The Bride's Secret (3 page)

When she returned to her lodgings, Mrs. McKay met her at the Queensbury Street door, her eyes glowing triumphantly. “You've had a caller while you were out, Mrs. Ennis. I've asked Lord Rutledge to await your return in my parlor.”

Lord Rutledge
? Carlotta did not know anyone by that name. A puzzled look on her face, Carlotta followed her landlady into the parlor.

He stood when she entered. He was quite young—about her age, she guessed. From the top of his sandy head to the tips of his well polished Hessians, Lord Rutledge personified sturdy good looks. He wasn't as handsome as Gregory—but, then, no one was. Lord Rutledge did possess a tall, athletic body, wore well tailored clothing and shot her a grin that was as familiar as it was friendly. Where had she seen this man before?

“Lord Rutledge?” she said tentatively.

He stepped closer to her and swept into a bow. “Perhaps you would know me better were I in red regimentals. I am James Moore.”

How could she not have recognized the man whose disobedience had cost Stephen's life? He obviously enjoyed prime good health and discreetly displayed wealth, while poor, dear Stephen lay buried in foreign soil these six years past. Surely the man did not expect her to bear his company. What could she possibly have to say to him?
Life appears to have treated you well, my lord? Please leave my house because you are not welcome here?
She glanced from him to an obviously besotted Mrs. McKay and decided to tolerate him for a short period. She could not cause a scene in front of Mrs. McKay. It wouldn't do to get thrown out of her lodgings.

* * *

As soon as she had realized who he was, her entire demeanor had stiffened unnaturally. When she finally spoke, she could barely conceal the iciness in her voice. “Won't you come upstairs and have tea, my lord?”

James had expected a cool reception. He had deserved it. Actually, he had expected far worse. At least Mrs. Ennis had not bounced him from her residence. “I should be delighted,” he said.

Facing the lovely Carlotta Ennis for the first time in six years left James feeling like an awkward schoolboy at his first dance. She was as beautiful as he remembered. Still smelling of lavender and filling out the bodice of her lavender silk better than any woman he'd ever known, she had become slimmer, and something about the hollowness in her delicate face testified to a sorrow he felt responsible for.

Not without pleasure, he left behind the talkative Mrs. McKay, who now probably knew far more about him than Stephen Ennis's widow did, and he followed Carlotta up a dark wooden staircase to the second floor.

In her lodgings there, Carlotta addressed a youthful maid. “Please prepare a pot of tea, Peggy.”

It seemed to James the maid directed a scolding glance at her mistress. Was tea such an extravagance? James wondered.

He surveyed Mrs. Ennis's parlor. Furnished in the fashion popular a generation earlier, the room definitely did not measure up to what Carlotta must have expected when she had married the son of an earl. It pained James to see her living here in a house she did not even own.

She came back and sat on the faded brocade sopha across from him, then addressed him in a voice devoid of emotion. “Has an infirmity brought you to Bath, my lord?”

“No, Mrs. Ennis, I enjoy excellent health and was fortunate to escape unscathed from Waterloo.”

Since she made no response, he continued. “Actually, you are the reason I am here.”

She raised her brows. “Me?”

“You and your son. I am responsible for the two of you. Now that I've inherited, my fondest desire is to be of service to you.”

Her hands fisted in her lap. “I want nothing from you, and my son wants nothing from you.”

He had known this would be difficult, but he hadn't expected her harshness could wound so deeply.

Her maid entered the room and set a tray of tea cakes with a pot of freshly brewed tea on the table in front of them. Carlotta busied herself dispensing the sugar and pouring his tea. Even in her somewhat shabby surroundings, Carlotta Ennis was the most elegant creature he'd ever known. Her gilded porcelain teapot and floral cups were opulent yet dainty, like the woman who possessed them. The roses in her carpet bespoke her femininity though not nearly as thoroughly as her graceful person.

He tried not to stare at her lovely breasts—though it was not without difficulty. He, therefore, fixed his vision on her delicate hands as she prepared the tea. His gaze moved to her aquiline profile. Only stray fly-away tendrils of silken hair humanized an otherwise marble-like statue of perfection.

His mouth went dry, his voice hoarse. “Whether you want my assistance or not, Mrs. Ennis, I shall remain in Bath until such time as I determine I am not needed.”

