Charity’s heart sank. She turned to Robin, her chin trembling. “We must say goodbye, Robin. I will write.” She had no idea when she would see him again.
Robin alighted and helped her down from the vehicle. He grasped her hands and squeezed them, his gaze filled with concern and compassion. “Try not to worry too much.”
She wanted to throw herself into his arms. Ashamed by her weakness and self-pity, she nodded and turned away.
“Have a safe trip, sir,” Robin said to her father. “I’ll pray for good news.”
“Thank you, Harwood.” As Robin turned the phaeton, Father ushered her inside. “I intend to leave in an hour, Charity. Be ready.”
Charity hurried upstairs, swallowing the despair blocking her throat. In her bedchamber, the maid was packing the last of her things into the trunk. “I do hope your sister is all right, milady.”
“Thank you, Agnes.”
Faith was a fighter, wasn’t she? Hadn’t she railed against Father’s choice of a husband for her and his initial dislike of Vaughn? It would turn out all right. It must.
Aware that the future lay in the hands of fate, they journeyed, stopping only to change the horses and have a meal until nightfall. The nights spent at coaching inns, where Charity failed to sleep, only served to cause more impatience and fear to build. Tired out, they arrived home, where her red-eyed and exhausted mother waited for them.
“I thought it best to come home, as Vaughn’s mama has arrived, but I shall go back tomorrow. Honor is there and the midwife too. The doctor calls every day.”
Father gathered her mother into his arms. He put his hand to her hair. “Now don’t distress yourself, my dear. Tell me what has occurred.”
Mama laid her head against his shoulder and sighed. “Faith is so stubborn. She refused to obey the doctor’s request for a lying in. She insisted on walking every day, even when the weather was deplorable. I feared she would catch a cold. The doctor says that, as the babies are two weeks late, it might come to a life-and-death situation, and he will be forced to perform a caesarean.” Mama’s voice became reedy and faint. “He will need to employ forceps, in any event, for Faith’s hips are so narrow. They have been attempting to dose her with laudanum for the pain, but she refuses! Such a stubborn girl!”
Father patted her back. “Babies are often a little late, are they not? Surely that’s not unusual?”
Mama raised her head to frown at him. “No, but twins, Baxendale!”
“I don’t think Vaughn would mind if we visit, Mama.” Charity said.
“Would he want the house full of people at this time? It puts such a strain on the servants. And Vaughn has so much to deal with.” Her mother detached herself from her father’s arms. “Oh my dear girl. I have not had a moment to spare to think of you!” She hugged Charity. “Are you well?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“You girls really should wait until the babies are born.” She turned to study her husband. “And you, Baxendale? How are you after that long journey?”
“Perfectly fit, my dear. Now let us all sit down in the parlor, shall we? And consider what’s best to do. I believe in the circumstances; we should all go to Surrey. I’m sure Vaughn can accommodate us.”
Mercy ran down the corridor and threw her arms around Charity. “I’m so glad you’ve come home.”
“I know, dearest.” Charity patted her sister’s back. “How is Faith?”
“She’s calm for the most part. Calmer than Mama, at least. Honor hides her emotions well as you’d expect, but I know she is worried too. Faith’s pains were growing stronger when we left. She seems very tired.”
“And poor Vaughn, how is he coping? I remember what a wreck Edward was when Honor was having her baby, and that went fairly smoothly.”
“Vaughn rarely leaves Faith’s side. He ignores the doctor when he tries to move him. I’ve been reading about caesareans, Charity. They’re only performed in extreme cases.” Mercy’s eyes rounded. “Only if the mother might die.”
“After poor Princess Charlotte, all the doctors are nervous,” Charity said suppressing an anxious shiver. She walked into the parlor to join her worried parents.
“It’s decided,” Father said. “We will all leave at cock’s crow tomorrow.”
Chapter Seventeen
At dusk the following day, the Baxendale carriage pulled up outside Vaughn and Faith’s home. The charming farmhouse was also a stud farm, where Vaughn bred racehorses.
