“This is research.”
He stood up, his fingers itching to grab her and conduct a bit of research of his own. “Well, why don’t we go for a walk, get some fresh air, before you go on?”
“Sit down please, Robin. I will say when I’m tired.”
“If I must.” He sat again and set his jaw.
“I can see it will be difficult to paint you. You are so impatient.”
“Impatient? I am the soul of forbearance, I assure you,” he said, his gaze roaming from her hair to her slim waist.
An hour passed. The room quieted except for the sound of her pencil and the snuffle of Henry asleep by the fire. Robin’s senses came alive. He watched her as she worked, the smooth pale skin of her arm when she pushed back her sleeve, her shell-like ear, the sudden pervasive perfume of lilies in a vase on the table. For a moment, he abandoned his fierce desire to win her and just enjoyed their companionship.
“This is what it would be like if we were married,” he said, suddenly reckless.
Her pencil stilled, and then she added light, feathery strokes to the page. “Married couples don’t tend to spend much time together. At least not those I have observed. For example, Father is busy with his estates and Mama with household matters.”
“I meant to ask. How is your father?”
“He seems better. It’s difficult to tell. He doesn’t complain, except about being confined to the house.”
“He’ll come to the party tomorrow evening?”
“I hope so.” She looked up. “It’s very good of you to entertain my aunt. I believe she has been far too long without company.”
“Lady Huddlestone believes she is launching you into Northumberland society,” he said with a grin.
She grinned back. “I wish her to think so.”
“I plan to ask you to stand up with me for the waltz.”
She put down her pencil. “I wasn’t aware there’d be music. I doubt I shall dance.”
“We have yet to dance together. Perhaps the waltz is new to you? No need to be nervous,” he added in a sympathetic tone.
She narrowed her eyes, and a small smile lifted her lips. “I suspect you’re trying to goad me into accepting, Robin.”
He would have her in his arms, by God. “Surely you’ll save your host a dance or two? It would be rude of you not to.”
“Yes, you’re right it would.” She smiled and put down her pencil then stretched her neck, rolling her shoulders.
“Would you like me to rub your back?”
“No, thank you.” She dropped her gaze to the watch pinned to her bodice, a telltale flush on her cheeks. “The curricle will arrive shortly to take me home.”
“May I see what you’ve done?”
She tied the ribbons of her sketchpad. “Not yet.”
“You are most disobliging.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, wrinkling her brow. “I can’t work that way. When I feel it’s fit to be seen, you, of course, will be the first to view it.”
“I’ve seen many of your paintings, your drawings too.”
“But this is different.” She took up her sketchpad and stood. “Jed asked if he could wait with the curricle at your stables. One of your grooms is his cousin. Will you escort me?”
“Seeing as you ask so nicely.”
They left the house and walked through the gardens. It had rained earlier, and the pungent smell of earth and greenery rose in the moist air. “My sister and her husband arrive in the morning. Louise was of great assistance at my ball.”
“I do look forward to seeing Louise again.”
“I’m sure she feels the same. She is fond of you and your sisters.”
They walked past the beds of rose bushes, where a few brownish blooms still hung determinedly amongst the leaves. “This garden will have a glorious display in spring,” Charity said.
“There’s a standing invitation for you to view them.”
“Thank you. Mama will be delighted. She loves roses.”
“The Baxendale sisters are like roses,” he said. “Honor is a very deep pink, Faith the palest of pinks, Hope somewhere in between, and Mercy, ah…a sweet pink bud about to bloom.”
She laughed. “You forgot me.”
“I didn’t forget. You are a pure-white bloom.”
She frowned. “White sounds puritanical. And boring.” She turned to him. “And it also represents conflict! During the fifteenth century, the white rose symbolized York in the War of the Roses.”
“White is pure of spirit and honest.”
She widened her blue eyes. “Is that how you see me?”
“Amongst other things,” he said ambiguously.
She shook her head. “You are a frightful tease, Robin.”
