Charity (21 page)

“It will be difficult in some ways, kitten,” he answered honestly, “but I’ve never been one to back away from a challenge.” He held open his arms. “Come here.”

She smiled, crawled across the bed, turned her back to
her husband, and nestled warmly into his arms. Within moments, she was asleep.

It took Lachlan a little longer. He wrestled with the recognition of his feelings, wondered if she felt the same, if she even had the ability to fall in love with him after their brief, eventful acquaintance. Unable to find a solution to that particular problem, he turned his thoughts to a more pressing problem: his mother. There was no putting it off beyond tomorrow; when they woke they’d make the short trip to Asheburton Keep, where his mother was certain to do her level best to undermine and ruin the delicate, tentative bond he’d began to form with Charity. It would be a fight from which he would be mostly removed, except where he needed to step in to protect his wife. He was determined to allow Charity latitude to find her own way to deal with Eloise Kimball. He’d support her in every way, but the battle would be between two indomitable women. He had no idea who would prevail.

Twenty-three

Absolutely
not.”

Charity stood by the steps of the coach and considered her options. Only days before she would have responded with stubborn insistence, but in the aftermath of their discussion the evening before, and in the spirit of the warmth that had arisen between them, she found herself oddly loath to take her usual confrontational path.

For that reason, she lifted her eyes and stared at Lachlan in mute appeal. “But it’s so small. And helpless.”

Lachlan found he was not proof against such an expression, against the hope shining in the not-quite-green depths of his wife’s gaze. He remembered what she had said about her plans to live in Pelthamshire near her twin after she married, and he felt his heart softening. He was taking her so far from her family. How could he possibly deny her the companionship of a pet? He regarded the animal and almost quirked a smile at the irony. A
kitten
. Charity had found a kitten and wanted to bring it home with them.

As if it knew an improvement in its circumstances was imminent, the tiny creature lifted its head from his wife’s bosom and gave him a look of pleading identical to the one on his wife’s face. Except—Lachlan looked more closely—was that a shade of smug satisfaction in its golden eyes?

“No,” he said, and turned to get into the coach.

Charity didn’t follow. She cuddled the miniature black cat, kissed the top of its head and then stared once more at
her husband, who firmly shook his head. The look on her face turned mutinous, so he decided he had better explain.

“There is nowhere in the vehicle for the animal to relieve itself. It isn’t trained.”

Her face brightened. If Lachlan was willing to discuss it, she was sure she could convince him. “You said it was a very short drive to Asheburton Keep.” She held the kitten under its front legs, her hands spanning its tiny rib cage, and thrust it out. “And he looks smart. See? I bet he’ll wait and let us
know
if he needs to go out.”

“She,” her husband said wryly. The way she was holding the kitten, with its back paws dangling freely, gave him the perspective to easily determine that it was definitely not male.

“She, then.” Charity nodded agreeably. “Even better.” She gifted him with a cajoling smile.

“My mother,” he warned, “has two enormous wolfhounds that rarely leave her side.” He disappeared into the coach. “That animal will be an appetizer for one of them.”

Charity followed, the kitten tucked into the crook of her arm. “I’ll take care of her. I promise.” She smiled happily.

Lachlan glowered. “Not if you are their main course,” he warned darkly.

Charity laughed. At the musical sound, it was all Lachlan could do to maintain the scowl he’d pasted to his face. “It will be fine,” she assured him. She plunked the kitten into her lap and tilted her head to look down at the creature. “What shall I name you?”

The kitten, jet black with big golden eyes, stared back at her but said nothing.

“What do you think, my lord?”

“I think it would be a shame to waste the name, since she’s going to be mauled the second you take your eyes off her.”

Charity narrowed her eyes at her husband and then smiled down at her new friend. As the coach began moving, the kitten yawned and raised a paw to give it a halfhearted lick. “She’s very brave,” Charity remarked. “Most cats dislike traveling.”

“Mm. Yes. Stalwart.”

As if in response to Lachlan’s sardonic assessment, the kitten leaped across the space between the seats and sat, regally erect, beside the marquess. He reached down to scratch her head and then hastily pulled back his hand when she hissed at him.

