by Mary Balogh
"You suit the morning," Charles continued gallantly, "bright and gay. And especially bright to me. I had a letter from Juana this morning."
"Did you indeed!" Charlotte flashed him a bright smile before turning back to watch her horse's step on the street. "And does she still love you, Charles?"
"But of course," he answered, eyebrows raised. "How could she resist?"
"How, indeed," she responded. "I have observed nothing but swooning females in your wake wherever you go."
He laughed aloud. "Wretch! And how is it that you have been able to resist my fatal charm?"
"Perhaps because I have an instinct for self-preservation, sir," she replied. "When a gentleman confides in me his undying love for 'the most lovely lady in the world,' during our first conversation together, I have the common sense to know it would be unwise to develope a tendre for that gentleman."
He laughed again. "Charlotte, my love," he said, "I wish you were my younger sister."
"Goodness!" she responded. "Is that meant to be a compliment?"
They turned into the park and were able to relax their vigilance over the horses, which broke simultaneously into a trot.
"And what does your Juana have to say?" Charlotte asked after a few minutes of easy silence.
"She has hopes of her brother soon agreeing to her coming here to England," he said.
"Charles, that's wonderful! And you will marry her?"
"Of course!"
"Yet you have still said nothing about her to your mother or any other member of your family?"
"Juana is nobly born," Charles explained, "but her family has lost most of their possessions in the wars.When I met her, she was living in near-poverty with her brother and his family in a five-room apartment in Madrid. Mama and Dick are very high in the instep, not to mention Rosalind and the other girls. I fear they would throw all kinds of objections in the way if I were to announce my secret betrothal. No, I still feel it better to wait until she arrives in England. I know they will not be able to resist her when they see her. Oh, Charlotte, you should see her dark hair and flashing black eyes. She flies up into the boughs at the slightest provocation." He chuckled at some private memories.
"Yes, it will be most exciting to meet her," agreed Charlotte.
"In the meantime," he continued, "Mama is pushing in my direction all the insipid and simpering misses the Season has to offer."
"Of which number I am one," Charlotte said tartly.
"You? Insipid and simpering? Never!" he said. "You have perhaps too much spirit for your own good. But I am grateful to you for agreeing to spend so much time with me. It gives me breathing space. I hope I am not keeping you away from any particular admirer. Am I, Charlotte?"
"Oh, indeed not," she assured him brightly. "I have no intention of fixing my choice yet."
He looked searchingly into her face and grinned. "It sounds as if I have touched you on the raw."
Charlotte kicked the side of the horse. "I'll race you to that large oak!" she shouted, pointing ahead about half a mile. The mare, unused to such treatment and startled out of a steady trot, broke into a sudden and panicked gallop. Charlotte leaned forward and clung to the reins. She gave herself up to a feeling of exhilaration. It seemed an age since she had last enjoyed a clandestine gallop with Meg at home.
Devin Northcott and the Earl of Brampton were riding slowly in the opposite direction, discussing the issues of a morning debate in the House.
"By Jove, it's Miss Wells!" Devin suddenly exclaimed, paling noticeably. The next moment his horse sprang into a gallop, responding to the vicious prod of Devin's spurs.
A startled Brampton took in the scene at a glance. Charlotte was indeed flying in his direction, bent low over her horse's neck. Charles was in hot pursuit, and Northcott was now approaching at an angle designed to cut her off. Brampton could not decide on the instant if Charlotte was in danger or not, but he also spurred his horse ahead.
Charlotte was suddenly made aware of another horseman-Mr. Northcott!-galloping toward her, wheeling his horse sharply about, and bringing it in close to hers. The race took on a new thrill. She felt sudden indignation, though, when his hand reached out and caught her horse's bridle just above the bit and hung grimly on until the mare slowed to a trot and then stopped altogether.
Devin dismounted quickly, grasped Charlotte firmly by the waist, and lifted her to the ground. He held her against his fast-beating heart for a few moments until he became aware of the impropriety of such a situation.
"Quite safe now, my dear," he muttered soothingly to the feather of her riding hat. "Must tell Bram to find you a quieter mount."
Charlotte, who had been furious at being so effectively prevented from completing the race, was by now unaccountably demure. "Mr. Northcott, whatever would I have done without you?" she said breathlessly.
He coughed. "Glad to be of service," he said.
"Were you really in danger, Charlotte, my love?" Charles asked with concern, dismounting beside them and breaking a certain spell.
"I have not much experience at riding," she lied meekly.
"I suggest that you take Charlotte home at once and let my wife tend to her, Charles," Brampton said from his horse's back.
Charlotte held out a timid right hand. "Thank you, sir," she said, smiling shyly up at Devin, "for saving me from a nasty tumble."
"M' pleasure," he mumbled, bowing over her hand.
"Charlotte, you fraud," was Charles' sympathetic comment as they rode away in the direction of the park entrance. "You were not in danger for one moment. That fellow has a tendre for you. Were you teasing him?"
"Mr. Northcott?" asked Charlotte, her eyes wide with innocence. "You mistake, sir. He is so old!"
He laughed. "All of thirty, I believe."
