Charlotte had met the duke but once and it hadn’t been a pleasant experience. He hadn’t approved of her. The way his lips had curled and his eyes had perused her clearly stated he found her wanting. Only slightly less obvious in expressing her disapproval, the duchess had spent the majority of their visit to Alex’s residence blithely ignoring her.
I’ll grant you, she’s a very pretty girl, but, my dear, must you marry her? His mother had remarked when Charlotte had left the drawing room, needing desperately to remove herself from an atmosphere brimming with civil hostility they’d made no effort to hide. The duchess hadn’t stopped there. She’d gone on to elaborate her point:
For heaven’s sake, do we even know who her mother is, what kind of family she comes from? They say blood always tells, and I should hate to discover she has even more a disreputable lineage than the unfortunate circumstances of her birth.
His mother’s words had rung in her ears long after she’d departed. Those same words had pummeled her relentlessly after they’d spoken with Mrs. Henley. Those same words had chimed liked a death knell when she’d read the letter two days before her wedding day.
But the meeting with his parents would have to occur at some point. And she understood the reason he wanted it to occur as quickly as possible. They deserved to meet their grandson.
Charlotte nodded. “Then I best get ready. Will you have Mrs. Martindale bring Nicholas back?”
Alex walked to the fireplace and tugged the tasseled bell pull beside it.
“My carriage will pick you both up tomorrow at nine. I ask that you don’t keep me waiting.”
Charlotte nodded and turned to go. She was at the door when she heard him say under his breath, “Once this lifetime is sufficient.”
Chapter Eleven
Charlotte returned to Rutherford Manor spent, completely bereft of emotion. Meeting with Alex now always seemed to leave her this way. The moment they entered the house, Nicholas was off running, shouting his cousins’ names loud enough to wake the dead. Their response came from upstairs in voices just as boisterous, Lily’s a shriek promising pandemonium.
Jillian came hurrying down the hall upon hearing all the noise. Today, she wore her hair up, her corkscrew curls secured in the back with strategically placed hair combs and hairpins. The dress she wore, light green with long raglan sleeves, was one Charlotte had never seen on her before.
Forced to wrestle her son’s outer garment from him as he wouldn’t remain still, Charlotte handed it to the attending footman and then watched as Nicholas scampered up the stairs where his cousins were playing.
She noted that she wasn’t the only one looking at Jillian. The footman, a tall, strapping young man with hair the color of ripe wheat, seemed to linger on her maid a beat too long.
When Charlotte peered up at him, his gaze snapped back to her, a polite, deferential smile firmly in place. And he was a handsome one with his blue eyes and lashes thick enough to sweep.
Charlotte had a sinking feeling she was staring trouble directly in the face. She beat the feeling back. No use courting trouble when it had yet to rear its head. After handing him her bonnet and pelisse, he departed.
Her stomach growled her hunger but she hadn’t the faintest desire to eat. However, she best if she wanted to avoid a stern lecture from her sister. She’d put on a bit of weight since her arrival but not nearly enough to satisfy Katie.
“Jillian, is my sister at home?”
“No, Miz Charlotte, Miz Catherine is still out,” she replied, coming to her side.
Before she’d left to see Alex, Katie had said she’d be calling on her good friend Lady Olivia Spencer, sister to the Earl of Granville.
“Come, we must talk.” Hooking her arm through her maid’s, Charlotte led her to the morning room.
Jillian hailed from America’s south and had spent the first twelve years of her life on a plantation but had run away to New York with seven fellow slaves during an uprising. Unfortunately, her mother hadn’t survived the journey, succumbing to a fever days short of their arrival.
It had been fate that Charlotte had come upon her the day the poor girl had arrived in New York, a frightened, bedraggled, half-starved child left to fend for herself taking refuge in the empty flat. Charlotte, already three months pregnant at the time, had been looking for affordable housing, conscious that the money she’d managed to obtain from her trust by forging her brother’s name, would not last forever. But if she was frugal, it would last her a good many years.
Jillian’s promise of great beauty had been evident even then. Charlotte had feared if she didn’t take her in she’d end up spending her life on her back. The men had already been buzzing about her like swarms of mating gnats at dusk.
The land agent, a handsomish man of thirty or so, had insisted he’d take care of the problem, clasping Jillian by her thin arm. It had been the look of utter terror in the girl’s eyes that caused Charlotte to intervene—that and a little of her own guilt, for in her she saw that same frightened child.
The land agent, a Mr. Overton, had been watching her too closely, with almost lascivious intent and Charlotte knew she couldn’t allow him to take her. She’d asked her name and then offered her the position as her maid on the spot. Jillian had been nearly frenetic in her acceptance, latching on to her as if she were her savior—and perhaps Charlotte had been.
Lord, that had been five years ago and my how she’d grown. Jillian was more a little sister to her than servant.
“Are you being treated well?” Jillian may be beautiful but she was still the product of a Negro slave—had been a house slave herself—and many could not see beyond that and made certain she would never forget her place in Society.
This was the first time she’d been in a house of this magnitude, rubbing shoulders with so many servants. Charlotte prayed there wouldn’t be friction.
