An Heir of Deception (15 page)

Lord, Charlotte had forgotten what this was like; shopping without the need to watch her pennies. Being able to contemplate such lush fabrics. Not that she’d had this luxury all her life, but when she and Katie had come to live with James, he’d showered them with every possible creature comfort, clearly trying to make up for everything they’d ever lacked. But more important, he and Missy had made them feel loved for the first time in their lives.

“Lottie, do you not adore this color?” Her sister passed her a swatch, a silk velvet in a color one couldn’t precisely call pink or salmon but something in between.

Charlotte studied it closely, handling it with care. “It’s beautiful.” After stroking the fabric a moment longer, Charlotte handed it back to her. Before accepting it, Katie grasped her hand in hers. “Isn’t this so much fun?”

“The most grown-up fun I’ve had in ages,” Charlotte said with a laugh.

Katie smiled and held her hand a moment longer before relinquishing it and accepting the swatch.

By the time they departed the shop an hour and a half later having ordered a dozen dresses in total, stockings and various undergarments, a fresh crop of women were milling about in the store.

Ensconced in the landau, Missy removed her bonnet and placed it on the seat beside her. “You will have to take care should you ever have the misfortune to run into Mrs. Moreland again.”

“I believe they’ll all be much the same.”

Katie angled toward her on the seat. “Mrs. Moreland is Lady Mary Cranford’s cousin.”

Lady Mary. The woman the duchess wanted Alex to marry. Charlotte had to tamp down a stab of jealousy.

Missy’s gaze flitted between them. “I presume you told her?” she asked, addressing Katie.

When her sister nodded, Missy exhaled a heavy sigh.

No one spoke.

Desperate to change the subject and cover the strained silence, Charlotte asked, “Where was Madame Rousseau? I thought I was to meet her.” And she had thought it curious the shop’s proprietor hadn’t been the one to wait on Missy, who was, after all, the Countess of Windmere.

“Ah yes, Madame Rousseau. Well it would appear that the latest Madame Rousseau has left for a shop in London.”

Charlotte regarded her sister-in-law, brows drawn. “What do you mean the latest? Do you mean there is more than one?”

“Actually, there have been three in the past four years,” her sister said dryly.

“But—”

“Madame Rousseau is the name of the shop so every woman who purports to run it must assume the role of Madame Rousseau.”

None of it made sense and Charlotte’s confusion must have shown on her face because Missy went on to explain, “You see, my dear, Madame Rousseau is really owned by Miss Foster but very few people are privy to the truth.”

“Then why doesn’t she call herself Madame Rousseau?” Which would have been the most logical thing.

“Because most of the women in town wouldn’t patronize the shop if they knew she actually owned it instead of merely worked there as a seamstress,” Katie explained in a subdued voice.

“I see.” And she did. She saw it all too clearly now. How silly of her to not have grasped the reason at once.

“It is a sad fact, but one we must accept until things change.” Missy spoke as if she had no doubt things
would
one day change. “I know you’ll say none of this to anyone.”

“But of course.” Charlotte met her sister’s stare. “And how did you all come to hear about Miss Foster?”

“I met her when she worked for one of the other clothing shops.”

“Yes, but when Catherine learned of the deplorable conditions the poor woman had to work under, she appealed to James to find her employment elsewhere.” Missy gave Katie an approving nod.

“But after speaking to her, she admitted to secretly wanting her own dress shop. Since James owns the building, he offered to lease her the space after the current tenant moved out,” Katie said.

“I wouldn’t imagine she’d have the money to open a clothing shop,” Charlotte remarked. Miss Foster was a mulatto and a woman. Her disadvantages were many, her business prospects few.

“She didn’t. Alex gave her the money,” Missy said, brushing back wisps of hair from her forehead.

Charlotte knew her sister’s reasons for doing what she’d done. However, Alex was an entirely different story. “But why would Alex give her money? Was he acquainted with Miss Foster?” Although, she couldn’t imagine under which circumstances something like that would occur.

Katie shot Missy an indiscernible look before replying, “She once came to his aid and he never forgot her kindness.”

What could Miss Foster possibly have done for Alex? But as it was obvious neither woman intended to enlighten her, Charlotte reluctantly allowed the matter to drop.

After a pronounced pause, Katie said, “I don’t think Alex will court Lady Mary now.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised if he did not,” Missy agreed.

“Well it is certainly none of my affair who Alex chooses to court and marry.” Charlotte had no doubt Alex would agree with her on that.

“Are you saying you don’t care?” Katie asked.

“No, because who Alex marries will affect me in regards to Nicholas. What I’m saying is I have no say in it.”

“And your concern is only for how it affects your son?” Missy sent her a knowing look.

“My feelings in this do not matter and should not.”

“But they are your feelings, nonetheless. And you’re entitled to them without shame or guilt,” Missy said.

The discussion was quickly going the way of all things melancholy and that Charlotte could not take. They were supposed to be trying to keep her mind off the more unpleasant things she may soon have to face.

Determinedly, she clasped her gloved hands together and plopped them solidly on her lap. It was past time to advance topics and she conveyed it with all the subtlety of a dinner bell; unflinchingly direct and impossible to ignore while not offending the ears.

