She had come to realise that, whatever Charlton’s real feelings for her might be, he had, intentionally or otherwise, thoroughly engaged her affections. She had to admit to herself that she had quite fallen in love with him - a fact that she could not admit to anyone else, and could not act on in any way. For, if he thought of her only as a pleasant person to converse with, or dance with, but nothing more, there would be no point in revealing her feelings to him. Mentally chiding herself for becoming maudlin, she dragged herself back to the deciphering of Greek, determined to learn something of it that afternoon.
~~~~~
The Comte had returned to Lady Farnsworth’s home in an excellent mood, and partaken of luncheon with more enthusiasm than usual.
Thus fortified, he set out to locate his daughter, and deliver his ultimatum with respect to Viscount Pendholm. He did not like to see Odette upset, and he knew that she would not be happy about this, for she seemed to enjoy the man’s company, but he could not countenance a man who kept a mistress like that to touch her.
She should marry someone perfect, who would be dedicated to her happiness. A passing wave of sadness hit him, as he thought of her mother, so long lost to him, but he pushed it aside.
Finding her was not difficult – for the Library was always the best place to look. He pushed the door open, and paused, struck by her beauty, and her resemblance to her mother, at that same age. The afternoon light streaming through the window made her dark hair shine like a raven’s wing, and gently gilded the curve of her cheek. It fell on the fine creases in her brow, as she puzzled at something on the page of the book that she studied.
“Daughter…”
She startled as he spoke, so absorbed in the book had she been. He met her blue violet eyes with his own, again reminded of her mother.
“I must speak with you, and, whilst I fear you may not like what I have to say, I must tell you this.”
His serious tone appeared to worry Odette, for she frowned, then pushed the expression aside, and presented him with an attentive, if wary, face.
“Yes, papa, what is it that you must tell me?”
“It is about Viscount Pendholm, cherie.”
For a moment, a flicker of something, which might have been hope, crossed her face, but was quickly gone.
“Yes, papa?”
“I have discovered something about him, cherie, something which makes him a most unsuitable man for you to spend time with. This is something which I would not normally discuss with a Lady, but I find that I must, for I would tell you the truth, so that you understand my decision. I forbid you to talk to him, to dance with him, or in any other way spend time with him.”
Odette gasped, and broke in before he could continue.
“But why, papa? He has always been the most charming and polite of gentlemen, and I do so enjoy the company of his sister!”
“Oh my dear, I am sorry to have to tell you this, but I have discovered that he has a mistress. And not just a woman with whom he occasionally seeks pleasure, but a woman with whom he has had a child, and who he has established in her own house, with the child, which is very young, and a companion!”
Again Odette gasped, her mind spinning, her first response complete denial of the very idea.
“No man who would so use a woman, and not marry her, is a suitable man to be near you, my daughter. I know that this will be difficult for you, but I demand that you comply with my wishes – for surely, knowing this, he must now seem repugnant to you?”
For a moment Odette sat in silence, as her heart quietly shattered within her breast. The pain was so great that she was not sure she would be able to speak. But her father stood, obviously waiting for an answer, for confirmation of her compliance with his decree. Somehow, she found breath to speak.
“Yes, papa, it shall be as you wish. I find it so hard to believe, but I must trust that you speak the truth, and accept your decision. I know not how I will go on, for it will be most hard to cut off contact with the Lady Harriet – yet I must, if I am to avoid Viscount Pendholm.”
Her last words broke on a small, hastily swallowed, sob.
“Trust me, daughter, for I have seen him leaving the woman’s house, with my own eyes.”
Nodding, satisfied, the Comte left the room.
Odette sat, listening to the echo of his boot heels on the marble floor of the hall, until the closing of the front door signalled that he had left the house. Then, as if the sound had released her, she sprang to her feet, the books falling forgotten to the rich Aubusson carpet, and ran from the room, fighting to hold back the sobs until she reached the sanctuary of her chamber.