He laughed. “In ancient Egypt, Cleopatra had her living quarters filled with the petals of roses so that after Marc Antony left her he would long remember her for such opulence and be reminded of her every time he smelt a rose.” Pleasure threaded through him when her eyes sparkled with laughter. “Apparently Cleopatra’s scheme worked. Such is the power of roses.”
Charity nodded. “Cleopatra was an enchantress whose beauty cast a dangerous spell over men.”
“Surely she was more than that. In Shakespeare’s Anthony and Cleopatra, Domitius Enobarbus says of her ‘Alack, sir, no; her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love.’”
“That was in reply to Marc Anthony, who had said, ‘She is cunning beyond thought.’ We must continue this discussion of Shakespeare at a later time.” Charity dropped his arm and hurried forward. “There’s Jed waiting with the curricle.”
Chapter Twelve
As Charity walked down the corridor of her aunt’s house, Robin’s comment that she was like a white rose still rankled. What kind of rose did he think Lady Kitty would be? she wondered. A more vibrant color? It was her fault. She’d never revealed that passionate side of herself to him that she poured into her art. She hadn’t wanted to give him false hope, and now it would be extremely inappropriate when he was about to marry.
“You look tired, my dear.” Her father looked up from a book when she entered Aunt Christabel’s drawing room. “These sittings of yours are quite improper.” He leaned back in the chair to study her. “Perhaps I should accompany you.”
“You’re more than welcome. I doubt you’d enjoy it much, although we did have an interesting discussion about roses and Shakespeare.”
“An odd coupling. Then, no, I doubt I would. But I must say I like Harwood. If you two decide to tie the knot, I’d be very pleased.”
“We are friends, Father. Robin has a lady in mind for his duchess.”
Was she unwise to paint his portrait? It was difficult to capture someone she’d been friends with for a long time without being accused of lacking objectivity. She flipped open her sketchpad and gazed at her drawings of Robin’s face. It wouldn’t be embellishment to render him a handsome duke, for he was one, with strength in that chin and a generous mouth.
Perhaps she made too much of his marriage proposal. It might have been a spur-of-the-moment thing when he faced such a challenge. It appeared he’d taken her at her word and moved on. As he should of course. She supposed her pride was hurt by him transferring his affections to another so quickly. Drawing him today had awakened some inexplicable longings in her, his ability to laugh at himself, the humor in his fine eyes when he teased her, the tenor of his voice when he laughed, which made her laugh too. She loved their conversations, and enjoyed being with him, and would be sad when their friendship was at an end. But he’d made it quite plain that he did not approve of her portrait painting, and she was not about to abandon her career, not for Robin. Not for anyone.
“Are you listening to me, Charity?”
“Sorry, Father.”
“I asked if we will meet the lady in question tomorrow night.”
“I expect she’ll attend. Has a letter come from Mama today?”
“No.” He climbed to his
feet. “Not today.”
“Where’s Aunt Christabel?”
“Gone to visit her dressmaker. She’s having a new gown fashioned for the party.”
Charity was pleased. One of them at least would enjoy the evening. She dreaded meeting Lady Kitty and suffered the sudden desire to return home to Tunbridge Wells. At least there, she could concentrate on her work.
“You look lovely, Aunt.” Christabel’s appearance on the night of the party surprised Charity. Her dark hair, streaked with white, was elegantly arranged, and she’d abandoned her blacks and purples for a Pomona green silk gown with a fashionably shorter, conical-shaped skirt. Fine emeralds decorated her throat and ears.
“And so do you, my dear. I have great hopes that you will meet the man of your dreams while you are here with me.” Her aunt smiled as Charity’s father settled the cashmere shawl around her shoulders and nodded his approval.
Not having planned on an extended visit, Charity had a limited wardrobe, but at least she didn’t have to wear white. The lilac silk evening gown’s scooped neckline was edged in cream satin embroidered with gold thread, and a broad border of the same cream satin was padded stiffly with horsehair at the hem. Her aunt’s maid had fashioned ringlets on each side of Charity’s face and decorated her hair with pearl combs. More pearls dressed her ears and décolletage.
