The Seduction of Lady Charity: The Baxendale Sisters Book Four (14 page)

“Please go away, Julian,” Kitty snapped. “I have danced with you as I promised to do.”

“But, Kitty!” Lord Julian sounded like a broken man.

Amused and feeling rather old for his twenty-seven years, Robin took Lady Huddlestone’s arm. “Shall we be seated?”

“Oh yes, thank you, Your Grace. I must speak with Charity. I haven’t seen her father for some time.”

“Lord Baxendale is in my library reading while sampling my brandy.”

“Is he indeed? My brother has become most unsociable. I shall have to speak to him.” She frowned. “I do hope he is well.”

“A little tired, perhaps.”

“Then we’d best go soon. I hope you’ll forgive us if we leave early. It has been a wonderful evening.”

“I am pleased you’ve enjoyed it.”

“Very much, and I’ve received several invitations, which have included Charity. I’m sure she will be delighted to hear of them.”

Robin doubted Charity would be so happy. He frowned. What lay behind her rather secretive manner since she’d come here? She was very different in Tunbridge Wells. Was it Gunn? And where the devil had she gotten that idea he was promised to another?

****

At breakfast, Father thumped his stomach and declared himself fit for anything. “It could well be that excellent brandy of Harwood’s.” He served himself a large plate of eggs, bacon, and kidneys from the dishes on the sideboard.

Charity met her aunt’s gaze. Neither of them believed it, but they were prepared to hope.

“Another week of rest, and I’m sure you will…” Charity began carefully.

He came to sit at the table. “Now don’t fuss, child.”

“No, Father,” she said meekly. She put down her napkin and rose from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll take a long walk. Robin and I will not work on the sketches today. Does anyone wish to join me?” She had seen little of the beautiful countryside, and the leafy lane wandering up a hill beckoned. She remembered that, when she was a child, she’d always wondered what was over the next hill, and it seemed the desire remained. A walk would help her to reflect on Robin’s behavior. She’d felt a little hurt at his offhand manner. When he’d bid them goodnight, he’d barely glanced her way. He was becoming quite officious.

Father forked bacon into his mouth and chewed. “I plan to read another of those tomes Harwood brought me.”

“An excellent notion, Baxendale,” Aunt Christabel said in an encouraging tone. “I’m a little tired and shall read the new book I discovered at the lending library. I no longer have the same amount of energy as you, Charity.”

Charity rugged up warmly against the crisp air and set off down the avenue to the gates. As she walked, she went over all that had passed between her and Robin during the previous evening. He’d been quite forceful in his declaration that he was not about to marry, but although he’d danced with other young women, he’d given a good deal of attention to Kitty. However, careful to observe the proprieties, he hadn’t danced more than twice with her or any of the debutantes.

She couldn’t dismiss how her feelings for him had changed. And she was sure that Robin’s attitude to her had altered too. He treated her in an almost proprietorial manner at times, which was quite provoking. He’d made it obvious that he wouldn’t countenance a wife undertaking any kind of employment. And, of course, a duchess never would. She’d just have to ignore the strong physical attraction, and when she left Northumberland next week with her father, her work and the family would be paramount. Any thoughts of Robin would become like a distant, slightly sad hum in the background to her life.

At the top of the hill, she stopped to admire the verdant land stretching out before her, quiet lanes and drystone walls crisscrossing fields with the river coursing through them and the spectacular woods ablaze with autumn color. The breeze brought with it a trace of lichen. Magnificent as the view was, her heart felt strangely heavy as she continued her walk.

An hour later, she returned to the house. She expected to find her father reading but couldn’t locate him in the bookroom, where her aunt sat with two cats on her lap.

“Where’s Father, Aunt Christabel?”

“He’s gone to Harwood Castle.”

An invitation must have come for him. “Is Robin to show him over the castle today?”

“Your father said he wished to see more of the estate.”

Unease made Charity pause at the door. “Did he go in the gig, Aunt?”

Her aunt looked up. “I imagine he did, but I didn’t see him leave.”

Charity hurried to the stables and found the gig standing on the cobbles, unhitched. A groom emerged to greet her.

“Did you drive my father to the castle, Bryan?”

“He rode Firefly, milady.”

Fear tightened her ribcage. Her father was so audacious. Really, he should be watched as though he were a child. “Saddle a horse for me, Bryan. I’m going to change my clothes.”

Bryan replaced his hat. “In a trice, milady.”

An hour later, Charity rode into the Harwood stables. After enquiring, she discovered her father had ridden out with the duke some time ago.

“Which direction did they take?”

“Hobson’s farm, Lady Charity.” The groom pointed. “About three miles as the crow flies, north of here. The lane takes you right to the farmhouse door.”

Charity quickly nudged the horse into a canter and rode along the lane through the trees, emerging onto a road bordered by fields. When she reached the small, thatched dwelling, the farmer’s wife rushed out before Charity could dismount. She dropped into a curtsey, her face flustered. “His Grace and the other gentleman have ridden out into the fields with Mr. Hobson, my lady.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hobson.”

Her heart thudding in her chest, Charity rode across a field, the cold air biting at her face. What was her father thinking? And Robin too. Did men have no sense? Her mother would be so angry. As she rode, she became almost sick with apprehension at what she might find.

Over a rise, she saw three men in the unplowed field. One was on the ground. It was Father. With a sickening cry, she nudged the horse into a gallop, covering the ground fast.

They turned to look at her as she reined her horse in. “Are you all right, Father?” she cried.

Her father was crouching down, Robin and the farmer standing beside him. They all stared at her in surprise. Father stood and let the soil drift through his fingers. He brushed his hands. “Of course I am. Have you brought news from home?”