~~~~~
Charlton opened the door of the little shop, instantly fascinated by its contents. Books filled ordered shelves from floor to ceiling, with barely room to squeeze between them.
His first thought was of Lady Odette. What books in other languages might he find in here, to engage her lively mind? But his purpose here today was not books, although perhaps he could find the time to browse as well. After.
He squeezed his way to the rear of the shop, and located a tiny man, sitting perched on a stool behind a counter. His smile reached his bright intelligent eyes as he looked up. Charlton smiled back.
“Mr Bigglesworth?”
As the sign above the door had declared this ‘Bigglesworth’s Books’ Charlton felt he had a reasonable chance of being correct. The man nodded.
“That’s me. What can I do for you my Lord?”
“I was told to ask for the workshop.” Charlton felt a little like a nodcock saying so, for surely, in this crowded shop, there was no room for a workshop, for any room big enough to meet in, for that matter. Mr Bigglesworth’s smile broadened.
“Here to have a chat with himself are ye? Well and good now, just follow me.”
Easing himself off the stool, he pushed aside a dusty worn curtain that hung behind him, and waved Charlton through. Behind it, a door opened into a narrow corridor, which ran across the back of the building. Pointing into the dimness, Mr Bigglesworth spoke again.
“Just go down there, and up the stairs at the end. Tis the only room upstairs, so ye’ll have no trouble finding it.” With that, he dropped the curtain back into place, and went back to his counter.
Charlton shrugged, and, after waiting a short while for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the corridor, he went as directed, climbing the creaking, rickety stairs he discovered at the end of the space. What he found at the top was a surprise.
Opening a door which was quite as worn and rickety as the rest of the building, he stopped, jaw agape at the room revealed. Light flooded in through two big glass windows (glass! here!), which were actually clean, a desk sat under the windows to one side, and a workbench to the other. Opposite the desk, a table with chairs, and two couches with side tables were arranged near a carved and polished fireplace.
Quality carpets, which would not have been out of place in his own study, graced the floor. Seated on one of the couches, Cecil Carlisle, Baron Setford, was watching him with great amusement.
“Sir.” Charlton bowed, barely resisting the urge to salute. Baron Sefton’s eyes betrayed further amusement as he waved Charlton to a seat.
“Rather a nice room this, isn’t it?” Sefton waved his hand about him. “Old Bigglesworth was m’valet once – this shop is his retirement gift from me. He was always so obsessed with the books, kept finding him in the library rather than cleaning m’clothes. So I saw a benefit to both of us when I set him up here.”
Charlton nodded his agreement, impressed, yet again, by just how clever Sefton was, in everything he did. As he sipped the perfect coffee that Sefton handed him, he wondered just how much of His Majesty’s business had been transacted in this room, over the years.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, savouring the coffee.
Eventually, Sefton spoke again.
“Between what you’ve discovered, and what we’ve been digging into, we are close to h
aving the conspirators identified. Most of ‘em at least. We know that they meet about once a week, and we think we know when the next meeting will happen. We don’t have the location yet, but we’re close. I’ve got some men who swear they’ve frozen their extremities off, listening under windows to get this information. The important question here, Pendholm, is when you think you’ll be invited to join them?”
Charlton felt a great sense of relief at his words – perhaps this would be over soon – the more he came to care for Lady Odette, the less happy he was with spying on her father, no matter what the man had done, or planned to do.
“I’m pleased to note that you have enough faith in my abilities to be asking me when, not if, I’ll be invited to join them.”
Sefton laughed, and motioned for him to continue.
“I will see the Comte tonight, at yet another Ball. My sister is having such a wonderful season – she’s quite the toast of the town – which is a relief, because with her ingenuous and rather cheeky manner, it could have gone either way! But I must confess that I am so far beyond wanting to attend another Ball that, except for your mission, I would have avoided doing so long ago. I expect that soon, after a card game at one of these damnable Balls, he will ask me to join them. The signs are all there.”
