Once Again a Bride (12 page)

“The cab’s waiting,” James called up the stairs. “Says his horse is getting cold.”

Ethan gave her shoulders a last squeeze and released her. “Don’t you worry now.” He picked up her bag as if it weighed nothing. Dazed, Lucy followed him down the steps. She felt even more dejected. Whatever happened, she was unlikely to see Ethan Trask again.

Charlotte hunched in the shabby armchair in her old bedchamber, oblivious to the chill of the fireless room. She had the worst headache of her life and felt sick, but her real hurts weren’t physical. Sir Alexander had sat there and let that man accuse her of murder. The doubt in his eyes when she’d asked him if he believed it… She drew up her knees and curled into an aching ball. It had raked her soul, sent her flying out of his house without a cloak, with barely enough in her pocket to pay for a cab, and nowhere to go but the place where she’d been desperately unhappy. That fit, at least, she thought.

She’d ejected the men stationed here with a fierceness that clearly startled them, and a note to Lucy to pack her things and follow. She couldn’t remember if she’d told Ethan that when she fled. She’d locked the door and collapsed in this chair to… wallow. Charlotte released her knees and slowly straightened. All right. Yes, she was indulging in self-pity. Didn’t she have reason enough? Wasn’t she permitted a little regret? But if she’d learned one thing since leaving her childhood home it was this: feeling sorry for yourself would eat you alive, if you let it.

Charlotte stared at the ugly wallpaper and clenched her fists. How dared he believe that odious little man? She’d lived in Sir Alexander’s house, talked with him, sat at dinner with him. How could he imagine…? And she’d kissed him! Charlotte rested her pounding head in her hands. Why had she kissed him?

A hint of the bubbling exhilaration of that moment came back to her. She’d been buzzing from the evening’s freedom, from the taste of society and gaiety after an arid, desolate year. And then there he was—unexpected, crackling with emotion, unbearably attractive. It had seemed so natural, so necessary to fling her arms around him and pull his lips down to hers. A shiver went through her at the memory of that amazing sensation. Even now, when she despised him, she longed to feel it again.

But she wouldn’t.

Charlotte raised her head. Because she would never—never—forgive Sir Alexander Wylde. Not if he crawled on his knees from his oh-so-fashionable neighborhood to her reviled one, not if he announced to the world that he was an idiot, not if he begged, hat in hand. If she saw him in the street, she would cut him dead. Not that she’d encounter him, living out here in the hinterlands, as the high-nosed
ton
saw it. But it was the principle of the thing. Yes. That was settled; nothing could be clearer. Sir Alexander Wylde was out of her life.

If only the pounding in her head… no, it wasn’t the headache. Someone was knocking on the front door. Charlotte got up and moved quietly down the stairs.

“Miss Charlotte,” Lucy called. “Miss Charlotte, it’s me.” Charlotte undid the locks, and Lucy rushed in. “Oh, Miss Charlotte, whatever happened? Why did you run off?”

Charlotte said nothing. She could not tell even Lucy about being accused of murder. She closed the front door and relocked it.

“What a to-do. Miss Anne and Miss Lizzy wanting to know why you’d gone, and Sir Alexander mean as a bear with a sore head.”

“We quarreled,” she replied tersely. “My things?”

“Susan promised to make sure they were all sent. I didn’t want to wait, miss, and leave you here alone.”

“Thank you, Lucy.” The sympathy in her maid’s face threatened to erode her anger, and Charlotte blinked back tears. She was very grateful for Lucy, her staunch companion through so much, but she couldn’t answer the questions in her eyes right now. “We’ll need to hire some staff,” she said to divert her.

“We’re staying then?” Lucy sounded more resigned than surprised.

“Yes. Nobody has come back to rob the place in all this time. I’m sure it’s safe.” She hardly cared. “We can’t afford many—a cook, perhaps a housemaid, though I think it would be wiser to have a manservant.”

“Yes, miss.”

Her spurt of angry energy was ebbing. Her room, the armchair, solitude, beckoned. “I don’t know just how…”

“E… some of the staff over at Sir Alexander’s house might have some… recommendations, like. They’re going to send word.”

“You asked them? Lucy, you are a gem.” All the better because these servants would have heard about the robbery and its aftermath; she wouldn’t have to explain or, dishonestly, not mention it. It was a great relief.

