Charity (11 page)

Lachlan, too, had finally had enough of her brooding animosity. “Would you mind telling me why you choose to be so continually contentious, Miss Ackerly?”

“Why, yes,” returned Charity. “I do mind.”

Between them, Amity shrank back.

“You’re not angry with me,” Lachlan mused after a thoughtful pause. “You’re angry with yourself.”

“Oh, quite the contrary, my lord. I am furious with you.”

“Had I not stepped in, your reputation would be in tatters.”

Charity snapped her head in his direction, but before she could speak she was forced to grab the edge of the seat to keep from being thrown off; he’d brought the vehicle sharply around to exit the park. “You did that on purpose!”

He smirked.

Charity glared at him. “Had you not stepped in,” she retorted, “I’d have had a glorious time and nobody would
have batted an eye. Instead, you called attention to a situation that was
not
a situation and turned me into a pariah!”

“There wasn’t a suitable male in the group.”

Charity gasped. “What? ‘Suitable?’ Now you’re choosing my male acquaintances? Your high-handedness in areas that are none of your concern knows no bounds, my lord. Suitable for what, please?”

Lachlan belatedly remembered Amity, who sat quietly between them. A small smile played about the corners of her mouth, confusing and embarrassing him. He lapsed once again into silence.

Charity, however, wasn’t nearly finished, her temper pushing her recklessly onward with the topic. “What, pray tell, is wrong with Lord Danforth, who merely wished to discuss horses?”

“He’s broke and looking for an heiress,” Lachlan replied evenly. Then he pointed out, “
Which
you are not.”

Charity ignored that. “What about Pelligrew?”

Lachlan clenched his teeth. “He was a second in a recent duel.”

“A second?” Charity’s voice was laced with derision. “He wasn’t even the person dueling, and now he’s suddenly unsuitable?”

“He also doesn’t sit a horse well,” bit out the marquess.

Amity stifled a laugh and then quickly composed herself when they both looked at her. “Umm . . . the road, my lord.” She pointed at the horses.

Cursing under his breath, Lachlan made a slight adjustment to allow another carriage to pass safely. He touched his hat in acknowledgment of the other vehicle’s occupants. The twins both smiled brightly and waved.

After he executed the turn onto Upper Brook Street,
Charity’s smile disappeared. She tossed out another name. “Lord Bakersly.”

“Has been seen frequenting gambling hells. And the cut of his jacket is all wrong.”

At that ludicrous reasoning, Charity narrowed her eyes. “Anthony Iverson,” she said with deliberate intent.

“Stay away from him!” Lachlan growled in a low, dangerous voice. His eyes turned hard. Charity paled and grew silent, her anger finally taking her beyond the ability to speak. She stared resolutely forward for the remainder of the ride, her lips pressed into a tight little line.

Lachlan slowed the horses and turned to Amity, his voice softening. “I apologize, Miss Ackerly, for the unpleasant drive. May I escort you to the Danwells’ ball this evening, to atone?”

Having believed herself all but forgotten, Amity was caught completely off guard and couldn’t come up with a plausible excuse. “Th-that would be lovely,” she stammered as the phaeton drew up before the Lloyd town house.

Charity hopped down between the wheels, not waiting for assistance, and she gained the ground without incident almost before the vehicle came to a complete stop. She shook out her skirts, tossed Lachlan a last venomous glare, and stormed up the steps, brushing past Matthew Meadows, who was just arriving. The doctor heard her mutter something about “That insufferable man,” before she disappeared inside and slammed the door in his face.

The physician turned back to see the Marquess of Asheburton helping Amity down from his carriage, a smile on his face that was both fond and possessive. Out of nowhere, a surge of jealousy gripped Matthew, and he frowned. When, he wondered, had he developed these feelings for his wealthiest patient’s sister? In consternation, he turned
to go inside, only to be met with the solid, unyielding panel of oak.

Inwardly cursing Charity’s temper and penchant for slamming doors, he politely turned and waited for the couple coming up the steps.

Eleven

Good
morning, Desmond.”

The dour butler stopped and stared at the pleasant greeting from Charity, who had been particularly moody since the twins’ arrival in London. So great was his surprise at the unusually affable salutation that, even though he’d only just shown Amity into the drawing room to attend a guest, he looked over his shoulder to be certain he hadn’t confused their identities.

