by Corwin, Amy
“Your aunt? Your mother’s sister?”
Charlotte nodded, unable to speak. An intense pain pinned her throat closed. She coughed and nodded. “Yes. I lived with her in Charleston for eight years.”
“And what of her family? Do they keep in contact with you?”
“Her family? No. She never married.” Charlotte remembered her energetic, self-sufficient aunt and then smiled. “She said she did not have the time.”
“Um,” Mr. Archer replied, the slightly superior expression on his face indicating he thought she meant her aunt had never been asked.
“She had dozens of suitors, but she just refused them all. Even after they eventually married, they still visited, you know,” Charlotte paused and realized she was giving them entirely the wrong impression. “With their wives and children, of course. They all remained friends. She said it was just more convenient to have the house to ourselves.”
It was impossible to explain. Her aunt had smoked cigars rolled from their own tobacco and said the most outrageous—but entirely honest—things and everyone adored her. Her last three beaus came regularly for dinner for years, even after they realized she would never marry any of them and they reluctantly found other wives. And they did bring their wives and children to dine. Everyone had been welcomed warmly.
Her aunt had once declared in a fit of pique that her friends only came because they enjoyed being insulted. However, regardless of why they remained loyal to her aunt, Charlotte had been thankful to them when she was eleven and they had taken charge when her aunt grew ill with influenza. After she died, the three men made sure Charlotte’s fortune remained intact and sent her safely with one of their wives to England where Charlotte’s relatives could accept responsibility for her.
“She sounds like she was a lovely woman. I wish we could have met her,” Lady Victoria said. “That was a very thoughtful gift, Miss Haywood. Now, we were just discussing—”
Charlotte sighed. “Please, let me apologize. I know it is too late. But before I go, I truly wanted you to know I did not mean to insult him.”
“Go?” Lady Victoria asked, puzzled.
“Insult him? Who?” Mr. Archer interjected at the same time.
The duke laughed, his blue eyes sparkling as he picked up a cup of tea Charlotte had not even seen on the low table in front of Lady Victoria. His eyes caught hers, and she experienced the sensation of drowning in their depths. Her lungs refused to fill with air until she looked away, flustered and warm.
She cleared her throat. “I realize I cannot stay here, but I hoped you would understand—”
“What do you mean, you cannot stay here?” Lady Victoria repeated. She patted the empty cushion next to her on the low settee and picked up the teapot to pour a cup of tea. As if by habit, Lady Victoria poured milk into the cup and added a spoonful of sugar before dipping the spoon in to take a small taste. “Have a cup of tea, dear,” she said, holding the cup out to her.
Bending to sit, Charlotte stared at the cup before looking into Lady Victoria’s sympathetic eyes. Slowly, Charlotte sat down, overcome by the feeling of finally coming home to her true family. The gesture reminded her so much of her aunt, so much of everything Charlotte had lost.
It wrenched her heart to think she had found this now when it would do her the least good—after she had already poisoned the well with her thoughtless remarks the night before.
Settling into her chair, she accepted the cup of tea.
She sipped it tentatively to cover her reaction. Something of what she felt must have shown on her face, however, because a faint frown formed a V between the duke’s brows.
Lady Victoria held out her hand to her. “Oh, dear, I apologize. I forgot you don’t like milk and sugar in your tea! I always fix it for my husband, and I—”
“No, no. This is perfect.” Charlotte took another swallow, the sweet milky taste filling her mouth with memories of happier times.
“What is this about leaving?” the duke asked, the frown deepening.
“Is that not what you have been discussing?” Charlotte parried to cover her emotions. “That and what I said at Lady Beatrice’s soirée?”
“What did you say?” the duke asked. “It must have been dreadful.”
“You—” Charlotte sputtered “I said it to you. You were telling Mr. Archer about it when I came in. You know perfectly well, and I don’t care to repeat it.”
“Obviously, I must have been indulging in far more drink than I thought. I cannot remember you saying anything that could not be repeated in mixed company. However do refresh my memory. After all, if you are planning on being thrown out into the blizzard with no shoes and gaping holes in your tattered cloak, it must have been very, very bad. Very bad, indeed.”
