Noble Destiny (30 page)

“But—”

“You see my worry, Caro—I am helpless to do anything to help Dare with the one facet of life I have expertise in: Society.” The glass felt cool against her brow, soothing somehow. Charlotte was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to curl up into a little ball and let the world go on its way without her. She had never been one to back down from a challenge, but for the first time in her life she wondered if it was worthwhile to keep fighting.

“What does it bring you but more heartache?” she murmured.

“What brings heartache?”

“Life,” Charlotte replied, closing her eyes and giving in to the pain that filled her. “It seems like all I've done lately is fight for what I want, but for what purpose? I fought to come back to England and ended up penniless and unwanted by my own family. I fought to marry Dare and ended up a burden around his neck, driving him deeper into despair with his worry about my life with him. I fought to show him that I would stand by him, that I love him no matter what happens, and yet everything positive in my life—Dare being the exception—everything I've fought for has been stripped from me.”

“Char, I don't know what to say. If you need money—”

Charlotte smiled without the least sign of dimples. “That's kind of you, but it isn't necessary. Lack of money isn't the problem, not the true problem.”

“Then what is?”

She sighed and sat down on the settee again, wondering how to express the feelings that had been growing steadily ever since she'd seen Dare. She knew full well that no lady ever thought the sorts of things she had been thinking, and she wasn't sure of Caroline's reception to her radical ideas. “The problem is that I'm not necessary. There is no rhyme or reason to me. I am needed by no one. Ladies of our class are useless, worse than useless, dependent on everyone for everything, from cooking their meals to dressing themselves. When's the last time you dressed yourself, Caro? Combed your own hair? You see? I'm no better than the rest of our class. All I've been raised to do is look pretty and entertain people and spend my husband's money. There's no future in any of that for me—Dare wouldn't notice if I suddenly sprouted an extra limb or two, there's no one left in the
ton
other than you who will acknowledge me, and I have to admit that a lifetime spent with the sole purpose of entertaining you is not what I'm looking for in a life goal, and as for spending money, there's nothing to be spent.”

Caroline was staring at her with openmouthed horror. “You can't mean that! You can't be serious when you say that we're not good for anything but looking pretty and entertaining people and spending money!”

“Tell me something else the ladies of the
ton
can do? Something worthwhile.”

“Well…” Caroline looked a bit flustered, biting her lip as she thought. “We can…we have…there's charity!”

“Spending our husband's money,” Charlotte pointed out. “Can you think of nothing more?”

“Yes…no…oh, you're rushing me, I can't think when you rush me.”

Charlotte sighed. “I fear there is nothing more. At least in my case there is nothing more. Dare is on the road to mental and emotional healing. I have no doubt that he could survive without me now. He has the servants to help him rebuild his engine, he has David's connection to assist him in selling the engine even if all his other investors lost interest, and most of all, he has the intelligence and charm and warmth to find himself another wife, one who will be just what he wants, not a wife who hoisted herself on him.
Foisted
,” she corrected herself before Caroline could, blinking back tears that seemed to have been wept straight from her heart. “The truth is, I'm really not needed anymore now that Dare's well.”

“He loves you,” Caroline offered, dabbing at her own eyes with her handkerchief. “That is a sort of need, isn't it? And you love him.”

“He loves me, but he doesn't have a driving reason to keep me in his life. 'Tis the truth that he'd be better off without me.”

“You don't intend…you can't mean you'd…”

“No, of course not, don't be so megalomaniac. I simply mean that I believe the best thing—the best thing for Dare—will be to gain an annulment to the marriage, so he might live out his life in happiness. Even though my heart shall be destroyed by parting from him, I will have the satisfaction of knowing he will be happy.”

“Oh, that's the most romantic thing I've ever heard.” Caroline sniffled. “So brave of you! So self-sacrificing! You are the noblest woman I know, Char.”

“I am, aren't I?” Charlotte agreed morosely, her lip quivering as the full extent of her sacrifice dawned upon her. “I cannot believe it has come to this, Caro, but I truly do want him to be happy, no matter how miserable his happiness makes me. It was fine when he needed me, but now…” She wiped at a tear that had crept down her cheek. “Well, there is no sense in crying, my path is clear. And now that we have that settled, I was hoping you'd have some tidbit of gossip about the Pretender that might direct me to other avenues of investigation, something I could use to sway public opinion against him. I shall make that my last act of kindness before giving Dare his freedom.”

