The Gallant Guardian (30 page)

“Lord Lydon?” Where was she? She thought she remembered leaving Lydon Court. She blinked and looked around. No, the hangings on the bed were the familiar blue damask and the furniture warmed by the flickering firelight was the furniture of her own bedchamber. She was home at Harcourt. Then why was she in bed?

“Hush, love.” A gentle finger was laid on her lips. “You have had an accident, but you are fine now.” The gray eyes looking down at her were alight with tenderness and the hand that smoothed her brow was gentle and comforting.

She heard the door opening and Lucy appeared. “Oh, my lady, you gave us a scare, you did. The doctor said if you woke up you were to stay very quiet.” There was an air of decision about the little maid that suggested she had prepared herself to meet resistance on that score from her energetic mistress. But Charlotte merely sighed and lay back against the pillows. She was too dizzy and weak to make sense of it all.

There was a rustle of bedclothes and she felt a hot cheek laid next to hers. “William?” There was no answer but a sob as he flung his arms about her neck.

He held her tightly for some minutes and then let go to wail, “I did not mean to hurt you, Charlie, truly I did not.”

“It was not your fault, my boy.” The marquess’s voice was deep
and reassuring. “Only an excellent whip could have held the horses the way you did. It was an unfortunate accident.”

“I would not hurt Charlie. I love her more than anything in the world.”

“We all do, William. Now it is time you get to bed, you have had a trying day.”

