Miss Charity's Case (7 page)

Opening it, Charity lifted out a stack of letters and stroked the ribbon holding them together. She could not bear to throw away the love letters her parents had exchanged. Looking toward her reflection in the cheval glass, she sighed. Papa had been dead for such a short time, and she wore no sign of mourning. She pulled the black velvet ribbon off the stack of letters and tied it around her right wrist. Lady Eloise might be distressed, but Charity would not pretend her father had never existed.

Knuckles rapped on the door. “Charity, are you ready?” Joyce's excitement burst through the heavy wood.

“One moment.”

Wrapping the letters in a silken handkerchief, she put them back in the small satchel. She would read them again as soon as she had the leisure of a quiet moment. During this wild whirl she needed the connection to what had been.

Charity smiled when Joyce turned slowly as she came out into the hallway. Joyce's gown of white lace over a pink satin slip matched the flush on her cheeks. The neckline was gently rounded above the lacing across the front of her bodice. A narrow ruffle accented her youthful curves and copied the one at the hem which revealed Joyce's ankles and delicate slippers. With her dark hair piled high on her head and entwined with strings of pearls to match the ones at her throat, she was lovelier than Charity had ever seen her.

“You look perfect!” Charity clasped her sister's gloved hands in hers.

“And look at you!” Joyce chuckled and wagged a finger at her. “The elders would be aghast to see you wearing such a gown. Oh, Charity, I do love the way the green crepe peeks beneath your gown. You shall have the eyes of every gentleman tonight.”

Looping her arm through her sister's, Charity led the way to the stairs. “After they have gazed at you.”

“We shall do tonight, shall we not?”

“I am sure even Lady Eloise must concede that.”

Again Charity was quickly disabused of her own misapprehensions. In the hall, Lady Eloise eyed them both up and down, her cane tapping the floor as she walked around them. “Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Oh, dear.”

Charity squeezed her sister's hand when she saw tears in Joyce's eyes. Joyce must be ready with a smile before the guests arrived.

“Green?” Lady Eloise motioned for her fan. The footman placed it in her hand, and she wafted it in front of her face. “Oh, dear, I shall speak with
madame
myself on the morrow. Green is a most unfortunate choice for such a gathering. Did she not suggest white, Charity?”

Seeing her sister's shoulders sag with relief, Charity frowned. She did not want to turn Lady Eloise's comments, which were aimed only at being helpful but were vexing nevertheless, on her sister, but she was growing tired of being the focus of every aspersion.

“We thought it wiser that Joyce and I be dressed differently, my lady.”

“Differently is too unfortunately correct.”

“But I had understood that green is
à la modality
.”

“Not for your introduction to the Polite World. You would have been wiser to select the traditional color as Joyce has.” She gave a magnanimous sigh. “Oh, dear, what can one do but accept the folly of your decision?”

“I shall endeavor to make you proud of me, Lady Eloise.”

“You must.” She wafted the fan more quickly. “You do understand that you are to go in for dinner with Mr. Hoyle, don't you, Charity?”

“Of course.”

A satisfied smile drifted across Lady Eloise's lips. She gestured for them to follow her as she said, “This should be quite a successful night. Quite a successful night, indeed.”

For once, Charity had to agree with her great-aunt. As she stood by Lady Eloise's chair, which had been set next to the door of the grand room, and greeted their guests, she was sure she had been transported into a fairy tale. On her left, Joyce stood beside Leatrice Hoyle. Everything was as perfect as Lady Eloise could arrange it.

The
soirée
was less than an hour old, and already the large room was so crowded Charity could not see the painted murals on the far wall. Gilt brightened the light flowing down from the twin crystal chandeliers and washing over the swirl of guests. Music from the small orchestra set in front of the bowed windows reaching to the ceiling hinted at the performance they would enjoy before dinner. The aromas of the flowers in the garden wafted through the open French doors.

“Lady Eloise, this is, indeed, a pleasure.” A man bowed over the old woman's bejeweled fingers. His pointed chin and long nose brought to mind a bird of prey. When he straightened, Charity noted he was nearly as tall as Lord Blackburn, but his hair was as golden as Lady Thyra's.

