Miss Charity's Case (3 page)

“Thank you for your caution. I shall do as you suggest,” Miss Stuart answered in her lyrical voice, which drew his gaze from the enticing curve of her bodice to her heart-shaped face. The frown she wore was not as flattering as the smile he had seen earlier.

He shook that image aside and hardened his voice. “I recommend, as well, that you remind your duenna you aren't within the haven of your home.”

“My sister and I are traveling alone, sir.”

When Mr. Blackburn's brows lowered over his eyes like clouds preceding a storm off the sea, Charity flinched.

“What cabbage-head suggested that two young women should stay here alone?” he demanded.

She held the book close to shield her from his volatile gaze. “A single night here shall not be enough to tempt either my sister or me into irresponsible behavior.”

“I do not question your behavior, Miss Stuart, but that of the men in the common room. Their habits may not be as honorable as your own exemplary standards.” A hint of amusement seeped into his voice. “As I advised before, it would reveal superior sense on your part to retire to your room and stay there with your sister.”

He was top-lofty to command her as if she were a member of his crew! Charity was sure he must be the captain of his ship, for he gave orders with the skill of long practice. In spite of her bristling, she knew he was speaking the truth. “Thank you again for your admonition. I shall retire,” she said quietly, “for we have a long journey tomorrow.”

“London
is
a goodly distance from here, I can assure you, having just traveled from there.”

Charity spun to face him and gasped when her nose nearly bumped into his cravat. He was following her! Was she being a block to lead him to her room? His guise as a gentleman might be only his way of allaying her suspicions. Sharply, she demanded, “How do you know that we are bound for London?”

“Where else would you be going on this road?” Mr. Blackburn chuckled, the sound like the rumble of distant thunder. “As I recall, you arrived with other travelers on the mail coach just in time to sample that questionable repast we had exacted upon us.”

Despite herself, as they walked toward the narrow spiral of stairs, Charity found herself smiling. Mr. Blackburn was determined to captivate her, and he was succeeding. “It was quite horrible, but I daresay you shall remember it with pleasure once you are at sea.”

He halted at the base of the steps and put his hand on her elbow. Startled at his impertinence and astounded at the flush of warmth that careered through her, she tried to pull away. His fingers tightened around her arm as he drew her a half-step closer, so close she could see the glitter of gold in his blue eyes. The warmth within her became icy fear.

“What makes you think the sea is my destination, Miss Stuart?” he asked, his voice as devoid of emotion as his face.

Charity opened her mouth to call for help, then shut it. Joyce might rush to her rescue, and Charity did not want to embroil her sister in this contretemps. Taking a steadying breath, she said, “It was no more than conjecture, sir, based on your comments.” She could not let him guess that she had been studying his face. “Although, I must own, few tars would be willing to set sail in such a storm as we are having tonight.”

“You are most insightful, Miss Stuart.” Slowly his fingers loosened their grip. “If I may offer you a last bit of advice …”

“I bid you good evening.”

As she turned to climb the stairs, he said to her back, “I would hide that quick wit when you are in Town. Others might not be so willing as I to overlook the devastation it could create when it cuts through pretense and hypocrisy.” Without a pause, he added, “Good evening to you, Miss Stuart. I hope you have a pleasant and uneventful journey to London.”

Oliver watched as Miss Stuart hurried up the stairs. What an innocent! She spoke the truth before she considered the consequences. He wondered how she would fare in London. A gentlewoman of her class would not be going into service. A companion? What a waste, for she possessed too few years to spend the rest moldering in silence in a corner. The Season? That seemed unlikely, but, if Miss Stuart were pitchforked into the closed circle of the
ton
, he doubted she would emerge with that charming
naïveté
intact.

He smiled wryly. He had grown exceedingly cynical of late. He had many friends among the Polite World, and he enjoyed their company during his brief sojourns in Town. Brief. Blast, but he had not anticipated this journey tonight. Things must be growing more heated on the continent, for he had been home a mere fortnight before this request had arrived on his doorstep. Yet this was the life he loved, filled with adventure and a respite from the boredom of the Season. He had spent too many evenings evading the grasp of some marriage-minded miss and her mother. Now he wished to enjoy the life he had chosen and worked hard to gain.