Charity laughed. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.” Her eyes sparkled and she leaned toward him as if sharing a confidence, her voice a bit lowered. “Perhaps you should take a break. I’ve just come from the garden, and it’s a beautiful day. I won’t tell anyone.”

Desmond recovered his composure and drew himself stiffly upright. “I’m sure I have far too many things I must attend, Miss Ackerly, for me to waste time cavorting in the garden.

“Suit yourself,” returned Charity agreeably. “Have you seen Amity?”

“She’s in the drawing room with his lordship, Miss. Perhaps you would be kind enough to go in there and inform Lord Roth that my wages do not cover doing
everything
in his home. Next he’ll be wanting me to cook the meals and tidy the bedchambers.” He turned away, muttering darkly under his breath, just loudly enough for Charity to hear,
about it not being his job to manage the whereabouts of everyone in the ridiculously full household.

Charity watched him with a smile until he turned the corner, and then she set the book she was reading down on a table in the foyer. She glanced into the mirror above the table and tightened the bow on the aquamarine velvet ribbon holding back her strawberry blonde curls. Her color was high, her eyes sparkled with good humor, and her lips were curved in a smile she couldn’t seem to dislodge.

After the debacle of her morning ride with Amity and the Marquess of Asheburton the previous day, Charity had gone straight to her room to take stock of the situation. She’d come to an almost immediate conclusion: nobody was going to ruin the Season for her. Especially not Lachlan Kimball. Her mind made up, she’d spent the rest of the day putting him out of her mind, and with firm resolve she’d confronted Amity about the ball that evening.

“I need to stay in tonight. Couldn’t we ask Aunt Cleo to accompany you? She’d be an excellent buffer between you and the marquess.”

Amity, after giving her sister a long assessing look, agreed. Together they composed a quick note to Cleo Egerton, carefully worded to keep the astute older lady from guessing there was anything afoot. Their eccentric aunt had replied almost immediately that she would be more than happy to act as chaperone, and Charity breathed a sigh of relief. She’d spent the evening quietly at home, visiting with Faith, who was tired of being confined to her bed and happy for the company. She’d gone to bed early and woke refreshed and ready to embrace the rest of her stay in London with a peaceful, tranquil heart.

Now, satisfied with her reflection in the foyer mirror,
Charity walked across the hall and quietly entered the drawing room so as not to interrupt the conversation between her sister and Gareth, who was standing just inside the doorway. Her sister was seated on a settee, her posture correct and primly erect.

Amity’s eyes grew round when she saw Charity appear behind her brother-in-law. Gareth spun to see what had caused her expression to change, and when he moved aside, Charity saw that they were not the only people in the room. The Marquess of Asheburton sat there as well.

Charity felt a sudden spurt of annoyance. With an effort she recalled her intention to not allow anyone, especially this particular man, to spoil her Season. She pasted a pleasant smile on her face and greeted the marquess with a curtsy. “Good morning, my lord. I didn’t know you’d stopped in.”

Lachlan stood and bowed politely. “Good morning, Miss Ackerly. I hope you’re feeling better today.”

Despite her resolve, Charity narrowed her eyes, assuming he was referring to her hasty exit from his vehicle. The man had no couth at all. “Feeling better?”

Lachlan’s smile faltered and he looked at Amity, who stood as well. “Aunt Cleo mentioned your headache on the ride to the ball last night,” she said.

Charity counted to ten, her irritation now internally directed. “Desmond told me you were in here, Amity. I’ll just look for you after you’ve finished . . . um . . . entertaining your guest.”

She backed toward the door and, quite forgetting he was there, bumped into Gareth. When she apologized and glanced upward, her brother-in-law’s golden brown eyes twinkled down at her.

“Why don’t you stay and talk a bit, Charity? I was just leaving to check on Faith. Dr. Meadows should be here
momentarily, and this way we can be sure Ashe is”—he smirked—“entertained.”

Trapped, Charity barely managed to keep from scowling. When the knocker sounded from out in the hall, nobody moved. It seemed an opportunity. “I-I could get the door,” she stammered. “Desmond was going toward the kitchen a few moments ago and—”

“There is no need for you to do my job, Miss Ackerly,” interrupted the butler from the foyer, his tone haughty and affronted. “Although I am impossibly overworked, I believe I still manage.” He glided off toward the door with his nose in the air.

