Mysterious Miss Channing (Ranford Book 3)

by Nadine Millard

  “Come here, trouble, and give your big brother a hug,” he said instead of answering her question, then looked her over and said, “That’s if my arms fit round yo—”

  Charles drew to a halt at the panicked horror on the faces of both Tom and Edward. He watched as Tom dropped his face into his hands, shaking his head, and Edward gesticulated wildly. He was either miming ‘stop speaking’ or ‘quacking duck’ but Charles’s head was too sore to try to interpret it.

  “What did you say?”

  Call it a sixth sense, call it brotherly intuition, but suddenly Charles knew that he was in trouble.

  The freezing quality of that tone, usually only used by Caro, was all the more frightening in Rebecca. Rebecca exploded when she was angry but soon forgot about it. Caro was cold and lethal when angry and could remember for weeks. When Rebecca was cold, he ran.

  “Uh — ah — merely that, that, er—” He looked to the other two gentlemen for help, but Tom was now smirking, apparently sensing that someone other than he was in trouble. And Edward looked as though he was backing toward the door. He was going to leave him here with her? “Oh, look. There’s Caro.”

  Caroline stood in the doorway looking a little startled at the enthusiastic welcome.

  “Charles, glad to see you’ve recovered from your faint.”

  Charles through his arms in the air but did not interrupt. What was the point?

  “Becca, Mother wants to discuss the plans for the ball and possibly a trip to Dublin, unless you are too tired?”

  Rebecca turned from Caroline and walked up to Charles, who had a ridiculous urge to back up. Stopping in front of him, she looked up and spoke in a hiss. “Count your blessings, Charles, that mother needs me.”

  Then she turned and swept from the room.

  Caroline shot him a curious look and took off after her sister.

  There was a collective sigh of relief as the danger passed, and the gentlemen gratefully proffered Charles snifters of brandy.

  “So, why did you faint then?”

  “For the love of God, will you please—?”

  “Fine, fine. You did not faint. Do not upset yourself in case you don’t faint again,” said Edward with a smirk.

  “You—”

  “An excellent question,” Tom interrupted. “It seems he’s taken to stalking the companion.”

  “What?”

  “Dammit, Tom! I told you I was not stalking her, and I did not faint,” Charles roared now, his temper snapping.

  “All right, calm down,” said Tom soothingly, which riled Charles up even more.

  “Yes, think of your blood pressure,” said Edward. Then after a pause, “‘Tis no wonder you keeping fainting.”

  Charles did not bother to respond but gave them the deepest scowl he could muster.

  The fact was that he had been creeping around outside, akin to a thief in the night.

  He’d taken to stomping around the garden this morning, unable to face Julia across the breakfast table without jumping across it and ravishing her.

  He’d damned near lost his life during that conversation this morning. He knew what she’d been thinking because he’d been thinking of nothing else since she’d got here.

  What was it about her? She was beautiful, yes. But he’d had plenty of beautiful women. She was so very proper, but he was beginning to see that that unobtrusive propriety hid a sharp tongue and quick wit.

  Every day his attraction to her grew. Every day his obsession with her mouth, her kiss, the feel of her pressed against him became more consuming.

  And then this morning, knowing that her thoughts were travelling down the same path his had been? How he had kept his hands off her he’d never know.

  Charles had stood and gazed unseeingly toward the house. She was bewitching him completely and utterly, and he didn’t like it. He craved her time, her notice, her company too much. Yes, he wanted her, more than he’d ever wanted a woman, even Isobel. But it was more than that. When she’d walked through the corridors of Ranford Hall, he’d imagined her as the mistress of the house. When she’d sat astride Daisy, keeping pace with Diablo, the wind catching her glorious red hair, he’d imagined them doing this together for as long as they possibly could.

