by Mary Balogh
She wriggled impatiently. "Don't you see?" she said. "It's perfect. When you go to Portsmouth, I shall go with you."
"Hold it right there," he ordered. "That's a scatterbrained idea, if I ever heard one."
"Why?"
"Why, she asks," he said, eyes raised to the sky. "You do not ride around England with a man and no chaperone, my dear."
"Phooey. It would take only a few hours to get there and then I will be with Juana and her servants."
"And what if, by some accident, we were forced to spend a night on the road? You would be hopelessly compromised, my love, I should be forced to marry you and it would be good-bye, Juana, and good-bye, Devin. Perhaps we could introduce them to each other."
"Nonsense," Charlotte said. "For what possible reason could we be delayed on the road?"
"Earthquake. Typhoon. Snowstorm."
"In July? How foolish!"
"Very well. Continue," he said with mock weariness.
"I should leave a note for Meg so that she would not worry," she continued. "But Meg will not give away your secret. But you see, Charles, when I return with you and Juana, everyone will see that I am pleased and that I must have known about her all along."
" 'Everyone' being Devin Northcott, I assume?"
"Well, yes. Anyway, he will be forced to admit then that I could not have been flirting with you, will he not? And then he will be very sorry."
"And grovel in the dirt at your feet and beg for the honor of your hand. What an addlepated female you are, Charlotte."
"Why?" she asked crossly.
"He is much more likely to turn up his aristocratic nose in disgust at a female who would go traipsing around with another man."
"He would not. And don't make him sound so odious."
"Sorry, but I thought he was 'stuffy and insufferably high in the instep.' Anyway, my love, the answer is no. You will have to think of something else."
"No?"
"No!"
"But, Charles-"
"Absolutely and irrevocably NO my love. A strong, strong negative. The opposite of yes."
"Oh!"
Chapter 14
Charlotte was sitting beside Charles in a closed carriage belonging to the Earl of Brampton. She was huddled inside a thin summer pelisse that covered her favorite yellow muslin dress, the one that made her look like a ray of sunshine, according to one admirer. She felt cold and cross. The rain and the mist seemed to have penetrated even the carriage so that she was chilled, and her hair under its yellow bonnet felt as if it had lost some of its curl and bounce. She was certainly not going to be at her best to meet Juana. To crown it all, Charles was stiff and starchy and cross as a bear.
It was two days after their conversation at the lake. Finally that morning Charles had received the letter he had long awaited. He and Charlotte had been in the stables preparing to take their horses for a ride, when a figure familiar to Charles from his mother's establishment in London came riding in on a well-lathered horse.
"John!" Charles had greeted him eagerly, striding toward the new arrival and grabbing the horse by the reins. "You have news?"
"A letter for you from Portsmouth, Captain," John had replied, slipping from the saddle with a thankful sigh and withdrawing a package from an inner pocket.
Charles had whipped it from his grasp and had eagerly torn open its seals. Charlotte had come running to his side. "She's here, Charlotte," he had cried. "At Portsmouth. The Crown and Anchor."
Charlotte had clapped her hands. "How exciting! Are we setting out immediately?"
Charles had ignored her choice of pronoun. "She has a duenna with her and a manservant and some sort of male second cousin. And doubtless two mountains of luggage. I shall need two carriages."
"Take one from here and hire an additional post chaise for the return journey," Charlotte had suggested.
"Good idea," he had mused. "If I start immediately I should be in Portsmouth by midafternoon. We should be back here by midevening."
"Will you just give me time to change out of my riding habit?" Charlotte had asked anxiously.
"Eh? You have all day to change, my love. We won't be back here for hours."
"No, Charles, please," she had pleaded, catching at his arm. "You must let me go. It is my only chance, don't you see?"
"No, I don't see, Charlotte," he had answered un-sympathetically. "And I have no time to stand here arguing. I have several arrangements to make."
