Sylvie Sommerfield - Noah's Woman (4 page)

Charles told Charity to follow him, and they climbed the wine-colored carpeted stairs, first to the second floor, then to the third. Here Charity was shown to the room she would occupy. To Charity it seemed she was far away from the woman she was to help care for, but she shrugged the thought away with the idea that of course Mr. and Mrs. Brentwood wanted their privacy when they settled down for evenings together. She promised herself to be smart enough to keep to her own floor unless she was needed and not to disturb the family when she was not.

To have a whole room to herself was rare indeed, and she intended to enjoy her own privacy as well.

Charles watched as Charity smilingly surveyed the room. She had not yet realized that it was a room whose door had no lock.

Chapter Two

Three Months Later

Charity pulled the door to Jessica's room closed, carefully balancing the large tray that held teacups and service. She hummed softly to herself as she started down the hall toward the back stairs that led to the kitchen.

She considered that, with the exception of Charles Brentwood, her life for the past few months had been both interesting and enlightening. Early on, Charity had realized she had a flair for acting. On the occasions she and Beth were able to spend some time together, she had mimicked Charles and his guests so well that Beth had been convulsed with laughter. At these times she realized that Beth had no idea of the darker side of Charles Brentwood. Of course, he had

never looked at Beth the way Charity had discovered him looking at her.

Even Charity had to admit he had kept his word. Both Charity and Beth had received new clothes. Not the very best, but certainly better than either of them were used to. Her room was quite comfortable, as was Beth's, and on the day and a half each week that they had off, both girls were given a few coins and the opportunity to shop or just spend the day together.

This they did, exploring parts of London they had never seen before. They visited shops where they were smiled upon and greeted warmly. This alone was a novelty.

Charity also liked Jessica Brentwood. She felt a deep sympathy for her. She often sat and talked to Jessica, especially in the evenings when business called Charles away. She knew one thing for certain. Charles Brentwood constituted Jessica's world. She nearly worshiped him.

Jessica told Charity that she had come from a well-to-do family, and her parents had sheltered and pampered her until, at seventeen, she met Charles. He had swept her off her feet in a whirlwind romance that was the envy of all Jessica's friends. Of course, he did not have a great deal of money, but both parents and daughter were so charmed that they tended to overlook this.

She married Charles in one of the largest and most elaborate weddings London had ever seen. Her parents spared no expense, even giving the young couple a honeymoon trip that circled the world.

When her parents died shortly after the wedding, the wealth they left her bought the elaborate and massive mansion in which she and Charles now lived.

They had lived together happily for ten years, but then one catastrophe had followed another. She had been involved in several accidents. Once, she admitted, she had almost died from something she had eaten. Then, just a few years before . . . the carriage accident.

"Charles was so wonderful then," Jessica said in her perpetually gentle voice. "Even when the doctors told him I would never walk again. He has been so kind and so considerate."

"He must love you very much," Charity had said.

Jessica was a small woman who looked lost in the huge four-poster bed in which she had spent so many years of her life.

"I know how difficult it is for him to spend much time with me. Business is so demanding. It was a wonderful idea to bring you here. Charles has grown quite fond of you and has certainly found great pleasure in seeing that you are rewarded for your diligence and care."

"Beth and I are very grateful."

Charity had taken to bringing Jessica's tea each afternoon, and after a while, at Jessica's insistence, she had remained to share it and to talk. Jessica had a neverending interest in the world outside her home.

Charity had also taken to avoiding Charles as much as she could, for as the days went on, she realized he did not miss an opportunity to touch her, or remind her of his generosity.

Each time they met, Charity could feel her legs tremble, and she did her best to avoid looking directly at him. Each time she became more and more aware that the warmth of his gaze was not that of a man for a servant.

She could feel his gentle touch on her arm when, on these occasions, he stopped her to speak to her, and it made her flesh quiver. Still, there was nothing she could do, and Beth actually admired their benefactor, which often made Charity feel she was frightened of shadows.