“What? No, no letter yet, Father.” She cast Robin an annoyed glance as he assisted her to dismount. “I was concerned. Should you be riding?”

Father’s face darkened. “You are cursed with an overactive imagination, young lady. You may return home. As I told you at breakfast, I am perfectly well.”

Charity’s gaze flickered back to Robin. Impassive, he didn’t offer to stand up for her. She swiveled and strode after her horse, which had wandered, reins trailing, over to the other horses by the fence some yards away.

Robin walked with her. “Allow me to help you mount.”

She spun around, still furious. “How could you allow my father to ride when you know he has been so unwell?”

“What was I supposed to do? Insist he go home? Your father is a grown man and can decide for himself,” he said coolly.

“I was worried, Robin. You might have defended me.”

He sighed. “We’ll talk about this later. I promise to return him to you, hale and hearty.”

She disliked his patronizing tone. She shrugged him off when he moved forward to help her. “I can mount without help, thank you.” She took the reins and put her foot in the stirrup. Her new palma-violet velvet habit, a compromise between her desire for something colorful and her mother’s for something practical, was not as well designed as her older one and made the action difficult without assistance.

Robin stood back, arms folded, and watched as she hopped about, the horse’s big brown anxious eye watching her.

“For goodness sake, Charity!” Robin stepped forward. He planted his big hands at her waist and threw her up into the saddle.

“Thank you, sir,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster and, as the imprint of his hands remained, turned the horse’s head.

“Don’t mention it,” came the amused reply.

Charity bit her lip. Really! What had happened to Robin? She didn’t think she knew him anymore.

Chapter Fifteen

As Charity rode away, her father came to stand beside Robin. “She is a good daughter, and she cares for her old father,” the earl said. “Perhaps I should have been gentler with her.”

“Perhaps I should have too,” Robin admitted. He’d been battling with his emotions since last night. His level of frustration with Charity was rising steadily to the point where he longed to take her shoulders and give her a good shake. Hardly the way to her heart.

Baxendale eyed him. “I’m not sure what is going on with you two, Harwood. But I am watching with a good deal of interest.”

Robin turned to him. “You know your daughter, sir. Perhaps you can tell me why it is that she seems to want to shut herself away from the world.”

“She might think she does, but she’s wrong. And I suspect she will find that out very soon.”

Robin raised his eyebrows. “You believe so, sir?”

“I do. Perhaps before we leave for home, eh?”

“I am pleased you have recovered your health, but I wonder if I could persuade you to extend your stay for a little longer?”

Baxendale smiled with a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. “I see how the land lies. It will depend on Lady Baxendale and my daughter, Faith. But if I can, rest assured Charity and I will do so.”

Robin thanked him, heartened that he had his support, even though he didn’t believe Baxendale could sway Charity’s opinion any more than he could. But he was fond of all the Baxendales, and if he were part of that big family, he was sure he would never feel lonely again.

****

When Charity brought her sketchpad to the castle the next day, she really had no idea which Robin she would find. Would it be the relaxed, humorous Robin, who laughed with her and gazed at her with warmth? Or would it be the Robin who tried to boss her about? She eyed him carefully as she was shown into the salon where he stood to receive her while Henry rushed over to greet her.

“I am sorry you thought I didn’t support you yesterday,” Robin said as she patted the dog. “But I felt loyalty to your father, too, Charity.”

“Of course you did,” she said, relieved. “That was unfair of me.” She sat on the sofa as Robin took the wing chair. “I am just so pleased that Father has rallied. I did fear he would suffer another bout of his chest complaint. He really should be more careful.”

“You father won’t appreciate you fussing over him,” Robin said in a gentle tone. “He’ll feel you’re condemning him to a half-life.”

She bit her lip. “I can see that. It’s just that, with Mama absent, I thought I should take care of him.”

“That is commendable. What is this complaint of his?”

“They call it bronchial asthma and are unsure how best to treat it. The condition comes and goes for no logical reason.”

“What a damnable thing to suffer. I’m glad he’s feeling better though.” He crossed his legs and dangled one foot, eyeing her sketchpad. “I’ve ordered tea.”

“That will be most agreeable. Thank you.” Charity found she was still unable to interpret his mood, although he was perfectly polite.

“There’s a matter I wish to be clear about before we begin.” He flicked a speck from his fawn trousers and looked up, assessing her lazily through half-closed lids.

She paused in the act of opening her sketchpad and sat up straighter. “Yes?”

“What made you believe I was engaged?”

Charity took a deep breath. “On the first day I came here, I overheard Lord Bellamy on the terrace.”

Robin widened his eyes. “And you were inclined to take Bellamy’s prophesy as truth?”

His announcement must have been provoked in some measure by Robin’s behavior. But instead of defending herself, she wriggled, uncomfortable and slightly foolish under his scrutiny. “It shouldn’t matter what I think, Robin. But to an observer, you do show your preference for Lady Katherine over the other debutantes.”

“I have
not
asked Kitty to marry me.”

“Well”—she shrugged—“please don’t feel you have to discuss it with me.”
He’s obviously very familiar with the lady
, she thought, straightening her shoulders.

“I merely wanted to be clear on the matter,” he said.

“Shall we get started?” She smoothed the page and picked up her pencil, distressed to find that her fingers shook slightly. She was disturbed that their usual comfortable companionship seemed to have vanished, possibly forever.

She began to draw and found Robin was studying her too.

“I have been considering how you should pose,” she explained, wishing she wasn’t so nervous. “Perhaps we could go to the library where I might get a better sense of how to proceed.”

“Very well. I’ll have our tea sent to us there.” He went to pull the bell.