"I shall keep asking until you change your mind," Charlotte had said, clinging to his arm tenaciously. "Charles, be fair! You are having your chance with Juana. Let me have mine with Devin."
"I don't know what makes you think this featherbrained scheme will bring him running to your side," Charles had said in exasperation, "but come if you must. On your own head be it, Charlotte. Just don't expect me to marry you when your reputation is gone, that's all."
"Oh, thank you, Charles," she had said excitedly, aiming a kiss at his cheek and missing entirely.
"You can have half an hour, not one minute longer," Charles had yelled at her as she began to hurry toward the house. "And don't forget to leave a note for Margaret, or Dick will have my head."
Charlotte had been ready with three minutes to spare. She had dressed carefully and touched up her hair, all without summoning Kitty. She had not wanted anyone to spoil her plan now that it looked like succeeding. She had spent five minutes composing a very careful letter to Meg, explaining everything and begging her to keep the secret until the evening. Margaret had not been at home. She had gone, with the dowager, to visit some sick cottage tenants. At the last moment she had grabbed a pelisse. Heavy clouds had moved across the sun; it looked as if it might rain later on.
Charles was regretting his decision to allow Charlotte to accompany him. Nothing but trouble could come of it. It was just not the thing for him to allow an unattached, unaccompanied female to ride in a closed carriage with him, especially for such a long time and distance. He knew that there would be big trouble with Dick. Even his gentle sister-in-law would surely express her displeasure. They would, of course, blame him. He was old enough to know better, even if Charlotte was not. As if he was not going to have a difficult-enough time as it was, suddenly producing a Spanish girl and her entourage and introducing her as his fiancée. What a hobble! His mother would throw a fit of the vapors per minute!
His mood was not lightened by the rain. It made the inside of the carriage clammy, and he could imagine what it was doing to the outside. He had so hoped that his darling would see England at its best when he took her to his childhood home. This reminded him uncomfortably of Spain in the rainy season and all those long and pointless forced marches to and fro across the country playing cat and mouse with Boney and the French.
Fortunately, at least, these English roads were still passable in the rain. They changed horses once at a posting inn, arranging to pick up the Earl of Brampton's cattle on the return journey. They arrived in Portsmouth at three o'clock in the afternoon and were directed to the Crown and Anchor Inn.
For a long time Charlotte had been forming in her mind a mental image of Charles' betrothed. She had a firm picture of a girl about the same height and build as Meg, but with very dark hair and eyes. She was surprised, therefore, when she was ushered into a private parlor ahead of Charles and saw a girl rise from a chair close to the fire. She was dark, yes, with masses of black hair coiled on top of her head, and flashing eyes that looked equally black. But she was tall-surely on a level with Charles' chin-and had a luscious figure: heavy breasts, tiny waist, full hips. She looked almost frighteningly haughty, her body held very straight, her chin high, her heavy black eyebrows raised in apparent disdain.
All these things Charlotte noted in a flash. A moment later, this haughty aristocrat was hurtling across the room, shrieking "Carlos!" and a whole string of other Spanish words that were incomprehensible to Charlotte. Charlotte had the presence of mind to step aside before the human missile hurled herself a
gainst Charles and was picked up by the waist and twirled around and around. He clasped her to him as if he would break every bone in her body, and murmured Spanish words into her ear.
Charlotte could not understand and, anyway, was a little embarrassed by this public display of affection. She turned and examined with interest the two other occupants of the room. One was an older lady dressed all in black, her graying black hair drawn severely back from her face and tied in a topknot. She looked as aristocratic as Juana, though Charlotte assumed she was the deunna. The other was a man in his forties, Charlotte guessed, also tall and thin, with a sallow face, graying hair, and high prominent cheekbones. He must be the second cousin, Charlotte guessed. Both were looking disapprovingly at the demonstration going on before their eyes.
In the meantime, a burst of Spanish had broken loose from the couple who were still clasped together, though it looked as if Juana was trying to pull free. It became obvious almost immediately that she was furiously angry. It was equally obvious that Charles was amused. As she prattled on, he grabbed her arms and shook her gently, laughing and talking calmly back at her in her own language.
