Midnight Bride (9 page)

"All right, I suppose." Charles climbed out of bed, heading for the dressing room. "Why does this always happen, Porter?"

"What, sir?"

"These arguments.
Devilish uncomfortable having Elizabeth angry with me.
Have to go to see her and make up." Charles ruffled his hair and then poured water over his head and neck. He frowned at the man in the mirror and then caught sight of the arrested expression on the face of his valet.

Porter stopped. He laid the shirt he had in his hands on a chair and crossed the room. He handed Charles a towel, stepped back, and asked, "Did you quarrel with her last evening?"

"No. Yesterday afternoon was enough. She was angry with me, and I must admit she had a right to be. I must see her and apologize immediately." Like his sister's, Charles's anger was quick to disappear, a flash fire that quickly burned away. There were times, however, the anger smoldered for days, weeks, but those were usually when someone else had been hurt. Had he been able to find his sister's
fiancé
six years before, he would have shown him what a
Beckworth's
anger was like when it was left to smolder. Even when he thought of the man today and remembered his sister's weeping, his anger began to burn as hotly as ever.

"But Master Charles?"
Porter paused, unwilling to admit that he had been gossiping with the other servants. But the matter was too important. "You saw her last evening. From Miller's account, we assumed that you had already made peace with her."

"When?
Last evening?"
Charles turned around, rubbing his wet head with a towel. His shoulders, broader than they appeared when he was dressed, rippled with muscles.

"Apparently you insisted on seeing her.
Took a tray of Madeira with you."

"Madeira?
I don't even like the stuff."

"But I believe Mr. Hartley persuaded you it was more proper for a reconciliation drink with your sister than brandy." Porter handed Charles the first of his clothes. The valet's face was stiff with disapproval. Although too loyal to his master to mention the matter to others, he did not approve of Sebastian Hartley. Even his valet was second- class. A gentleman's gentleman knew these things.

"Hartley?
I was talking to Hartley about Elizabeth?" Charles ran his hand over his face, wishing he could remember more about the former evening. "What have I done now?"

"Perhaps you should ask the gentleman," Porter suggested quietly, "in a discreet way, naturally."

"And how am I going to go about that? You know me, Porter. Discretion is not something I am good at." Charles sat down and pulled on his pantaloons.

"Would a simple question or two be too difficult?"

"A simple question or two?
I can just see myself now. 'Hello, Hartley. Nice
day,
isn't it. What did I tell you about my sister?' Elizabeth will never forgive me if I have said anything I shouldn't."

"Now, Master Charles.
You know your sister will forgive you almost anything."

"It's the 'almost' that is worrying me. If I've created a scandal, we may as well leave for the colonies tomorrow." Charles shrugged into his coat, adjusted his cravat slightly, accepted a handkerchief, and walked to the door. "Ask around,
Por- ter,
maybe one of the other servants heard something." He put a hand in front of his face and laughed mirthlessly.
"If Elizabeth could hear me.
I'll try to stay out of her way until luncheon. I'll meet with
Carstairs
and then head to the stables. If you find out anything, let me know." He shook his head. "Now I'm asking you for the same kind of information you gave my father." He opened the door and peered out cautiously. He looked at the empty hall and breathed a sigh of relief as he headed for the back stairs.

He was no sooner inside the door that hid them from view than he heard someone coming down the hall. "Interesting breakfast," one man
said,
his voice calm and clear.

"Most fun I've had in days. Dunstan seemed not to know what we were talking about.
Clever of Charles to give us such a diversion.
Never saw Dunstan so castaway before. Too bad he wasn't that way when we were playing," a young-sounding voice said gleefully.

"Lost deep, did you?"

"Not more than I can bear. Dunstan
don't
like to win too much from us 'innocents,' he says. Someday I will beat him, and then we will see who is so innocent." Charles heard a door slam and footsteps continue down the hall.

Charles bit back a curse. Not certain who was still in the hall and not wanting to take a chance on being discovered, he hurried down the stairs, heading for the kitchen and a quick escape to
Carstairs's
office. "No use asking them about last night. But what did they mean about my providing them an amusing diversion? Elizabeth will never let me hear the end of this," he muttered as he entered the kitchen.

"Mr.
Beckworth
, is there something I can get for you, sir?" Jeffries asked, rising from the table set for his morning tea.

"Coffee."
After the butler had prepared it just the way he liked it, Charles took a long drink. "Has my sister been down yet?"