Going out onto the narrow porch on the side of the inn, where rain spit fitfully, Oliver set his hat on his head. His smile vanished when he saw a slim shadow huddled by the narrow steps. The collection of feathers on the woman's hat implied she was of a class higher than the serving lasses who had flirted with him during supper. If she was not one of the inn's wenches, she must be …

“Miss Stuart?”

“I am right here. I …” The young woman's voice faded as she turned toward him with a look first of expectation, then of dismay.

Even in the dim light from the inn, Oliver could see the resemblance between this Miss Stuart and the one he had spoken with only moments ago. He guessed this one was younger by a handful of years, and her hair was nearly black. Yet the curve of her chin and high cheekbones marked them as sisters.

“Miss Stuart,” he said softly, although a score of questions bounded through his head, “your sister is nearly in high fidgets over concern for you. It is not my place to be an addle-plot, but allow me to warn you—as I did her—that you should avoid being alone at The King's Heart Inn.”

“Who are you?”

“Oliver Blackburn.” He tipped his hat and bowed to her. Raising his head, he struggled not to frown. What was this Miss Stuart doing here on the porch when her sister had expected her to be waiting in their room above? Reminding himself that the business of the sisters was not his, especially when nothing was going as it should tonight, he said, “Your sister was wise to take my recommendation and seek the safety of your room. May I suggest that you do the same before you find yourself in a most unpleasant situation?”

Taking a step backward toward the door, Miss Stuart said, “You are quite right. Thank you for your kindness.”

“If you were waiting to speak to someone, I would be glad to see that the message is delivered.”

“Thank you, but no. I wished only to enjoy a bit of fresh air before I retired. The air is so close inside.”

Oliver held the door open for her and did not move as she slipped past him to follow her sister's path up the stairs. Miss Stuart needed to learn more prudence. Taking the air in such a low place as this tavern could risk one's well-being. He suspected the elder Miss Stuart would tell her sister that in short order.

He frowned. As closely as the elder Miss Stuart had been watching the door, he would have guessed she
had
warned her sister to take care. Someone should teach them caution before such headstrong behavior brought problems the sisters would not need. Odd that they had not learned such lessons already.

He had no time to untangle enigmas tonight. The storm was abating, and he must be on his way. Bending his head into the wind and rain, he froze in the middle of the yard as he heard another carriage being whipped up to race away from the inn. The paper-skull on the box risked tumbling the vehicle on the wet night. He hoped his trip would not be slowed more by having to offer help to a mired fool. Enough had gone awry tonight. He must be flying across the Channel before dawn.

Joyce heard the heated voices even before she opened the door of the simple room she would share with her sister. Her eyes widened when she saw Charity standing at the foot of the iron bed, her arms folded over her chest as she argued with the thin innkeeper. The situation was becoming worse by the moment.

Charity looked past the innkeeper to her sister. As Joyce tossed her damp cloak onto the room's sole chair, Charity said, “Forgive me for coming up here without telling you, but, as you can see, I arrived none too soon.”

“What is amiss?” Joyce asked.

“I'd as lief you asked what is not wrong.” Charity affixed a frown on the innkeeper who was as thin as a plucked chicken. “That would take less time to tell. Not only has no fire been set on our hearth, but our trunk has vanished.”

The innkeeper turned to Joyce and pleaded in his nasal whine, “Won't ye explain to her, miss, for I fear she refuses to heed m'words?”

“Why should I heed your nothing-sayings?” Charity took a deep breath to calm herself. To lose her temper before this incompetent hosteler would gain them nothing. If she had not been so unsettled by the peculiar encounter with Oliver Blackburn, she might be more in control of herself. Rattling off the innkeeper had gained her nothing, for he refused to answer her questions.

“Tell her, miss,” urged the innkeeper to Joyce again, “that yer planning to depart tonight.”

Charity interjected, “What would give you such a chuckle-headed notion?”