Charity laughed. “Serves you right.”

Her husband raised his eyebrows. “That animal has the haughty bearing of a Roman goddess.”

“Then we shall call her Minerva.” Charity smiled with delight, and even the newly named kitten seemed inclined to agree with her choice. Lachlan just shook his head and stared out the window. The road was beginning to smooth, and familiar landmarks were cropping up with regularity.

Soon enough, the coach rounded a bend. Lachlan rapped on the roof three times and waited for the vehicle to stop. When a footman opened the door and put down the steps, he disembarked and then reached back to offer a hand to his wife. “Come see your new home, my lady.”

Charity stepped out into the crisp air of a bright mid-morning, her eyes glowing with surprise and delight. Even before she looked in the direction her husband was pointing, she was entranced. The colors here seemed somehow brighter, more vibrant and alive. There were enormous stones, light gray against the rolling emerald hills. The vegetation was lush and full and . . . and . . . her mind spun, trying to find the right word.
Sharp
, she decided. Everything was clearly defined and sharp.

Lachlan placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her around, pointing down the road that followed a gentle grade into a valley. Nestled into the valley was a small, picturesque village.

“Oh, my lord,” Charity breathed. “I want Amity to see this. It’s absolutely lovely.” She peeked up at him, her eyes turning that odd shade that wasn’t quite blue but was definitely not green. “That is Ashton?”

He nodded and smiled. “And that, my lady, is Asheburton Keep.”

Charity’s eyes climbed the hill behind the village. About halfway up was a large stone fortress, its medium gray walls a stark contrast to the bright green hillside and the thatched cottages of the village below. It was square and rather imposing, with low towers at each corner, the parapets crowned with flags she assumed bore the family crest flying in the gentle breeze. She leaned back against Lachlan and felt his arms slip around her waist.

“So the rumors were true,” she said, a smile in her words.

“Rumors?”

“You
do
live in a castle.”

Lachlan laughed. “Hardly. It’s a bit too small to be considered a castle.” He gave her a squeeze. “But you can pretend you’re a princess if you like.”

Minerva chose that moment to jump out of the coach and wind herself around their ankles. She mewed and looked up at Charity, who bent and picked her up. The kitten climbed up onto her shoulder, where she perched, stared up at Lachlan, and hissed.

He hissed back.

Laughing, he and Charity climbed back into the coach to complete their journey.

“There is a coach coming up from the village, my lady.”

Lady Eloise Kimball, Dowager Marchioness of Asheburton, raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows in an expression of bored disdain. “Already? The Season isn’t even half over yet.” She looked toward the window, although it didn’t afford her a view of the road that led to the keep. Silence fell. The footman bowed and backed out of the solar when it became apparent she would require nothing further of him.

Her eldest son’s quick return from London meant that he’d likely decided against finding a wife in the glittering pool of Season debutantes, which was good news. It also meant he’d be back in residence, undermining her authority in the running of the household. She loathed the frugality with which he managed the estate, even though she recognized that it was the very quality which had afforded them the means to live so comfortably. She dropped a hand to the head of Belle, one of her beloved pet wolfhounds. The other canine, Boris, who was curled up near her feet, lifted his head and growled low in his throat. The two dogs were in constant competition for her affection, something Eloise fostered and encouraged.

Lewiston Kimball watched his mother for a moment. When she made no move to get up, he stood and walked over to the window and looked down just in time to see the coach cross the drawbridge and disappear from view. A few seconds later it emerged into the courtyard, pulled around the short, half-circle drive and rolled to a smooth stop before the shallow steps that led up to the enormous front doors. He watched a footman lower the steps and open the door. A moment later his brother stepped out, then turned and reached back into the vehicle.

Lewiston’s eyes widened. Stepping out of the coach and into his brother’s arms was a petite young woman, her
strawberry blonde hair glinting in the late morning sunlight. Bemused, he turned back toward his mother.

“Shall we go down and greet Lachlan?”

Eloise waved a dismissive hand. “No, indeed. He can come up here if he wishes to see me. You go.”

