The Baron Next Door (Prelude to a Kiss) (6 page)

It had been wrong. It had been the result of his own damn weakness, but he couldn’t undo it now.

There were a lot of things he couldn’t undo now.

Mr. Sanburne, oblivious to Hugh’s dark turn of thought, chuckled. He leaned forward over his neat-as-a-pin desk. “In my navy days, there wasn’t a sailor out there that wouldn’t have given his eyeteeth for that kind of distraction.” The caterpillars wiggled in an if-you-know-what-I-mean sort of way.

They were getting nowhere. Hugh wasn’t about to delve into the details of his personal situation and how much Miss Effington exasperated it. And now he was to be stuck with her all summer. He rose abruptly, anxious to be done with the interview. “If there is nothing that can be done, then I suppose this meeting is at an end.”

The humor faded from the agent’s eyes and he came to his feet as well. “I am sorry, my lord. I shall notify you immediately if I hear of anything becoming available.”

“Yes, please do. Good day, sir.”

Hugh let himself out of the office, his mood as forbidding as the heavy gray skies that threatened another round of showers. He had gotten less than three, maybe four, hours of sleep in the past few days, thanks in large part to Miss Effington. Nights were always the worst for him; it had been years since he’d had a proper night’s sleep. His best chance for rest was the morning hours through the early afternoon.

Exactly when his neighbor held her rehearsals.

He had tried moving rooms, but short of sleeping in the kitchens or switching rooms with the servants, there was no escaping the noise. God, he needed a drink. It had never once occurred to him that there wouldn’t be a single rental left in the entire blasted city. Were there really so many people in this country with nothing better to do with their summers than to attend some pointless music festival?

One look around him gave him the answer to that question. In the week since he had been in Bath, the traffic seemed to increase every day. It was why he had forgone his carriage and even his horse and was instead on foot. Turning down his street, he kept his gaze straight ahead and his pace brisk in order to avoid talking with anyone around him.

All he wanted to do at this point was get home, down a bottle of whiskey, and sleep for many, many hours. Dreamlessly, God willing.

As he neared the townhouse, the neighboring door swung open, and Miss Effington and two other young women spilled out onto the pavement. He stopped abruptly, one foot still in front of the other. Damn it all, was he to have
no
luck today? He’d bet his horse the short brunette and tall, willowy blonde were her fellow musicians from hell.

They were laughing at something, and he had the fleeting thought that he could simply turn around and walk away, when the dark-haired girl spotted him and gasped.

The other two followed her gaze, and Hugh found himself looking directly into the stormy gray eyes of his neighbor. Whatever delight she had taken in the conversation of a moment earlier was utterly gone now, replaced by wariness.

“Good afternoon, my lord.”

“Miss Effington,” he said, not wanting to engage her. He adjusted his stance to one less precarious, resorting to the officer pose he had perfected years ago: straight spine, lifted chin, hands behind his back.
Never show weakness to anyone.

“Don’t tell me,” the brunette said, her dark eyes lighting with understanding. “This must be the infamous Lord Cadgwith. Oh, do introduce us, Charity.”

Miss Effington flashed an unhappy glare at the impertinent girl before sighing and holding a hand out to her. “Miss Wembley, Miss Bradford, allow me to introduce you to Lord Cadgwith. Now, we should be on—”

“Lord Cadgwith,” the blonde interrupted, obviously recognizing his name. “So good to meet you. I understand you are quite the music lover.” Both her voice and carriage projected the easy confidence that those in possession of such fine features tended to have.
Not
that Hugh gave a damn what the girl looked like.

Music lover, indeed.

“I’m sorry, but you must have me confused with someone else.” He lifted a brow at Miss Effington. What, exactly, had she told these girls?

She raised hers right back. “Forgive us, my lord. We assumed your wall thumping was an ironic form of applause.”

And so it returned to bite him
.
God, how he wished Mr. Sanburne would have had better news for him. If the Baths weren’t so blessedly effective, he’d have already packed his bags for Cadgwith by now. How interesting, really, that he should find both heaven and hell in the same place.

“I think you’ll find, Miss Effington, that irony tends to elude me.”

