Noble Destiny (4 page)

“Who is hunting you, Alasdair?”

He raised one dark blond eyebrow at her.

“Lord Carlisle,” she quickly corrected.

“It seems at times, Lady Charlotte—er—what was your husband's name?”

“Di Abalongia, but you may call me Char. All of my intimates do.”

“It seems, Mrs. di Ablagon…Alab…Alban…Lady Charlotte, that every marriageable woman within the bounds of the city of London has declared hunting season open, with me the game of the day.”

“Oh, them,” Charlotte scoffed, steering the horses around a stopped carriage blocking her path. “The marriage-minded mamas, you mean,” she added when she had returned to Dare's side.

“And widows,” he added with a particularly meaningful look that was unfortunately wasted upon his fair huntress.

“You are the subject of pursuit by women who wish to trap you into marriage?”

“Yes.”

The office of his solicitor was a few steps away. He stopped and prepared to make yet another bow.

“And you don't wish to be pursued by them? Most gentlemen are flattered when they are the object of a lady's attention.”

Lord, she really was beautiful with the morning sun catching the curls nestled alongside her face, burnishing them into spun gold. His fingers itched to touch that warm golden hair, those smooth cheeks kissed by a hint of rose. He curled his traitorous fingers into fists. “I am not most gentlemen. I don't have time for such foolishness. I am undertaking a project of the gravest import, and between my sister marrying in a week, and my work, I have little time for avoiding the matrimonial traps set for me.”

“Hmm.” She tapped one gloved finger upon lips that looked sweet as strawberries, her frown deepening. “You might almost say that your sad circumstance—being pursued by marriageable ladies—was interfering with your life?”

“That would be an accurate statement, yes. And now if you'll forgive me, I have an appointment with my solicitors. Batsfoam? Ah, there you are. Good lord, man, you're covered in dung! Did you roll in the stuff?”

Batsfoam glared briefly at Charlotte before casting a martyred glance at his master.

“No, no, it's of no matter.” Dare forestalled what was sure to be forthcoming. “It's not sufficiently offensive for me to require you to throw yourself to certain death before the hooves of Weston's grays. Do you still have the documents? Excellent. Shall we?”

“One moment, if you please, Lord Carlisle,” Charlotte called as he turned toward the door to the office. “I believe I have a solution to your unpleasant situation.”

It was Dare's turn to frown in puzzlement. “
You
have a solution?”

“Yes,” Charlotte said with just the slightest air of preening herself. “I do. It's a very simple solution.”

“Leaving town, I suppose. That I will do—”

“Not that,” Charlotte interrupted him. “I know how much you would hate to leave London just as the Season is at its peak. No, my solution is much simpler, much more effective, and has many added benefits which I'm sure you'll appreciate once you put your mind to the matter.”

Dare didn't bother to correct her misimpression of his desire to stay in town. He wanted to escape into the safe, dark, dusty warren that was his solicitors' offices, but try as he might to turn his feet and walk away, he found himself standing next to the curricle with one hand resting on the seat rail, unable to tear himself away from the dancing eyes of the woman next to him. “Very well, I will listen to your solution.”

“It's quite simple,” Charlotte repeated, her dimples flashing. “You are being pursued because you are unmarried. Therefore, you should marry me. All your problems will be solved.”

Dare didn't know what he had expected Charlotte to suggest, but proposing to him on the steps of Messrs. Dunbridge and Storm was not it. The caught-in-a-whirlpool feeling returned. “Your offer is, of course, based on completely altruistic motives?”

Charlotte smiled a smile that would have brought a lesser man to his knees. “Yes, of course it is. I am ever altruistic. All my friends say that about me. Why, only Monday last, my dear cousin Gillian—you remember her, she was the woman you helped kidnap—my dear cousin Gillian said to me, ‘Char,' she said, ‘you are the most completely altruistic woman I know,' and so I am.”

Dare counted silently to ten. “You don't know what altruistic means, do you?”

“Of course I know!” Charlotte paused for a moment. “An exact definition has, at the moment, slipped my mind, but I am not so ignorant that I am unacquitted with everyday words.”

“
Unacquainted
.”

“On the contrary, we've known each other for five years.”

Dare shook his head. Why he found Lady Charlotte's habit of mangling the English tongue amusing, he never understood, but he did and unless he took himself off and tended to business, he would no doubt find himself bemused into deep waters.

“Regarding your plan—”

“It's an excellent one, isn't it? And it has the happy coincidence of meeting my needs as well, for although I'm sure you'll be shocked to know that I find myself in immediate need of a husband, the truth is that you will suit me quite admirably.” Charlotte batted long lashes over eyes so blue they would put a bluebell to shame, but Dare hadn't withstood three weeks of the most intense onslaught of marriage-minded women just to be caught in a snare made up of blue eyes, golden curls, and dimpled cheeks. With an effort he stepped back a few paces and made a courteous bow.

