Springtime Pleasures (24 page)

“
Yes,” she said slowly. “Yes, it does contain a present for you.”

“What you’re waiting for then? Open up!”

As if in a dream, Charlie felt for her reticule and lifted it up onto the seat.

“Hurry!” His gaze changed as it roamed over Charlie. “Too bad you’re such an ugly chit. I could have taken you along for a ride.” He cackled again—such a horrible sound. “Perhaps I’ll take you anyway. For some female company.”

Charlie opened her reticule and reached inside. Her fingers closed around the smooth wooden butt of the blunderbuss.

…a good girl…

To do nothing, to let that man rob them, would go against everything she had ever learnt at St. Cuthbert’s. She would fail the spirit of the school—worse, she would betray it.

…a good girl…

Charlie swallowed, hard. Then she raised her head and her arm and the gleaming blunderbuss. “I don’t think you will.” She took aim and pulled the trigger.

With a yell, the highwayman clutched his right shoulder. His pistol fell to the ground with a dull thump, followed by Lady Lymfort’s necklace, while his horse reared, nearly unseating him.

In sympathy, the Lymfort horses whinnied nervously.

With a vile curse, the robber brought his horse back under control.

Charlie could see blood welling up where she had shot him, and her stomach lurched.

“You damn chit!” the man bellowed before he pulled his horse around and galloped away.

“Well,” she said brightly, trying to ignore the way her heart drummed and thumped in her throat, “I don’t think he will be back.”

She dropped the blunderbuss on the seat, then opened the door of the carriage to jump nimbly to the ground to retrieve both the pistol and the necklace.

When she turned, she saw that Lady Lymfort was as white as a sheet and looked at her with horrified eyes. “What kind of girl are you?” she whispered.

Chapter 15

which is very sad

Miss Carlotta Stanton to Miss Emma-Louise Brockwin, by Two-penny Post

My dear Emma-Lee,

I am the most dismal girl alive. I fear today’s outing with Lady L. can by no means be described as a Success. Indeed, I fear I am quite out of Lady L.’s books.
Forever
. It was all going swimmingly—I talked only about very Proper Things—when we were held up by another highwayman. Dear Em, I tried to do the right thing. I tried to be good, but that man, he was so obnoxious & ill-tempered, & w’d probably have reverted to Bloody Violence. I could not, upon my honour, let this happen. You know I could not. It w’d have meant repudiating the spirit of St. Cuthbert’s. And so I took out my blunderbuss & got my shot in first. Into his shoulder that is. I reclaimed Lady L.’s v. fine necklace the Ruffian had taken from her, but—Oh Em! She was so
horrified
! She shrank away from me & had the most
dreadful
Hysterics & wouldn’t let me back into the carriage. I had to walk home. We had been stopped in the northern part of the Park, near Cumberland Gate, so it took me the better part of half an hour. I have not dared to tell my aunt what has happened. Fortunately, only Doring, the butler, saw me coming home, the other two ladies of the house having gone shopping. I assume the servants will soon all know about my misfortune, though I don’t think I will care. It is my aunt’s recriminations I w’d not be able to abide. Oh Em! If only I had never come to London! If only I were more maidenly! I have ruined all possibility of ever receiving a proposal from Lord Ch. It is too cruel, to find a man whom you hold in such great esteem—only to smash your chances with him forever. I am so unhappy, Em, I don’t know what to do.

Your friend,

Charlie

~*~

Miss Emma-Louise Brockwin to Miss Carlotta Stanton, by Two-penny Post for first delivery

My dear Charlie,

surely it cannot be quite so bad as you fear? Don’t despair, dear friend. For certainly Lady L. will come to recognise what a great service you have done her. As it was in your power to stop the attempted robbery, I don’t see how you could have acted any differently than you did.

Yours, E.-L.

~*~

In the afternoon, Lord Chanderley honoured the house of the Dolmores with a visit and requested the pleasure of a private interview with Miss Stanton. The announcement transported Aunt Dolmore into a fit of excitement, yet Charlie, who had learnt a little to read his face, knew he had not come with the intentions her aunt suspected. Chanderley was at his most formal, his expression forbidding.