“Have you many snow storms in London at the end of May?” Charlotte couldn’t help a small laugh. At the stifled sound, the duke’s expression lightened although there seemed to be some worry or sadness in the depths of his eyes.
“Not many, but I am sure if your deeds were bad enough, one could be arranged.”
“Hmm. Then what precisely did you tell them about our introduction?”
“That you had the audacity to refer to me as ‘Your Awful Graciousness’. That is correct, is it not?”
Everyone stared at Charlotte. She glanced down at her clasped hands. “Tolerably accurate.” Her throat closed so tightly she had to swallow to breathe as all the air left the room. She caught his gaze and stared back in a final act of defiance. “I think I may also have said ‘Your Excellency’ and ‘Your Gracious Dreadfulness.’ There may have even been a ‘Mindless Exaltedness’ tossed somewhere into the conversation. I am not precisely sure.”
Mr. Archer and his wife broke down into helpless laughter. Charlotte watched them while her fingers twisted in her lap. She didn’t know how to interpret their reaction. Fortunately, they did not leave her in torment for long.
“By God,” Mr. Archer exclaimed, slapping his knee. “That is a prime ‘un.”
“You were afraid our nephew would insist you depart?” Lady Victoria asked, ignoring her husband who was wiping his streaming eyes with a billowing white handkerchief.
“Yes. I don’t know why I said those things. I feel just dreadful about it. I don’t expect you to excuse me—it was complete idiocy.”
Lady Victoria laid her hand over Charlotte’s clenched fingers. “You were nervous, and it was your first night here. While I cannot recommend using such…appellations with other peers, I am sure our nephew has heard worse.”
“That is not an excuse, although I appreciate it, Lady Victoria.”
“Of course it is not an excuse. And quite frankly, knowing His Grace, I am not so much surprised at your remarks as I am that you have yet to complain about his lack of manners.”
The duke nearly spilled his tea. “My lack of manners? I behaved with perfect propriety the entire night. When have I not?”
“Do you truly want me to answer that?” his aunt replied. “Because I just have one reminder for you—Cambridge.”
He glanced at her a trifle uneasily. When he caught Charlotte’s eyes on him, he had the audacity to grin.
Her heart fluttered until she glanced away. “Now that I think about it, I do believe—”
“Suffice it to say,” His Grace cut her off, “no one is upset with your thoroughly delightful manners, Miss Haywood. So there is no need to continue this discussion.”
“And there will be no more talk about anyone leaving,” Lady Victoria concluded. “Is that not correct, John?”
“Oh, quite right, my dear. Although I would still like to hear what Miss Haywood has to say about His Grace’s behavior at the party, just to obtain all the pertinent facts.” Then his expression became rather grim. He idly picked up the newspaper lying on the table next to him and refolded it into a tight rectangle.
When Charlotte glanced obliquely through her lashes at the duke, she realized that the darkness in his eyes had deepened. He glanced at her briefly before ey
eing his uncle in something akin to embarrassment and worry.
Just what reason did a duke have to be worried?
“I am sure, I wouldn’t know,” Charlotte replied, studying the duke’s pained expression. She glanced at her guardian and felt an ominous chill settle around her. “Is something wrong?”
“No—” Mr. Archer said.
The duke simultaneously said, “Yes.”
Charlotte looked from one to the other and folded her hands in her lap. “If it is not presumptuous to ask, perhaps Your Grace might explain?”
Chapter Ten
He should not enter any house, except in the execution of his duty, nor should he engage in conversation with anyone except on matters relating to duty. — Constable’s Pocket Guide
“There was an…accident at the party last night,” Nathaniel said heavily.
“An accident?” Miss Haywood echoed, confusion clouding her eyes. “Surely, you don’t mean the loss of your lapis fob?”
“No, not that. A girl, Lady Anne, was found in the gardens.”
“What happened to her?”
“I am afraid someone hit her over the head.”
“Poor thing. Is she badly injured?”
Nathaniel nodded. His stomach tightened. The heavy breakfast he had shared with Harnet now lodged like a cannonball under his heart. “She is dead, I am afraid.”