  In short, he had imagined a future. A future with the companion in the ugly dresses, the woman about whom he knew absolutely nothing, and the woman who, frankly, was too good and too pure for the likes of his dark soul. He thought of how kind she was to his grieving mother, how she helped that oaf, Trent, tirelessly, without a word of complaint, because the dowager wished it of her. He thought of how she’d been so quick to help Caro when she was about to be rocked by the worst sort of scandal. Yes, she was good. And he was not.

  He never should have told her that he hadn’t felt the need to seek the drinks and company that he’d been enjoying since before she’d come. He did not want her to know how much she was becoming to mean to him. It wasn’t fair for her to know, for she could start to hope. Hope that his heart could be hers, and it could not. Isobel and the countless women after her had ensured that his heart was encased in impenetrable ice, if it was even still there.

  If she hoped, she would love. And if she loved him, he would take it, weak, selfish man that he was. He would take her love, use it, enjoy it, and eventually destroy it. And then, when she had nothing left, when she was a shell of the wonderful, angelic woman she’d been, she would hate him for it.

  He knew this. He told himself this. He was convinced that he would remember it and keep his distance. And then he would see her and be lost all over again.

  Julia deserved a man who hadn’t steeped himself in debauchery for the last few years. A man who hadn’t been hurt and humiliated so much that he turned cold and unfeeling and used women for physical pleasures alone.

  She deserved someone as good as she. But someone who could see beneath the exterior. See that there was a fiery, passionate woman in there who should be set free.

  His throat dried at the thought of being the one to unleash that passion.

  With a sigh, he moved to go back inside, when something caught his eye.

  Peering closer, he felt a visceral anger take over his body. There she stood. The subject of his tormented thoughts. And she was with that damned Trent.

  Were they alone? They were! They were alone.

  What in the damned hell was she doing alone with him?

  In the back of his mind, a rational voice was yelling that perhaps he would do well to calm down, but Charles was in no mood to listen to such nonsense.

  From where he was standing, he could not get a good look at what was going on.

  He didn’t trust Mr. Trent one little bit. From the very first, he’d been sniffing round Julia, trying to get her intoxicated and monopolising all of her time. And now look! He’d lured her into a room alone, no doubt for some nefarious reason.

  The morning sun was almost blinding, and Charles could not see properly. Swearing in frustration, he made his way closer to the house.

  He kept his eyes on their figures in case Trent made a lunge for her. He’d break the damn glass if he had to.

  As soon as he got close enough to see properly, he stopped and watched, not even daring to blink in case he missed something.

  Julia didn’t look distressed, he thought, but then dismissed it. Of course she was distressed; she was about to be manhandled. He was sure of it.

  So far, there didn’t seem to be much physical contact between them, but perhaps Trent was lulling her into a false sense of security. He was just waiting to pounce, the bastard.

  Charles wished he could hear what they were saying.

  He eyed up the flowerbeds below the French doors and vowed to have them removed so someone could burst into the room, should the situation warrant it.

  What good were pansies, even prized ones, when a young lady’s virtue was at stake?

  He crouched down and started to move forward; he meant to stay crouched beside the door so
he could hear what Trent was at and come to Julia’s rescue at the right time.

  After mere seconds, Charles discovered that walking on one’s hunches was more difficult and more painful than he had imagined. But still, he was committed now.

  He’d just reached the blasted flowerbed when a voice had sounded behind him.

  “Doing a spot of gardening?”

  Charles nearly snapped his neck in half whipping it round to see who’d spoken.

  Tom stood eyeing him speculatively.

  “Er, yes as it happens. What are you doing out here?”

  “Escaping from that God-awful vicar. What are you doing?”

  “I told you. Gardening. My mother, she — ah — she is really rather fond of these pansies, so I want to make sure they’re in good shape.”

  “Makes perfect sense,” Tom said. “And, of course, this has nothing to do with the fact that the delightful Miss Channing is currently being proposed to by that oaf, Trent.”

  Charles felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

  “He’s proposing?” he yelled, jumping up, no longer caring if they saw him or not.