With a sinking heart, Charlie watched her aunt and cousin exit the drawing room. She wondered whether she ought to sit down to hear whatever he had to say to her, but…

She raised her chin.

Well, it was not as if she could delude herself. She knew what was coming.

And now, certainly, was not the time to begin behaving like a swooning maiden.

Chanderley had walked to the window, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Well, my lord?” Charlie asked when they were alone, and it became clear that he would not turn around any time soon. She was proud of the steadiness of her voice.

At her question, he jerked around, and Charlie’s heart clenched at the expression on his face. He looked as if he had aged overnight. Deep groves had been etched into his features.

Involuntarily, she made a step towards him, her arm outstretched.

He glanced at her hand, then let his eyes meet hers again. “I had an interview with the earl and the countess this morning,” he said.

Charlie’s hand fell to her side. “I suppose you did,” she murmured, feeling her lips grow numb.

“The countess is still quite affected by what has happened yesterday. A doctor had to be called.”

The numbness spread over her whole face. “I am sorry to hear it.”

Shaking his head, he turned his back on her. “Why did you do it, Charlie?” he threw over his shoulder. “Why? You knew how important this meeting with Lady Lymfort was. I don’t understand why you had to sabotage it in such a fashion.”

Tears sprung to Charlie’s eyes. She bit her lip and dashed an angry hand over her eyes. She would
not
cry! “Strictly speaking, it was the highwayman who sabotaged it.”

“You damn well know what I mean!” he snapped, whirling around.

“Should I have let him rob your mother, then?”

A muscle in his jaw jumped. “You could have behaved in a more ladylike fashion. All I asked of you was to behave like a respectable young lady.”

Pain roared through Charlie; such overwhelming pain she nearly bent double with it. But a true St. Cuthbertian stood tall and strong even and especially in the face of adversity. So she lifted her chin a notch higher. “Plainly, I am not that, a respectable young lady.” A spark of sudden anger lent bite to her voice. “I do apologise most sincerely that I did not stand by and watch him slit your mother’s throat, while waiting for him to violate myself. Very unbecoming of me, I know.”

He turned as white as a sheet. “W-what did you say?” He swayed a little and groped for the back of a chair to lean on. “What did you say?” he repeated, raising his stark gaze to meet hers.

Charlie sighed, annoyed at herself for having let her temper get the better of her. For what good did it do to burden him with even more guilt?

“Carlotta?”

“He was a very nasty kind of man,” she said reluctantly. “The kind that thrives on violence. He would have enjoyed hurting us.”

If possible, Chanderley became even paler than before. “Dear God,” he said. “Dear God.” He fumbled with the chair and then dropped down on it as if his knees had suddenly given out. With a groan, he slumped forward and buried his face in his hands.

Charlie bit her lip. She longed to go to him, to touch him, and to reassure him that—

He lifted his head, revealing his tormented expression. “I owe you an apology. I never should have said those hateful things I said earlier. I will be forever ashamed of myself. To think that that this man—” He broke off and took a gasping breath.

“He didn’t
do
anything, Chanderley,” Charlie reminded him gently because he looked truly horrible.

Yet ignoring her comment, he continued in a driven tone, “My mother never mentioned that… that he would have…” He swallowed. “I will be forever grateful to you, Charlie. Not just for
that
, but because you have brought so much
light
into our lives. You don’t know how much. My parents, though…” His face spasmed. “They don’t see what a treasure you are. And you are, Charlie. You
are
. But…” Once more he swallowed. “I cannot see you again,” he said rawly. “The earl has made it exceedingly clear that he would not countenance a connection between you and me. I owe my family—”

“Yes, I know,” she interrupted him. She did not want to hear him say it because it would probably make her cry, when she was already trying so very, very hard not to burst into tears.

Yet he said it all the same. “I cannot go against their wishes. In all honour, I cannot do it. Not when I am responsible for killing their son and maiming their daughter. I owe them—”

“A respectable wife,” Charlie finished for him. “Which I am not and never will be.” The devil of it was, she could even understand him. After all, she
knew
how driven he was by his mistaken sense of guilt and his sense of duty and obligation towards his family. Still, this knowledge did not keep the anger and the bitterness at bay. “And even if we did marry, you would grow to hate me.” Her lips moved in the parody of a wry smile.