Now she moved down the hallway, alert for sounds and feeling her nerves stretch. She hated the idea that she was afraid without any reason for being so. But she was afraid.

She was within a few feet of the back staircase when she heard Charles's door open. She was surprised, for he usually was not home at this time of day.

"Charity." He spoke her name quietly. Reluctantly she turned to face him, supporting the heavy tray with both hands.

"Yes, Mr. Brentwood?"

"My dear girl, how many times have I asked you not to be so formal? You are not exactly a servant. I should prefer for you to call me Charles." He smiled as he approached to stand close to her. Only the tray stood between them.

"I . . . I don't think it quite proper, sir. I would feel . . . I just don't think I should."

"You look quite pretty today, Charity. Green is a

lovely color on you. You like the new dresses I sent you yesterday?"

"Yes, sir. You've been more than generous. I really have no need for any more clothes."

"Now," he chuckled, "I've never seen a pretty girl who didn't like pretty clothes. Your friend, Beth, does she enjoy them?"

"Yes, she does."

"And . . . she likes it here? She's being treated well?"

Charity felt, for a minute, that this was a subtle kind of threat. Would he consider sending them back, orthe thought shook hersending Beth back alone?

"Oh yes, sir. She really does. Cook is very kind, and her room and all the lovely things you've given her are such a blessing."

"Good. Charity . . . I want to talk to you about something . . . special."

"Special?" Charity's heart began to thud heavily.

"It has been so long since my wife has been able to accompany me anywhere. I know my being so lonely has caused her great sorrow. I have a theater box, and Jessica has insisted I go to the play tonight. It is one I have longed to see. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me? I assure you, you will be home by midnight. It would ease Jessica's mind. I . . . I do feel uncomfortable asking you to give up your time, but"

Charity felt the guilt and sympathy Charles had planned on. Guilt that she would refuse him a favor

after all he had done for her and Beth, and sympathy for his worried wife.

"I . . . I really have nothing appropriate to wear to such an affair. I'm sure I would disgrace you."

"Hardly." Charles smiled warmly. "As for something to wear, I have been presumptuous and have bought you a gown. It's in your room on the bed."

"Oh." Charity was still too intimidated, and much too young to cope with this situation. This man had done a great deal for both her and Beth, and she was too inexperienced to know how to handle a well-planned frontal assault.

"Be ready by seven-thirty, and don't eat any dinner. I have arrangements made for that."

"Yes . . . yes, sir," Charity reluctantly replied. Charles smiled again, but did not touch her as she had almost expected. She reached for resistance against something she could not quite define. It was like doing battle with cobwebs. Charles, capable seducer, knew this better than she did.

Beth sat on the edge of the bed, nervous just because she was "above stairs" as she put it. She could tell that Charity was just as nervous as she.

"You look so beautiful, Charity. I've never seen a gown as pretty as that. You look like such a grand lady."

"But I'm not a grand lady. I'm just Mrs. Brentwood's maid."

"Why are you so upset? This is a chance to wear beautiful clothes, to see a play and go to a fancy dinner. A chance like this might never come along again.

You're lucky to get such an opportunity.''

Charity looked at her reflection in the mirror. Beth was right, the gown was exquisite. It was like burnished gold and cut daringly low with several layers of fine lace bordering the edge which draped enticingly over the soft rise of her breasts. The waist was so fitted that the full skirt made her look even slimmer than she was. Her pale blond hair had been dressed carefully by Beth, who had a delicate touch for such a thing. It was a mass of ringlets and curls that framed her face and hung to her waist with fine, burnished gold ribbons woven thought it. Her eyes seemed wider than usual, and she knew they reflected in their emerald depths the unnameable fear she could not seem to control.

"I'm not sure whose opportunity it is," Charity muttered, more to herself than Beth.

"Charity, what harm can there be in enjoying an evening? Perhaps you misread him and he's just trying to be generous."

Charity remained quiet, but inwardly she held deep reservations about this evening's affair. She didn't feel comfortable. The world was not black and white, there were shades of gray in between.