Lachlan looked astonished at the servant’s audaciousness. “Honestly, Roth, I don’t understand why you continue to employ that man.”

Gareth grinned. “Desmond was a great favorite of my mother’s,” he explained. “My father consistently complained about him, but my mother was indulgent and talked the old earl out of firing him on multiple occasions. When they died and Jonathon became the Earl of Seth, he hired another man but kept Desmond as his under-butler, and when I eventually needed a butler, Jon was more than happy to send him over.”

“Well, I like him,” said Charity stoutly. “One shouldn’t have to be constantly hushed simply because their behavior is deemed unseemly.” She raised challenging eyebrows at Lachlan, as if daring him to disagree. He stared coolly back and didn’t respond.

“Dr. Meadows, my lord,” announced Desmond, who looked pointedly at the Marquess of Asheburton. “At least
he
was expected.”

Charity snorted sharply with laughter. Amity gave her a hard look.

“Amity?” Faith’s voice floated down from the balcony, where she was not supposed to be. “Do you have a moment?”

Charity’s twin jumped up and left the room, followed closely by Gareth and Dr. Meadows, all three loudly admonishing Faith for being out of bed. Their voices faded into the second level of the house, leaving Lachlan, Charity, and Desmond alone in the drawing room. After a moment of awkward silence, the butler cleared his throat. “I suppose you’ll be needing some sort of refreshment delivered, Miss Ackerly.”

“No,” said Charity.

“Yes,” said Lachlan.

They stared at one another.

Desmond bowed. “As you wish, Miss Ackerly.” He left the room without a sound.

Charity spoke first. “Do you always come into other people’s homes and order their servants about?”

Lachlan ignored her. “Why are you so angry with me, Charity?”

The sound of her name on his lips washed over her warmly, and Charity blushed; the memory of the kiss they’d shared floated unbidden into her mind. “I’m not angry with you, my lord,” she said in a low voice.

Mistaking her blush for an attempt to control her temper, the marquess persisted. “I wish you could see yourself, Charity. The look on your face, the way your fists are clenched at your sides . . . everything about you tells me you’re vexed and trying to hide it. Why don’t you just come out with whatever is on your mind? Get it out into the open so we can deal with it.”

At that impossible suggestion, Charity panicked. Tell him she was remembering how it felt to be held in his arms,
that she couldn’t get the desire to feel his mouth on hers again to go away? Unthinkable. Unable to come up with a response, she crossed her arms and glared at him in renewed animosity.

Lachlan shook his head. “Someone should turn you over his knee and give you a sound spanking.”

She sucked in her breath. “I dare you to try.”

That was how Gareth and Matthew Meadows found them, returned from getting Faith settled back into bed: anger arced almost visibly between the two.

Gareth spoke first. “Amity asked me to let you know she’s going to stay with Faith a while, and to thank you for the visit, Ashe.”

His words broke the pervading air of conflict. In silence, Charity waited while Ashe took his leave, shame at losing her resolve stilling her tongue, then she left the room as well, murmuring something about the book she’d left on the table in the foyer.

Matthew and Gareth watched her leave. “That was interesting,” said the latter.

Matthew recalled the look Lachlan had given Amity after their drive the day before and saw a sudden chance to keep his rival for her affections out of the Lloyd town house. He paused a moment and then took the plunge. “I hate to bring this up, because I know the marquess is your friend, but . . .” He allowed the sentence to trail off and waited.

Gareth eyed him curiously.

“Well, there just seems to be a lot of turmoil between him and Charity. I don’t think the constant atmosphere of tension and excitement is good for Lady Roth’s precarious condition.”

Gareth’s eyebrows beetled in a frown.

“I’d like to see her make it at least one more week before
the baby comes,” Matthew continued, pressing his advantage. “I think it would make all the difference in the world for both Faith and the child.”

The marquess paced a few steps, deep in thought. He knew that Ashe had an eye on Amity, quite possibly as a matrimonial prospect, and that Amity had neither voiced objection to his suit nor encouraged anyone else. Asking Ashe to stop courting her wouldn’t be fair to either of them. He turned back to his friend and said, “You’re right, of course.”