions, but she could not bring herself to ask the fateful question: "Is this woman your paramour, the daughter yours?"

  She knew she was jumping to conclusions. He had tried to resolve her doubts before they were married, and Jonathan had attested to the fact that the woman her aunt had gossiped about had not been involved with Thomas in that manner. Was this yet another woman, or the same one?

  She sighed. It was really none of her business anyway. They did not have that kind of marriage. She could not blame him for any previous affairs of the heart, not when she had thrown her love for another in his face.

  All the same, the hurt burned in her breast, and she could not help looking at him speculatively when they were in company together.

  Finally, after about a fortnight of her altered attitude toward him, he put down his pen and sighed, his green eyes pained. "I know what you're thinking. But please believe me when I tell you that the lady I am administering the property for has not nor ever will be my lover."

  She shrank back in her chair and stared at the floor.

  "Look at me, Charlotte. No, look me in the eye, and see that what I'm telling you is the truth. I can't bear to see you looking so reproachful and suspicious. I give you my word as a gentleman, I have never laid a hand on the woman in any improper manner, and the child is not mine. Jonathan has confirmed this. Why do you still refuse to believe me?"

  The hot blush of mortification tinged her cheeks. "I don't mean to, honestly. But if it's all so harmless and innocent, why will you not tell me about her, so that I can help?"

  "Because there is nothing to be done," he sighed, running his fingers through his dark hair in exasperation. "It is kind of you to offer, but everything that is needful has been seen to. And I will tell you no more for your own safety, and theirs, if the truth be told."

  "Why, are they in some sort of danger?" she asked in alarm.

  He nodded. "Yes, most definitely. The father of the child is a most unsuitable man. I tell you again, Charlotte, and beg you to take heed of me. Please, if you care anything at all about me and our family, please never let one word about this woman pass your lips to anyone, not even to a person you think you can trust."

  "I won't."

  "Promise me!" he insisted.

  She stared. "I promise, truly."

  He took her hand. "Then I believe you. We will say no more on the subject. Except one other thing. There is only you, there has only ever been you, and there will only ever be you in my life. I give you my word." He kissed her hand with a warm passion which set her on fire.

  She smiled at him tremulously, all aflutter at the heated sensual contact. "I only wish I could give you mine."

  "I will settle for two out of three."

  "I can try."

  He looked even more grim than he had a moment before, and sad too. He relinquished her hand with a final warm kiss on her palm. "Then that will have to be enough for now."

  The clock struck five, breaking off his pensive scrutiny of her face. "Goodness, look at the time. We have our guests coming this evening."

  "Oh, yes, the ladies. I had forgotten all about it."

  "I'm proud of you. I had half-expected you to spend the entire day in your room primping."

  She shook her head ruefully. "No, I've already told you, I want them to like me, and make up for the times I behaved badly."

  "What shall you wear?"

  "Will you help me choose?"

  He smiled. "Ah, but then I might choose for myself, rather than what is suitable for a lady to wear."

  "Well, so long as you give me a right to veto a gown if I think you have erred, it should be fine. You are the Duke. You know much more about these things than I do."

  "Only insofar as I have seen many young ladies presented at Court, and some of them have not shown the common sense they were born with. I think it's safe to say that you are not one of them."

  She smiled, pleased at his praise. "Still, I would appreciate your help."

  "Certainly, my dear. Let us go up now, and quickly. They will be here at six."

  He came into her chamber and looked through her gowns as patiently as if he had been a female friend. She agonized over her choices for several moments, until she finally said with an exasperated wave of her hand, "You choose."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes, Thomas. Choose."

  He selected her white gown with the midnight blue sash to compliment her eyes. She approved his choice, and gave him a kiss on the cheek before shooing him out of the room so she could change.

  "Not quite perfect. Please hold still." He attached a little sapphire cross around her slim neck just before she descended into the fray.

  "There, picture-perfect."

  "Why, Thomas, thank you. It's exquisite," she said, catching sight of herself in her full-length pier glass. "But what did I do to deserve such a gift?"