Shock raced through her. She had thought she had banished the handsome lord and his elegant companion from her head. Yet, as the gentleman smiled at her, the memory of Lord Blackburn's bold grin swirled within her with a peculiar, pleasant warmth.

“Allow me to introduce my grandnieces,” Lady Eloise said, rising to her feet.

Charity tensed. This man must be of some import. No one else had earned this respect from her great-aunt.

“Charity and Joyce, this kind gentleman is Myles Hambleton, Duke of Rimsbury.”

Hearing her sister's gasp, Charity hurried to say, “Your Grace, I know Lady Eloise is delighted you could join us this evening.”

“Not as delighted as I.” He fumbled for her hand and bowed over it. She noted that his ears were tipped with crimson.

She waited for him to add more, but he hurried to bow over Joyce's hand. Her fear that she might have said something to embarrass him and gain herself a scold from Lady Eloise vanished when she heard the old woman chuckle.

“Very good, Charity,” she said, as she settled herself in her chair.

Charity was about to ask what she meant, but her gaze was caught by a motion at the door. She stared. She could not halt herself. Lord Blackburn's coat was ebony. Beneath a refined cravat, he wore a startlingly white waistcoat and breeches of the same pristine shade. A ring on his left hand glittered, but, once again, it was the radiance in his eyes that caught hers.

“Ah, Lord Blackburn,” her great-aunt said coolly. “What a surprise you would come to our simple evening! I have heard you have met my grandniece, Charity Stuart.”

He smiled at the reprimand in her tone. “To my great pleasure, madam. Miss Stuart, it is always a delight to see you.”

“Lord Blackburn,” she said, fighting the challenge of his eyes. They dared her to push aside the strictures and be as outspoken as she had been on the way from Bridgeton.

He lifted her fingers to his lips. She held her breath, not daring to let him suspect how that simple touch unnerved her. How many men had she greeted this evening? A score? Not a single one had caused this delicious flutter in her stomach.

“This is a pleasant way to begin what I hope shall be a pleasant evening,” he said, not releasing her hand.

“I hope you are right.” She drew her fingers back from his, which were rough from work. How odd! She had not expected an earl to have hands as coarse as a sailor's.

Homesickness washed over her, threatening to undo her as nothing else had. How she longed to savor the scent of salt and to hear the shouts of fishermen returning from their work upon the waters!

“Miss Stuart?”

She raised her eyes to Lord Blackburn's. A mistake, she knew as soon as that enchantment uncurled within her again. She must put an end to this before she embarrassed herself. “Lord Blackburn, may I introduce my sister, Miss Joyce Stuart?”

“Another pleasure.” He included her sister in his smile.

Joyce recoiled, shocking Charity.

“Joyce,” she whispered, jabbing her surreptitiously with her elbow.

“Good evening, my lord,” Joyce answered almost as lowly. When Charity poked her again, she smiled. “I hope you will enjoy your evening with us.”

“I intend to.”

Charity was amazed anew when she realized Lord Blackburn still stood before her. Exchanging words in Lady Eloise's earshot was something she wished to avoid, for she had been forewarned of her great-aunt's dislike of the earl. Mischief sparkled in his blue eyes, and she wondered if he intended to put her to the blush again.

“Miss Stuart, I would enjoy the opportunity to speak with you later,” he added.

“As you wish, my lord.” She closed her eyes in relief as the earl turned to speak with Leatrice who twittered at his terse greeting.

“Charity, you cannot be serious!” hissed her sister.

Charity's answer was foiled by the need to greet an elderly gentleman. As she introduced him to her sister, she looked about the room. She could not see where Lord Blackburn had vanished among the guests. She shivered. She did not relish the idea of having to tiptoe between her sister's peculiar trepidation and the fascination Lord Blackburn wove with such ease.

As soon as the music began, Charity discovered she had no need to worry about the earl's company. Booth Hoyle rushed to her side. “Miss Stuart, I have the honor of being your partner for the first dance this evening.”

Heads turned at his pompous announcement. Hoping she was not flushing the shade of the duke's ears, Charity put her hand on Mr. Hoyle's and let him lead her out into the middle of the floor. She thought her poise was secure until she saw Lord Blackburn. His grin warned her he found the whole situation absurd.