C
harity watched the baron as he made his abrupt departure, quickly disappearing through the door of his townhouse.

“Charming.”

Charity glanced back to May, whose sarcastic lift of her brow matched the tone of the single word.

“Yes, isn’t he just delightful?”

Her heart was still racing from the encounter. She just couldn’t seem to get a handle on the man. For heaven’s sake, her father would have her hide if he knew how their encounters had gone—especially since the man was a baron.

She had no excuse, none at all, other than he just seemed to bring out her somewhat less civilized side.

“He certainly is handsome,” Sophie said, twisting a curl around her finger as she stared after the closed door through which the baron had escaped. “I mean, not handsome like Lord Radcliff or Lord Raleigh— Oh!” she exclaimed, turning horrified eyes on Charity. “I am
so
sorry! I cannot believe I brought him up. I wasn’t thinking at all and it just popped out and, oh, I really need to learn to keep my tongue behind my teeth sometimes.”

Charity smiled reassuringly at Sophie. “You mustn’t worry yourself. Lord Raleigh is still a dear friend of the family.” No one had been privy to the details of their split but them, yet she knew rumors were rampant. She had been fortunate that they had called it off at the end of her first Season, but the
ton
still had plenty to say about it. Walking into any ballroom in London had been positively miserable last Season. Fans would snap up to cover wagging tongues as everyone speculated about what she must have done to have lost the earl.

“Who’s Lord Raleigh?” May asked, her curiosity clearly piqued. She looked back and forth between them, her brows raised and her blue eyes wide.

Charity sighed. She really hated that the whole ordeal wouldn’t just blow over. She hardly could remember feeling as though the earl was her proper match. “Last year, the Earl of Raleigh and I had a brief courtship. We ended the courtship when it became apparent that another held his heart. Lady Raleigh is truly a lovely person, and I wish them nothing but the best.” Her one true blessing was that their betrothal had not yet been announced when they broke it off. She shuddered to think of how much worse things would have been had the
ton
known.

Sophie’s expression was dubious at best. Putting her hand to her hips, Charity said, “It’s true! The decisions made were absolutely the right ones for all involved. And it is my greatest wish that I will someday find a man who will—” She paused, her nerve floundering.

“Who will . . . ?” May prompted.

Embarrassment skittered through her belly, but she did her best to ignore it. These were her friends. If she couldn’t say what she wanted to them, then who could she say it to? The road was busy with carriage traffic, but there was no one on the pavement close enough to hear them. Charity straightened her spine. “Who will love me above all others, and whom I can love in return.”

“You say that as if it’s a
bad
thing.” Amusement tilted up the corners of May’s perfectly formed lips. “A love match is something to be admired.”

“Tell that to my father,” Charity murmured.

“And my mother,” Sophie added wryly. “And to the
ton
, for that matter.”

May shook her head as if they were being quite ridiculous. “Well, my father loved my mother tremendously, and she him. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a love match or nothing for me.”

“Nothing?” Sophie asked, her voice rising in surprise. “If you don’t find a love match, you will not marry?”

She snorted. “I’ll be lucky to marry even
with
a love match. There also has to be a meeting of minds, values, and philosophies for me to ever pledge myself to another.”

“Goodness.” Given Sophie’s propensity to talk, the single word held a wealth of meaning.

“Do not you require the same from a future husband?” May’s blue eyes held no reproach or censure, just honest curiosity.

Charity bit her lip. Did she? Before her first Season, all Charity had hoped for was a spouse who respected her and would allow her to play her music as much as she liked. But then . . . then she had seen the way a man in love looked at the woman who held his heart, and she had known right then and there, with absolute certainty that
that
was what she wanted from a husband. Love she could see, feel, breathe, and live. And for her, all those could be summed up in a single sensation.

She looked to the damp pavement, shyness suddenly setting in. Her two friends already felt like confidantes after only a short while, but that didn’t make it easy to confess the desires of one’s heart. “All I ever truly hoped,” she said, her voice quiet as she looked up and shrugged, “was for butterflies.”