“As generous and selfless as it is, I must decline your offer of marriage. While I wish you the best of luck in finding another victim to your matrimonial plans, experience with the labyrinthine depths of your mind hastens me to state clearly and succinctly that my refusal is binding.”

“But, my lord—”

“You need not continue to prod Cupid into aiming his nuptial arrows at me. I have no intention of marrying now, or anytime in the foreseeable future.”

“If you will just consider the many and varied benefits of marriage to me—”

“I am flattered, but I must decline. Good day, Lady Charlotte.” Dare turned his back and started up the steps to the solicitors' office, followed by a silent, but bright-eyed Batsfoam.

“Do you know, I think I liked you better when you were hatching nefarious plans against Gillian.”

Dare froze for a second. That episode was a sore spot in his memory, certainly not one he wished to discuss with anyone, least of all Lady Charlotte. He continued up the stairs.

“Five years ago you weren't so stuffy and priggish! Five years ago you were interesting!”

He gritted his teeth against replying as he reached the top of the steps and opened the door. Two more steps and he would be inside, safe, away from the blend of temptation and aggravation that was personified by Lady Charlotte.

“Very interesting, in fact. I can honestly say that the day Gillian stumbled and tore off your kilt was one of the most
interesting
days I've ever spent. You're just not the same man you were then.”

Five years ago he had just inherited his title, and had no idea of the extent of his predecessor's debts. Five years ago he wasn't facing bankruptcy and ruin. Five years ago he had a future. He turned to face the blonde watching him with clear eyes that were no doubt at that moment filled with scorn and condemnation for the man he had become. He allowed a grim, humorless smile to play about his lips.

“Truer words were never spoken, my lady.”

If a group of harlequins, accompanied by monkeys, dancing bears, and pantomime artists, had suddenly burst onto Green Crescent with every sinew of their bodies intent on entertaining and amusing the populace, they would have sobbed in despair at the notice given them by Lady Charlotte as she drove herself home. There were no harlequins, monkeys, bears, or pantomimists, however, leaving Charlotte's attention free to dwell on the events of the morning.

“Crotch?” she said after some thought.

“Er…Crouch, m'lady.”

“Yes, of course. My apologies. Crouch, I'm going to want a footman to take a note to Lady Beverly.”

“As ye wish, m'lady.”

“It will be a very important note, Crouch. You must choose a reliable footman.”

“All the footmen are reliable, m'lady.”

“Yes, but this one must be especially reliable, for the note he will be entrusted with could mean my complete and unbound happiness. Lady Beverly is not yet aware of it, but she is going to assist in restoring me to my rightful position.”

“That bein'?”

Charlotte raised her chin as she turned the corner for Britton House, pulling up with a dashing flourish of her whip. A footman ran to hold the horses while Crouch handed her down.

“My rightful position is that of reigning Incomparable, of course. As Lady Carlisle, I shall once again be freely admitted into the arms of the
ton
. Once there, I will have no difficulty at all in obtaining everything I've lacked for the last four years—position, respect, admiration… Yes, this will be a very important note. Perhaps you should take it yourself. It must be delivered safely, for without Caro's help, I shan't be able to attend Lady Jersey's masquerade ball three days hence, and if I don't attend Lady Jersey's masquerade ball three days hence, I shan't be able to trap Lord Carlisle into a compromising position, and if I don't trap Lord Carlisle into a compromising position, he will never marry me, and if he never marries me—”

“Ye'll be hangin' about our necks in a bad skin, carpin' and bein' a right screw jaws until ye drive us daft,” Crouch answered as he followed her up the front steps to the parquet-floored hall.

“Exactly,” Charlotte replied with a polite smile as she handed her bonnet and gloves to a waiting footman. “Paper and ink to my sitting room, Crouch.”

“Aye, m'lady. Will ye be needin' me to set Dickon at 'is lordship's 'eels again?”

Charlotte paused in the act of fluffing up golden curls squashed by her bonnet. “I suppose it wouldn't hurt to know Lord Carlisle's movements. Forewarned is four-armed and all that business. Yes, please have Dickon continue to alert me to his lordship's appointments. It came in quite handy this morning to know that he was on foot and in what direction he was traveling.”

“As ye will, m'lady.”

Charlotte plumped up one last curl, eyed her hair critically in the small gilt-framed looking glass, then nodded decisively as she turned to the stairs. Her plan was good. It was logical and eminently practical, and she knew deep in her bones that it would be successful, assuming Caroline lent her a hand with one or two of the smaller points. “In addition, I'll need several sharpened quills, Crouch. I detest writing with a blunt quill. The noise of it makes my teeth itch.”