So did she, but she did not have Lord Blackburn's prestige and wealth that allowed him to laugh at the canons of Society. She must take a part in this Season if she wished to see her sister settled well.

Joyce was partnered by a handsome viscount whose name Charity forgot as soon as he spoke it. The country dance soon filled the room with swishes of silk and the light melody.

Mr. Hoyle was an enthusiastic dancer, and Charity decided she preferred when she did not have to engage him in conversation. The poor man faltered over his words in his eagerness to find the right one. She suspected Leatrice was already pressuring him to ask Charity to wed.

“Another dance?” he asked when the first ended.

“You must ask Joyce to dance as well.” When he smiled, guilt pinched her. Then she reminded herself Joyce was safe from his aspirations of marrying into this family. Lady Eloise would not settle for anyone less than a viscount for Joyce.

“Certainly,” came a deeper voice. Charity turned to see Lord Blackburn behind her. He held two glasses. “You don't want to overmaster this young lady, do you, Hoyle?”

Nodding, Mr. Hoyle rushed to Joyce who was talking with the dancers in her set.

“You owe me a large debt, Miss Stuart, for relieving you of his company,” Lord Blackburn continued with a laugh.

“I would have convinced Mr. Hoyle by myself.”

“I suspect you could persuade that block to do just about anything. However, I spoke of another.” He pointed toward the other side of the room. “I took note of Rimsbury heading this way with all the appearance of a man bent on a mission. You, Miss Stuart, were, I assume, his goal.”

“The duke has earned Lady Eloise's highest respect.”

“But I doubt if your slippers, which are so shiny and new, could have endured his attempts at dancing.” He chuckled again. “He cavorts like an overloaded ship rolling on a high wave.”

When he held out a glass, she took it. “Thank you. Does this mean you do not wish to dance?”

“I prefer to involve myself only in matters from which I can emerge the master. Dancing?” He shook his head. “May I as lief ask you to join me for some conversation and some fresh air over by the garden doors?”

“Lady Eloise wished both Joyce and me to serve as hostesses to see to our guests' needs, and—”

“I ask you to see to no needs of mine, Miss Stuart, other than my need to speak with you.”

Her cheeks burned. Oh, how she hated being ginger-hackled! She could not pretend to be indifferent to his brazen words. Taking a sip of the wine, she hoped it would cool her face and give her the chance to think of a suitable answer. The beginning of the next dance warned her she had no time to demur … even if she had wished to.

When he held out his arm, she let him draw her hand within it. The strength of his firm muscles was beguiling, and she easily matched her steps to his as he led her away from the center of the room. He paused by the open doors, not walking out onto the balcony over the garden. For that, she was grateful. Enough tongues would wag simply because she was speaking with the earl. She did not need to add to the gossip-mongers' tales by standing with him in the cool moonlight.

“A very successful
soirée
,” Lord Blackburn said as he put his empty glass on a table that was topped with a blue Chinese vase. “Lady Eloise may not always be able to come to the
ton
, so it must, therefore, attend her.”

“She has anticipated this with as much enthusiasm as Joyce.”

“And you?”

Charity smiled. “I would be an ungrateful wench if I did not appreciate all Lady Eloise has done for me.”

“But you don't like it.”

“Does it show so much?”

“I doubt if anyone else would take note.” His smile broadened. “No one else could conceive of you not being thrilled to be here to enjoy this evening. I fear it takes a kindred soul to see that.”

Her brow threaded with bafflement. “If you do not wish to be here, my lord, why did you come?”

“Partly to irritate your great-aunt.”

She laughed, unable to halt herself. “I believe you have succeeded. Her greeting was not warm.”

“I also came tonight,” he said, his smile disappearing, “to see how you fare. I recall your uneasiness when we first met.”

“I was worried about Joyce that evening.”

“And when we met in the Park, you were apprehensive as well.”

Biting her lip to keep from revealing the truth, she tried to force a laugh. It was a mistake. His eyes narrowed into cobalt slits, and she hurried to say, “I own to being unsettled by the grandeur of the Park.”