“Missy, you must tell me about the children. I can hardly believe how the twins have grown. And Lily is truly a stunningly beautiful child.” She felt no guilt in having taken such ruthless and unerring aim at Missy’s Achilles heel.

The following silence spoke as words never could. Charlotte watched as the two women’s gazes met and bounced. Katie delicately cleared her throat and pulled her pelisse tighter around her.

Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief—a faint mist of air in the chilly carriage—when her sister-in-law enthusiastically launched into an enumeration of all her children’s accomplishments.

The scent of wood shavings assailed his nostrils as Alex followed his friend, Viscount Creswell, into his workshop.

Shortly after his wedding, Creswell’s wife, Elizabeth had convinced him to turn one of the two still rooms at their residence into a room where he could comfortably work on his carvings.

In the years since, his friend’s hobby had grown to include the construction of beautiful pieces of furniture and various assortments of toys for his two children.

Planks of wood in varying sizes were stacked against the wall and on the sawdust-covered floor. The only place to sit was the stool on which Creswell usually worked.

Alex left him to it, choosing to lean against the table holding four planks of unvarnished wood.

“You look serious. This must be important,” Creswell said, settling onto the stool.

“Had it not been, I wouldn’t have called on you with so little notice.”

Alex had sent word to his friend by messenger, apprising him of his visit the day he’d set off to his father’s seat in Yorkshire. The business with his cousin hadn’t taken long but the journey there had taken the duration of an entire day. The following evening he’d arrived at Armstrong’s residence in Devon with his marriage papers in hand, where he’d been able to convince Armstrong that although it may not be the lawful thing to do, his signature as a witness was the right thing to do.

This morning, Alex had made his way to Creswell’s residence in Hampshire in Sussex. Upon securing his friend’s signature as the second witness to his fictitious wedding, he would return home.

Pushing his shirtsleeves up above his elbows, Creswell placed a short length of board on the table before him. He then removed one of the many saws from where it hung on a hook on the wall at his side.

“Well, what is it? Has it anything to do with the woman you’re thinking of courting?” his friend asked, glancing up at him.

“Charlotte has returned.”

The saw blade, barely touching the edge of the wooden board, instantly stilled in Creswell’s hand. Slowly, he placed it on the table.

“Charlotte?” he asked in a strangled voice.

Alex nodded as his thoughts flashed back to his own response when he’d first seen her standing in the foyer. He’d never come so close to being poleaxed in his life. His feeling of complete and utter euphoria had been so fleeting, it’d barely registered, was almost immediately replaced by rage.

“Yes, Charlotte. And she’s returned with my four-year-old son, Nicholas.”

Creswell’s eyes went as wide as Alex had ever seen them. He came carefully to his feet, the movement appearing deliberately tempered.

“What did you say?”

“Are you certain you wouldn’t rather remain seated?” Alex gestured to the abandoned wooden stool.

“No, I believe I’d be better off standing for this.” Creswell’s voice was firm.

Five minutes later, his friend knew everything.

“Did she tell you why she left?” Creswell appeared to still be suffering from shock as he sagged against the table and ran both hands through the sides of his dark hair.

“Why she left will not change a thing.”

Creswell blinked. “What the hell does that mean? Are you saying
you
don’t want to know?”

“It will not get me back the time I’ve lost with my son is what I’m saying.” Why was that so hard to understand?

“Well, no it won’t, but it would explain things. I would want to know. I know Elizabeth will want to know.”

Ignoring his friend’s remark, he asked, “Will you sign the marriage papers?”

Instead of answering, Creswell steadily regarded him with both hands braced on the edge of the table.

“Have you feelings for her?” he asked, breaking the silence.

Alex found himself shaking his head even before Creswell had uttered the final words.

“Are you certain?” His friends probing felt like the constant prick of a pin.

“Given what she’s done, how can you even ask that of me?”

“Remember, I was there after she left. I know what it did to you.”

“That was long ago.” Alex didn’t want to remember. He’d put that time in his life behind him. Why did Creswell have to bring it up?

“Good God, man, you almost—”

“
Dammit!
Can’t you leave it alone? But if you want the truth, when I first saw my son, I wanted to wring her neck.” He could
not
and would
not
feel anything else for her.

“Yet you are willing to marry her disliking her as you do?”

Alex didn’t like the knowing look in his friend’s eyes. He hated that Creswell knew him so well. Or at least thought he did. “I am doing it for my son. In the same situation, would you not also?”

Removing his hands from the table, Creswell stood up straight, his blue-green gaze level with Alex’s. “Yes I would,” he said solemnly.

“Then you will do it for me?”

“I will do it for your son.” His mouth quirked. “Although, if not for you and Rutherford, I greatly doubt Elizabeth and I would have married. I’m still in your debt for that.”

Alex offered him a faint smile. “Friends are never in debt to one another.”

Chapter Nine

Two days later, Alex had yet to make an appearance. Charlotte was frankly shocked he hadn’t come. For all his talk and threats of how much he wanted his son, he was being woefully neglectful of him.