“Please excuse my appearance.” Vaughn greeted them at the door, his jaw darkly shadowed, his green eyes bloodshot. “It’s so good to see you all. Our babes were born during the early hours of this morning,” he said with a grin, his voice gruff with emotion. “I sent a note immediately, but I see it missed you. They’re both doing well. Faith will be so glad to see you.”
“Oh! I must go and see her,” Mama said, rushing from the room.
“You’ve just missed my mother,” Vaughn said as he led them into the parlor. “I could call for tea, but I can see you all wish to see Faith.”
The midwife came into the parlor, carrying two tiny wrapped bundles. With a cry, Charity rushed to pull back the blanket and peer at the faces.
“A boy and a girl,” the doctor said, appearing with his bag.
“How is my daughter?” Father asked.
“The birth went better than I expected. But Lady Faith is weak. I’ve advised complete bed rest for at least a month to prevent complications and a possible chill.”
A few minutes later, Charity and Mercy entered the darkened room, where the curtains had been pinned together. The room was overheated and airless.
Faith welcomed them from her bed. In the gloom, her face looked white with dark half-moons beneath her eyes. Mercy climbed onto the bed and hugged her.
“Charity!” Faith pressed chapped lips to Charity’s cheek. “I’m so glad to see you both,” she murmured wearily.
“Are you in pain?” Charity asked, holding her sister’s hand as joy and hope began to seep through her.
“A bit sore. I feel as if I could sleep for a month.” She smiled. “Too tired to object to this ridiculous treatment. When the doctor has gone, I shall have Vaughn open the curtains and the window. I cannot live without light and air.” She clasped her hands together as delight filled her eyes. “Have you seen our darlings?”
Charity nodded. “Only a glimpse. Enough to see they are beautiful.”
“Our son has a crop of dark hair like his father, and our daughter is fair.”
“How very clever of you.” Charity smiled. “Has Honor been here?”
“She stayed with me all through the night. Edward came after breakfast and took her home to her own child and for much-needed rest. She’s been a wonder.”
“I should like to have Honor care for me when my time comes. She is so very capable,” Mercy said. “Have you chosen the babies’ names? I am very fond of Rosaline for the girl.”
“You’ve been reading Shakespeare,” Faith said with a laugh. “You’ll be suggesting Troilus and Cressida next.”
They left for home again two days later. Charity had been exhilarated when she’d held the sweet-smelling babies in her arms and their tiny fingers had curled around hers. Robin was right; children were everything to a woman, and she had to admit the experience had filled her with longing. They were each so perfect. She suspected the boy would have green eyes like Vaughn and the Brandreth men. Faith was still weak, and Vaughn fussed over her but eventually gave in to her demands to pull back the curtains, although he sternly refused to open the window.
“Don’t tell Vaughn, but I shall get up in a few days’ time,” Faith had whispered to Charity before she left. “Vaughn has so much work to do on the farm, and with the horses, he doesn’t need an invalid for a wife.”
“No he doesn’t, but you must take care, dearest,” Charity had scolded. “Vaughn will manage. I believe he is dancing on air.”
The family’s fears had faded, replaced with jo
y and the hope that all would be well. Charity gazed out the window of the carriage while she formed the words of her letter to Robin in her mind. How relieved he would be to hear the news. Coming back had unsettled her, as if home wasn’t really where she wanted to be anymore. She expected it to pass when she got into her work.
Her fingers itched to paint Robin’s portrait. Luckily, she’d done enough sketches and could now confidently begin. She’d been surprised at how much her view of him had changed. The earlier sketch in the salon was quite different to the one she’d done in the library. Even before he’d kissed her, she’d known she loved him. Yet she could not dismiss her fears. Robin would not just be a duke in name only; he would want to measure up to his uncle’s legacy. If she married him, she would have to become the duchess he expected her to be and give up all her dreams. She would lose herself.
