Realm 06 - A Touch of Love (27 page)

Miss Whisenant ventured, “My brother believes these groups only wish to create strife. They hold no true cause for their manipulations.”

“No cause?” Mrs. Warren said in skepticism. “What of mass unemployment? Although the development of machinery has brought products to the marketplace in a more efficient time frame and even at a lower cost, we have lost the value of the worker. Men without occupations cannot afford even the most economically priced item.” She paused but briefly, and Carter suspected she had thought long and hard on the issues facing England. “Permit me to use a very feminine example of what I speak. The lace on this gown, for instance, with its small imperfections is superior to one produced by the machines. Also, it provides girls, without a future otherwise, a skill upon which to define their existence.”

She glanced to Carter as if seeking his permission to continue. When he nodded his encouragement, Mrs. Warren added, “The Corn Laws, which were meant to protect England from outside monopolies, have driven the price of bread beyond the reach of many working poor. The repeal of the Income Tax was another government idea, which held good intentions, but which has saddled the nation with rising prices for basic goods and services. And last year’s unusual spring and summer have left the country short of supplies and farmers struggling to meet mortgages and rents.”

Mr. Linton accused, “Then you would offer asylum to those who turn against the government? You speak treason, Mrs. Warren.”

Carter meant to intercede, but the lady held her own; he was quite proud of her. The smile never left her lips, and Carter recognized how this spectacular woman had built a world around caring for others. “I love this country, Mr. Linton. My mother and I spent nearly two decades following the drum. I lost both my husband and my father in this last great war, and I will admit my experiences have colored my views.

“A war holds terrors one never shares with those who have not been involved. The men who stood up to tyranny deserve to return to an England that welcomes them with more than a hero’s parade. They deserve to return to a meaningful occupation and a loving family. And if I possessed the means to
improve their lots, I would do so gladly. I would wish our country’s government would do likewise. If those are treasonous thoughts, I must ask your forgiveness for my father, the late Colonel Roderick Rightnour, taught me to value the sacrifices of England’s most noble servants.

“Since my return to England as Captain Warren’s widow, I have had an eyeopening schooling in the difficulties of the working poor. My limited income often forces me to choose between coal and cabbage. It is not a pleasant experience, Sir.” She was nothing if not brutally honest.

Carter noticed how some at the table shifted uncomfortably with her disclosure, but he found her courage absolutely magnificent. She continued, “There are not many things I know with absolute certainty, Mr. Linton, but one idea rings true. The business of war makes a country strong economically. Jobs and reasonable wages await any man willing to put in a fair day’s work. Yet, the reality of what happens when the war ends and the celebrations cease defines a country. In that matter, I pray England is as great as we Her citizens believe Her to be. “

“M
ay I request the honor of this dance, Mrs. Warren?” Carter had looked on as several in his sister’s party had openly shunned the woman, and he meant to mark her with his approval. His brother, McLauren, and Mr. Monroe had all stood up with her, but the lady’s earlier conquest of Mr. Whisenant had faded with her supper conversation. In his opinion, she had spoken quite eloquently, but he suspected Whisenant preferred his women to model his sister, Miss Whisenant, whose timid behavior had irritated Carter to no end. Yet, he was of sterner stuff. No weak-kneed sycophants for him. His mother had insisted each of his sisters should speak her mind, and the baroness’s influence had defined his taste in women.

A strange expression crossed her countenance, and several seconds passed before she replied. “Are you certain, Sir Carter? My earlier speech did not leave your employer in a positive light or so Lord McLauren has informed me.”

Carter glanced to his brother in marriage. He was not surprised by the group’s reaction to her bold statements. “The earl does not speak for me. I suspect McLauren mimics Louisa’s concern for her younger brother, but I assure you I admired your stance.”

At his welcoming tone, the lady’s shoulders relaxed. She smiled in response, and every muscle in Carter’s body came to attention, especially the one that thought her irresistible. He forced himself to concentrate on his breathing.
Not so tense
, he chastised. “If you insist, Sir Carter.” She placed her gloved fingers in his open palm.

As much as he wished to control his feelings, his breath hitched, and a smile crossed his lips. “Insistence is my specialty, Mrs. Warren.” He led her to the makeshift dance floor. Louisa had cleared the music room of extra furniture and had hired the local music tutor to provide the entertainment. As the man ran his fingers across the pianoforte, Carter took her in his arms. “Do you waltz?”

Her expression was inscrutable. Shrugging a shoulder, she said, “I suppose we shall discover together. I know the steps, but Captain Warren was never much of a dancer.”

Carter laughed lightly. “I retract my earlier statement: Dancing is my specialty.”

“Vain, they name is Sir Carter Lowery,” she teased.

He enjoyed her this way, a vibrant, sensual woman being playful. “Guard thy tongue, my Dear, or I may purposely present your poor toes with a heavy stomp.”

“An excellent dancer never stomps, Sir Carter,” Mrs. Warren countered. “In contrast, he makes a poor partner appear graceful.”

“As you wish, my Dear.” He turned her into a light embrace–his hand resting at her waist. Tentatively, she placed her gloved hand upon his shoulder. He would never confess to having slipped the music master a handful of coins to play a waltz, but the feel of her hand on the seam of his jacket announced the payment worth every penny. “I am a bit surprised you never possessed the opportunity to waltz. Even if Captain Warren preferred only to observe, I cannot imagine there being a lack of young officers who would not have gladly led you about the dance floor.” The music began, and Carter guided her into the opening steps.