Caroline's naturally pale coloring paled even more. She fretted a handkerchief as she watched Charlotte carefully. “Oh, dear.”

“Oh, dear? What is it? What haven't you told me?”

“I hadn't wanted to tell you, but I suppose it is best if it comes from me, and Lord…Mr. McGregor doesn't hear of it elsewhere.”

Charlotte brushed away the tears that had formed at the thought of her noble and selfless act. “Tell me.”

Caroline fidgeted, something she rarely did, an action that instantly raised concern in Charlotte's mind.

“Well…oh, it's completely untrue, I want you to know that I realize that. Completely untrue! It seems that Lord Carlisle…that is, the man who claims to be Lord Carlisle, told Lord Keyes, who told Sir Albert Moray, who told dearest Algernon, that…that…”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, just spit it out, Caro!” Charlotte snapped, more concerned than ever.

“He said that your husband arranged for his kidnapping six years ago so he could take the title and the estates, because he was so poor and always coveted the title and Lord Carlisle has the proof of his misdeeds and he intends to bring Alasdair McGregor up on charges and have him hung for his crime and that the accident was just a convenient ploy to gain him sympathy and that he's not really injured, just too cowardly to face Lord Carlisle in public,” Caroline said in a rush of words that stumbled over each other.

“He what?” Charlotte all but shrieked as she leaped up from the settee.

Caroline took a deep breath. “He said that your husband arranged for his kidnap—”

“No, no, you don't have to repeat those ghastly lies. Dear Lord, he said all that? In public?”

Caroline nodded, her head swiveling as she watched Charlotte pace before her, eyeing the carpet critically to see if it would have to be replaced after Charlotte's latest round of ambulatory musing. Perhaps she should instruct Matthews to lay down a special matting in the pacing path whenever Charlotte visited. “In the clubs, yes. I imagine it's all over them by now. You know how Sir Albert gossips.”

“I can't believe this, I just can't believe this. How can he say such a thing? That Dare would kidnap him? It's ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. No, it's not just ridiculous, it's…it's…it's asodyne! Asmonine?”

“Asinine.”

“What?” Charlotte paused in the act of gathering up her things.

“The word is asinine, not asodyne or asmonine.”

She frowned. “Asinine? As in nine asses? Are you certain?”

Caroline nodded her head. “Quite.”

“How very peculiar. Still, it matters not.” Charlotte filed away that interesting fact and smiled, once more filled with a warm glow of happiness. “What does matter is that I have a purpose again. I can be useful. I need to go home, now, before Dare hears about this.”

“How can you keep him from hearing about it?”

“I don't know, but I will have to, else he'll…he'll…oh, I don't know what he'll do, but I do know that it won't involve working on his engine, and that is what his focus should be right now. I suppose if I ban any visitors to the house, and keep Dare at home, and screen his post, that should give me the time I need.”

“To do what?”

“To take care of the Pretender once and for all, of course.”

“But…you just said that you were helpless to do anything about him, that not even your expertise in Society could help Mr. McGregor—”

“Pheasant feathers! That was before I knew what foul lies that evil man has been spewing! Answer me this, Caro: Is there anyone in town more qualified than me to mount a counterattack?”

“A counterattack?” Caroline looked shocked. “You mean you will blacken his character?”

Charlotte snorted as she patted Wellington, standing to flash her friend a smile filled with portent. “As if that was possible. I shall simply ensure that everyone in the
ton
sees him as he truly is. That, my dear, shall be my new raisin debtor!”

“Raisin…you don't mean
raison
d'
ê
tré
—”

Charlotte sailed out the door, pausing long enough to kiss her friend on the cheek. “Thank you, sweet Caro. I don't know what I'd do without you.”

With a flash of lace petticoat, Charlotte raced down the stairs and out to the carriage, her mind filled once again with plans for her husband. What a silly thing she was, thinking Dare didn't need her. Why, here was proof that she had a role to fulfill in life, a destiny that she intended to meet—Dare needed her keen eye and her sharp intellect and her ability to see things others missed to keep his life running smoothly and happily.