“You mean she was murdered?” Miss Haywood exclaimed.
“Well, yes, I am afraid so.”
She paled and pressed her fingers to her lips as if the announcement made her ill. Nathaniel reached over and squeezed her hand before he glanced around to find both Lady Victoria and Archer staring at him curiously. He released his grip on Miss Haywood’s hand despite her icy look of horror.
Then in a surge of defiance, he took her cold hands in his once more and rubbed them, trying to get warmth back into the frozen fingers. He couldn’t forget the way her eyes had been nearly silver with wariness when she walked into the room, afraid the Archers wouldn’t welcome her.
Nonetheless, her gift to his uncle showed a deep well of kindness despite her fears and he wondered if she realized how revealing the gesture was. Giving away the only thing remaining of her home and childhood exposed a soft, fragile heart aching for affection. He had seen the vulnerable hope in her eyes when she handed Archer the small chest. Feeling protective, Nathaniel could not ignore her outstretched hand.
“Miss Haywood, are you quite well?” he asked gently.
Lady Victoria gestured to her husband.
Archer walked over to a cabinet against the wall and pulled out a bottle of scotch whiskey. “Medicinal,” he said, moving to pour a dram into Miss Haywood’s teacup.
“Drink your tea, dear,” Lady Victoria said in a soft voice.
“What—oh,” Miss Haywood replied unsteadily. Nathaniel pressed the cup into her hands and held it steady while she drank the brew. Then her gaze met his.
His pulse quickened as something stirred in the depths of her eyes.
“You were in the garden….” Miss Haywood murmured softly, dashing cold water into his face. “When we first met, you—”
Nathaniel straightened. “I saw her in the garden, but I, uh, went in the other direction. Believe me.”
“Oh, we do, my lad—er, Your Grace,” Archer assured him. “Frightful thing.” He poured liberal doses of whiskey into all their cups. In silence, they drained them to the bottom.
“I didn’t have anything to do with it,” Nathaniel said, setting his cup down with a rattle. He couldn’t stand the look of dismay in Miss Haywood’s light blue eyes. They were so revealing of her moods, so easy to read. He stared into the clear depths, wishing he had never had the urge to walk alone in Lady Beatrice’s gardens for a breath of fresh air.
“I am sure you are innocent,” she said slowly.
He heard the hint if uncertainty in her voice and he replied bitterly, “Then you are one of the few.”
“Nonsense,” Charlotte said. Her shoulders straightened and she set her cup down with a snap. “There was not a drop of blood on you anywhere that I could see.”
Nathaniel replied, “At least you noticed.” He smiled at her.
Miss Haywood flushed and took another sip of tea, choking when she swallowed too quickly.
“It is amazing what rubbish they print,” Nathaniel said. “You obviously have more sense than to believe what you read.”
“So you two did meet in the garden,” Lady Victoria interrupted.
His grin widened.
Miss Haywood frowned at him and caught his gaze. She shook her head very so slightly. “We met on the terrace,” she corrected.
Apparently she didn’t want the Archers to know Nathaniel had dragged her off into the bushes. And that suited him. She needn’t have worried about him admitting that to her guardian. No one had been compromised. There was no earthly reason to discuss it.
“Well, nevvy? What of it?” Archer asked. “Garden or terrace?”
“Terrace, certainly,” Nathaniel replied smoothly. “Miss Haywood was instructing me on the identification of moths.” He tried to recapture Miss Haywood’s gaze to reassure her, but she resisted him. “It was all very correct.”
“Yes. And you were very polite, too, as I recall. It quite impressed me at the time,” Miss Haywood said. “Exceedingly polite.”
He stared at her. Her sky blue eyes twinkled roguishly above a pert nose lightly dusted with freckles. One long red curl twined over her shoulder, making her mannish scarf anything but masculine. His eyes drifted lower to the slight curve of her chest, remembering what Harnet said about women with slender builds.
Harnet could say what he wanted, Miss Haywood looked very much like trouble to Nathaniel.
“Enough of that boring topic,” Archer changed the subject. “Miss Haywood, have any of your previous guardians presented you to Society?”