“Mr. Warren was quite adamant in his disapproval,” she murmured.

A frown crossed her expression when she stumbled on the turn, and Carter caught her a bit tighter. “Count the steps in your head,” he whispered close to her ear. “But do not concentrate so heavily. Instead, trust me. I will never fail you.”

As if those were the words the lady required, Mrs. Warren gracefully followed his lead. For Carter, it was a moment like none he had ever experienced. His body coursed with awareness, as if this woman had etched her name on his soul. He would never deny the connection. Could not deny it. However, recognizing his desire for Lucinda Warren and acting upon it were two different things. Although he admired and even concurred with many of her opinions regarding a country’s obligations to its poorest citizens, Carter was an agent of the Crown, and to tie himself intimately to someone who spoke of a different future than did the Home Office would be occupational suicide.
Of course
, he told his warring mind,
when you accepted a position to serve England, the Realm was not under the Home Secretary’s oversight
.

Carter returned to his earlier question. “Was I too presumptuous when I asked of your lack of experience in the latest dances and styles. If I offend you in my curiosity, please tell me so at once.”

She glanced up at him. He noted how she worried her bottom lip. Finally, she said so softly Carter had to listen with all his being to hear. “Captain Warren thought me a terrible flirt. My husband found my impetuous nature frustrating. The captain often criticized my easy tongue, and in order to know marital peace, I made an effort not to displease him. A rout would have been quite awkward as Mr. Warren served as one of my father’s officers.”

Carter’s previous desire to know Matthew Warren long enough to beat the man senseless had returned. Her words had gone a long way in explaining the inconsistencies he had observed in Mrs. Warren’s personality. One moment, the lady spoke freely to those about her, and the next, she held herself in private, as if she expected a sound chastisement. Carter said softly, “It was Captain Warren’s loss to have held a beautiful light and not to have nourished it. Despite my consternation with the captain’s actions, I am elated with the knowledge of being the first to lead you through a waltz.”

She presented him a watery smile, but her eyes spoke of a bit of devilment. The combination was quite enticing. “No more than I, Sir Carter.”

“Then permit me to demonstrate what my dance tutor playfully referred to as a ‘double bubble.’”

Mrs. Warren feigned alarm, but her melodic giggle said she enjoyed his teasing. “A double bubble? Does your wordy description mean my toes will know pain?”

Carter leaned his head back to laugh heartily. “You will observe, my Dear, that what you termed as my vanity is truly my incomparable expertise,” he declared as he spun her first one way and then executed a reverse, which brought them closer. Mrs. Warren’s nervous snigger grew into a tinkling laugh– a laugh Carter found quite addictive.

Early Monday morning, three carriages set a course for Derbyshire. Carter had sent Mr. Monroe to Suffolk to pursue additional clues on the smuggling
investigation. Much to Carter’s perturbation, the man had offered Mrs. Warren a tender farewell.

“Are there children at Blake’s Run?” Simon asked as the coach made its way north and west.

Carter looked on as the boy absent-mindedly rotated a wooden-and-string toy in his left hand. The child had not been happy to leave Maryborne’s nursery: While in Lincolnshire, Simon had taken on the role of Lisette’s defender against the older Ethan, a characteristic Carter had admired. It reminded Carter of his childhood, those times when he had defended his sisters against the neighborhood’s worst ruffians.

“If you ask if Lord and Lady Hellsman have children awaiting their return, they do not. Their marriage is too new, but there are plenty of children about the estate.”

Simon asked hesitantly, “Shall I be permitted to play with them?”

Carter thought about the request. “I see no reason you should not enjoy time with Cook’s son or with some of the younger grooms. You will have freedom to roam the manicured park. We live in Derbyshire, near the Dark Peak. The land is wilder than what you have experienced in Kent. You must practice caution until you recognize the dangers, but do not fear God’s hand in creating the land.”

The boy glanced to where Mrs. Warren napped in the rocking coach. Carter had thought her delightfully alluring. The shadow of her long lashes resting upon her cheeks held him captive. Simon leaned forward to whisper, “Why does no one speak to me of God? Does everyone think me a heathen?”

Carter had never heard a child speak so maturely. He wondered where the boy had heard the word “heathen” and what a child could know of prejudice. It bothered him to think Simon might have experienced shame. “You wish to speak of God?” Again, the boy glanced tentatively at Mrs. Warren, but he nodded agreeably. “Very well.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “When I was younger, my mother was one to say God was everywhere, and He meant something different to each man who walked the earth.” He reached for the toy, an unusual contraption he had sent to Ethan when he was still in the East. The fact his nephew had readily parted with the gift both pleased, as well as disappointed Carter.

“Take this toy, for example. I found in an Indian marketplace and sent it to Lord McLauren upon Ethan’s birth. Some in the East call it ‘Gennai’s
Wondrous Click-Clack.’” Simon giggled at the odd-sounding name. “Later, when I returned to England, an American diplomat proudly informed me the proper name for the toy was ‘Jacob’s Ladder.’”

The boy frowned dramatically. “Surely,” Carter continued, “you know the story of the Biblical ladder to Heaven.”

“Sulam Yaskov,” the boy murmured.