Charlotte’s stomach roiled, and she became more conscious of her various pains. “Do you suppose we have anything in the house for a headache?”

“I’ll go and see,” Lucy said.

***

Ethan leaned over his aunt’s kitchen table, a cup of tea dwarfed in his big hands. He realized he was clutching it so hard it was like to break, and he eased off. But he couldn’t be rid of the urgency that’d gripped him since saying good-bye to Lucy. She’d been so scared. The fear and sadness in her eyes had shaken Ethan to the core. He wanted to hit things. He wanted the power to make the world different. He felt he would do anything—anything—to protect Lucy, to save her from being alone and afraid. He’d abandoned his post with a muttered excuse. And now, here in his aunt’s home above the grocery, the need to make people listen had rendered him almost incoherent.

He faced his puzzled grandparents across the table. John and Edith Trask had been a solid anchor and a refuge all his life. When he couldn’t get on with his father and couldn’t go out into the forest, their cottage was his haven. Gran was a champion cook, and her home was always full of luscious things to eat. Ethan got his size and his even temperament from Grandad, who’d been head gardener at Sir Alexander’s country place. He’d counted on them all his life. But this time they couldn’t seem to understand.

“What’s so special about this girl?” asked his Aunt Liv. She’d settled her bulk beside him, and he could hardly ask her to leave her own kitchen. She liked to tease him, though, and always found the tenderest place to poke. She clearly was not going to miss this conversation.

“She’s all alone…” What could he say—that Lucy was brave, spirited, alluring as other girls had never been? When had he even decided those things himself?

“We’d like to help, but we’re heading back to Derbyshire next week,” Gran said. “You know how lucky we are to have our own cottage and not to be needing to work away from home. There’s things that need to be done there.”

“I know.” Ethan stared into his tea. His grandparents had labored all their lives, and accumulated enough to lease their own patch of land. It was an admirable achievement. They deserved to be left to enjoy it. Yet he couldn’t help asking them for more.

“You thinking seriously of this girl?” asked his aunt. “You en’t in a position to be doing that, young Ethan.”

She was right. And it made no difference at all. “It’d be temporary, like,” he said. “I’ll ask around, find someone else as soon as may be.” But no one else would be as good, he realized. He wanted people he could trust to look after Lucy. “It’s just… they need somebody right away. She’s… they’re all alone in that house.”

“Where there’s been criminals breaking in,” his grandmother added.

Ethan felt mean and small. How could he ask the two of them, who were getting on in years, after all, to expose themselves to danger? “Just the once,” he answered. “And nothing since. Sir Alexander reckons there won’t be another try.” He
had
heard him say that, speaking to one of the men he’d set guarding the place when he’d come by for orders.

“Tom’s looking after our garden at home,” said Grandad. It was the first time he’d spoken since Ethan arrived. “We could spare a bit more time.”

Gran met his eyes, and they shared a moment of the silent communication that forty years of marriage had brought. She shook her head. But it was resigned amusement, not a no. “Mind you do ask around, Ethan, and find someone else,” was all she said. “We need to be going home.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Relief coursed through him, and gratitude. They’d never let him down.

Aunt Liv, now that it was decided, got into the spirit of the thing. “You could hire on Tess Hopkins to help out. She lost her position because the young gentleman at her last place wouldn’t leave her alone. And her barely fifteen!” She grimaced in disgust. “There’s no young men in this house?”

“No!” Ethan said.

Gran’s eyebrows went up at the fierceness of his tone.

“It’d be good for Tess. Get her back on her feet, like. And she could use the training.” Gran gave her a look. “I’m just saying.” Aunt Liv grinned. “Nobody better to train up the young ’ens than you, Mum.”

“Oh, aye, butter me up before you send me off to work.” But you could tell Gran was flattered by the comment.

And so it was settled. His grandparents would make their way to the house later in the day, giving Ethan time to send word of their arrival. “Thanks,” said Ethan. He couldn’t help it that his voice shook. Nor that his family obviously noticed.

***

The following morning, Charlotte told herself she was fully recovered, even though she’d slept poorly. And when she followed the tantalizing scent of bacon down to the basement kitchen, she found that, amazingly, she had a staff, as well as breakfast. A sturdy, gray-haired woman stood over the iron stove, in the midst of explaining something to the young blond girl next to her. A giant of a man rose from a chair at the kitchen table as Charlotte entered, his white hair nearly brushing the ceiling beam. Lucy smiled from the corner as if she had performed a magic trick, which she had. “This is Mr. and Mrs. Trask,” she said. “And Tess Hopkins.”