The other women exchanged looks, and all at once it struck Charity how absurd it was for them to be holding this very intimate conversation in the middle of the street. She laughed and said, “And with that, I must attend to my grandmother. But I do so look forward to tomorrow’s rehearsal. By this time next week, we shall do smashingly well at the private session in front of the committee—I’m sure of it.”

Sophie nodded emphatically, upsetting the dark curls spilling from beneath her bonnet. “We really are coming along quite wonderfully. Thanks to the parts you wrote for us, I think this shall be the best rendition of Mozart ever to be played. Well, aside from an actual performance by Mozart, which is, of course, quite impossible.”

Shaking her head, May said, “Yes, quite. Now, come, let’s be off. I am accustomed to the heat, but I’d prefer to be home before the next showers.”

“Are you certain you don’t wish to take the carriage? Grandmama would happily have it readied.”

“For three blocks? I should think not. We are made of sterner stuff than that, aren’t we, Sophie?”

Though Sophie readily agreed, her frizzing curls spoke another story. Charity gave them both an impromptu hug. “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

After waving good-bye, she let herself back inside and headed to the drawing room. As expected, her grandmother was ensconced on her favorite sofa, a plate of biscuits on the table in front of her and her stockinged feet resting on the cushions. Lorgnette in hand, she was reading through the day’s correspondence, with three unfolded letters littering her lap.

“Good afternoon, Grandmama. Did anyone write anything of interest?” She settled onto the closest chair and helped herself to a chocolate biscuit.

“Oh yes,” she responded, a smile brightening her whole face. With her comely blue-and-white gown and gay expression, she looked particularly pretty today. “Your mother writes that the visit with the Burtons is going quite well. Mrs. Burton seems to be comforted by her presence.” She put a hand to her cheek and sighed. “Oh, I do so hope it will be a boy.”

Charity smiled and nodded. They were all hoping it would be a boy. To Papa’s great regret, Charity was an only child and the viscountcy would therefore someday pass to Mr. Burton, who was Charity’s second cousin. If he failed to produce an heir as Papa had, the title would pass on to a distant cousin who lived nearly at the Scottish border, and whom none of them had even met before. Mr. Burton wasn’t ideal, but at least he was known to them, and, according to Father, he had a good head on his shoulders.

He and his heiress wife had always been distant at best, preferring to keep to themselves in their massive estate outside of Bromsgrove, a good two hundred miles from the rest of the family in Durham.

However, after twelve years of marriage without a single pregnancy, she had at last conceived, and for the first time they were reaching out to the family. Having no close female relatives of her own, Mrs. Burton had happily accepted Mama’s offer to come stay with her during her lying-in.

“I’m so glad Mama could be there to visit. I know they have never been particularly close, but nothing brings a family together quite like a new baby.” She was exceedingly grateful for it, too. Mama might have decided to join them in Bath otherwise, and Charity really, really needed to get away from her parents for a while.

At the end of August, when the festival was over, she and Grandmama would head north to visit the Burtons and their new baby; then Mama would join them on their journey back to Durham. In the next two months, however, Charity planned to enjoy her little getaway to the fullest.

She popped the rest of the biscuit in her mouth and sat back against the cushions. With the small exception of the dreadful baron next door, this was proving to be the most lovely holiday she could remember. Could not the man find it in himself to be more polite to her guests? Granted, he wasn’t nearly as disagreeable as he could have been, but he certainly could have been nicer.

Of course, she could have tactfully refrained from bringing up the wall-knocking incident. She grimaced. She really didn’t like that he seemed to bring out the worst in her.

“Indeed,” Grandmama said, shuffling her letters together and setting them on the table. “Now, my dear, tell me all about your rehearsals. From what little I heard, you ladies are coming together nicely.”

Charity’s favorite topic. She smiled resolutely and firmly pushed away all thoughts of the baron. “Everything is going splendidly. With the changes we’ve made to the sonata, I think it is the perfect complement to our instruments.”

“It is too bad you hadn’t time to compose something original, though I am quite certain you’ll have brought some great improvement to Mr. Mozart’s work. I think the three of you shall take the festival by storm.”