We all do, William.
What had he meant by that? Charlotte was too tired to think and she drifted back into the darkness.

~~~~

The next time she woke it was broad daylight. Sunlight was flooding the room. Her head still hurt, but only in one spot which, her exploring fingers discovered, was covered by a bandage. The terrible all-encompassing ache was gone and she did not feel so dizzy. Carefully, she raised herself from the pillows. The room swam before her a bit, but soon righted itself.

More surprising than the condition of her head was the sight of the marquess leaning back in a chair next to her bed, his eyes closed and his long legs thrust out in front of him. Judging from
the lines of exhaustion etched on his face and the dark shadow of unshaven beard, he had spent the night there. How long had he been there? How long had she been there?

The movement in the bed caught Max’s attention. He was instantly alert and bending over her. “How are you, my poor girl?” He slipped a strong, supporting arm behind her shoulders.

It was so heavenly to be held that Charlotte had the wildest urge to allow herself to appear weaker than she actually was simply to enjoy the feeling of being taken care of. It was the whim of a moment, however, and quickly banished. “I…I believe I am all right. What happened?”

“You and William were out driving in the curricle when the wheel on your side cracked. By some miracle, and a good deal of pluck and skill, William held the horses, but you were thrown out and knocked unconscious.”

She frowned in an effort to recall the hazy set of events before she had been plunged into darkness. “Ah yes, now I remember. We were not going very fast and there was a loud crack. I tried to hold on, but…what happened to the wheel? I do not remember the road being bad.”

“Nor was it.” Max’s face was grim. “Speen, Jem, and Tim went to fetch the horses and curricle after the blacksmith arrived back here with you and William. They examined the road and the carriage thoroughly and came to the conclusion that some of the
spokes of one wheel had been sawn most of the way through so no matter how smooth the road was, the wheel was bound to have broken the next time the curricle was driven. They showed the wheel to me and I agree with them that that is what must have happened.”

“But how? Who?”

“Apparently Tom Piggott is nowhere to be found. He has not been seen since Griggs left, and when Griggs and William last drove the curricle all went well. Speen has felt uneasy about Tom Piggott for some time, and certainly all of the accidents occurred after his appearance at Harcourt. I believe that it is time I have a word with Tom Piggott and his erstwhile employer.”

“Cecil,” Charlotte murmured as she raised a hand to massage her forehead. “I always suspected Tom Piggott, but what was I to do? I tried, but…” Her voice trailed off and, to her horror, a tear rolled silently down her cheek.

Max pulled her close. “Hush, love. You did all you could, and it is thanks to your vigilance that William is al…er,
safe
now. I blame myself for not acting sooner, but I shall now.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped her cheek. Then, cupping her chin in one hand, he looked deep into her eyes. “I promise you, I shall take care of you and William and you shall be safe from now on, even if I have to spend every waking moment at your sides. Now get some more rest, there’s a good girl.” He laid her gently back against the pillows, touched her forehead with his lips, pulled the curtains, and silently closed the door behind him.

He had barely shut the door to Charlotte’s bedchamber when William came scurrying down the hall. “Lord Lydon, Lord Lydon, there is a carriage coming up the drive and it looks like Cousin Cecil’s.”

“Does it now,” his guardian replied with grim satisfaction. “Let us go and welcome him, lad.” Max’s sardonic smile boded no good for the Wadleighs. Laying a hand on the boy’s shoulder he walked briskly down the stairs, through the hall, and out to the portico, where the Wadleighs’ traveling carriage was just pulling up.

A wretched-looking Tom Piggott climbed down from the box to open the door for Cecil, who alighted with an imposing air of ponderous self-importance. He turned to help his wife, who cast her eyes around with satisfaction before allowing him to take her arm and lead her up the steps.

Their majestic progress was brought to an abrupt halt by the appearance of William and the marquess. Cecil’s eyes bulged, and his jaw dropped as his gaze lighted on William. He opened his mouth to speak, but was forestalled by a sharp jab from his wife’s bony elbow.

“My lord,” Almeria chirped, “how delightful to see you. We were just on the road to London and thought, as we were passing by, that we would call at Harcourt to see how everything was doing.” Completely ignoring William, and with Cecil gasping in her wake, she swept behind Tidworth, who had appeared to usher them into the library, and order refreshments.

Stopping a moment to murmur in a footman’s ear and to direct William to go with the man to find Speen, the marquess followed them to the library, where he motioned the Wadleighs to the sofa in front of the fire and then took his place facing them, his hands clasped behind his back his face rigidly impassive.

“I do not wonder at your surprise at seeing William. No” —he raised a hand— “do not bother to deny it, I witnessed your start of shock when you saw that he was still alive, and I saw your wife stop you from uttering some inadvertent and incriminating remark. Do not be harsh on Tom Piggott for failing to carry out your orders. He did what he was told, but it was Charlotte, not William, who is lying upstairs.” Their horrified expressions told him all he needed to know and he smiled grimly. “No, she is not dead, no thanks to you, but it is only by a miracle that no one was killed, which means that I need not feel compelled to turn you in to the magistrate as murderers.”

Cecil opened his mouth to protest, but was stopped by the sound of footsteps in the hall. Speen threw open the library door and a cringing Tom Piggott, flanked by Jem and Tim, was hauled in.

“You miserable cur, how could you?” Cecil snarled.

“Hush, Cecil,” his wife interrupted. She turned to the marquess. “Quite obviously our former servant has been misbehaving again. Cecil caught him poaching and threatened him with transportation, but the man was so miserable and Cecil so softhearted that he gave him a second chance. He thought that by sending him away he was providing him with the opportunity to make a new start. Equally obviously, he was mistaken as he so often is.”

“Yes. Almeria is quite right. T—

“Silence!” Lydon snapped. “Now, Tom, you are under my protection from this moment on. Nothing that the Wadleighs threaten you with, or have threatened you with in the past, can harm you. I
can help you start afresh. If, however, you lie to me, I have far more power than
this
” —he waved a contemptuous hand in Cecil’s direction— “miserable cur, to ruin you. I know you have been unhappy with what you have been called upon to do and I am prepared to forget everything and perhaps find you a place on one of my estates or one of my ships if you will but tell me the truth.”

Poor Tom was only too eager to do so. “I was to make sure that an accident happened to the lad,” he blurted out. “But I didn’t want to do it. He was a nice enough lad and I had nothing against him, but he” —he pointed a shaking finger at Cecil— “said he would have me hung, or transported at the very least and I…” Here the miserable man broke out into sobs of woe.

“Very well.” Max turned to Jem and Tim. “Take him to the stables and lock him up. I will get a signed confession later and then he is free either to go or to seek employment under me. In the meantime…” The marquess turned back toward the Wadleighs, who were looking less and less self-confident by the moment. “In the meantime, I shall deal with these two.

“As guardian of Charlotte and William, I have no wish to see their relatives, even ones as despicable as you are, dragged through the courts. But that is the
only
reason I have not sent for the magistrate already. If you wish to retain your freedom and your reputation in the future, you will refrain from having any contact whatsoever with my wards. And should anything happen to either of them, if one of their horses even so much as casts a shoe, you will both be turned over to the authorities, believe me. You need not wonder whether or not I am powerful enough to do it. I am. And how will I know what is happening where the welfare of my wards is concerned? It is very simple. I am making Charlotte Marchioness of Lydon, and William will make his home with us. So you see, I shall be instantly aware if one of them so much as trips and falls. Now I feel that I have ruined my day quite enough with your company. I bid you good day.” And without a backward glance at the pair on the sofa, the marquess strode from the room.

“Well of all the—” Almeria began huffily.

But for once, her husband was not about to be pushed around. “Hush Almeria. We are fortunate to be allowed to remain in England. Let us return to Wadleigh and be thankful.”

‘The word of a servant, faugh! You may grovel, Cecil, but I shall—

“You
will
be silent. Now come.” And Cecil, having assumed authority over his wife for perhaps the first time in his life, was able to hold up his head with a surprising amount of pride, given the circumstances, as he marched her out to the carriage. After all, he was still the heir to Harcourt and the present earl, though alive, was not likely to marry, and even less likely to have a son.

Chapter Thirty-three

Though he had spoken confidently to the Wadleighs about making Charlotte his marchioness, Maximilian was not in the least sure that he would be able to convince Charlotte herself as to the absolute necessity of this. While he was man of the world enough to be relatively certain that she was attracted to him, he was by no means confident that this attraction held any significance beyond that. And while it was true that she had recently turned to him for help with her present problem, he had a rather nasty suspicion that in general she preferred to rely on her own intelligence and that she was inclined to consider him in the light of an uncle rather than a lover, not to mention a husband.

Her comments on men in general had been rather pithy and to the point. He recalled from their previous discussions on marriage that she had no use for men, had never known one besides Speen that she could depend on. He knew that she was not about to risk getting hurt again. Not for the first time, Max cursed his erstwhile friend Hugo Winterbourne, who had created a daughter who was enchantingly natural, admirably resourceful, and not about to let any man into her life.