"No, she slept later than usual. I imagine the Madeira you took her last night made her sleep." The butler remained standing, casting a wistful look at his own quickly cooling tea.

"Sit down, Jeffries. I'll be gone in a minute. Just tell me what you mean about the Madeira," said Charles, waving the butler's protests away. His face, normally smiling and pleasant, wore a grim frown.
        
—

The
buder
wore a solemn expression. "You insisted that you had to speak to the mistress last night, had to apologize. You demanded I send a footman with a bottle of brandy to her bedchamber. But Mr. Hartley intervened. He convinced you to take a bottle of Madeira he had beside him on the table. Master Charles, Madeira is more of a woman's drink than brandy." He
paused,
concerned that Charles had shown such decided poor taste. Charles merely nodded. "I carried the tray to Miss Elizabeth's room, where you took it from me. You were absent from your guests quite some time. Several people wondered about you. Then you reappeared, said your good nights and went to bed." Jeffries cast
an
anxious look at his master to see if he was ill.

"How long did I spend with my sister?"

"More than a few minutes, sir."

Charles winced. "Let me know when she comes down, Jeffries. I'll be with
Carstairs
in his office." He turned to walk out the door to the back garden, but then he paused for a moment. His house party had been disastrous since the rain began.

For
a minute
the room was silent as Charles thought about the turmoil of the last few days, wondering how he could gracefully suggest that his guests return to their homes. Then, remembering the attention span of most of them, he smiled wryly. "Jeffries, spread the word that I have been thinking of challenging the record from here to London. And have Porter make a fuss asking for my trunks to be brought down from the
boxroom
."

"It will be my pleasure, Mr.
Beckworth
." The butler allowed the slightest smile to cross his face as he thought of the scurrying that this news would cause. He watched as his master crossed the yard.

"Good morning, sir."
Carstairs
stood as Charles entered his office. Then he sat behind the desk as Charles took a seat, stretching his long legs out before him, staring seemingly at his boots' brilliant shine. "How may I help you?"

"Tell me about the wretched girl, what's her name?"

"Susan,"
Carstairs
said dryly.

"That's the one. Did you get her off?"

"Yes, sir.
But she is the kind to make trouble. Even with the paper I had her sign, she may not keep quiet."
Carstairs
looked at him steadily, not sure he liked the changes he could see in the young man. Already he could see signs of dissipation. If only the young man's mother would pay some attention, he thought restlessly. Well, he had done what he could.

Charles frowned. "What kind of trouble,
Carstairs
? She was the one who offered."

"That is not the story she tells. And you know how gossip spreads. I instructed the man I sent with her to put her on the stage to London. Maybe there she will find a wider market for her wares."

"My sister said something about paying her off. Did you?"

"That's why I had her sign the paper. She can read, you know. Your sister gave her a full year's wages. I was against it, of course. She is setting a precedent, I am afraid." The agent shook his head. He held out the document to the young man.

Charles took it and looked it over. "Did you explain this to Susan?"

"Yes."

"Then I am certain she will be quiet. She admits her plotting here." Charles leaned farther back in the chair, smiling. "How are the repairs coming on those fields?" For the next half hour or so they discussed the problems the tenants were having replanting. Then a messenger from Jeffries arrived and Charles left.

He walked back to the house. "Where is she?" Charles asked as soon as he had found the butler.

"In her morning room."

"Tell her I wish to see her."

"She told me she did not wish to be disturbed until half past eleven," Jeffries said apologetically.

Charles frowned. "Tell her I will be in the library. And don't let her put you off." He walked down the hall, his face serious. The talk with his agent had been more sobering than he had expected.

When he entered the library, Charles found Hartley sitting there, recent newspapers in front of him. "You are up early, Sebastian," he said sardonically.

"I might say the same of you," the man said, his mouth curled into a slight sneer. The morning had not gone as he had planned. "What is this I hear about your returning to London? Jeffries told me you had told your valet to pack." Hartley put the paper down on a table near the comfortable chair in which he sat. His eyes narrowed dangerously.

"My friends have done enough damage here. I cannot afford any more incidents," Charles explained, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead.

"I hope you are not including me in that group," Hartley said coldly.

"Of course not.
I told
Carstairs
the girl had made advances to you, not the other way round. Besides, she's gone for good, I hope. She left this morning,"

"Susan was an eager piece. I'll be sorry to see her go." His friend laughed, remembering the incident.