Charlotte settled back in the somewhat dingy seats of the rented carriage and allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. The business with the Pretender was bound to turn out as she hoped. How could life do anything but arrange itself to her pleasure now that she knew her husband needed her? All she had to do was keep Dare in the dark about the foul things the Pretender was saying, and all would be well. By the time the engine was ready and Dare was prepared to rejoin Society, she'd have taken care of his supposed cousin once and for all. She smiled even as the poorly sprung carriage jounced and rattled over the road. Things were working out well after all.

“Batsfoam, fetch me when Johnson has the steam cylinder repaired.”

“As you desire, sir. There are few things that will give me greater pleasure than to stand around the blacksmith's forge. You are kindness personified to offer me the opportunity to escape the sweltering heat of the day by allowing me to stand inside a small, confined shed containing the blacksmith's massive forge, not to mention the blacksmith's massive self, his massive assistant, and two massive sons, all four of whom will be manning the bellows in order to heat the forge to such a temperature as to work with the steel cylinder you wish repaired.”

“Batsfoam—”

“I can imagine nothing I will like so much as to stand about on my unfortunate limb, perspiring freely, secure in the knowledge that I am doing my own insignificant part to ease your mind.”

“Batsfoam—”

“Even now I struggle to contain the joy that fills me at the thought of fulfilling your most gracious and thoughtful request. Indeed, were it not for the fact that I am even now wrung to the very limits of my poor, crippled body with the heat of the day, I should take the opportunity to turn a few handsprings just to demonstrate my utter delight at the task you have set before me.”

Dare knew how to play the game. Smiling was allowed if it was done properly, in a subdued manner, but laughing out loud would only wound Batsfoam's feelings, so he kept his chuckles locked deep inside and instead gave his servant a long-suffering smile. “I believe I'll survive the rigors of luncheon without forcing you into a show of acrobatics.”

“Indeed, I would be most happy, sir—”

Dare held up his hand and took his stick from the carriage. “Just make sure Johnson does the job properly, and then fetch me when it's ready. And before you say it, no, you won't disturb me. I can't do anything until that cylinder is repaired, so I might as well wait at the club and catch up on what's been happening in the world while I've been recuperating.”

Batsfoam made a halfhearted attempt to gain permission for the handsprings, but in the end he climbed back into the carriage and promised he'd keep a close eye on the blacksmith's repairs. Dare mounted the steps to his club feeling only the slightest pinch in his thigh where his wife had shot him.

He started laughing then, unable (or unwilling) to keep the laughter contained as he thought of his indignant Charlotte driven to shooting him in order to bring him back to his senses. How could he have even contemplated living without her? She was everything he wanted, everything he needed. Wife, lover, friend, nursemaid…

“Executioner.” He chuckled to himself, shocking the doorman who took his hat and cane.

He spent a few minutes talking with an elderly member who remembered his father, then made his way toward the area containing deep leather armchairs situated so as to catch a breeze from the nearby opened window. There was mild amusement to be drawn from the fact that no one knew quite where to look at him—at his eye patch, the scars that trailed along the hairline on one side of his face, or his obviously limp arm—nor did anyone seem to know exactly how to address him, some calling him Carlisle as if to indicate their support, while others used his surname. It was the need to think about his cousin that was behind claiming the few hours it would take for the cylinder to be repaired. He had to think about what to do about Charlotte, and he couldn't do that with her very distracting presence at home.

Dare was no fool, he'd seen the writing on the wall before his accident; although he had no idea who had arranged for his cousin to be packed aboard a merchant ship bound for the Orient, he had no doubt at all that Geoffrey McGregor was exactly who he said he was, which meant the title and estates—such as they were—not to mention his late uncle's debts, all now rightfully belonged to his cousin. Truth to be told, he was better off without the title and estates—now all he had to do was take care of himself and Charlotte, and no longer would he need to throw money into the drain that were the estates. But Charlotte, his sweet, loving, eccentric Charlotte—she was determined to save the title.

“Hot out today.”