~~~~

Following the Winterbournes’ departure from Lydon Court, Max had spent several restless, lonely days unable to enter into any activity with any sort of enthusiasm except wondering how Charlotte and her brother were faring or casting back in his mind to all the times he had enjoyed her companionship—the evenings in front of the fire, the long rides, the intense discussions. And Max had come at last to the appalling conclusion that he missed her abominably, and now having suffered the agony of sitting by her as she lay unconscious, he knew without a doubt he wanted to marry her.

It had begun as the simple ache of desire and the wish to make her experience all the delights of the passion that he sensed lay
within her. That had quickly passed to be replaced by a desperate tenderness, a longing to take care of her, to share everything with her, to look at life through her eyes and to show it to her through his. He wanted to expand her world, to take her all the places she wanted to go. Yes, he even wanted to show William the places he too wanted to see—the Tower of London, St. James’s Park. It would give Max himself a great deal of pleasure to see these things with new eyes, to enjoy them more than his jaded soul had allowed him to enjoy them the first time.

He wanted to share all this with her, and he wanted to share it forever. It was a new way of looking at things for him, and the idea of marriage took some time to get used to, but the thought of it made him surprisingly happy. Heretofore, other people in his life had kept him from doing the things he wished to do. Charlotte, on the other hand, made everything he did that much more enjoyable by her presence there. Once the decision was made, Max’s feeling of loneliness and ennui passed and he felt lighthearted.

So here he was, having decided to ask her for her hand, now how was he to broach the subject? With William safe and Cecil and Almeria disposed of, it was time to turn his attention to Charlotte. True, there was still Tom Piggott to be dealt with, but the longer he spent as a prisoner the more likely he was to cooperate, and Max needed time to think.