Captive (6 page)

He had a lot of work to do if he was going to turn his ward into someone who could be presented to the queen and become a diamond of the first water at Almack’s. He would have to bring in a modiste from London to make gowns for her—and burn all her trousers. He would have to teach her not to look at a man so directly or answer him so defiantly. Could she dance? He had better see to that, as well.

Charlotte had a great deal to learn in order to become a proper English lady. And he was just the man to teach her.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

“Lion? May I come in?”

He made sure he was as decent as possible. “Come in, Olivia.”

She peered around the edge of his bedroom door before she entered the room, like a mouse checking for the cat before leaving its hole, then limped awkwardly across the room. Her broken leg had not healed properly, and one leg was slightly longer than the other. It had sadly curtailed her come-out, but in the years since her accident, she had never expressed any desire to rejoin Society.

“From my bedroom window I could see the doctor coming down the drive in his carriage,” she said. “I thought I’d let you know he’ll be here soon. Are you in much pain?”

“Not much.” His leg was on fire, but there was no sense worrying her about it.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“It was an accident.”

“Did Charlotte have anything to do with it?”

“She happened to be holding the pitchfork at the time I ran into it,” he said with a wry twist of his lips.

“Oh, dear.” Olivia stood at the foot of his bed wringing her hands. “I’m sure she didn’t mean to
do it, Lion. It’s only that she’s such a lively girl. And so often she doesn’t think before she acts.”

“What I would like to know is how she got out of her room in the first place.”

She lowered her gaze and said, “I unlocked the door.”

“Why?”

It annoyed him that she would not look at him. Which made no sense, when he had found equal fault with Charlotte’s more direct gaze. He realized he had no way of telling what Olivia was thinking when she hid her eyes from him that way. “I can understand the girl’s defiance, Olivia. What I do not understand is why you would disobey me.”

Her fingers toyed with the folds of her plain merino day dress. “You were wrong to confine her, Lion. I let her out because you had no right to lock Charlotte in her room in the first place.”

“I’m her guardian, Olivia. I have every right.”

“Because you
have
the right does not mean it
is
right,” Olivia persisted.

“Come here, Olivia.”

She took two awkward, tilted steps. When she reached his side, he lifted her chin. She kept her eyes lowered despite his efforts to see into them. “I’m surprised at you defending her, Olivia. The girl has no sense of maidenly modesty. She does not obey even the most basic rules of etiquette. In short, she is a disaster.”

Olivia flashed him a quick look before she lowered her eyes and said, “I like her, Lion. She’s my friend.”

Lion sighed. “I cannot argue with that. Very well, Olivia. So long as you do your best to influence her to the good, instead of allowing her to influence you in the other direction.”

“There is no badness in her, Lion,” Olivia said earnestly. “She has a huge heart, and it is open to everyone.”

“It’s her mixed-up head that is causing the problems,” he said.

They were interrupted when Charlotte came bursting through the door with the doctor, Mr. Rowland, right behind her.

“Charlotte!” Denbigh roared. “What are you doing in my bedroom, and why didn’t you knock?”

“I brought the doctor,” she said with asperity.

“A young lady does not enter the bedroom of a gentleman to whom she is not married,” Denbigh retorted.

“Then what is Olivia doing in here?” she asked.

“Olivia is my sister.”

“So?”

“You are my ward.”

“So?”

Olivia laughed. “Oh, Lion, you won’t win an argument with Charlotte. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Denbigh glared at his sister. “Unless you would
like to see your brother naked, I suggest you leave the room, Olivia. And take this young lady with you.”

“Come along, Charlotte. There’s nothing for us to do here,” Olivia said, putting an arm around Charlotte’s shoulder.

“I could help,” Charlotte offered.

“Get her out, Olivia, before I strangle her.”

“Lion never was a very good patient, Charlotte. And Mr. Rowland will take very good care of him.”

Denbigh watched as Charlotte allowed herself to be led from the room. She looked over her shoulder at him one last time before she left. He felt a pang of some emotion, one he refused to identify, when he recognized the look in her eyes. The chit had glanced back at him with … concern.

He reminded himself of what Olivia had said. The girl had a big heart and offered it to everyone. There was nothing personal in the look she had given him. He meant nothing to her. Which was fine with him. He wanted nothing to do with her, either. Except, of course, to prepare her to become some other man’s wife.

Charlotte knocked on the earl’s bedroom door and said, “It’s Charlotte. May I come in?”

She heard the earl and his valet speaking in quiet, indistinguishable tones, then the earl’s voice saying, “Can this wait?”

“I don’t think so,” Charlotte said.

His sigh was so loud and plaintive she heard it even through the door. A rustling sound followed, as though sheets were being rearranged. The door opened, and she found herself facing the earl’s valet, Theobald.

“You may come in now, Lady Charlotte.”

Charlotte crossed directly to the bed and stood before her guardian. “I hope your leg is feeling better,” she said.

His wounded thigh was hidden beneath the
sheet, and she thought perhaps that was what all the rustling had been about. He was still wearing a dressing gown, which she supposed meant it still hurt too much for him to pull on trousers over the bandages.

“It will heal,” the earl said. “Eventually,” he added.

“His lordship has been in a great deal of pain,” Theobald announced.

Denbigh shot him a reproving glance, but his valet didn’t seem the least bit cowed by it.

“I’m very sorry,” Charlotte said. “That’s why I’ve come, you see. To make amends.”

“And wearing a dress,” the earl said. “That is an improvement I can applaud.”

Charlotte looked down at the willow-green sprigged muslin she had donned for her visit to the earl. The dress made her look even less than her seventeen years, if that was possible. But she was hoping to melt the earl’s cold heart, and she had decided it could not hurt to look young and vulnerable. So far it appeared her plan was working.