The castle looked like a scene from a fairy tale when they stepped from the carriage. Braziers lit their way, and the windows glowed with candlelight.
Handsome and oddly formidable in his black-and-white evening clothes, Robin stood to greet them at the ballroom doors with his sister, Louise. After he introduced her aunt to Louise, he addressed her father. “Good to see you looking in better health, sir.”
Her father nodded his thanks. “I’m very impressed by Harwood Castle. I should like to learn more of its history.”
“If it’s possible before you return home, I’d be pleased to escort you on a tour. The dungeons alone are worth viewing.”
“Indeed. I look forward to it.”
Louise took Charity’s hands. “How very good to see you again. I miss you and your older sisters since we all married. We have scattered in all directions, have we not? And Hope has traveled farther than any of us. To France no less, with her handsome duke. I met him once in London. So charming!”
“My sisters have excellent taste in husbands.” Although Louise’s gown was cleverly styled, Charity suspected she was increasing. “You are positively blooming, Louise.”
Louise flushed and glanced at the line of guests mounting the stairs. “I am, thank you. We must find a moment to talk. I want to hear how Faith is, and you must tell me about Honor and Edward’s baby.”
Charity wished they’d received news of Faith’s condition, but no letter had come.
The ballroom was already half filled with guests. An orchestra was setting up on the dais while a footman came to offer them flutes of champagne.
Robin joined them after he and his sister finished receiving the guests. “Allow me to introduce you to those here tonight.”
They threaded their way through the crowd, losing Aunt Christabel to a circle of ladies of similar age and then her father after he discovered a gentleman who frequented his club.
For a moment, she and Robin stood alone. His approving gaze seemed as soft as a caress. “You look lovely tonight.”
“Thank you, Robin.” A part of her reveled in his frank admiration while another urged her to be cautious. “Life is full of surprises, is it not? It was fortunate that I brought this gown with me. I had no idea an occasion would arise where I would wear it.”
He took her elbow and drew her over to where a dark-haired young woman, wearing white muslin, sat beside her mother dressed in Bishop’s blue silk. Robin addressed Lady Boothby and her daughter, Lady Katherine. “May I present Lady Charity Baxendale, daughter of the Earl of Baxendale, from Tunbridge Wells. She and her father are visiting Lady Huddlestone, his sister.”
Charity smiled but found no warmth in the ones they returned. Lady Katherine’s big brown eyes studied her coolly.
“How nice to meet you.” Lady Boothby gave her a hard stare. “Please sit with us for a moment, if you will, Lady Charity. I should love to learn more about Tunbridge Wells. I’ve heard it’s a fashionable town much frequented by the ton, but I’ve never visited it.”
“I see I leave you in good hands.” Robin bowed and left them.
Isn’t that just like a man? Charity thought, annoyed. To leave her with these unfriendly women who undoubtedly viewed her as a rival for his affections. She smiled again, sat, and proceeded to describe Tunbridge Wells and its delights. Rendered uncomfortable by the silent scrutiny, she ran out of points of interest. Perhaps she’d failed to give a good account of the town, for Lady Boothby looked dissatisfied and began to question her about her family. The woman’s veiled curiosity in Charity’s circumstances began to rankle.
“And your sister, Lady Hope, married a Frenchman I believe.”
“Yes, the Duc du Ténèbres.”
The mention of Daniel apparently failed to soften the hard lines of disapproval on Lady Boothby’s face. “I have no affection for the French,” she said, snapping her fan closed.
“Tell me, Lady Katherine, what is there to do here in Northumberland?” Charity considered it was time to change the subject.
Kitty shrugged. “Most people ride, although I don’t care for it. There are dances at the assemblies. Mama and I shop in York, where the best stores are to be found.” Kitty’s rosebud mouth drooped. “It’s miserable here in winter. Most of those who visit from the south say they can’t bear it. They don’t stay long.”