Sefton smiled, and his eyes lit with the expression that likely presaged mischief. “Ah yes,” he spoke softly, “I’d heard you were playing cards – and doing rather well too. Thought you’d sworn off that, after your brother’s deeds. Or have you got the taste for it now?”
“Damn you to hell and back! The cards is something you’ll pay for, if you ever want me to do anything for you again, once this is over!” The words exploded from Charlton, full of the anger that he had expressed to no-one else, not even his fellow Hounds. “I hate playing – every night I do it, ingratiating myself with de Vierzon, my skin crawls, my gut clenches, and I feel like I’m covered in filth! I will, once this is done, never play again!”
Sefton nodded, pleased.
“Sorry about that m’boy, but I had to be sure. Wouldn’t want to lose you down that rabbit hole.” His voice was calm and steady, as if Charlton had shown no emotion at all. Watching Charlton’s face, he silently gestured, enquiringly, beside him, where a brandy decanter rested, waiting. Charlton shook his head.
“Well then, it seems everything is in alignment. You make sure to get yourself invited to de Vierzon’s little party, and let me know when that happens. I’ll send you a message as soon as we have a date, time and location confirmed for their next meeting – be sure to let me know if what I send you doesn’t agree with what they tell you. Oh, and I think some extra backup would be useful at this point. I believe you have recent contact with Lord Geoffrey? Do recruit him for me. The boy’s the best shot, and the best swordsman we’ve got, so having him on hand will be a damn good idea.”
Charlton nodded – he couldn’t agree more. If there was going to be any kind of contretemps, there was no-one he’d rather have at his back. And maybe it would be good for Geoff – he hadn’t liked, at all, the morose way that Geoff had been looking, nor the way he’d been staying away from the pleasant young ladies, in favour of the jaded widows. A bit of distraction could only be a benefit.
“Indeed, I agree – I’ll arrange it. And now, on my way out, I’ll even buy some books – we must make my visit here look suitably convincing, after all.”
Sefton simply nodded, and poured himself a brandy, his sharp grey eyes watching Charlton as he left.
Mr Bigglesworth was happy to supply Charlton with a rare volume which purported to be a reliable English to Greek dictionary, and some basic Greek language books, similar to those that Charlton had used at Eton. Charlton suspected that he would be buying books here in future, regardless of meetings with Sefton. Well pleased, and imagining Lady Odette’s expression when he presented her with the books, he whistled as he left the shop.
Odette locked the door behind her, and flung herself onto her bed, tears pouring down her face, and great sobs racking her body. What her father had told her was terrible, yet perhaps it was the explanation for Charlton’s behaviour. If he did have a mistress, with whom he had a child, perhaps that was where his affections were engaged, and he really did only see Odette as a pleasant companion to speak to at dinner parties and dance with at Balls.
Which only made it worse! She had preferred not knowing if he cared for her, to a certainty that he did not. For, no matter how much she told herself that she should be horrified, and flinch from the thought of him, her heart denied her mind, and chose to love him anyway, no matter how much it hurt. For she could no longer deny it in any way. She loved him. It had come upon her slowly, dance by dance, conversation by conversation, as she had come to see herself through his eyes – as someone whose ideas had value, and who could, perhaps, actually be attractive to a gentleman.
She loved him for the little things about him, and for the care he obviously showed to others, for the way in which his mother and sister valued him, because he cared for them. He was not like most men that she had met – perhaps that very difference was what attracted her.
A bitter laugh broke through her sobs – what good was it to realise that she loved him, when she might no longer speak to him or dance with him, when she must push him aside, and allow that he most likely loved another, when she must be a dutiful daughter, and abide by her father’s wishes?
Thoughts tumbling hopelessly, Odette cried herself to exhaustion, and fell into a troubled sleep, haunted by dreams where Charlton changed before her eyes, becoming cold and turning away from her.