“These are for you to do with as you please,” she said, holding out her arms, which were stacked eight inches high with folded clothing.

“What, exactly, do you have there?” the earl asked.

“Every pair of breeches I own,” she said.
Except the pair hidden under my mattress
.

“Ah,” the earl said. “You may give them to Theobald, Lady Charlotte.”

Theobald’s eyebrows had risen to his hairline, but like the true man’s man he was—that is, no task was too revolting, and all were handled with utmost care—he accepted the pile of grass-stained, oft-mended breeches from her hands. “What shall I do with them, my lord?” Theobald asked.

“Burn them.”

Charlotte saw the earl watching for her reaction, and she barely managed to avoid wincing. All those wonderful breeches going up in smoke. Such a waste!

“It shall be as you wish, my lord,” Theobald said.

“Do it now, Theobald,” Denbigh said.

“Very well, my lord,” he said. “Excuse me, Lady Charlotte. Do you need anything else before I leave?”

Charlotte caressed the smooth buckskin inseam on her best riding breeches one last time and said, “No thank you, Theobald. But …” She turned to the earl and said, “Do you think you could give the breeches away instead of burning them? There are several boys in the village—”

“See to it, Theobald,” the earl said.

“Yes, my lord. Will there be anything else?”

The earl gestured to Charlotte, and Theobald turned to see if she needed any further assistance.

“There is one more thing,” Charlotte began. Too late she realized this probably was not the time to bring up this subject. But the earl and his valet continued to stare at her, so she blurted, “Theobald needs a raise.”

“What?” the earl exclaimed.

Theobald’s face turned red as a boiled crayfish. Charlotte had eaten a lot of them in New Orleans, so she was a good judge of the color.

“My lord, I would never deign to suggest—”

“Stubble it, Theobald.” The earl turned to Charlotte and said, “That is an unusual request, Lady Charlotte. I wondered if you might have some particular reason for making it.”

“Well, Mrs. Tinsworthy told me Theobald’s sister has gotten herself in the family way and her man has been gone to India for ever so long and she has just heard that the natives
killed
him, and she has No Hope except her brother. And though Theobald has been the most frugal of men, he simply hasn’t enough to be of any real help. So she is going to have to go to the poorhouse and give her babe to an orphanage.

“So you see, you are his Only Hope,” she said dramatically.

“Is this true, Theobald?” the earl asked.

“Essentially, yes, my lord.”

“Consider the matter taken care of, Lady Charlotte.”

Charlotte flashed the earl a grin and gave Theobald a hug. The poor man nearly expired from apoplexy on the spot. He escaped as quickly as he could and left the room without another word. Charlotte thought it was because he was overcome by the earl’s generosity. She felt the same way herself.

“You can be a kind man,” she pointed out to him. “If you would only try a little harder.”

The earl’s lips flattened. The kind look went away.

“If you have accomplished the purpose of your visit, you may leave,” he said.

“Oh, but there’s more,” she said.

“I was afraid of that.”

She dropped onto the foot of his bed and heard him gasp as his leg bounced under the covers. “Oops! I’ll be more careful.”

“You shouldn’t be sitting on my bed at all,” he said. “You shouldn’t even be in this room without a chaperon.”

“I’ll be quick,” she said, jumping to her feet.

He groaned as his leg got jostled again.

“Oh, I’m so very sorry,” she said.

“I’m sure you are,” he said. “I believe that’s what brought you here in the first place,” he reminded her.

“Oh, yes. Well. You may have noticed that I
have decided to defer to your wishes regarding the dresses and the breeches.”

“I have.”

“I will even ride sidesaddle,” she conceded.

“Very commendable.”

“But I think, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather choose a husband who will like me just the way I am. I’m perfectly willing to buy my freedom from your authority with matrimony, but that won’t do me much good if I end up married to another tyrant.”

She realized, when he scowled, that perhaps
tyrant
was not a politic word to use. “I mean, another man as inflexible as you.”
Inflexible
drew a tic in his cheek.

She tried once more. “I mean, I want a husband who will love me for who I am.” This time he looked incredulous.

“Where are you planning to find such a paragon?” the earl asked.

“I hear there are a lot of men to choose from in London.”

“How are you planning to get there?”

“You’re going to take me, of course.”

For another half hour, until she could see the earl’s leg was paining him too much to continue, they discussed her needs and his demands. When the interview was over, Charlotte had not gotten everything her own way. The earl had agreed to take
her to London, but only after she agreed to endure a series of lessons in etiquette—she had to meet his rigid standards of correct social behavior—and acquired a completely new wardrobe and learned all the newest dances, including the waltz.

She was suspicious of the way her guardian had given in so easily. She made a vow to herself that no matter what tricks the earl tried, she would be the one to choose her husband. If for some reason Denbigh did not like the man she chose, and tried to forbid the marriage, she would elope.

Being remade in someone else’s image turned out to be more of a trial than Charlotte had expected. Two weeks later she still did not recognize the “new” Charlotte.

“You look lovely, Charlie,” Olivia said from her perch on the edge of Charlotte’s bed.

Charlotte eyed herself in the standing mirror. She felt naked wearing the short-sleeved gown that was gathered under her bosom with a thin silk ribbon. It was cut low in front, exposing a great deal of her chest.

“Your brother can’t really believe this is less revealing than a shirt and breeches,” Charlotte said, covering the wide expanse of naked skin on her chest with her hands. “Why, any man taller than me can see my bosom!”

Livy grinned. “I believe that’s the general idea. You’re setting bait to trap a husband, Charlie.”