  "It was my mother's most cherished piece of jewelry, the first gift my father ever gave her."

  Her face fell. "In that case I couldn't possibly-"

  "Why not?"

  "Elizabeth should have-"

  "She never takes off the one they brought her back from Rome, blessed by the Pope himself."

  "The Pope?" she said with no small degree of surprise.

  "Yes, indeed. My mother was Catholic. A very good woman. We were brought up to be tolerant in this house. What difference does it make what we are labeled, if we are all supposed to be Christians?"

  "True," she sighed. "Life would be so much simpler if everyone agreed with that sentiment."

  He smiled at her warmly. "We can only hope. In any case, I shall leave you to dress-"

  She was proud of her tolerant response. Why, only two months before, she might have shrunk from the news in horror. For some, Catholics were nothing better than traitors, and were even rumored by the most extreme as actually having tails like an animal.

  At the sight of her husband's imminent departure, she cast
around for anything to stop him from leaving just when they had been getting along so well.

  "Will you not stay?" she offered shyly. "Tell me more about your parent, while I change behind the screen?"

  "Well, my dear, I'm not so sure-"

  "All I need is some help with the buttons at the back. Why trouble Mary to come all the way up here if we don't have to?"

  He looked rather surprised at the offer, but nodded. "Very well, I shall sit in this chair here and do my best to satisfy your curiosity while you dress."

  He seated himself in the armchair near the fire with his back to the screen.

  Charlotte took the dress behind with her, and began to strip off her black and gold day gown.

  "My father was the first Duke, you know. The family was a very old one, but it took until the reign of George II for our merits to be fully appreciated, and he was made up just before I was born."

  "For what?"

  "Supporting the king against the Stewart upstarts, amongst other things. And for his dabbling in all sorts of modern inventions, like the steam engine, seeing the potential and investing."

  "How fortunate for you."

  "Yes, for he loved the land as well. I try to pay attention to both myself."

  "If your other estates are as splendidly run as this one, I would say you are even more gifted than your father."

  "I try to be," he said humbly. "With a good decent Christian sympathy from my mother, and her appreciation of the arts."

  "And your parents? Were they, well, happy together?"

  "I certainly believe so. I never saw any reason to doubt it for a minute. My parents did not always have the impressive wealth you see now, but they did have love."

  Charlotte came out from behind the screen to offer her back to him. "It's nice to have both, I'm sure."

  He buttoned up the three tiny white silk covered fastenings, and ran his hands along her lightly bared shoulders.

  "Yes, it would be nice. I do keep hoping." He turned her gently to face him, and kissed her on the brow.

  Charlotte refused to be content with such paltry lovers' fare and stretched up for a more ardent embrace. Her lips parted under his softly, eager for his tongue. She opened to him like a flower, pressing against his full length with a small sigh of relief. She hated how aloof he had become. Wanted to break through the armor of his perfect reserve as he did to her whenever they kissed.

  She ran her hands up and down his broad back, felt his muscles rippling, inhaled his heady masculine scent, reveled in his taste. Yes, this, this was how it was meant to be between them. Why had she not seen it before? And could he not feel it himself?

  Thomas did, all too acutely. He was soon trembling with the most painfully rampant desire, and had to tug her arms from around his neck before he lifted her and carried her over to the bed.

  "Your guests," he said shakily. "We mustn't--"

  She put her hand to her swollen lips. My goodness, what would they think of her! She looked like she had been well and truly tumbled.

  But for once she did not care what they thought. At last she felt as though she were breaking through the barriers that Thomas had imposed upon their marriage. Soon, she could look forward to convincing Thomas that she really did want to love and be loved--by him and him alone.

  Three months of marriage had now passed. It was as if Herbert had been simply a dream, a fantasy, as insubstantial as air. Thomas was real, and when he looked at her with that little spark in his emerald eyes, well, she would follow him to Hell and back.

  Except that she suspected being with him as his wife might actually be absolute Heaven...

  The soiree was both a success and a failure. A success, because many of the women improved upon her now that she was no longer cattily competing with them. A failure, because all of her happy hopes for a good life with Thomas were threatened by an unexpected guest.