“I'll 'ave Charles attend to that, m'lady. The quills, that is, not yer itchy teeth. Nothin' I can do about them.”

She ignored Crouch's comedic venture and started up the oak staircase, pausing to add, “I feel quite in the need for a restorative cup of tea as well.”

“Ye'll 'ave it.”

“And perhaps some of those lemon cakes that Cook does so well.”

“If ye like.”

Charlotte stopped at the landing, glancing at the full-length looking glass reflecting her blue-and-cream gown with the scrumptious scalloped edging that had arrived from the skillful—and happily for her nearly empty purse, economical—dressmaker recommended by Caro. She tilted her head as she critically examined the lines of the gown, turning around to look over her shoulder. What she saw made her grimace. “I have changed my mind about the lemon cakes, Crouch. Just the tea will suffice.”

Crouch squinted up the stairs at her. “Gettin' a bit wide in the saddle, are ye?”

“Certainly not!” Charlotte snapped, and gave him a good glare despite knowing it wouldn't do any good. Glaring never had any effect on Crouch.

The aforementioned just grinned, and ducked his head in an approximation of subservience that didn't for a moment impress Charlotte. With one last frown at the reflected image of her backside, she continued up the stairs to write her very important note.

***

Although the note had been dispatched and received safely, Charlotte kept the details of what she wanted from her friend until the two met in person the following day.

“This is a lovely room, Caro.” Charlotte admired the champagne and rose satin Louis XIV suite. “How very clever of you to put these old things to use. Bruck, isn't it?”

Lady Beverly paused in the act of seating herself in an ornate low-backed chair. “I'm not…you…
what
?”

“Bruck. The furniture, it's Bruck. That's a style, you goose. French, I think. Good morning, Wellington.” Charlotte swept aside a small pug from the settee and sat with a pleased smile, unaware of her hostess mouthing the word
baroque
. “How lucky you are in your situation, Caro. You have a husband who is not tight with the purse strings, a house on a fashionable square, lovely dark coloring that is always in fashion, and a neat figure that is shown to much advantage.”

Caroline blushed at the unexpected compliments, unused to being referred to as lovely. She had always been aware of the shortcomings inherent in having an unexceptional face and rather awkward figure, especially when compared with Charlotte's perfection. “I…I hardly know what to say—”

“Then say nothing at all, sweet Caro,” Charlotte counseled, drawing a small case from her reticule. “Silence, as we know, is molten. Yes, you are a lucky woman in that you have been graced in the physical and husband departments, but your greatest asset must be the happiness and satisfaction that comes from being a cherished member of the
ton
. You, dearest Caro, are indeed in the position to count your blessings.”

“I…if you put it so, I suppose I am.”

Charlotte nodded. “You can always trust me to speak the truth. And as I am doing such, I have no hesitation in stating that you are also a generous and kind woman, one who does not care to see those she's fond of hurt or left to feel less than wanted.”

Caroline blinked in surprise at such effusive praise. “Why, Charlotte! That's very considerate of you to say so. To be honest, Mama said you were blind to the qualities of good in others, but I have always felt she maligned you.”

“Alas, I fear you are correct, I have been sorely abused by many who misunderstand my true nature.” Charlotte allowed an expression of profound martyrdom to settle on her face as she brushed a few stray dog hairs from her gown. “But say what your mother will, I have always seen your better side, Caro. Who else but someone as kindhearted as you would allow an elderly dog with a propensity to dribble to lounge around on her best Bruck sofa?”

Caroline rustled in her embroidery basket for a handkerchief to dab back a tear brought on by such clear-sighted understanding of her inner self. “Thank you, Charlotte.”

“Not at all. You deserve every ounce of happiness possible in your life. The question is, my dear friend, do you believe I deserve the same?”

“Of course you do!” Caroline sniffed militantly and looked ready to dispute anyone's attempt to say otherwise. “You're speaking of Lord Carlisle, aren't you? There's nothing that would please me more than to see you happily married.”

“I'm glad you feel that way because I am about to make you very happy indeed!”

“Charlotte! Never say he's already offered for you!”

“No,” Charlotte replied, a flicker of something very like obstinacy passing briefly over her smooth features. “Not as yet, but attainment of that very goal is how I will make us both happy.”

Caroline leaned forward, her eyes puzzled. “I'm afraid I don't follow you. What can I do to help?”

An impish smile teased the corners of Charlotte's mouth. “It's very simple. The night of Lady Jersey's masquerade ball you're going to help me snare Lord Carlisle in a trap of such fiendish cunning, he won't escape it unbetrothed. To me, that is.”