The latter bobbed a nervous curtsy as the Trasks nodded to her. Clearly they were a very superior sort of servant—miraculously so. They had a weight and presence that declared they knew exactly what to do and how to do it. “You are all very welcome,” Charlotte said. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

The Trasks nodded again. “Where were you wanting breakfast served, ma’am?” said Mrs. Trask. “The dining room, seemingly…”

“Yes, it is a little odd,” Charlotte acknowledged. “The main floor of the house is all taken up with my… late husband’s antiquities collection. Those rooms…” It seemed too much to explain. The dining table was covered with statuary. “…can’t be disturbed. I don’t really live… There is a room on the second floor where I used to… where I dine, and another set up as a drawing room. My bedchamber is on the third floor.” What would the Trasks think of this eccentric household? They must have come from some much superior place. But neither showed any reaction.

“I showed Tess the room next to me,” Lucy put in, which meant she’d returned to her former chamber on the top floor. “Mr. Trask was thinking they’d stay down here.”

“Seems tight and dry,” said the giant, smiling down at her. There was something very comforting about him, even beyond his size.

The basement housed the servants’ parlor and another large room as well as the kitchen and storeroom. High windows provided light. They could take a bed and other furnishings from an unused bedchamber. “If you’re sure that is what you would like?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mrs. Trask confirmed.

“Very well. I can show you…”

“No need, ma’am. We’ll take care of it. I’ll send young Tess up with a breakfast tray, shall I?”

The older woman’s calm competence soothed her wounded spirit. “Thank you. That would be… lovely.” And it was. The food was delicious. The young housemaid was shyly pleasant. It seemed that Charlotte had nothing to worry about but the wreck of all her life’s prospects.

She had finished eating and begun to goad herself to do something useful when Tess returned with the news that she had visitors. “Two young ladies, ma’am. Said they don’t have no… any cards.” She paused, then carefully repeated, “Miss Anne and Miss Elizabeth Wylde.”

Charlotte’s pulse accelerated. “Bring them up to the drawing room, please, Tess.” She barely got there ahead of them.

“Charlotte, what has happened?” said Anne as she swept in.

Lizzy, behind her, set a wicker hamper by the door and rushed forward. “Why did you run away?” she said. “It took us forever to find your address. I had to rifle Alec’s papers, on his desk! Ethan heard you shout at him.” They both gazed at her, expectant.

Charlotte was happy to see them, but she didn’t know what to say. She shook her head.

“But you must tell us, so that we can make it all right, and you can come back,” Lizzy exclaimed. She plumped down on the aged sofa, bounced once, and looked at the cushions disapprovingly.

“I was always only visiting, Lizzy. And that is… over now. It’s time I got my own household in order.” It sounded stiff. Yet what else was there to say? “Do sit down, Anne.”

“But…”

“Charlotte has her own home to think of,” interrupted Anne, with a searching look that promised she hadn’t really dropped the subject.

Lizzy looked mutinous, then heaved a great sigh. She looked around the room as Anne sat in the shabby armchair. “Why do you sit up here? All the best rooms are downstairs.”

“Lizzy,” admonished Anne.

“Well, they are.”

“Your uncle’s collection is housed there, and it must stay in place, according to his will. So I… established myself up here.”

“It’s so small.”

Charlotte realized that she’d stopped really seeing the room, indeed the whole house, long ago. She’d had no power to change anything, and her opinions were always mocked. It became easier to narrow her vision down to nothing.

Her drawing room
was
small. It had been the boudoir of some eighteenth-century mistress of the house, and there was barely room for the small sofa and two armchairs. Bland china figurines cluttered the mantel; she’d never liked the faded flowery print of the curtains—blowsy and pink. Compared with the sisters’ elegant home, it was plain, charmless, and neglected.

“It’s very cozy,” said Anne, frowning at her younger sister.

Charlotte became aware of an odd scratching sound. Were there mice, too, she wondered despairingly? But the noise seemed to be coming from the hamper in the corner. “What is…?”

Lizzy grimaced. “I can’t leave Callie alone at our house.”

“Callie was discovered under a cupboard in the kitchen gnawing a joint of beef,” explained Anne, poker-faced. “A very costly joint of beef.”