The fabric was in good condition; Charlene doubted that the girl had worn the dress more than a couple times. But she was a growing 16-year-old, and she had filled out a lot since the dress was constructed.
There was no way that she’d be able to wear it again without major reconstruction to at least the bodice. Might as well piece together a new dress that was more in keeping with the latest fashions.
Matilda was of the perfect age to be married off, and Charlene knew they wanted to have the whole country looking at her. Of course, that wasn’t Charlene’s task; she was merely the girl’s chaperone.
Unmarried herself, Charlene doubted anyone would entrust to her the task of finding a suitable groom for a young lady such as Matilda.
However, if Matilda went to this latest in a string of balls, Charlene was sure to be right there beside the girl, ensuring that nothing untoward happened to spoil her reputation.
Now, Charlene sighed, her fingers still drifting absently over the fabric as she thought back to her own courting days. Her aunt, Lady Helene Ellington, brought the young Charlene to London when she was eighteen for her formal coming out to society.
After two seasons, though, she still hadn’t made a match, and now, well, the men were much more likely to choose to court someone younger like Matilda.
Every year, the girls presented to society seemed to be younger and younger – and not just because with each passing year, Charlene became more of a spinster!
Sometimes, she wondered if things would have gone differently if she had been as young as Matilda when she came out to society. Perhaps if she had had less of a provincial upbringing, the men would have found her more comely.
Of course, that was leaving aside the fact that Charlene was far more educated than many a man wished for his bride-to-be. Not only that, but she simply didn’t care for the games of the court.
She was more than able to comport herself within the rules of the game, but at the same time, she wasn’t going to drive her father to ruin with a new gown for every ball.
And there had been that one time when Lord Weatherton had caught her riding astride a horse rather than side-saddle like a proper lady.
That story had spread like wildfire. Charlene had thought Auntie Helene might wither away with mortification.
And that was not to mention her “witchery”. She knew that the other women were joking when then said that about her balms and lotions. They were merely commenting on the effectiveness of her perfumes and her skin-creams.
Still, those whispers that she was a witch, coupled with the strangeness of her eyes, had no doubt caused many a suitor to overlook Charlene.
She wasn’t about to quit making potions, though. Her family could use the extra money, and it was the only way that she could keep fresh the skills that she had learned as a child, living with her father.
She wouldn’t go so far as to create tonics and tinctures or anything that a true doctor might sell. Where was the harm in grinding leaves and making pastes?
Women paid her well for what she could produce, and it kept Charlene’s hands busy with things other than the piano playing that she was dreadful at.
In spite of her strangeness, everyone agreed that Charlene had grown into a woman who, while not appropriate to be anyone’s bride, was more than able to chaperone young Matilda and some of the other girls on outings and to balls, keeping them out of trouble. Her reputation was that of a prude, and that helped her case on those fronts.
In truth, she had never had more than a single kiss, in all her twenty-five years. She barely remembered Lord Eric Cumberland now, except for those haunting blue eyes of his, which still found her sometimes in her dreams.
She sometimes saw him across the room when he happened to be in London, but the two had not so much as spoken since that day that Charlene had found him half-dead in Raven’s Hollow.
Oh, what she wouldn’t give to go back home to her father, the doctor, and help him with the apothecary. He was doing well for himself, and Charlene knew that meant that he needed all the help that he could get, tracking down herbs and creating medicines.
She found that life was much more interesting than her life here with her aunt. Yet here she was, still in London with Lady Helene. Her father said it was better this way; Charlene was sure he was still hoping that, miracle of miracles, some hapless man might one day take pity on her and marry her.
She didn’t want to be some lording’s wife, though. She wanted to continue her studies and keep her control over her life. From every married woman that she had talked to, she wasn’t missing out on anything by remaining single.
It just meant that she didn’t have a husband to please; a husband who would be irate with her if she made mistakes; a husband who would expect her to bear him an heir; a husband whom she had to beg for some petty cash.
Granted, her father wasn’t rich, and there was only so long that he would be able to support his daughter. Having a husband would take away that worry about the future and the family’s stability.
But perhaps when her father’s hands weren’t steady enough for medicine anymore, Charlene would be old enough that it was only right for her to help him out, if she was still unmarried. Either way, she refused to get married out of some uncertainty about her family’s finances.
There was a knock at the door, and Charlene startled, nearly dropping Matilda’s dress. She set it to the side. “Come in,” she said, squaring her shoulders and smoothing her hands over her own dress.
It was her aunt who bustled into the room of course. She looked dishevelled, and Charlene immediately knew that something was the matter.
“What has happened?” Charlene asked her worriedly. Was it something to do with Dr. Ellington, or perhaps Matilda?