  Before Tom had a chance to answer, and just as Charles was stepping forward to hammer on the door, squashing every pansy that was planted there below his feet, the door swung open.

  Charles remembered a quick second of thinking, This is going to hurt, before the door connected with his face.

  He hit the ground, barely aware of anything other than the pain in his head.

  Looking up, he saw Julia’s face, filled with concern, peering down at him.

  “What on earth?” he heard and made to sit up to reassure her and to make sure she wasn’t marrying anyone else.

  But trying to sit up had been a mistake. The world tilted alarmingly, and the last thing he remembered was Tom’s voice uttering one word: “Pansies.”

  “THROW YOUR DRINK AT him.”

  Charles came out of his remembered humiliation to see Edward nudging Tom’s elbow and Tom standing with his glass of brandy poised to hit him squarely between the eyes.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he yelled.

  “Nothing,” said Tom, lowering the glass. “We thought maybe you were having some sort of episode.”

  “You weren’t answering us,” explained Edward. “And after your non-faint, we really cannot be too careful. We must watch for any long-lasting head injuries. Though how we’re supposed to be able to tell the difference—”

  “I’m fine,” bit out Charles. But he was not fine. “Where is everyone?” he asked.

  “Planning this ball you decided to throw. Honestly, Charles, what were you thinking? I can think of nothing worse than a blasted ball where we’ll have to dance with rakes of silly girls and listen to their mamas,” grumbled Edward.

  “I was tricked,” Charles said bitterly. “Besides, at least you’re married. They won’t bother either of you too much.” At his talk of marriage, Charles felt his stomach drop. “Is Trent still here?” he growled.

  “No, we sent him scurrying off as soon as you f— er, fell,” said Tom. “There was quite the commotion. Miss Channing nearly killed herself trying to get to you, and Mr. Trent, gossip that he is, roused the entire household with his girlish screams.”

  “We arrived in the middle of it…” Edward took up the telling of the story. “…but, of course, you were already up and coming in here.” He gestured to the study. “Then you passed out again.”

  “Your mother and Miss Channing had to be dragged out,” said Tom.

  “Rebecca wouldn’t leave until she got the chance to make fun of you.”

  “Nice,” said Charles with another grimace.

  There was silence as his brothers-in-law watched him. Charles was determined not to give anything away — not his worry that Julia was betrothed and not his joy that she was so worried about him.

  The silence went on.

  And still nobody would speak.

  Finally, Charles couldn’t take it anymore.

  “So, is she engaged then?” he asked quietly.

  He watched as Edward and Tom shared a look but, mercifully and somewhat surprisingly, they did not mock him for his question.

  “Not that anyone could gather,” said Tom. “In truth, we do not know for certain that Mr. Trent did propose. Only that your mother and my aunt seemed certain that is what he was about.”

  Charles swore and drained the contents of his glass, moving immediately to refill it.

  There was another silence then suddenly, he snapped.

  “She can’t bloody well marry him, and that’s final. I won’t allow it.”

  Edward and Tom shared another look, this time with eyebrows raised.

  “I wasn’t aware she needed your permission, Charles,” said Edward evenly.

  “Yes, well. She does. I mean, she doesn’t, obviously, but — well, she — I —” He took a deep breath and tried to get his feelings under control. A control that was slipping more and more by the second.

  “Ah,” said Edward as though Charles had put forth a perfectly sound argument.

  “Told you,” said Tom cheerfully.

  “Told him what?” Charles was suspicious.

  “That you have become more than a little hung up on the companion.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” bit out Charles. Then, because he couldn’t help it, “And she has a name.”

  Tom’s answering grin did nothing to soothe Charles’s frayed nerves.

  “I cannot believe she would be happy with a man like Trent,” he said quietly.

  Edward stood and moved toward Charles, looking him square in the eye.

  “If it’s any consolation, she would never have consented to marry him.”

  “What? You know that? How? What did you hear?”