****
While Robin worked in the office with his secretary, dealing with matters that required his attention, his mind kept wandering to Charity and her family. He cursed under his breath. If only he could drop everything and call on them, but there was the king’s reception at Carlton House at the end of the week, something Robin didn’t welcome but must attend. After that, he had to travel north again to his steel works in Sheffield, where a general meeting would be held.
“There’s a letter from your tenant in Tunbridge Wells, Your Grace. Mr. Mason has listed several improvements that need your authority before he can proceed.” Spencer rattled off the list, but Robin’s mind wandered. “Leave it with me, Spencer. I should like to deal with it personally.”
“Very well, Your Grace. He mentions something about the bog in the south paddock…”
“Eh? Oh, yes, it needs draining.” Giving up on his attempt to keep track of their conversation, Robin stood. “The steward and I are to visit the tenants this afternoon.”
From his place stretched out by the fire, Henry pricked up his tattered ear and rolled over to observe his master. “Not you, Henry,” Robin said in a severe tone. “You disgraced yourself last time, chasing the geese.” The dog’s ears flattened, and he lay down with an audible sigh.
“You are training him well, Your Grace,” Spencer said with a grin.
Robin looked wryly at the dog. “Henry is merely biding his time. He will ensure that he’s waiting at the stables when I leave. And unless he learns to respect the geese, his other ear will lose its beauty.
“We leave for London tomorrow, Spencer. Bring all matters pertaining to the steel works with you.”
The skies over London were a pleasant blue-grey, the air crisp but not cold enough yet to require every fireplace in the metropolis to belch out smoke. Robin’s uncle had kept the Mayfair townhouse fully staffed, which Robin considered extravagant. He was familiar with the five-story building, having visited it several times as a boy and later as an adult when he was groomed to be a gentleman by his parents. He had danced at balls there during the Season when down from university. Now he looked about with new eyes at the lofty, grandly furnished rooms. The fine art in particular caught his attention. What would Charity make of that painting of a kangaroo by George Stubbs? He wished he could stay longer, go south, and visit the Baxendales, but that was impossible. Anyway, by now, they would have gone to visit Vaughn and Faith in Surrey.
The next evening at Carlton House, in the overheated, strongly perfumed air of the extravagantly furnished Red Drawing Room, King George IV greeted him warmly, revealing his regard for Robin’s uncle. The king did not look well but still exhibited a keen eye for a lady and an interest in politics. He escorted Robin through the well-dressed beau monde crowding the reception rooms, introducing him to dignitaries, high-ranking naval and army officers, the prime minister, and a poet Robin admired. He met ladies in silks and sparkling jewels, some of which sent Robin invitations with their eyes and their come-hither smiles. Perhaps for the first time, he began to feel like a duke and felt a spark of excitement for what he could do with his newly gifted power.
“I’d like you to meet my good friends, Lord Bramhurst,” the king said, “and Lord Gunn.”
Robin bowed to the thin, older gentleman and then to the red-haired giant. So this was Gunn, the man whose portrait Charity had painted.
“Your Grace.” In his colorful tartans, Gunn executed a bow. The jaw of his strong face was like chiseled stone. He looked fierce and determined, as his ancestors must have been when engaged in fighting other clans. Robin recognized a formidable foe immediately, and it rocked him as he followed the king through the crowd.
An hour later, while Robin sipped champagne, Gunn approached him. “Castle Harwood is a fine seat, Your Grace. I was privileged to attend a ball there some years ago.”
“I believe you recently had your portrait painted, Lord Gunn.”
“You would have seen the portrait in a newspaper or magazine, I imagine.”
As it was not a question, Robin chose not to enlighten him about his friendship with Charity.
“I’m verra pleased with the result.” Gunn tilted his big shaggy head. “You will be in need of a portrait yourself, perhaps, Your Grace. I can recommend the artist, the talented Lady Charity Baxendale to you, with no hesitation.”
“Thank you. I shall bear that in mind, Lord Gunn.”
Lord Gunn smiled. “When you have the choice of sitting before an artist, male or female for some hours, a comely lady wins, eh?”