Dare nodded to the elderly man sitting across from him as he took his seat in one of the leather armchairs, ordering a restorative beverage from the attendant lurking behind his elbow before turning his attention to the man who had spoken. “That it is.”

“Ye're the Scot, ain't ye? The fellow everyone is talking about.”

Dare allowed as to his ancestry and said nothing about his sudden fame. No doubt people were still discussing his terrible accident. It was impossible to ignore the subject since he was wearing an eye patch—an eye patch made by his loving wife's hands. This one was silver with blue piping, made to match his waistcoat of the same colors. She had presented it and several others to him earlier, pointing out with great solemnity that she had fashioned an eye patch to match all of his waistcoats.

Only Charlotte would think of color coordinating eye patches.

“Heard tell that other fellow, the other Scot, has called you out.”

Dare's hand froze for a moment in midreach as he was about to take his glass off the tray the servant held. He took the drink and waved off the man before asking, “What did you say?”

The man opposite him was quite elderly, had to be near a hundred, with wild white hair, piercing blue eyes that looked remarkably lucid despite the age of their owner, and a strongly jutting nose that rose from the crisscrossed lines that mapped out the man's face. An ebony stick rested next to the man's leg, one gnarled hand trembling with gentle palsy next to the silver head of a lion that topped the stick.

“This other McGregor says ye were behind the kidnapping that sent him to China in order to take a title that rightfully would have been his. That true, boy?”

Dare ground his teeth. He had tolerated much in his life because it was fitting at the time, but never had he tolerated a slur to his honor or his name. “No, sir, it is most definitely not true. If my cousin has stated his intention to meet me on the field of honor over this, I will be happy to satisfy him. If he hasn't, then I will be even happier to demand his presence.”

“Thought ye'd see it like that. Never were one to take a slight. Fought a few duels in yer day, haven't ye?”

“A few,” Dare ground out, his eye scanning the common room of the club in hopes it would light upon the figure of his cousin.

“Don't think I'd be letting your lady wife know about it, though,” the old man said thoughtfully, one twisted finger rubbing his chin. “Lady Charlotte's another chit with her own mind. Like as not she'd think of a way to put a halt to it. Best you keep your plans to yourself if you don't want to end up in Crouch's hands again.”

Through an open doorway Dare saw a flash of scarlet that looked like it belonged to the elegant figure who had so publicly challenged him. He stood and bowed to the elderly man who was looking at him so curiously. He'd been saying something about Charlotte, but Dare hadn't time to listen to him now. He had a challenge to accept…or offer. “Thank you for your advice, sir—”

“Name's Palmerstone.”

“It is much appreciated. If you will excuse me, I believe I see my cousin now.”

A surprisingly strong gnarled hand on his wrist stopped him as he was leaving. Dare looked down at the old man, once again startled by the vivacity of his eyes.

“Don't forget what you've almost lost, boy. You'd be a fool to risk losing it again.”

Dare fought the urge to frown, baffled by what the old man said until he dismissed his words as the meanderings of an elderly mind. He mumbled something placating, and strode off in pursuit of his cousin.

An hour later Batsfoam found his employer in the company of a short, red-faced young man who looked hot and nervous.

“There's nothing to it, man. Acting as a second is merely a formality.”

“All the same, I'm sure my wife wouldn't like it. Still, a gentleman has his honor to think of.”

“Exactly,” Dare told Lord Beverly, and gave him an encouraging blow to the shoulder that almost dropped the younger man to his knees. “It's a simple matter of pistols at dawn. All you have to do is arrange the location and be sure a surgeon is summoned.”

“In that case, I should be happy to act as your second.”

Dare thanked him, then turned to his servant with a cheery, “Cylinder done, Batsfoam? Excellent. Let's be on our way, then.”

As Dare strolled out of the black-and-white marble tile entrance hall, Batsfoam thumping a respectable distance after him, he was stopped at the door by a familiar (if unwelcome) person.

“Ah, McGregor. I'm surprised to see you up and about. From what my sister said, it sounded as if you were at death's door.”

Dare bared his teeth in what he hoped was a polite smile at his brother-in-law. “It was due to Charlotte's most excellent skills that I stand before you today, Collins.”