Back near the oak tree, Devin Northcott was mounting his horse again, muttering to himself. "Charlotte, my love!" he was saying in disgust.
On the following day Brampton announced that he was moving his household to the country for at least a couple of weeks. He had estate business at Brampton Court that had been needing his attention for some time. He had intended to travel down alone and stay for a few days, but had found himself making several excuses for not doing so. He and his wife had taken on the responsibility of chaperoning Charlotte during her come-out Season. Although he had every confidence in his wife's wisdom and discretion, and knew that she could control her sister's more impulsive nature, he still felt that they needed him to lend support as an escort to various social functions. He knew that he could rely on his brother and his best friend to escort the ladies in his absence, but somehow he found the thought distasteful.
Then, of course, there was his budding romance with the mysterious lady whom he could call only his angel. He hated to leave just at a time when he had established contact with her again, and just when it seemed that a very satisfactory affair was developing. But then again, he found that the situation was not really bringing him much joy. He did not want an affair with her; he wanted a relationship. And, even more confusing, there was the fact that he wanted to be faithful to his wife; he wanted to build an affectionate relationship with her, too.
Finally Brampton had to admit that his real reluctance to leave had entirely to do with his own comfort. Who, at Brampton Court, would remember to order his favorite meals? Who would listen quietly and with interest to his political theories and his various concerns over his estates, his horses, and other personal matters? And who would screen his visitors so that he saw only persons he would find interesting, while she sat patiently conversing with all the bores? Brampton did not love his wife as he loved his angel, he did not desire her as passionately, but he was beginning to find the thought of being away from her deuced uncomfortable.
There were only a few weeks of the Season left, and Brampton did not want to cut it short, for Charlotte's sake. On the other hand, some of the business he had to attend to would not wait. Brampton hit on the happy solution of organizing a hou
se party at Brampton Court, so that his sister-in-law could have all the social activities that she could possibly want.
He summoned his wife to the library after breakfast and put the suggestion to her.
"Well, what do you think, my dear?" he asked, leaning back in the chair behind his desk and steepling his fingers as he watched her sitting quiet and straight-backed in the chair across from his. "Will you be bored in the country? Will Charlotte be disappointed to miss the vast whirl of balls and breakfasts and such?"
"I cannot speak for Charlotte, Richard," she answered earnestly, "but I should like it of all things. It is turning so hot and dusty in the city now. It will be perfectly splendid to be back at Brampton Court with its lawns and trees. And the lake," she added. She gazed eagerly across the desk at him so that he sat dazed by the life that had welled up in her.
"Do you prefer the country to the city?" he asked with curiosity.
"Yes, indeed I do, Richard," she replied. "But of course," she added, suddenly aware of her own enthusiasm and covering it for fear he would think her childish, "I am happy to be wherever you wish to be."
"Now that we have Charlotte launched," he said, gazing at her so intently that she lowered her eyes to the hands clasped in her lap, "we shall be able to spend more time at home. My father always preferred to live there, and live there we did until his death when I was sixteen. It is a good place for children."
Margaret tried to stop herself from blushing as her hands clasped together more tightly. She wondered if her husband's absence from her room since the night of Vauxhall had solely to do with what had happened that night or if he had been counting weeks and had assumed this was the time when he could not touch her. But nothing had happened in its regular cycle, and she had been living from hour to hour in painful hope.
Brampton broke into her thoughts. "Do you think we can arrange a house party at such short notice?"
"If we begin today, yes," she answered calmly. "How many guests did you have in mind, Richard?"
"About twelve?"
"And whom do you wish to invite?"
"Mother and Charles, certainly. Northcott will come, though I am sure he will stay at his own home, since it is only three miles away. Lucy and Henry have been angling for an invitation this twelvemonth or more. You may choose the others, my dear. May I suggest choosing young people who will be congenial to Charlotte?"
And that was almost the full extent of the plans that Brampton made himself. It was Margaret who, for the next week, worked almost nonstop writing invitations, sending notice of their arrival to Brampton Court, deciding what possessions were to be packed and taken and which staff members were to accompany the family, and trying to ensure that Charlotte still had a full social life.
Charlotte was quite happy with the new arrangements. Although she was a high-spirited girl, she was not silly. She was beginning to find the almost constant round of social activities rather boring. One tended to see the same faces wherever one went. One learned what compliments to expect from which gallants, what confidences to expect from which girls, and what invitations one was likely to receive from which members of the ton. She had her regular circle of admirers, but had found that only one of them had the power to increase her heartbeat, and he seemed to have lost interest in the last few weeks. She had been thankful for Charles' company. He was fun and easy to be with, and since everyone seemed to assume that he was a front-runner for her affections, she was not so constantly pestered by boring and languishing young men.
Charlotte helped Margaret pick out the guests for the house party. Her two close friends, Annabelle Frazer and Susanna Kemp, were to come with Susanna's amiable brother Ted; the twins, Rodney and Kenneth Langford, and Miss Faith Axton, betrothed to the latter, were invited. The dowager countess, on hearing of the party, also requested that her friends. Lord and Lady Romley, be included. All were able to come, even at such short notice.