Robin clamped his jaw, nodded, and moved on before he was tempted to take a poke at Lord Gunn. It would be like felling an oak. So he found Charity pretty, did he? Damn his eyes.
After two days in London, he gazed out the window of his carriage, traveling north again, Robin went over the details of the reception; much of the evening had gone well. He’d met some of his friends from university and looked forward to attending the House of Lords.
He scowled when a big red-haired fellow entered his mind. Was Gunn so confident of Charity’s affections that he would invite another man to employ her? Robin suffered a twinge of guilt; his opinion of Charity’s portrait painting had not been so liberal. He’d seen red when she’d expressed the desire to join a colony of artists!
Devil take the man. What was on Gunn’s mind? Marriage?
Chapter Eighteen
A week had passed since Charity and the family had been in Surrey. News came that Faith was still in bed but impatient to return to her tasks. She was able to feed the babies herself and had refused a wet nurse. Letters poured back and forth almost daily, and Mama spoke of little else at meal times. Charity shut herself in her studio. She’d begun the portrait, and as she painted Robin’s face, her mind constantly rested on him while wondering what was occurring in Northumberland. He’d replied promptly to her letter, expressing his joy at the wonderful news. Her heart ached when she thought of how rarely she would see him in the future. A few sittings and then, once the work was hung in his portrait gallery, they might never meet again. She supposed he would marry, as he’d stated his need for a duchess, possibly Kitty. Although Charity wished him well, a painful twist of jealousy made her hope his marriage wouldn’t happen too soon. Not until she could guard her heart against such news.
At the sound of a carriage pulling up in the drive, Charity went to the window. A footman jumped down from the box beside the coachman, opened the door, and set down the steps. A big man in a black greatcoat appeared. He removed his hat, and the frail sunlight brightened his red hair. She caught her breath. Gunn! Why had he come?
Mama hurried into the studio. “Lord Gunn is here. There’s no time for you to change but please tidy your hair.” She looked at the smears of oil paint on Charity’s fingers and, muttering, hurried out.
Charity gazed in the mirror to find a flushed, startled face staring back at her as she tidied her hair. She removed her apron, smoothed her olive-green morning gown, and hurried to the parlor.
Lord Gunn sat with her mother. His craggy face broke into a smile as he rose to make his bow. “Lady Charity, how good to
see you again.”
“A pleasant surprise, Lord Gunn. What brings you to Tunbridge Wells?”
“I’m journeying south. Forgive me for calling so precipitately.” He removed a paper from his pocket. “I wanted you to have this article, which has appeared in a Scottish broadsheet. ’Tis a warm appraisal of your work.”
“How very kind of you.” She took the newspaper piece from him. “I shall enjoy reading it.” She motioned to a chair. “Please sit. Mama, have you arranged for refreshments for Lord Gunn?”
“Your mama has kindly offered, but I won’t stay long,” Lord Gunn replied before her mother could speak. “I wonder if we might have a word together, alone. If you will excuse us, Lady Baxendale.”
“But of course, Lord Gunn.” Mama obligingly rose and exited the room but left the door ajar.
With two strides, Lord Gunn reached the door and closed it. He returned to the sofa where Charity sat. He sank down on his knee on the carpet before her and took her hand in his broad one. “Lady Charity, you’ve been constantly on ma mind since you came to ma home. I find I’ve formed tender feelings for you. Might I hope that you would consider becoming ma wife?”
Charity lost her breath. For several moments, she could only stare at him. “But Lord Gunn, we’ve spent so little time together. How could you be sure?”
“I know my own mind and heart. I wish to know what is in yours.”
She fluttered her hands at him, wishing he’d rise. “Please be seated, Lord Gunn.”
Instead of returning to his chair, he sat beside her on the sofa, disturbingly close. “I await your words with a hopeful heart, dear lady.”
His hand rested on his broad thigh a whisker from hers. She wanted to move away but was pressed against the sofa arm. “I am immensely flattered, but I have no intention of marrying for years. My work…”
The Seduction of Lady Charity: The Baxendale Sisters Book Four Page 12