"She is jealous of you, Charlotte, my love," he said at last. "She thinks you must be the reason I have been so long coming to fetch her." And he laughed gaily and entered the fray again. The duenna had moved closer to the couple and was also talking, apparently in an effort to calm her mistress. The cousin continued to stare disapprovingly from his position of safety across the room.
Juana raised her hand and brought it viciously toward Charles' cheek. He caught her wrist and prevented the blow, but his face sobered instantly. He waved his other hand in front of her face and talked in fast, crisp Spanish. Charlotte looked on in astonishment. He was obviously threatening to strike Juana. Could this be the boyish, devil-may-care Charles that she knew? She had hardly seen him serious.
Juana's hysterics ended almost immediately. She flung her arms around Charles' neck and proceeded to sob loudly on his shoulder. He winked outrageously at the duenna over her head, and the older lady nodded in sober approval.
"Come and be introduced, Charlotte, my love," he offered finally when the sobs had been replaced by the occasional sniffle. "This is Juana. Is she not magnificent?"
Juana, in a burst of generous contrition, tore herself from Charles' arms and flung her arms around Charlotte. She favored her with a long, excited speech.
"I have to confess that she is thanking you for not loving me," Charles translated with smug amusement. "She cannot imagine how you could have shown such fortitude."
Charlotte smiled, nodded, and seriously thought that Charles must have windmills in his head to be contemplating matrimony with this not-so-dormant volcano.
The reunion quickly gave place to business. Charles spoke to all three of the Spaniards, apparently instructing them to pack their belongings and be ready to leave as soon as possible. After a few minutes they left the parlor, Juana with great reluctance. She beckoned Charlotte to go with her, but Charles said something and restrained his traveling companion with a hand on the arm.
"I told her we are tired and thirsty," he explained. "I shall order tea for you and something for myself and then you may join Juana and her maid upstairs while I see about hiring an extra carriage. Isn't she just marvelous, Charlotte?"
"She is certainly unique," Charlotte commented diplomatically.
Charles chuckled and rang the bell for service. He gave their order to the girl who appeared, and asked her to hurry. Charlotte sank into the chair that the duenna had vacated, close to the fire. Charles crossed the room, seated himself on the arm of her chair, and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Charlotte, my love," he said, leaning toward her and looking into her face.
And it was these words and this sight that met the anxious ears and eyes of the Countess of Brampton and Devin Northcott as they burst into the room.
Margaret had returned from her morning of visiting, watched the dowager climb the stairs to her room to change for luncheon, gone into the rose garden to cut some fresh buds for the dining-room table, and finally retired to her room to wash her hands, tidy her hair, and change her gown. She noticed immediately the white envelope propped against the mirror of her dressing table. She slit open the envelope and read the letter over which Charlotte had labored for five whole minutes and which she had been convinced explained the situation clearly.
Dearest Meg,
Pray forgive me for any worry I may cause you, but I have gone with Charles to Portsmouth. He is in love, Meg, as you will soon be forced to admit for yourself. Even his lordship cannot be angry when he knows that. I know you may be cross with me, Meg; I should not really do this. But my case is hopeless. This is the only chance I have of any sort of happiness. You know yourself that I do not love Charles, but everyone else thinks that I do, you see, dearest. All will be explained when we arrive home again. Your own dear sister,
Charlotte
Margaret read the letter through a second time, panic rising in her, hoping there was some other interpretation to put on it than the obvious one. She put a shaking hand to her mouth, trying to think clearly enough to know what to do. If only Richard were at home! She finally rushed along to the dowager's room and knocked hastily on the door.
"Mama, I have found this letter in my room," she gasped out. "Charlotte has eloped with Charles. They are on their way to the Continent to be married-at least, I assume they plan to marry."
The dowager crossed the room with uncharacteristic haste, forgetting hartshorn and vinaigrette in this real crisis, and snatched the letter from Margaret's hand.