“Didn't ye want yer trunk removed to that fine carriage in the yard?” The innkeeper's mouth tightened in a scowl as he stared at Joyce.

Charity stepped between him and her sister. “I shan't have you badgering my sister to hide your own inadequacies. Pray, lay us a fire and seek about the inn to discover where our trunk might be.”

“'Tis gone,” he insisted.

“I know that.” He was bird-witted to repeat himself endlessly. Mr. Blackburn must have taken note of the innkeeper's inability to maintain order. That explained Mr. Blackburn's anxiety that she should scurry away to hide in her chamber like a rabbit seeking its hole in the hedgerow.

Bother!
she thought.
This was not the time to have her head filled with useless thoughts
. She would not be seeing Mr. Blackburn again, so she should not let memories of his brash ways distract her. The pulse of dismay at that realization startled her. Why was she letting a stranger consume her mind?

Her exasperation at her own wayward thoughts sharpened her voice, “I ask only that you find our trunk, sir, and bring it to our room posthaste.”

Again the thin-gut innkeeper turned to Joyce. “I beg ye, miss, to tell her the truth.”

“And I beg of you, sir,” Charity said, furious that he would imply such things about Joyce, “to refrain from suggesting that my sister played some part in your ineptitude. If you are too pudding-hearted to own to your own error, I ask you again to lay our fire and begone.”

The innkeeper growled something under his breath, but nodded. Stepping aside, Charity watched closely as he arranged the logs on the hearth. He might be as incompetent at this task as he was at every other, and she had no wish to wake to the stench of burning bedcovers when a log had rolled onto the floor.

The man left, his outrage vivid in every motion. He did not slam the door behind him, but she guessed he would have enjoyed doing so. Sitting on the chair by the hearth, she sighed and closed her eyes. She did not want to consider what disaster might prey on them next.

When Joyce's hand settled on her shoulder, Charity raised her eyes to her sister's. “Do not worry. I daresay Lady Eloise shan't turn us from her door for the want of our gear.”

“Charity,” she replied in a strained voice, “I am so sorry. I might have halted the thief if I had come up here instead of getting some fresh air.”

Charity sat straighter. “Joyce, you didn't!”

“It is so stuffy in here, and I thought—”

“Joyce, you did not think.” Rising, she faced her sister. She wished she could smooth the anxious lines from Joyce's forehead. “You must be more careful about going out here and in London.”

“In London?” She dropped to the bed. “How can I go out in London when all of our clothes have vanished? What will Lady Eloise think of us?”

“Do not fret. Lady Eloise will know the daughters of a country parson have little which was suitable for London anyhow.” Charity wrapped her arms around herself. “This inn is most obviously a den of malcontents who see nothing wrong with purloining our trunk. Thank goodness, I kept my small bag with me.”

Charity reached into her bag. As she was about to toss Joyce's nightgown to her, she hesitated. Running her fingers along the lace, she recalled the evening she and Joyce had made these muslin nightgowns. How they had laughed that Joyce should add extra lace to hers to appeal to the husband she soon would have! Their father had been away, as he was so often, leaving them to their maidenly dreams.

Those dreams must not be allowed to die with him. Sitting on the edge of the hard bed, Charity thought of the stilted phrasing in her great-aunt's letter. Lady Eloise had derided Papa for every fault he might have had, but had insisted Charity bring her younger sister to London to come-out. Their great-aunt had suggested that, at two-and-twenty, Joyce was nearly ready to put upon the shelf. Still Lady Eloise wished to see Joyce have the chance to make a favorable match.

There had been no suggestion of what would be done with Charity.

Shaking off her dismay, she rose. She would go with Joyce and be her companion. Once she had wanted a life of love and adventure, but she had learned how impossible that would be. This life would have to be enough … but it was not.

She ignored the rebellion in her heart as she walked to where her sister stared at the fire. She put her hand on Joyce's shoulder, feeling it quiver like a bough in a hurricane. When she bent, she was not surprised to see her sister weeping. She knelt by the simple chair.