Miss Haywood laughed, although Nathaniel detected a bitter edge. “I had no wish to be presented. Lord Westover knew this. We discussed it several times. He would have presented me had I wanted him to do so.”
“But why would you refuse presentation?” Lady Victoria asked.
“I have no wish to marry.”
What an extraordinary thing for a woman to say. Nathaniel searched her face for an explanation, but she didn’t appear to be sad. He could see no sign of anger over some past incident with a man that would discourage dreams of marriage, so why did she dislike the idea?
“Why?” Archer asked. “You are intelligent and attractive. Why do you not wish to marry? Don’t you desire a family? Children?”
Nathaniel smiled when Lady Victoria reached over and squeezed her husband’s hand, her face filled with warmth. Money was never a consideration for Archer, despite the number of times he had fallen a trifle short toward the end of the month. It would never occur to John Archer to mention Miss Haywood’s most obvious asset, her wealth.
“No. I have other interests.” Miss Haywood pulled several letters out of her reticule. Watching her, Nathaniel realized the reason for her severely tailored dark green dress: she was dressed for travel. She had not been just nervous when she came into the room. She had been convinced he would demand she be sent elsewhere after her disrespectful remarks the previous evening.
Had she thought he was so high in the instep that he would be angry with her? How could she have misread his character so badly?
He couldn’t recall saying anything to make her come to such unflattering conclusions. He had laughed and had even pulled her into the bushes later.
But then again, perhaps she did have reasons. Lady Victoria had told him earlier about Miss Haywood’s frequent moves. None of her previous guardians kept her for more than a year. Such a history of rebuffs would affect anyone and it also raised a serious question: what was wrong with her? Moodiness? Insanity?
Perhaps he should do some quiet inquiries. There was no doubt in his mind that Lady Victoria was a shrewd and intelligent woman—aft
er all, she had kept Archer out of serious trouble for nearly twenty years—but he didn’t want a cuckoo deposited in their nest.
The crackle of paper caught his attention. Miss Haywood opened and smoothed out several worn and refolded letters.
“I’ve been corresponding with several gentleman involved in the excavations in Egypt. It’s very exciting,” Miss Haywood said, glancing at them over the letters.
Instead of being embarrassed by this outrageous confession, Miss Haywood’s cheeks flushed with excitement. Her blue eyes shone.
Shock, closely followed by dismay rippled through Nathaniel. She had been corresponding with men? Strangers? No wonder Lord Westover was willing to give up control of her and her fortune. Miss Haywood was clearly unable to comprehend even the rudiments of proper behavior.
Unattached young women did not correspond with strange men. Even married women did not correspond with strange men.
“What…men?” Lady Victoria asked. Her gentle question did not betray her feelings, however her pleasant expression was fixed and taut, revealing that she was as shocked as he was.
“Mr. Belzoni and Mr. Bankes. Unfortunately, Lord Smithson does not seem to require any assistance at the moment. Mr. Belzoni has been unable to get permits to dig thus far, but I am hoping his circumstances change.” She frowned for a moment before refolding the letters. Then she clasped her hands and rested them on top of the packet. “I have heard, however, that another scholar, Mr. Mainwaring, is putting together an expedition. So it is possible I could join him, instead. Surely one of them will get the necessary permits.”
After a few seconds of silence, Lady Victoria replied weakly, “You…you cannot be serious?”
“Oh, yes, I am quite serious. I am going to Egypt. In fact, I would like to discuss leaving later this year. In a few months, if possible. That is, if arrangements can be made with Mr. Mainwaring. This is the most astounding time—you don’t realize what they are discovering in Egypt. Even as we sit here, they are excavating tombs over a thousand years old.” She leaned forward, her eyes blazing, utterly absorbed in her vision. “Just last year, Mr. Belzoni discovered the tombs of Amenhotep the third, Ramses the first, Merneptoh and Ay. And while he was investigating the tomb of Ramses the first, he found the entrance to the sepulcher of Seti the first, Ramses the first’s son, eighteen feet below the surface of the desert. Can you imagine? Every day they find something new—I must be a part of it!”