The teacup clattered to the saucer as Carlotta directed an irate glance at James. “Stay in Bath if you like. It's nothing to me.”

He spoke almost to himself. “I've asked myself a thousand times why Captain Ennis—a husband and father—and not me.”

The anger seemed almost to drain from her graceful body as she shot him an arrogant look. “It must be as Lord Byron says.
Heaven gives its favorites early death
.”

James lowered his head. “Indeed. There was never a finer man than Captain Ennis.”

She handed James his tea. “And nothing you ever do will bring him back.”

“I'm neither fool enough to believe I could replace a husband and father, nor unconscionable enough not to try to help. May I see your little boy?”

She stiffened. “He doesn't live with me.”

Her words were like a blow to him. “Then . . .where is he?”

“In Yorkshire with my grandmother. Since she had four sons and also raised my brothers, and since she lives in the country, I believe Stevie is better off there with her than he would be with me.”

“I had hoped to. . .” he trailed off. How could he tell the boy's mother he had hoped to help raise the lad? “I suppose your grandfather is most happy to have a lad about.”

She coughed. “Unfortunately, my grandfather died before Stevie was born.”

“Then Stevie has no men to influence him?” James's agitated voice did not conceal his disappointment. By Jove, the boy needed a man, he thought angrily.

Her eyes lowered as she shook her head, and for the first time he detected emotion in her demeanor. Was it guilt?

“I've brought the lad a gift,” he said, reaching for a package he'd placed at his feet. “It's a toy sword, an exact replica of the one his father used in the Light.”

She made no move to accept it. “And will you tell my son that because of your negligence, his father is dead?”

He swallowed hard, letting the package drop. “I had hoped not to dredge up the past but to ensure hope for the future.”

Anger flashed in her eyes. “Stevie and I want nothing from you, my lord.”

He got to his feet. “Nevertheless, I will make myself available to you. I mean to be of assistance to you and the child, and I shall wait until the day I can. Every day I will sit within my carriage in front of your residence. You will learn to depend upon my reliability.” He spun away and headed for the door.

“I think not.” Carlotta spat the words at him.

* * *

He had not been gone five minutes when Mrs. McKay trudged up the stairs to Carlotta's chambers and pounded on the door.

“Yes?” Carlotta said, opening the door and gazing into her landlady's excited face.

This time Mrs. McKay made no move to cross the threshold. “I want to thank you for coming up with the money earlier than promised,” she said in wheezed gasps. “No one's ever paid me a year in advance before.”

Carlotta had no idea what the woman was talking about. Had she gone delusional? Then, in a burst of sudden revelation, Carlotta knew. “Lord Rutledge?”

The cagey woman nodded. “Such a fine gentleman to come all the way to Bath to repay the debt he owed your husband.”

Mrs. McKay had obviously been waiting, ear to her door, for James's departure so she could gloat about his generosity. Glancing over Mrs. McKay's shoulder, Carlotta impatiently asked, “Was there anything else, Mrs. McKay?”

“Mercy me, no. I've got to go take the waters.”

Carlotta watched her landlady hold tightly to the rail as she ambled down the poorly lit stairway, the slender Peggy pausing at the landing for the heavier woman to pass. Peggy flattened herself and smiled and seemed about to burst with excitement. Once she was face to face with her employer, she began to squeal. “Oh, madam, you won't believe our good fortune!”

Oh, but Carlotta could. “You've been to the greengrocer's?”

Peggy nodded, her broad smile revealing an airy gap between her front teeth.

“And our bill has been settled there.”

The girl's green eyes widened. “However did you know?”

“I expect you'll find all our bills have been paid. It seems Lord Rutledge is settling a large debt he owed my late husband.”

“The gent who had tea with you?”

Carlotta nodded as they entered the parlor, shutting the door behind them.

“You should see his fine carriage, ma'am. It's even nicer than Mr. Bl---”

“Peggy,” Carlotta snapped, “I should like for you to learn if my suspicions are correct. Go to all the tradesmen we owe money and find out the extent of our debt. I believe Lord Rutledge will have preceded you.”

“What a fine lord he must be!” Peggy said, turning on her soft kid slippers—a hand-me-down from Carlotta—and leaving the rooms let by her mistress.