"What a pair of clothheads!" was her first comment. "They will never suit, Margaret. They are just a pair of irresponsible children. And she does not even pretend to love him! What can it mean!"
"I fear she is marrying him in the hope of recovering from a disappointment," Margaret said.
"Devin, I suppose," the dowager agreed. "And it is he she should marry, too. He would probably take her over his knee and spank her every so often and beat some sense into her."
"But what are we to do, Mama?" Margaret wailed. "This would be a terrible mistake for both of them."
She did not wait for her mother-in-law's answer.
She had heard a horse approach up the driveway. "Richard!" she cried in relief, and fled out of the room, down the main staircase, and through the front door. She found herself confronting Devin Northcott, who was in the act of dismounting from his horse and handing the reins to a groom.
"Good afternoon, ma'am," he said. "Hope I haven't disturbed your luncheon. Came from m' mother to invite you all to dinner tomorrow evening. Bram should be home by then?"
"Oh, Mr. Northcott," Margaret sobbed, and startled him by rushing straight into his arms.
"I say, ma'am, what is it?" he asked, alarmed, and proceeded to help her up the steps and into the house.
"I do beg your pardon, sir," she said, "but I don't know what to do."
"Calm yourself, Lady Bram," he said soothingly, and led her into a small salon, closing the door behind them. "Tell me what's the matter. I shall do m' best to help."
"It's Charlotte," she wailed.
"What? Miss Wells? Ill? Hurt?"
"She has eloped with Charles. But she does not love him, Mr. Northcott. She is only unhappy because she has quarreled with you." Margaret was distraught. She would not normally have talked so indiscreetly to a man who was not even a member of the family.
Devin had turned pale and stood rooted to the spot. "Gretna?" he asked in a strangled voice.
"No, Portsmouth. They must be intending to cross the Channel."
"When? How long ago did they leave?"
"I don't know exactly. Maybe two hours. Probably less."
"I must follow them," Devin said, and started for the door. "Don't distress yourself, ma'am. I shall bring her home safe."
"Oh, but I must come with you," Margaret cried, grabbing for his arm.
"
Wouldn't hear of it, ma'am," Devin said firmly. "Not at all the thing. And Bram wouldn't like it."
"Mr. Northcott," she said, "Charlotte is my sister. I must come. She will listen to me, I am sure. Besides, she seems to be without a female companion. She will need me. If we can be seen to return together, we may avert scandal."
Devin hesitated. "Must have a closed carriage, then. Will be slower, though. But probably best-coming on to rain. I shall go see to it, ma'am." And he hurried away in the direction of the stables while Margaret rushed up the stairs to tell the dowager what was happening and to fetch a cloak and bonnet and half-boots. Ten minutes later, the coach was on its way-the fast-traveling carriage that had brought the family from London, and the earl's best horses. By the time Charles and Charlotte arrived at the Crown and Anchor, Devin and Margaret were only half an hour behind them. They were fortunate enough to recognize the familiar carriage in the courtyard of the inn.
Margaret hurried to the public room of the inn, praying that they were in time, that the couple had not yet embarked on a ship for the Continent. Devin was close behind her, a reassuring hand on the small of her back as they met the landlord and inquired about the occupants of the plain carriage standing outside.
"In the private parlor," he replied absently and continued on his way to a tableful of customers, a tray of ale balanced on one hand.
"Thank God," Devin remarked as Margaret pushed at the door of the parlor, too overwrought with emotion to consider the courtesy of knocking first. The situation looked bad enough. Charles was sitting on the arm of Charlotte's chair, leaning toward her, a hand on her shoulder, calling her "my love." Both jumped guiltily to their feet.
"Lottie! Thank God we are in time!" Margaret exclaimed, and rushed across the room to clasp her sister in her arms.
"Meg?" Charlotte said simultaneously. "What are you doing here?"
The two men meanwhile were eyeing each other suspiciously.