“It’s your father,” Helene said, seating herself without going through the normal niceties. “Word has just reached me that he has been accused of murder!”
Charlene stared at her aunt for a moment, unable to help her open jaw, even though she knew it was unsightly. “Murder?” she asked, appalled at the very thought of it. Her kindly father, murdering someone? No one who knew the man would ever believe such a thing!
“They say that he was deliberately prescribing the wrong medicine and poisoning a noble!” Helene said, wringing her hands.
“That’s absurd!” Charlene said, shaking her head. “You know Father. He would never purposefully administer the wrong medicine to anyone, let alone a nobleman.”
“Well, perhaps if he misdiagnosed the man,” Helene suggested.
“No,” Charlene said firmly. “Father knows his medicine. He would never do that.”
“Somehow, the man died,” Helene said gently. “I know you don’t want to believe these horrid things about your father, but something must have happened.”
“Sometimes, no matter how hard a physician tries, there is no saving the patient,” the younger woman retorted impatiently. “Everyone knows that. Surely they haven’t accused Father of murder if he’s done everything that he could for the man!”
Aunt Helene held up both hands. “I’m not the one accusing him,” she reminded her niece. “I don’t know what the true story is. All I know is that your father has been accused of murder, and that he faces not only losing his livelihood but possible execution if we don’t find some way to disprove these accusations.”
Charlene was silent for a long moment. Execution? She couldn’t imagine life without her father. It had been a number of years now since Charlene had lived with him, but she still saw him as frequently as she could, whenever she chaperoned the young women to Bath.
Not only did Dr. Ellington support his daughter, but Charlene knew that if the man was ruined, and especially if he was executed, there was no way that she could ever hope to practice medicine either, no matter how elderly of a spinster she became.
She and Aunt Helene would be ruined for life. The family’s reputation would be tarnished irreparably, and they would become paupers.
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br /> As though echoing Charlene’s bleakest of thoughts, Helene asked, “What are we going to do?”
Charlene thought about it for a moment. The only thing that could save Father, she knew, was for a member of the peerage to vouch for him. The only person she could think of who could help with that was Lord Eric Cumberland.
That made a certain amount of sense, actually. He had told Charlene once, ten years ago now, that if ever she needed anything, he would help her out.
The two hadn’t exactly stayed in contact. Eric sent her at least a letter or two each year, but Charlene knew better than to respond to them.
Nor had they ever dared to meet again in person. He was of a much different circle than she was.
He didn’t go by the title of Duke, at least not in the letters that he sent her, but Charlene knew that Eric’s father had died recently and that he had taken on all of his father’s responsibilities. Eric had a dukedom to look after; he couldn’t possibly have time to help her.
What else was there to try, though? And was it not a sign that he was there in London at the moment? He would probably be at this same ball that Matilda was hoping to attend while wearing the dress that Charlene had been contemplating when Aunt Helene first knocked on her door.
It was a desperate attempt, but it was the only one that Charlene could think of.
She clasped her Aunt Helene’s hands between her own. “I have an idea,” Charlene told her. “You’ll just have to trust me.”
Helene looked like she didn’t know if she really wanted that, but finally, at long last, the older woman nodded.
A few days later, Charlene was at the ball with Matilda and a few of the other eligible ladies of England and their escorts. She spotted Eric across the room. Now what to do?
She could hardly approach him in front of all of these people. It would undermine anything that Eric might try to do to help afterwards.
Finally, Charlene stepped to the side and conned one of the servants into carrying the young duke a message from her. Then, she headed to the library and waited nervously to see if he would come.
Lord Eric had promised to help her, once upon a time. He owed Charlene and her father a debt; the two of them had saved his life.
On the other hand, Eric was the son of a duke, and he had far more important things on his plate than helping a doctor and his daughter.
Besides, how serious had the boy been, when he promised his help at some point in the future? For all Charlene knew, he promised that sort of help to everyone.
Not only that, but even as the son of the duke, he had always had to be careful with the sorts of scandals he got involved with.
Charlene still couldn’t believe that he had been so bold as to kiss her, that morning that he was leaving Bath after she had helped to save his life. That was totally out of the bounds of modern society. He hadn’t seemed concerned about that, though, and he had never apologized.
Charlene hadn’t wanted him to apologize, truth to tell.
But now, as a duke himself, he had to be even more careful. Dr. Ellington had been accused of poisoning an eminent peer of the realm.
What if it hadn’t been Charlene’s father doing the poisoning but someone else with a political motive? Eric couldn’t get himself caught up in the middle of that. Surely he would renege on his offer for help?