Her smile was so sweet and encouraging, Charity stood and gave her a doting kiss on the cheek. She was the only one who supported Charity’s efforts at writing music. When Grandmama had bad days during her illness, Charity would sit beside her bed, quietly composing songs. On the good days, she insisted on coming to the music room in order to hear the fruits of Charity’s labor. On those days, Grandmama would rest on the settee beside the pianoforte, her eyes closed and her toes wagging in time with the music. Charity smiled at the memory.

Truthfully, the illness had brought them so much closer. When Charity was younger, Grandmama had been tight-lipped and strict, offering little more than distant nods or formal greetings. Charity would never have wished her long suffering or illness on her, but she was grateful for the changes it had wrought.

“Thank you, Grandmama. We shall certainly do our best. And even if everyone hates it, at least I will have made two very lovely friends because of it.” Odd that Charity could have been in the same circles with Sophie for two Seasons, and was only now just realizing what a delight she was.

“That’s wonderful, my dear. Although,” she said, her slender silver eyebrow arching, “it does look as though Miss Wembley and Miss Bradford are not the only friends you are making in this city.”

Charity bent to pour herself some tea. The steam curling from the tip of the delicate pink-and-gold teapot was thin, but still present. “Yes, I have high hopes of a much more successful summer than my spring was. I enjoyed meeting some of the young ladies at the dinner the other night.” She added two lumps of sugar and stirred.

“I wasn’t speaking of the ladies.”

Charity froze, teaspoon in hand, as her gaze darted to meet her grandmother’s. She sat there beaming, her skin crinkling at the corners of her eyes as she smiled with delight. Charity did
not
like where this was headed.

She set down her spoon with supreme care. “Oh? I’m afraid I don’t know of whom you speak.”

Grandmama chuckled. “There seems to be one gentleman in particular who has taken notice of you. The same gentleman, I should add, whom I spied chatting with you on the pavement just now, though you neglected to mention it. Unless I am very much mistaken, the two of you have a certain spark between you.”

If Charity had taken a sip of her tea, it would be all over the table by now. A
spark
? Yes, it could be called that if one was referring to the unfortunate combination of a torch and a thatch roof. “Lord Cadgwith has no special attachment to me, nor I to him. He was walking past when I escorted the others to the door, and he politely”—
not
the word she wanted to use—“acknowledged us.”

“Ah, to be young and naïve again,” Grandmama said wistfully, setting a wrinkled hand to her chest. Thin blue veins snaked beneath her papery white skin, reminding Charity of how delicate she truly was. “You may not realize it, but that young man has quite a bit of interest in you. Mark my words.”

Charity grimaced. An interest in tossing her into the street, perhaps. “No, truly, I’m not being naïve. He and I . . . have very little in common.” Unless mutual dislike was considered a commonality.

“And yet you were quite cozy at the Potters’ dinner, were you not? I wasn’t the only one to notice, either.” She sighed and leaned back against the cushions, her eyes taking on that faraway look of one deep in their memories. “My own marriage was arranged, but I was quite amenable to it. Your grandfather could make me blush with a single look. Your Lord Cadgwith reminds me of him, you know.”

Superb.
Grandmama was developing a soft spot for the one man in all of Bath whom Charity could happily do with never seeing again. “Is that so? I wonder why.” She lifted the tea for a sip, anxious to move onto some other topic without sounding rude.

“The wounded heart.”

Charity’s gaze snapped up at the wholly unexpected words. “Wounded heart?” Yes, he was clearly scarred, but when it came to his heart, well, she assumed he simply hadn’t one.

Nodding, her grandmother’s eyes went to the ceiling, though Charity suspected she didn’t see the fine plasterwork at all. “Raymond was orphaned at the age of ten, and he learned the hard way how many would happily take advantage of a young nobleman. By the time we were betrothed, he was nearly thirty and quite jaded.” She shook her head, a small smile emerging from her memories. “Handsome as the devil, and twice as shrewd. But behind it all was a kindness just waiting to come out.”

Nostalgia relaxed her features as she stared back into time. As intrigued as Charity was to hear about this side of her grandfather, she simply couldn’t let her grandmother’s imagination run away with her when it came to Lord Cadgwith.