Once Again a Bride (21 page)

Charlotte did not find the opera to her taste. She’d never been particularly musical, and it seemed that even the finest singing in the country was not going to change that. It sounded to her like senseless warbling, punctuated by screeching at the top of some very powerful lungs.

Or perhaps, truthfully, she was too preoccupied to enjoy any performance just now. She could think of nothing but Alec—his touch, and the wonder of it; what he thought of her now; and what would happen between them on his return. No matter how often she reminded herself that she had done as she wished, and damned the consequences, she worried that she’d forfeited his good opinion, destroyed her connection with his family. How could she have forgotten his sisters when she made her rash decision? If he forbade them to see her again, it would be a crushing blow. And Frances Cole, whom she had come to like very much; what would that aristocratic lady think of her if she found out? A trip to Greece was one thing; Charlotte’s escapade was quite, quite another.

These worries, joined with images of Alec’s dangerous errand, of riots and executions, of him stepping between furious factions and being caught in the crossfire, ruined her evening.

It did not help that Lady Isabella was distant and snappish all evening, seeming more interested in the champagne with which she had liberally stocked the opera box than in the music or conversation. She kept Edward’s glass constantly filled as well as her own and was disdainful when Charlotte refused a third. In fact, everything about the outing seemed pointless and irritating. The opera had scarcely begun when she was wishing she hadn’t accepted the invitation.

Thankfully, the ordeal was nearly over. The carriage clattered over the cobblestones, the sound a stark contrast to the silence within. Next to her, Lady Isabella leaned back against the cushions, her eyes closed. Edward lolled across from them, his handsome face marred by a loose smile. Charlotte wished that home was not so far away.

Lady Isabella sat up suddenly and peered out the carriage window. “Edward!” Her voice seemed loud in the closed space. “Tell the driver to turn here. I’m fagged to death. I must go home.”

Edward knocked on the roof and gave the instructions. Apparently, they’d been passing very near Lady Isabella’s neighborhood, because before Charlotte knew it they pulled up. Edward jumped out and handed his mother down. Neither of them paid their guest the least heed.

“I can go on alone,” Charlotte called through the open carriage door. She was so weary of Edward and his mother. “It’s such a distance. There’s no need for…”

Lady Isabella waved a hand without turning, as if she couldn’t be bothered. Edward, however, left his mother on the threshold as her front door opened and leapt back into the carriage. “Nonsense,” he said. “Must escort you home.” He took the place at Charlotte’s side, very close, and pulled the door shut. “Aren’t we very good friends?” He flung an arm around her shoulders as the vehicle started up again.

“Edward!”

“Oh, come, you’re a widow, no innocent deb.”

For a searing moment, Charlotte wondered if he had somehow found out about last night. But he couldn’t have. Even if Alec was not the man she thought him, he would not have confided in this cousin.

“Why not have a bit of fun?” he added. “What’s the harm?” Without warning, he dived forward and kissed her.

Suddenly, he was all clamping lips and roaming hands. Charlotte had a momentary awareness of how utterly different this was from Sir Alexander’s embrace. Then she was pushing him away. “Don’t! Stop it!”

He didn’t let go. “You can do as you like, you know.” The wine on his breath puffed in her face. “Take your pleasures where you find them. You even have your own house.”

He seemed oddly pleased by this, and Charlotte realized he liked the idea of a
cheap
mistress. “No! Let go of me.”

“Promise you I’m discreet. Very, very discreet. None discreet-er.” He laughed and grappled with her. Charlotte fought hard and finally pushed him away. She sprang up and pounded on the roof. “Stop! Stop the carriage!” The vehicle jerked as the driver slowed. Charlotte nearly fell.

“Whatsa matter with you?” Edward groped, trying to gather her into his arms; she slapped his hands away. “Anybody’d think… ah…” He pulled back a little to leer at her. “Ol’ Uncle Henry never touched you, did he? I wondered where he’d found the nerve.” His eyes gleamed in the dimness. “My God, a virgin widow. Little darling, you deserve to be introduced to love by a man who knows what he’s doing. And I promise you I do.” He lunged.

“Sir?” The driver called down.

Charlotte shoved Edward away with all her strength. His drunkenness helped her repel him. She jerked the door handle, tumbling from the carriage and nearly to the pavement. She stumbled a few steps, then found her feet. For an instant, she was disoriented. Where to go? Her home was still far away. All the houses nearby were dark. She had no choice but back the way they’d come. She picked up her skirts and began to run through the darkness toward Lady Isabella’s home. She heard Edward shouting at the driver to turn the carriage around.