“The men are nice,” she said, her voice tentative as if taking undue care to choose her words carefully.
Charlotte thought of the footman. Of course they were. Jillian was young and beautiful and men had eyes.
“The chil’ren are kind.”
“Has anyone been unkind to you?” Charlotte would speak to her brother if she got even a hint that Jillian was being treated poorly by the other servants. Women could be particularly horrid to one another. And as for the men, if any of them thought to take advantage of her, they’d have to deal with James directly.
Jillian shook her head, short, anxious movements, her hazel eyes round and pleading. She didn’t want to stir the embers. “The women don’t talk tuh me much, is all.”
Some of Charlotte’s anxiety drained. Better they ignore her than be vocal about their disdain—prejudice really, for that’s what it was.
“Well you shan’t have to deal with them much longer. We will be leaving to live with Lord Avondale. He owns the neighboring estate not far from here.”
Some indiscernible emotion flickered across Jillian’s face and was gone in an instant before she nodded. She’d always been like this, following directions without questions or resistance. Charlotte really wished she would speak up more or at least express some surprise, but she feared it had been beaten out of her long before she’d found her.
“Miz Catherine gave me dis and another of her ole dresses.” She ran her hands lovingly over the light green skirt and the smile on her face made Charlotte misty-eyed. “She said you wouldn’t mind if I took dem.”
“But of course you may accept them.” Since she and Jillian were approximately the same size, she’d always given her whatever old dresses she could spare. But Charlotte tended to keep her dresses for years, so she hadn’t had all that many to pass on. She hoped her sister’s lady’s maid didn’t mind. No doubt she was accustomed to getting her mistress’s cast offs.
Perhaps it was a good thing they’d all be decamping to Alex’s residence after all. His staff didn’t appear as large, but then he was a bachelor and didn’t require the number of servants her
brother did. She’d seen signs of only two footmen, which was at least a quarter of what her brother employed. And as she would be the lady of the house—good Lord, she would, wouldn’t she?—she’d be able to dispense Jillian’s duties.
“Tomorrow, I shall be traveling to London with Nicholas—and my-my husband.” If she wanted others to believe they were truly married, she couldn’t choke on the word as if it was foreign to her tongue or freshly minted.
“Husband? You is married?” Arched eyebrows disappeared beneath of tangle of haphazard dark brown curls. Her maid looked bewildered, as was to be expected. If Jillian tended more to impertinency, she’d have saucily asked, Are you a widow or are you not?
“For the sake of my well-being and that of Nicholas, I felt it best to tell everyone my husband had died. I was alone and pregnant and there would have been too many questions if they knew who he was. My husband is a man of great wealth and his family is very powerful and influential.”
In silence, Jillian took it all in, if appearing somewhat dazed. Then her forehead creased. Charlotte could tell she wanted to ask her the very question everyone would have asked if it had all been true. But why would you leave such a man? True to her nature, Jillian said nothing, merely nodding as if what she’d been told explained everything.
In this one instance, Charlotte was relieved at the girl’s quiet acquiescence as she detested having to lie to her. But for five years now, lies—outright and those by omission—had become so integral to her life, they had no longer felt like lies.
The following day, Charlotte chose her gown with great care. The impending meeting with Alex’s parents had her stomach threatening to reject the buttered toast, egg and hot chocolate she’d eaten at breakfast.
The duchess had the regal poise of a queen and the duke was all ducal hauteur. Together they were an intimidating pair. If five years ago, neither had thought her good enough for their son, today they no doubt despised her.
Since their visit to Miss Foster’s, two of the five gowns she’d ordered had been delivered. Thankfully one had been Charlotte’s favorite. The lavender complemented her complexion and brought out the blue of her eyes—or so Alex had once told her. She liked that the added fullness of the netted skirt didn’t make her look quite so slender, which was also why she chose to have it constructed with a gore. To travel, she wore a comfortable dress with braided trimming, the skirt scalloped at the bottom.
Charlotte was shocked—and inordinately pleased—when Alex sent clothes for Nicholas. With so little time to prepare for the visit, there hadn’t been time to order him new ones. Yet Alex had managed it. But more surprising was that he cared enough to make the effort. Now her son looked like the perfect English boy all suited up in a sailor blouse and knickerbockers. Well, perfect, save his pout. He hadn’t been at all eager to be away from his cousins for two whole days. A veritable lifetime to a four-year-old boy.
When she and Nicholas finally made their way down the stairs to the first floor, Alex strode from the entrance hall. Charlotte’s heart seized. Every time she saw him, his beauty struck her anew, as if she were seeing him for the first time. Cleanly shaven, his dark hair brushed to a sheen, he could turn a nun into a wanton in minutes.
Alex’s gaze flickered over her. If he found her appealing or wanting, she couldn’t tell by his expression for it remained stoically blank. His gray eyes did light up when his gaze settled on their son, transforming his face into something truly breath stealing.
Charlotte was happy Alex was so taken with his son, truly she was. But she couldn’t help a pang of longing for the time he’d looked at her with love and pleasure in his eyes.
“Good morning, Nicholas. Are you ready to meet your grandparents?” Alex asked as they reached the bottom of the stairs.