"Perhaps he is," she replied. She watched Beth smile in relief. But still a nagging wariness plagued her. She meant to be very cautious, because she knew quite well there was no one to turn to. Who would believe her against the word of a man with Charles Brentwood's reputation?

"The dress is beautiful, Beth, and I do appreciate it

and Mr. Brentwood's generosity. I guess I am just a bit nervous."

"You needn't be. You look every bit the lady, and you're such a fine actress. I've seen you mimic Mr. Brentwood's guests, you're really good. With that ability none of those well-bred ladies will think you're anything else but one of them. Remember the night you pretended to be Mrs. Devers? Cook is still laughing. You'll be just fine tonight. You'll have so much fun, and you can tell me all about it when you get home."

"Of course I'll tell you all about it. I'll act out every character I meet and try to remember everything about them. We'll have great fun." Charity sighed. "I guess I'd better go. Mr. Brentwood will be waiting for me downstairs, and I don't think he will like it if I keep him waiting."

Beth wished Charity a wonderful evening, and then left the room to dash down the back stairs to her quarters, where she would enjoy dreams of her own.

In Jessica's room, Charles was seated on the edge of his wife's bed, holding her hand in his. He watched her slowly relax, smiling at his consideration. He'd brought her a tray for her evening meal and coaxed her with smiles and sweet endearments to eat everything. He insisted she drink all of her wine.

What Jessica did not know was that the wine and her soup were both heavily laced with laudanum. Charles watched her eyes close and he smiled. It would take a battery of cannon to waken her this night. The house would be close to empty of servants,

for he had already planned the evening for Beth as well.

Beth had hardly reached her room when Cook rapped on her door. When Beth saw who was there she smiled. Cook had been kind to her from the day of her arrival.

"Beth, my dear, get your cloak and come with me."

"But it is past seven, where must we go?"

"I need help to fetch the new pastries for the guests tomorrow night, from my brother's shop. Mr. Brentwood wants them tonight, and my lazy brother has not filled them all. We need an extra pair of hands. It'll most likely take most of the evening, but I wouldn't want to disappoint Mr. Brentwood."

Beth had no recourse but to agree. She put her cloak on and walked to the back of the house with Cook, where her brother's cart awaited them.

Charles stood at a window above them and smiled as he watched the two women leave. Cook was a kind and gentle soul, and had been easy to deceive. Especially when he had paid her greedy brother. He knew Beth would not return until quite late. He turned to look at his sleeping wife, then left the room and walked downstairs to his study.

There he poured himself a generous amount of brandy and savored both it and the prospect of the evening to come.

He was caught in this fantasy when a timid knock sounded on the door. "Come," he said softly.

When she opened the door and stood framed in the dark polished wood of the doorway, Charles inhaled

a deep, ragged breath. Innocence and beauty contained in misty gold made his entire body react.

Charity had been told to call him Charles, but no matter how generous and kind he was, this was difficult for her. Somehow it seemed to make her more vulnerable.

"Ch . . . Charles, I'm sorry if I kept you waiting."

"Nonsense, my dear, the wait was well worth it. I believe you are the loveliest creature it has ever been my pleasure to escort. The gown suits you well."

"Thank you. I shall be very careful with it, for I know it must be quite expensive."

Charles imagined Jessica's frail, formless body in the gown and was glad he had purchased it without her knowing. This gown could be no one but Charity's, and he fully intended to see that a lot more belonged to her. Once she was his mistress, he meant to attire her in the best of everything.

Eventually, he decided, he would place her in appropriate apartments of her own where he would be free to come and go as he chose.

"Nonsense, the gown is perfect for you. In fact, you may keep it."

"Oh, I couldn't, I"

"I'm sure my wife would be very upset if you were to refuse it. Come . . . come here, my dear." She walked across the room to stand closer to him. "The dress needs something." He smiled as he reached out and took a square black velvet box from his desk. When he snapped it open, she saw a double strand of perfectly matched pearls inside.