His face haggard, he replied, “At this moment I hate myself, if it is any consolation.”

Was it?

No, not really. She was still angry with him for being so stubborn and unable to let go of all this nonsensical guilt.

“This is goodbye, then?” she asked.

His jaw worked. “Yes. Yes, it is.” He slowly rose to his feet, and before her eyes his social mask fell into place. He transformed into the cool, elegant Viscount Chanderley, whom she had first met at the Featheringham ball. His expression was smooth, his tone very formal, when he said, “I apologise if I have raised hopes that I cannot fulfil.”

Oh God, could he sound more stilted? Was this the same man who had kissed her so sweetly, so…—she swallowed—only two days ago?

Well, she had learnt a thing or two during her time in London. If he wanted to end their conversation with inane formalities, she would give him tit for tat. “I apologise as well that I could not fulfil the expectations set in me.” After all, in the end it came down to
that
: she was not respectable enough, not maidenly enough.

He stared at her, and quite suddenly his face spasmed as if he were in terrible pain. “Don’t say that.” His voice was hoarse. “I should have never mentioned such expectations in the first place. I told you that. There is no need for you to apologise. The fault was all mine.” He gave her a stiff bow. “Goodbye, Miss Stanton.”

Without waiting for her answer, he strode out of the room.

Then he was on the stairs.

Then the sound of the front door opening and closing.

Charlie felt behind her for the nearest sofa and, weak-kneed, sank down onto the seat.

More steps on the stairs, then Aunt Dolmore and Cousin Caroline came back into the room. “Whatever is the matter?” Cousin Caroline asked. “Why has Lord Chanderley left so abruptly? I would have thought he would ask for an interview with my father.”

“Oh, never mind that,” Aunt Dolmore said impatiently. “You know how peculiar the viscount is!” Smiling broadly, she focused on Charlie. “My dear child! A viscount! It is most wonderful! The thought never crossed my mind that a
viscount
would ever ask for your hand in marriage!”

“Oh, but he hasn’t,” Charlie said blandly. “If you’ll excuse me?”

She stood and walked by her relatives, and walked and walked, and only when she had reached the sanctuary of her bedroom did she burst into bitter, bitter tears.

Chapter 16

in which our heroine comes to a decision

The ball was in full swing. Gauging from the animated chatter that filled the ballroom and the adjacent rooms, from the clear, cheerful music that managed to cut across the noise, and from the sheer press of people, the ball was a great success for Lady Elton, the hostess. A splendid turn-out! Most gratifying!

Somewhere in the throng, Lord Chanderley was dancing with one blushing debutante after the other. After all, he was bride hunting, looking for some thoroughly
respectable
girl.

Somebody who didn’t throw crutches at highwaymen, who didn’t talk about gutting fish, and who had probably never seen a wild boar in all her life.

A girl who was everything Miss Carlotta Stanton was not and never would be.

Charlie eyed the potted plant standing near her chair. It was a nice plant: large, with dense, green foliage—perfect for hiding behind. She would have loved to hide behind it.

Morosely, she stared at the top of her flimsy slippers peeking out underneath the hem of her dress.

She told herself she was behaving like a wet pea-goose, but that did not help.

She told herself Miss Pinkerton disapproved most strongly of lachrymose self-pity, but that did not help either: the pain inside her did not diminish.

It certainly had not helped when Mr Cole had stopped by her chair earlier this evening, his kind eyes full of pity. She had
hated
the pity. By then she had already known that Isabella was not there, but that her brother was. Mr Cole had asked her to dance, which she had politely declined. While he had mustered her, she had felt absolutely
smothered
by kindness. He was a sweet man, for sure, but—oh!—how she had wished he would take his dashed kindness away to somebody else before it would make her tears overflow!

“I am terribly sorry, Miss Stanton,” he had finally said, and cleared his throat awkwardly. “I have… eh… a letter for you.” He had removed it from some inner pocket in his coat and had held it out to her. “From my cousin.”

Charlie had stared at the hapless piece of paper as if it were a snake. Chanderley had… Chanderley would…?