  Charlotte tried to be pleasant to all the women. It was not always easy, for the truth was that many of them looked at her with envy, and not just because of the fine home which they eagerly toured. The women commented upon every room favorably, but their own private suite of rooms was remarked upon in particular.

  "Very, er, intimate, is it not?" one worldly girl remarked.

  Charlotte turned to reply, and stiffened as she saw a newcomer enter the private little parlor adjoining the two bedchambers.

  It was Agnes.

  She wished she could say her friend looked well, but she was staring at her, hollow-eyed and thin, with such a look of gleaming malice that she wanted to flee to the safety of Thomas's arms. But he was ensconced in the library, and she had to brazen it out by herself.

  "Agnes, how nice to see you again."

  "You know me, like the proverbial bad penny," she drawled.

  Charlotte led the women back downstairs to the Wedgwood room, where they had an impromptu concert. Then they divided into groups, with some choosing to play cards, while others selected their favorite poems to recite aloud. Charlotte found some of them to be quite racy, and shook her head to think she had ever behaved so immodestly only three short months ago.

  When it came time for her to make her choice, she could only think of one poem, which Thomas had left for her to read recently, by Cowper.

  Thy country, Wilberforce, with just disdain,

  Hears thee, by cruel men and impious, call'd

  Fanatic, for thy zeal to loose th' enthrall'd

  From exile, public sale, and slav'ry's chain.

  Friend of the poor, the wrong'd, the fetter-gall'd,_

  Fear not lest labour such as thine be vain!

  Thou hast achiev'd a part; hast gain'd the ear

  Of Britain's senate to thy glorious cause;

  Hope smiles, joy springs, and tho' cold caution pause

  And weave delay, the better hour is near,

  That shall remunerate thy toils severe

  By peace for Afric, fenc'd with British laws.

  Enjoy what thou hast won, esteem and love

  From all the just on earth, and all the blest above!

  Thomas, listening from outside the door, was pleased with his wife's modest and decorous deportment, and went away with a happy smile lighting his face.

  "Very nice, Charlotte. But we can all see you've married a Radical," Agnes said disparagingly. "Anti-slavery poems indeed. You ought to be careful the Duke isn't locked up for Bonapartist sympathies. Then where would you be?"

  "I have no fear of that," Charlotte said in a spirited tone. "He actually fought in the Peninsula with Wellington. Many so-called patriots have done far less. I married a good man. I realize that now, and thank God for it every day."

  "Now? You mean you didn't know it before you married him?" Agnes asked in a pointed manner designed to embarrass.

  Charlotte tried to cover her confusion with a glib retort. "We never really know a person until we have to live with them. With some people, further acquaintance only improves one's respect and love. With others, that better knowledge only causes us to despise them. I'm happy to say that Thomas is in the former category."

  "I can see most women wanting to get to know him better," Pamela Ashton, one of the more popular, if flighty, girls, giggled. "He is just too divine to look at. Male perfection itself."

  Charlotte fixed her with a stare. "Looks and charm aren't everything," she said in a serious tone. "You would to well to remember that, before you end up making a bad choice, or doing something you'll regret."

  The pretty girl blinked, and sobered instantly. "I shall remember it. I didn't mean-"

  Charlotte waved away her apology with her ivory fan. "That's all right. I was once very like you. I've learned the hard way that appearances can be deceiving."

  When Charlotte saw all of the girls looking at her with avid curiosity, she laughed lightly and said, "These shopkeepers nowadays will try to pass off any old rubbish on you."

  They all relaxed, thinking they had read more into her first statement than necessary
.

  But Charlotte still felt herself being watched carefully by Agnes. She reminded her of a vicious old ginger tabby her aunt had once had, a creature which looked delightful, adorable and fluffy, until it unsheathed its claws.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Just how sharp Agnes's claws were Charlotte found out about a fortnight later, when she sent a message asking to meet her at her house.

  Charlotte had sent back a note suggesting she come to her, but Agnes had replied by saying that would not do given she had not gained admittance the last time she had tried to visit Castle Eltham on her own.