Lewiston chanced another glance outside. The young lady was just reaching back into the coach for something. He couldn’t quite make it out, though it appeared to be a small black bundle. He grinned widely. “Suit yourself, Mother.” He walked over to her chair, bent, and pressed a kiss to the cheek she raised toward him. “I’ll pass along a greeting to them from you.”

Eloise watched him leave the room. He looked so much like his father, though he wasn’t increasing in the midsection the way Andrew Kimball had in his later years. Still, she thought, it was unfortunate neither of her sons had inherited her blonde good looks. She would have to make sure Lewiston married a pretty girl so that there was a decent chance of attractive grandchildren. And a girl with an outgoing disposition to overcome his occasional reclusiveness.

She frowned, bothered by something she’d missed, and thought back over the last few moments. Grandchildren. Lewiston. Lachlan . . .
Them?
Her eyes narrowed. Lewiston had said he would pass along a greeting from her to
them
. She sucked in her breath in sudden understanding.

In a single motion she threw off her lap robe and stood, gathered her skirts in one hand, and left the room. Belle and Boris trotted along after her, curious about where she was going in such a furious rush. She swept down the stairs and through the great hall.

“Lewis!”

He stopped midstride and turned back, an amused look on his face.

“You said ‘them.’ ” Eloise’s voice was modulated, but her son could sense the rage, simmering just below the surface, that frequently kept the household on edge. The only person who seemed immune to it was Lachlan, which always served to enrage his mother even more.

“Why, yes. I did,” he replied.

Eloise caught up to him. “He’s brought a . . . friend?” She placed an emphasis on the last word, hoping against hope that whoever accompanied her eldest child was not a woman.

Lewiston hesitated and then nodded, deciding not to tell her exactly what he’d seen. She’d learn for herself soon enough. Sure enough, voices drifted down the corridor from the entryway. One was distinctly female.

He gave his mother a steady look and held out an arm. “Shall we?”

Eloise scowled but placed a hand on the offered arm and lifted her head, her expression turning icy, regal and distant. They walked out to the entryway together with Belle and Boris following, the dogs’ nails clicking on the cold gray stone floor.

The newly arrived couple stood near the open doors. Lachlan was in the act of introducing the young lady to Phillips, their butler, a proud, possessive smile lighting his face. He looked over when he heard his family approach, and his smile faded. He waited for Charity to finish speaking to Phillips and then placed a hand at the small of her back.

She smiled up at him, noted his expression, and followed the direction of his gaze. Her heart gave a nervous little lurch and began pounding nervously, but she pasted on an open, engaging smile and stepped toward her new in-laws, the hand not cuddling Minerva to her chest extended in friendly greeting.

The dogs and the kitten became aware of each other at precisely the same moment, and instant pandemonium erupted. Minerva hissed low in her throat, her ears flattening. Before Charity could stop her, the small bundle of fur wriggled and jumped from the protection of her arms to land softly on the stone floor. She arched her back and bared her tiny, sharp teeth in the direction of the advancing, barking dogs.

“Minerva . . . no!” Charity bent to try and scoop up her pet before the dogs got to her, but the kitten skittered out of reach, right toward the snapping jaws of Boris. Charity raised her eyes to Eloise in mute appeal but was met with a distant, glacial glare.

Lewiston reacted instead, stepping forward and grasping Belle’s collar. He hauled her back and away but couldn’t get to Boris before the dog reached Minerva. The group watched in horror as the huge wolfhound snarled and tensed, preparing to attack the small intruder to his home. Charity gaped in horrified fear, squeezed her eyes closed, and then turned and pressed her face into her husband’s chest.

It was over in a matter of seconds. Boris jumped forward, barking loudly, then yelped in sudden, unexpected pain and backed away, whining piteously. Cautious, Charity peeled an eyelid open and chanced a look. The wolfhound had retreated to a safe distance. A long scratch on his muzzle was oozing a small amount of blood. He eyed Minerva, who was crouched and alert, ready to spring into an attack if necessary. The cat inched forward, hissing, her little tail puffed to an astonishing thickness, and then stopped when Boris whimpered and hid his face beneath one of his massive paws. She tilted her head to the side inquisitively.