Then again, Eric had been telling the truth when he said that he wished for the two of them to keep in touch. He had been the one to initiate their letter-sending, and even though Charlene hadn’t responded to any more than one of his letters, Eric had continued sending them, all these years.
Charlene knew everything about him, she felt. In his letters, he was open about his life and frank about his fears and shortcomings as a man and as a new duke. She could only wonder what he might know about her in return.
Charlene sighed. She knew that she might as well ask his help. There was nothing to lose by asking.
She rubbed her damp palms down her dress, glad that the one she was wearing was of a darker navy, so the marks wouldn’t show.
Charlene hoped that Eric would be here soon, before she was missed in the main ballroom. She truly hoped that he could help her on her quest to clear her father’s name.
Chapter 4
Lord Eric Cumberland, Duke of Havenport
Lord Eric Cumberland, now technically Duke of Havenport, laughed at the boast that Lord Dalton Montgomery had made and clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“Dalton, I’ve known you since Eton,” Eric reminded him. “Never have I known you to go home with more than one woman in a night. You’re lucky if you can find one serving-woman to go home with you!”
“He’s lucky if he can find a woman to dance with him,” Lord Percival Woolridge, another of Eric’s dearest friends, shot back.
Dalton snorted and took a sip of his wine. “Laugh it up, fellows,” he said haughtily. “Soon, I shall be engaged to Miss Francine Covington, and then you will both be – “
Eric interrupted him with a groan. “You know that I’m not interested in Miss Covington,” he reminded his friend.
Percy smirked at him. “That’s because, as we all know, your interests stray towards a different sort,” he said lewdly.
Before Eric could make some smart reply to him, there was a servant at his elbow. “My Lord Duke?” she asked shyly.
Eric stared at her, startled to hear her ask for him. She didn’t wait for a reply, though, leaning in and whispering, “Miss Charlene Ellington has asked you to meet her in the library. She says she has need of your assistance.” Then, she darted off, like she was afraid to be seen near him.
Eric couldn’t help staring after her, thinking back over what she had just said. Miss Charlene Ellington. He remembered the girl as though that rescue of hers had happened just yesterday. Those blue-green eyes, those talented fingers of hers.
She had sent him only one letter over the years, but he had done his very best to keep tabs on her. Discreetly, of course. He knew that she was still unmarried, and at her age, he had a feeling that she would remain that way.
Eric didn’t know why she had never returned his letters. He knew for a fact that she had received his, but she never returned with anything of her own. Now though, she wanted to meet in the library. Eric wondered what that could mean.
“Who is this, Miss Charlene Ellington?” Dalton asked, raising an eyebrow at the young duke. “Are you courting someone that we didn’t know about?”
He sounded so hurt that it startled a laugh out of Eric. “Of course not,” he assured his friends. “Do you remember that adder bite that I suffered when I was younger?”
“Your father was livid,” Percy agreed, nodding his head.
“Miss Ellington’s father was the doctor who cured me,” Eric said simply. “And Miss Ellington herself was the one who rescued me, when she came across me in the wood.”
“What do you think she wants?” Percy asked curiously. His eyes roved the room. “Which one is she? Can you point her out?”
Eric shook his head, having already scanned the room. “I don’t see her,” he told them. “She must have already snuck off to the library. I wonder what she wants…” He paused, thinking about it.
The timing was suspicious: his first tour through London since he became duke. Surely she wasn’t hoping that he would set her up with a husband!
As terrible as that sounded, she was twenty-five years old, and Eric couldn’t have one of his first acts as a duke be to set her up with one of his acquaintances.
Not least of which because he still could sometimes see her in his dreams, her eyes bright as Eric laid her down on the sheets and ran his hands across her smooth skin.
If she had to be engaged to someone else, then of course that was only logical. But Eric would never want to be part of helping her find some other man as a husband.
He hadn’t heard any other gossip about her or her family, though, that might point to her wanting to meet with him. He couldn’t he
lp but wonder.
“Well, are you going to go to her?” Dalton demanded.
Eric sighed. “I probably should,” he admitted. “Once, I promised her that I would help her out, if she ever needed it. This could be that time, I suppose.”
“Go,” Percy sighed dramatically. “Clearly, you must.”
Eric scanned the crowd again, wondering if anyone would notice his absence. Not that he wanted to let that matter to him, but at the same time, Charlene was an unmarried woman.
If any were to notice that they had both snuck off, there was bound to be gossip. Eric wasn’t sure that he was ready to face gossip such as that.
He had generated enough of it on his own, since before and after his father’s passing, and he didn’t want to cause any trouble for either of them.
Regency Diaries of Seduction Collection: A Regency Historical Romance Box Set Page 59