  “I heard nothing,” said Edward. “But if her behaviour after your accident was anything to go by, she won’t be marrying anybody else.”

  “ARE YOU SURE WE should not send for the doctor, Caro?” Julia was quite sure she was making her feelings for Lord Ranford more than a little obvious, but she was far too worried to think about that now.

  “I’m quite sure he’s fine, dear. Tom and Edward are with him. If there was something very wrong, even those two would be sure to notice.”

  Caroline watched Julia pace up and down and hid a smile. It seemed that Julia had fallen hard for Charles. And, by all accounts, the feeling was well on the way to being mutual.

  Caroline was thrilled at the prospect. She would dearly love to be able to call Julia a sister, and Julia would make Charles a wonderful wife.

  The only problem, as far as Caroline could see, was that Julia might not wish to be so far away from everyone she knew and loved.

  Since she never, ever talked about her past, Caroline guessed that there was some pain there. But she was a well-brought-up young lady. There must be someone she would miss, someone who meant something to her.

  Caroline had never wished to pry into Julia’s affairs before, but after speaking with the countess, she knew there was a very real chance that the dowager would take to knocking their heads together soon.

  “Julia, I—”

  There was a knock on the door, interrupting what Caroline had been about to say.

  Julia whipped round as Rebecca entered.

  “Only me,” she said cheerfully. “Charles is fully awake and is now most likely drinking too much brandy with our husbands. But no lasting damage done, as far as anyone can tell.”

  Julia felt so relieved that her legs began to wobble. She sank into the nearest chair and closed her eyes.

  “Julia, are you all right?” cried Rebecca, rushing toward her, which, at seven months pregnant, was quite a feat.

  “Yes, yes, I am quite well,” Julia answered shakily, then, to her horror, she felt tears sting her eyes.

  “Good Lord, you are crying, oh, my dear, do not cry. He’s just perfect,” cried Rebecca placing an arm round Julia’s trembling shoulders. “Well, not p
erfect. He’s still Charles.”

  Julia laughed shakily.

  “Were you very worried” Caroline asked gently, kneeling before Julia’s chair.

  “Yes, of course. After all, it was I who opened the door. And, being an employee of the earl’s guest, well, I just feel terrible.”

  The ladies merely nodded their heads.

  Julia sat and wrung her hands then blurted out, “Do you promise he is well?”

  Rebecca looked surprised at the question but reassured Julia again.

  Another knock sounded, and Maura, Rebecca’s abigail, entered the room.

  “Forgive me, your grace, but will you be wanting to rest after your journey? His grace wanted me to remind you that it’s been a long day, what with his lordship’s accident and—”

  “No need to continue, Maura. I can imagine,” said Rebecca with a roll of her eyes. “You can tell his grace that I’m perfectly capable of deciding when to rest and he should—”

  “Becca,” Caroline interjected, seeing Maura’s expression. “Do not send poor Maura into the lion’s den with such a message.”

  Rebecca stared mutinously at Caroline before finally huffing out a breath.

  “Fine. I shall rest. But it won’t be for long. Henry will be waking soon.”

  With a final squeeze of Julia’s hand, Rebecca swept from the room, tiny but fierce.

  Caroline turned to Julia with a serene smile.

  “I do hope you are feeling a little better?”

  JULIA TOOK TIME TO compose herself and so was able to return Caroline’s smile with equanimity.

  “Yes, much better thank you. ‘Twas the shock, I think,” she lied.

  “Of course,” said Caroline kindly. “Well, perhaps a lie down will do you some good. I shall leave you to rest.”

  Julia was grateful but far too het up to rest.

  Her mind kept replaying the sight of Charles sprawled on the ground. Thankfully, there had been no blood. If there had been blood, she would have been in a dead faint beside him.

  The gnawing worry in the pit of her stomach would not go away, and she knew that it wouldn’t do until she saw for herself that he was uninjured.