Only one thing was allowed to take Margaret's mind off the impending house party, and that was her appointment to meet her husband again at Vauxhall. Charlotte was worried about the event, too.
"Meg, you must go," she pleaded when Margaret claimed for at least the twentieth time that week that the original plan had been rather childish and must be forgotten.
"We did not think further than the first meeting, Lottie," she explained. "There is nothing left to prove. Yes, he did find me attractive at the Hetherington ball six years ago, and yes, he does find me attractive now in the same disguise." Margaret did not explain just how attractive he was finding her. "But I cannot go on with the deception. He will find me out sooner or later. And even if he does not, what is to be gained?" Except a lot of wild, uninhibited happiness, she added silently.
"But we cannot give up now, Meg," Charlotte argued. "He loves you. But he does not know that it is you he loves. You will still insist on behaving so primly all the time. And you still wear your hair in those old-maidenly braids. You have to tell him, Meg."
"Impossible, Lottie! Such an interview would be horribly embarrassing and a terrible blow to Richard's dignity."
"Phooey!" Charlotte exploded. "Is it undignified to have a wife that loves one?"
Margaret sighed. "However," she said, chiding herself for a weakening resolve, "perhaps I should don the disguise and meet him one more time. It will surely be the last time, if we are to spend some weeks in the country."
Charlotte jumped to her feet, clapping her hands. "Oh, Meg," she said, bending over her sister and hugging her, "it will all turn out, you will see. I never knew of such a stupid situation as this, where two people love each other so much and cannot say so."
"You have so much experience," Margaret teased affectionately.
Chapter 9
Brampton waited at the same tree as he had chosen the week before. He had feared earlier that rain would spoil the evening, but although the sky was still heavy with clouds and the air was unseasonably cool, it had remained dry. The revelers had certainly not stayed away. They passed him on the path in couples and in groups, talking quietly among themselves or noisily joking and laughing. Sounds of music floated to him from the orchestra stand just beyond the trees. Colored lanterns swayed in the breeze and made the area even more of an enchanted land.
Brampton drew his black cloak even more closely around him. She was late tonight. What if she did not come at all? Part of him felt relief-he would be released from an impossible situation. And part of him felt something very like panic. He would have no way of tracing her if she did not come. He might never see her again!
And then he spotted her, tripping lightly along the path, a gray woolen cloak drawn over the silver gown, a gay smile on her lips and in her eyes.
"Bon soir, monsieur," she greeted him, extending to him a gloved hand in which she clasped her closed fan. "I thought perhaps the inclement weather would keep you indoors tonight."
"Not if that would keep me away from you, angel," he responded warmly. And he gathered her to him and kissed her smiling lips. "Shall we go?" He indicated the direction in which he had left his carriage.
"No, monsieur. I wish to sample the delights of Vauxhall. The food, the dancing, the fireworks, c'est bien?"
"Angel," he protested, "there is more than an hour to wait until the fireworks display. We will catch our deaths of cold before then. Besides," he added, lowering his voice seductively, "I had definite plans for keeping you warm, sweet."
She tossed her head and pouted. "You told me, monsieur, that you loved me," she said. "I see that you love me for only one reason."
"Angel, that is not true," he protested, amused as usual by her theatrics. "I love you for your pertness and your zest for life-and for your ability to twist me around your little finger, you minx."
He took her little hand in his and strolled along the path with her, toward a wider avenue and brighter lights. They walked and talked, sampled the wafer-thin slices of ham for which the gardens were famous, danced, and walked more.
B
rampton felt an unexpected flatness of spirits. She had not been correct in saying that he loved her for one thing only, yet there was enough truth in her accusation to make him uncomfortable. He wanted to get to know her, to take her other places and do other things with her than take her to bed to make love to her. But he felt hemmed in on every side. She was not a lightskirt. He could not set her up in a house where he could visit her and spend time with her at his leisure. If they met in public places-even here, where they were in disguise-there was always the chance that he would be recognized. Very few people would be disturbed to see him with a woman other than his wife, but he dreaded the possibility of causing her pain if rumor of his infidelity should reach her. It seemed that the only place he could take her was to the rooms of the ever-faithful Devin Northcott. And once there, it was inevitable that they should end up in bed together. Brampton could just not see any happy future for their liaison.
She seemed to read his thoughts. They were strolling again along one of the darker, quieter paths, the blowing branches above their heads making a web of shadows ahead of them. They had been silent for a time.
"It is like walking along a path with a dead end, is it not, monsieur?" she asked quietly.
"Mm?"
"It is too late for us," she said. "We must stop meeting."
He did not answer for a while. They continued to walk slowly along the path; then he turned aside and led her among the trees until they were out of sight of passersby. He gathered her into his arms and laid his cheek against her ear. She wrapped her arms around his waist, beneath his cloak. They stood thus for a long while, without exchanging a word.
Brampton finally broke the silence. "You are right, my angel," he said softly, "but how can I bear to let you go?"
"I am just a dream from your past," she said sadly. "You will forget me."
"Never," he denied fervently. "And you, angel, will you forget me?"