~~~~~
Odette came down for dinner that evening looking subdued, but with her dignity in place. She would not allow either her father or her aunt to see how distraught his command had made her. Her father would not go back on his word, she was certain, and her aunt would only worry. There was nothing she could do but continue with as much grace as possible.
“You look a little peaked this evening my dear, are you well? Lady Bellmount’s Ball this evening will likely be rather a crush – I wouldn’t want you to faint away on me!”
Lady Farnsworth’s shrewd gaze lingered on Odette’s face as she awaited an answer.
“I am quite well, aunt, thank you for your concern. Perhaps a little tired after the last few weeks of busy social engagements. I am looking forward to this evening’s Ball, but perhaps we might attend less events over the next week or two?”
Odette did not like to lie – yet how could she tell her aunt that she now dreaded Lady Bellmount’s Ball, for surely Charlton would be in attendance. How would she avoid him without offending anyone? Lady Farnsworth watched her a moment more, then nodded.
“If you wish, but remember girl, if we are ever going to find you a husband, you have to be seen. They can’t fall for you if you’re not there to see!”
Odette had the feeling that her aunt wanted to say more, but was glad when she didn’t.
~~~~~
At the ball that evening, Odette managed to greet Charlton politely when her careful avoidance failed, and they crossed paths. She pleaded tiredness and refused his request for a dance. His eyes narrowed, but, polite as ever, he merely bowed over her hand.
“As you wish my Lady. I hope that you will be feeling better shortly.”
Odette made certain to refuse the other gentlemen with the same excuse – she wished to give Charlton no reason to examine her refusal more closely.
The fact that he had accepted it so calmly and turned away hurt, even though it was what she had intended. For surely, if he cared for her, he might have enquired further? Berating herself for a fool, she went in search of conversation, forcing aside her shyness and seeking out the quiet group of wallflowers in the corner. Surely that was a safe place to hide?
And so it went for the next week. They attended less events, and, at those they did attend, Odette carefully avoided Charlton, and was quieter than she had ever been. At every ball, her heart broke
all over again. It hurt to watch him dance with others, to watch them smiling up at him as he held them close and waltzed. She held it inside, then cried herself to sleep at night.
Her father seemed pleased with her, when he noticed her at all. He was rarely in the house, and, at balls, always in the card room for the majority of the night. He spent long hours talking with his friends, and it seemed, to her observation, that Charlton was now counted amongst those. Odette found that to be particularly unfair. Why should it be that a man suitable to be her father’s friend, could be, at one and the same time, a ‘terrible philanderer, unfit to associate with his daughter’?
That week was, almost, the most miserable time of her life, only barely less so than the months surrounding her mother’s illness and death. It was as if there were two voices in her head, arguing, night and day.
One congratulated her on her cleverness in obeying her father without having to give Charlton the cut direct, and on avoiding making a fool of herself by declaring her feelings to a man who loved another.
The other continuously questioned her. Did she really believe what her father had told her about Charlton? Did he really have a mistress with a child? It seemed so unlikely, so out of character for the man that she thought she had come to know. Surely, the man who cared so much for his sister and mother, was so charming to everyone, had worked so hard to regain his family’s acceptance by the ton, after his brother’s scandalous death, was not the sort of man who would get a woman with child, then tuck her away in secret? Surely, if he loved such a woman, he would marry her, no matter her station in life?
But… if she listened to that second voice, if she chose to believe that it was not true, then her father had lied to her. Why would he do that? Why would he say that he had seen Charlton, with his own eyes, leave his mistress’ house? She did not wish to believe that her father would lie to her….
The turmoil in her mind was exhausting, and robbed her of more sleep – soon, she did not have to lie when she said that she was tired. The thought that she might never know if it was true or not, that she might spend the rest of her life not knowing, was intolerable. What would she do, if she were forced to watch, from afar, as Charlton chose and married one of the fluttering flock of young Ladies of the ton? How many times might a heart break, and still hurt this much?
Intriguing the Viscount: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 2) Page 8