Charity nodded sympathetically. “I myself enjoy being outdoors in brisk weather.”
“You look very strong,” Kitty observed. “I’m afraid I’m rather delicate.”
“My mother has a tonic she believes will cure almost everything. I could send you the receipt should you wish.”
Kitty cast Charity a narrow glance, opened her fan, and waved it before her face, as if attempting to wave Charity away like an annoying bluebottle.
“My daughter exaggerates, Lady Charity,” her mother interjected with a sharp glance at her daughter. “Katherine is a robust, healthy young woman.”
Charity breathed a sigh of relief when the popular new dance, the galopade, was called and her father came to claim her. Their dancing master had taught her and her sisters the steps whilst foretelling its popularity. She’d been so pleased to see her father that, for a moment, she’d forgotten how lively this dance was. Concerned, Charity glanced at him. “Are you sure you wish to dance, Father? We can sit out this one if you prefer.”
He led her determinedly onto the floor. “I am quite sure.”
The musicians struck up, and they began to dance. Robin nodded to her as he passed them dancing with her aunt. Charity noticed how several young women’s heads turned in his direction. So did Kitty’s, but the young gentleman she danced with had eyes only for the fairy-like girl on his arm.
What an interesting nest of intrigue I’ve found myself in tonight, Charity thought ruefully. Earlier, when she’d walked through the ballroom with Robin, meeting the guests, many eyes had settled on her, and those with marriageable daughters were decidedly unwelcoming. It should amuse her, she supposed, but somehow it didn’t. She hadn’t warmed to Kitty and hoped her first impression of her would prove to be wrong. She supposed any young woman intent on marrying could become quite ruthless. It was hardly any of her affair, but might there be something calculating about the lady whom Robin might conceivably marry?
When she and her father came together to dance down the line, he was breathing heavily. “Are you all right, Father?” she whispered before they parted again.
“The dance is a bit too strenuous perhaps.” He mopped the perspiration on his brow with his handkerchief.
The fact that he admitted it worried her even more.
With an athletic, conc
luding sauteuse, the dance ended. And not a moment too soon. When Charity slipped her arm through her father’s to join the line of dancers leaving the floor, he leaned against her. As soon as he was seated, Charity motioned for a footman to bring a glass of water.
“Water? Brandy would be better,” her father muttered.
“I don’t believe they’re serving it.” She searched for Robin. He was talking with Lady Kitty and her mother. “I’ll have the duke summoned.”
Father frowned. “Don’t make a spectacle of us, child.”
“No, of course not. But it might be preferable for you to rest awhile in Robin’s library. You can partake of a brandy there.”
Father sighed. “Excellent notion.”
When the footman arrived with the glass of water, she sent him to fetch Robin then sat uneasily observing her father. His color gradually improved, and his rapid breathing had eased somewhat by the time Robin reached them.
She took Robin aside and explained the situation in an undertone.
“I did promise to show you my library, sir,” Robin said. “Perhaps we could go there now before it grows too late? I can offer you a superb libation from my cellars.”
When Father rose and walked stiffly to the door with Robin, Charity remained in her seat. It would draw too much attention to them should she go too, and she trusted Robin to take care of her father. She accepted a gentleman’s invitation to dance and tried to concentrate on the intricate steps of the quadrille while dread tightened her chest.
****
Robin left the earl with a good supply of books and a decanter of brandy. Baxendale had assured him that he was merely out of condition and the ridiculous dance too vigorous—all that leaping about. He’d been foolish to attempt it. Not as young as he once was, he admitted. Robin stated firmly that he found the dance a confounded abomination himself. He arranged for a footman to remain with the earl before returning to the ballroom.
He arrived in time to see Charity take to the floor for a waltz with Lord Herbert, a widower of some thirty-five years. When Lady Kitty waved her fan in his direction, he made his way over to her. “Not dancing?” he asked. “May I have the pleasure?”
The Seduction of Lady Charity: The Baxendale Sisters Book Four Page 9