Lord Collins sourly looked Dare over, his narrow eye flickering from the eye patch, to the arm that hung limply at his side. A tiny smile that looked remarkably like satisfaction turned into a smirk. “We are all, of course, most grateful to hear the reports of your imminent demise are premature. Still, I'm surprised to see you here. I had heard that you had been issued a challenge and failed to respond. I wouldn't have thought that a man so cowardly would dare show his face in public.”

The fingers of Dare's left hand clenched into a fist that ached to connect with Collins's pompous face. “You can't have it both ways, Collins. Either I was too ill to know there was a challenge, or I wasn't ill at all and too much the coward to be seen in public. As it happens, I was ill—would you like to see what remains of my eye?—and was unaware my cousin had called me out.” He shook his head in mock sorrow. “This younger generation doesn't seem to understand the finer points of calling a man out, points such as challenging a man in person rather than announcing the slight to everyone but the party concerned. Still, Geoffrey's suffered some rather grievous circumstances in the past; I'm sure a little leniency is due him.”

“Leniency?” Collins sneered. “Could that be the voice of guilt speaking?”

Dare took his hat and cane and with an effort, shoved neither article down his odious brother-in-law's throat. “I have no guilt whatsoever concerning my cousin, but you may rest easy that I don't take being called out lightly. I have men looking into the circumstances of Geoffrey's adventure six years ago and will soon discover just who is responsible. If there is nothing else, I will take my leave. I've lost quite a bit of time on my engine, and must return home to install a new steam cylinder. I shall give your regards to Charlotte.”

Lord Collins looked as if he wanted to say something more, but Dare wasn't in the mood to be baited. He'd put up with enough of that from his cousin; he had no intention on debating the finer points on the doorstep of White's with his brother-in-law.

With a dashing left-handed twirl of his cane, he marched down the steps and into his waiting carriage, Batsfoam in tow.

“Home, John,” he called to the coachman as he waved Batsfoam inside the carriage. “Sit down, man, I have a few things I want to say and I can't yell them out the window to you. First off, tell me what Johnson said about the cylinder.”

Batsfoam duly reported the details of the blacksmith's examination of the damaged cylinder, and suggestions for strengthening it. Dare filed the information away for future use, then turned the conversation to the subject that was uppermost in his mind. “As you probably gathered, I have a dawn appointment tomorrow.”

Batsfoam eyed Dare's wounded arm openly. “In that case, sir, I would say it's a very good thing you favor your left hand.”

Dare was astonished. “That's all you're going to say? You're not going to give me a ten-minute lecture that alternately praises me to the sky while simultaneously pointing out that it would be the purest folly to honor a duel when I have only one working arm and eye? You're not going to go into a five-minute soliloquy on how difficult it will be for you and your wounded limb to find a new employer once I'm killed? You're not going to bring up all those many times when we were in the 12th Light when I told you not to take foolish chances and that it was absurd to be chasing death when he was only too willing to claim us? You're not going to say any of that, you're just going to tell me it's good I'm left-handed? Is that it, Batsfoam? That's all?”

Batsfoam smiled in a manner that on any other man Dare would have termed a grin. “I have no need to say all that, sir, you just did.”

“I could still let you go, you know.”

“But you won't,” Batsfoam answered with a complacency that amused Dare. “You have need of me, at least until your engine is finished, for you yourself have said that no one else has quite the hand I do in drawing up the specifications.”

Well, Batsfoam had him there. He leaned back against the soft cushions and with a concerted effort, managed to pull his bad arm up so his hand rested on his thigh. “We'll take your continued employment as a given. Now, as to this other affair, naturally it is to be kept from my wife.”

“Naturally,” Batsfoam agreed.

“And when she finds out about it, as she is sure to do since she is a woman and women always find out about a man's dawn appointments no matter how hard we try to keep it from them, you will do your utmost to convince her that the appointment is for the following day.”

“I shall endeavor to put all my acting skills into a performance guaranteed to lead Lady Charlotte into believing that, sir.”

“Excellent. Now, when we get home, I have several tasks for you on the engine. First, you'll need to test the condenser…” Dare spent the next few minutes happily detailing what he wanted done that afternoon.