Carlotta needed to be alone to ponder the afternoon's events. Seeing Mr. Moore—who was now Lord Rutledge—steeped her once again in the agony of grief, coldly reminding her of the words she would never be able to utter to the noble Stephen Ennis.

She pictured the nervous Lord Rutledge, and now that he was gone, she could admit a peculiar admiration for him. Not many men would have the courage to try to make amends. She'd been quite brutal to him.

If only she'd had more time to prepare for their meeting. As it was, his sudden appearance plunged her anew into the despair she'd experienced six years ago. The day she'd lost Stephen.

Without being aware of her actions, Carlotta moved to her bedchamber, removed the pelisse she was still wearing—then collapsed on her bed as tears cascaded down her cheeks. She felt as alone as she had that fateful day in Portugal. Perhaps she wouldn't be so lonely if the boy were with her. And if the boy were with her. . .mayhap through him she could gain absolution from his father. No doubt from the heavens that so favored him, Stephen looked down on the son who bore so strong a resemblance to him.

Chapter 3

The following morning Peggy answered a knock and faced a manservant presenting a lace-wrapped nosegay of colorful blooms. “From my master to your mistress,” he said. “And please tell Mrs. Ennis my master awaits her command from his carriage below.”

Peggy all but flew to the little round table where Carlotta was taking her breakfast beside the window. “It's just as I told you, ma'am. He's such a fine lord.” She handed her mistress the flowers, but Carlotta took no interest in them.

“Put them in water, if you will, Peggy.”

“Yes, ma'am, but I gots to say my piece, seeing as how he's gone and paid all your debts. Lord Rutledge is your guardian angel, if you asks me. As fine a lord as ever there was. He's waiting in his carriage below just so you can command him.”

Carlotta continued to peruse her morning paper. “I fear it will be a very long wait, indeed.” She pretended not to see the frown on Peggy's face as the young servant left to fetch water for the flowers. In Peggy's absence, Carlotta stole a glance through her lace curtains at the carriage below. She was not so unaffected as she liked to appear.

By the time she had finished her breakfast, another knock sounded at her door.
So he'd already grown impatient
. With a smug expression on her face, she crossed the room and swung open the door, only to gaze at a smiling and panting Mrs. McKay. Carlotta's gaze moved down to Mrs. McKay's non-existent waist, where a small nosegay was pinned.
Why that cad was playing all his trumps!

“Won't you come in?” Carlotta asked.

Sighing, Mrs. McKay waddled over to the sofa and plopped on it, removed her handkerchief and wiped her brow while her gaze travelled the room until she spotted Carlotta's flowers in a vase on the tea table. Her smile lost a trifle of its brightness.

“Lovely flowers you're wearing,” Carlotta said. “Lord Rutledge must have been quite taken with you.”

Mrs. McKay straightened and stretched out her neck, lifting one less roll from her sagging chin. “I daresay it's you he's smitten over, Mrs. Ennis. His man tells me his poor master won't move that fine carriage until he can do so with you.”

Carlotta lowered herself into a chair facing her landlady. “I assure you he's not smitten over me. He merely wants to be of service to me—to repay my husband's generosity to him.”

“I understand he's been most generous to you.”

“To the tradesmen I owe, you mean,” Carlotta said, her eyes narrow. “News travels quickly in Bath, does it not?”

“A business woman must stay well informed.”

“Of course.”

“And as a business woman, I have no objection to Lord Rutledge's carriage being in front of my establishment. I couldn't pay for better advertising. Why, half of Bath will be desirous of living here now, so close to nobility, you know.”

“I dare say you're right.”

“But I do feel sorry for Lord Rutledge,” Mrs. McKay said. “Could you not take a ride with him or something?”

“I could.”

“But?”

“But I'm still rather vexed with him over something that happened in the Peninsula.” No use tarnishing the man's reputation here by telling the woman how wretched that something was. He wasn't actually a bad man. He deserved a new start. As did she, she thought bitterly.

Not without effort, Mrs. McKay brought herself to a standing position. “I know it's none of my concern, but he's such a fine man. . .”

A wicked little smile flashed across Carlotta's face. “When he suitably demonstrates to me his reliability, I shall let him off the hook.”