Nicholas, suddenly shy and holding tight to her hand, nodded as he looked at the floor. Although excited to have a father, Alex was still a stranger to him. Like everything, this too would take time.
Alex’s hesitation was momentary, hardly noticed if someone hadn’t been watching him so very closely. Would not even have registered had someone not known the circumstances.
“Charlotte.” He gave her a stiff nod.
“Alex,” she greeted in a low voice, all too cognizant of the vast difference in his manner of greeting when it came to her.
“Are you not traveling with your maid?”
“In America I did well enough without one. In any case, Jillian is not a lady’s maid although she does sometimes help me with my hair. But I can manage that by myself as well.”
“I see,” he replied. Turning his attention to his son, he reached in the pocket of his frock coat and produced a whipping top and held it out to Nicholas. This had the desired effect for Nicholas’s expression went from shy to exuberant in the blink of an eye. Riveted, he stared at the toy.
When he finally managed to wrench his gaze from the top, he peered up at his father and asked, “Is that for me?”
Alex laughed the kind of laugh that made her smile despite her dread of the meeting ahead. “If you want,” he said, his tone indulgent.
Eagerly, Nicholas snatched it from his father’s palm and at the same time released his hold on her.
Alex’s hand remained outstretched, angled now in invitation for his son to take it. Charlotte’s breath ceased, held in suspension just like Alex’s hand. Nicholas’s gaze darted between his father’s hand and smiling face. Time itself seemed suspended. Nicholas slowly, almost shyly, placed his hand in his father’s. Charlotte let out a breath and her heart resumed beating.
Alex looked both pleased and relieved.
Someone cleared their throat. Charlotte turned toward the sound and saw her sister, Missy and James observing them from a discreet distance just outside the dining room.
In short order, greetings were dispensed, and James pulled Alex aside for a brief word. Five minutes later, Missy and Katie waved them off with such ceremony, one would think they’d be gone a month instead of the duration of one full day and a night.
The clarence was spacious, easily accommodating four passengers. Charlotte had an entire seat to herself, as her son had opted to sit beside his father when Alex smiled broadly and patted the seat beside him.
Charlotte felt awkward in the silence as they sped along to the train station. Alex had barely looked at her since his terse greeting. She turned her attention to the window, pushing the curtain aside.
“You mustn’t be nervous.”
Charlotte’s gaze snapped to his and his expression was not one that would bring her out of her current state of anxiety. It was in fact, one that only served to feed it. He looked hard and masculine and his steady regard caused all sorts of riotous flutters inside her.
“I’m not nervous.” She wouldn’t admit to anything else in front of their son.
Alex continued to watch her silently.
“Have you told your parents anything?” The question had been gnawing at her all night.
“My message only indicated it was imperative I speak with them. You needn’t worry, they will be happy to meet him.”
Charlotte hoped his confidence of their complete acceptance of Nicholas wasn’t being misplaced. She didn’t care if they disapproved of her but she couldn’t bear it if they rejected her son—not to his face. How could Alex know with one hundred percent certainty just how they would react to the news of a newfound grandson—an heir to the esteemed Hastings dukedom?
“Do you intend to tell them about the marriage?” How difficult it was to have this sort of conversation with their son present, even engrossed as he was playing with his toy.
“I plan on telling them the truth,” he replied smoothly.
Nicholas didn’t look up, his hand turned up as he tried to keep the top spinning on the center of his palm with little success. Undeterred, he kept trying, his brow knitted in concentration.
While the thought of the duke and duchess in full knowledge of their deception made her hands clammy,
Alex appeared unperturbed. But what could she say, they were his parents. If he felt this is what he ought to do, she couldn’t change his mind.
“If you think it is best,” she conceded.
It took her several seconds to realize he wasn’t going to offer a response, just continue to treat her to one of his unblinking and enigmatic stares.
Charlotte endeavored not to appear as if his regard didn’t completely upend her equilibrium and have all of her senses clamoring. Striving for an air of nonchalance, she turned to the window and pretended an interest in the sights of Reading’s rolling hills as they sped toward town.
Still she could feel his gaze upon her.
And the journey had only just begun.
Chapter Twelve
They arrived in London in the early afternoon, traveling from Paddington Station to Mayfair in a grand carriage stamped with the gold-embossed ducal family crest. They arrived at Alex’s flat, a well-appointed bachelor’s residence currently fully staffed. Her sister had told her he’d sold Fairleigh House two years after she’d left.
Nicholas had fallen asleep on the train to London, and didn’t so much as open one eye when his father hefted him into his arms and carried him past the butler, who opened the door to them, and into the house. Charlotte followed closely behind. Accustomed to having full charge and care of her son, sharing in the responsibility was something she’d have to get used to. But she couldn’t help feeling excluded from the bond budding to life between them.
“Will we be staying here tonight?” She’d thought they’d be staying at his parents’ residence but was relieved that didn’t appear to be the case.
“I never stay with my mother and the duke when I travel to London. My relationship with my father hasn’t changed since you left.”
Which Charlotte took to mean they could barely tolerate one another.
An Heir of Deception (The Elusive Lords) Page 14