“Oh,” Lady Beverly breathed, excitement lighting her eyes. She leaned her dark head closer to Charlotte's. “How will we do that?”

Charlotte gave free rein to her smile. Why shouldn't she? If anyone had a right to smile it was she, for she had thought up a plan of such outstanding cleverness, a plan so brilliant in its stark simplicity, it was truly wondrous to behold. Caroline, for one, was sure to be impressed. “It is quite easy, dear friend. During the ball, you and as many others as you can find will discover Lord Carlisle in a room alone with me.”

“But,” Caroline protested, “how do you know he'll be at the ball? He doesn't attend many events.”

“Caro, do you honestly think I'd go to all the tiresome work, not to mention the risk of unsightly forehead wrinkles, involved in thinking up a plan if Alasdair was not going to be present? Lady Jersey's ball is the most important event of the Season, he's sure to be there with his sister, who is to be married a few days later.”

“That may be so, but I've only seen Lord Carlisle and his sister once,” Caroline said slowly. “I don't believe they attend very many balls and such.”

“Then it will be up to you to ensure they attend this one.”

She stared at Charlotte in confusion. “How am I to do that?”

Charlotte cast an impatient glance heavenwards. “Honestly, Caro, must I think of everything? Whatever happened to your initiative? I suppose you'll…you can…perhaps you could…oh, pheasant feathers, simply pay a call on Miss McGregor and tell her she must attend the ball or no one will come to her wedding.”

Lady Beverly mused upon this advice for a few moments. “Will they?”

“Will who what?” Charlotte asked wearily.

“Will people not come to her wedding if she doesn't attend the ball? I'm not sure that one necessarily follows the other. Her wedding guests might not be at the ball, you know. The McGregors live a very quiet life, or so dearest Algernon says, and even if they didn't, I can't see people shunning Miss McGregor's wedding just because they did not attend Lady Jersey's—”

“Caroline Augusta Gwendlyspere Talbot,” Charlotte interrupted, breathing heavily enough to drown out Wellington the pug. “Might we stick to the subject that concerns us, the subject of my happiness and your role therein? Your tasks are simple and few, and before you offer up one complaint, I'd like you to know that all of the work, the real work, will fall upon my shoulders. So cease this rabble about wedding guests, and focus your attention!”

“It's babble.”

“I take extreme umbrage to such slander, Caro!” Charlotte exclaimed, stung by the unfair accusation.

“Well you shouldn't,” Caroline replied somewhat crossly. For some reason she couldn't quite pinpoint, lengthy conversation with Charlotte always left her feeling thickheaded and dense. “I was merely correcting you. The word is babble, not rabble. I should cease
this
babble
about wedding guests and focus.”

“Well I'm glad you see that at last!” Charlotte cried, at the end of her patience. “Now, if you are finished baring your soul and admitting your sin of inattention, we can get back to the important issue of my future.”

“I must admit that I don't quite see the fiendishly cunning element of your plan,” Caroline interrupted. “You're a married woman—well, you were—and although I agree people would talk if they were to find you secreted away together, I cannot see how being seen alone in a room with Lord Carlisle will result in his offering for you.”

Charlotte's exasperated frown disappeared and her dimples dimpled. “Not even if I was found naked with him?”

Lady Caroline's jaw dropped, so complete was her surprise. Wordless with shock, she stared at her friend.

“I
told
you it was fiendishly cunning,” Charlotte answered the silent look of horror. “I would never make such a claim lightly! Now, we have much to discuss, so close your mouth. I must have a suitable costume made up quickly—one that will not reveal who I am, since that fusty old Lady Jersey refuses to recognize me—and we must go over the plan of just how you will smuggle me into the ball, and then there's the crowd you must gather to witness Lord Carlisle's attempted debauchery of my naked person, and many other items. I have my memorandum paper here. I shall make a list for you so you won't forget your tasks.”

“But…but…Charlotte! Such a daring, heedless,
bold
plan—is it prudent?”

“Prudent?” Charlotte scoffed at such a notion. “Caro, in all my three and twenty years, has
anyone
ever called me prudent?”

Caroline, her eyes still wide with disbelief, shook her head. “But—without any sort of clothing—”

“Don't worry about me,” Charlotte said kindly, patting Caroline's cheek. “After all, they say that ‘faint heart never won bare lady,' and Alasdair's heart is anything but faint, so how could the plan fail?”

“But surely Lord Carlisle should have some say in the matter—”

“I will make him an excellent wife, have no fear of that. And he, himself, said he is not looking for a wife, which means he's not given his heart to anyone else. Plus you know he had a
tendresse
for me before I married. It shall all be as it was, so cease fussing. Now, let me tell you the details of my brilliant plan…”