Fortunately, a house farther down had left links guttering from the end of some party, and she could see well enough to go at top speed, though her evening slippers were not made for cobblestone. She considered pounding on that door, but she couldn’t risk it. She might find it full of men like Edward, drunk over their cards. She took advantage of the time needed to turn the carriage in the narrow street to flee.

They hadn’t turned since they dropped Lady Isabella, and they hadn’t been going very fast. Narrow brick house, Charlotte told herself; black lacquer door, two steps up; number fifty-three.

The torchlight faded behind her. She ran in near darkness, praying not to hit any loose cobbles. A house with lit windows came to her aid, shedding golden light on the street. Again, she thought of stopping; then she saw the number—sixty-five. She was close. Hoofbeats sounded at her back, and she ran on.

There it was, Lady Isabella’s town house, with a light upstairs. Charlotte jumped up the two steps and pounded on the door. The carriage was coming closer; she could see the lamps approaching. She pounded harder. A glow moved in the fanlight above the door. “Lady Isabella!” she called. “Please open the door!”

A lock clicked back. Charlotte saw Edward leaning out of the carriage window. When the door cracked open, she pushed it with all her strength.

“Here now.” A tall, dour-looking woman stumbled back as Charlotte slammed the door behind her. She recovered quickly and raised an oil lamp to illuminate her face. “You can’t come in here.”

Charlotte stood still, listening, afraid of a knock, of Edward’s blustering intrusion. Would his mother side with him or her? But after a moment, she caught the sound of carriage wheels moving off down the street and sagged with relief.

“You can’t come in,” repeated the woman.

She was dressed like an upper servant, probably Lady Isabella’s dresser, Charlotte thought. She would have waited up for her. “I’m sorry. I am Charlotte Wylde, a… a friend of Lady Isabella’s. Perhaps she has mentioned me? It was rather… an emergency.” She quailed at explaining exactly what kind.

“I don’t care,” the woman said with surprising rudeness. “You have to leave.”

Charlotte was suddenly exhausted. She had to sit down. “If you would send someone for a cab, I will go. But right now, I need…” She tried to walk around the woman, who stepped sideways to block her. “I’m sorry to be a bother,” she added with some annoyance. What was wrong with this woman? “I must sit for a moment.” Evading another sidestep, Charlotte moved to a dark archway and found herself facing a totally empty room. Puzzled, she stepped across the front hall and discovered another—bare floor and walls, no furniture, nothing but some ornate draperies blocking the view from outside.

“What are you doing here?” Lady Isabella stood on the stair landing, her hair down, wearing a lacy nightdress and wrapper.

“You have no furniture.” The words escaped Charlotte before she could stop them. It was just so odd.

Lady Isabella looked past her to the servant. Some silent communication passed between them.

“I beg your pardon for intruding this way, I was…” How did you explain to someone that her son had behaved like a blackguard? Charlotte felt a hand close around her upper arm.

“You look worn out,” said Lady Isabella. “Come upstairs and tell me what’s wrong.”

“Oh, no thank you, I only need a cab…”

“Nonsense.”

The dour servant urged Charlotte up the steps. She was unexpectedly strong, and Charlotte couldn’t shake her off. Above, the corridor was bare, and they passed two empty rooms before entering a luxurious bedchamber. The gown Lady Isabella had been wearing at the opera lay on the bed.

“Do sit down. Perhaps some of the hot milk, Martha?”

Charlotte was pushed into an armchair by the fire. “No… really… I just want to go home.” The servant went to a tray on the bedside table.

“Where is Edward?”

Charlotte turned to Lady Isabella. “He… he had too much champagne, I think. And…”

“Forgot himself? Oh, dear.” She gestured, and the servant handed Charlotte a glass of warm milk.

“I don’t want…”

“My dear, it will do you good. Please, this is all my fault. Have your milk, and then we will get you home.” Mistress and servant gazed at her, clearly not intending to move until she complied. It was all extraordinarily odd, but all Charlotte could think of was her own bedchamber, with Lucy waiting to help her to bed. The idea almost made her weep. She drained the glass. “Send someone out to find a cab, Martha.” Lady Isabella smiled. “It may take a little while. You just rest.”

The dour woman went out. Charlotte put her head back and passionately wished herself elsewhere. Why did Lady Isabella live in an unfurnished house? It made no sense, although it reminded her of… she couldn’t remember. She was so tired. The evening had been a strain, and last night had been… glorious but complicated. She was so worried about… so many things. And then Edward and the run through the dark streets. Her eyes closed. She opened them. It would be impolite to… The world wavered and faded to black.

***

“You lied to me,” Lucy said. Her voice broke; she couldn’t help it. She wanted to be angry, but it near broke her heart to think Ethan had slipped something past her, knowing full well she wouldn’t like it a bit. Here she was, as worried as she’d ever been in her life, and the one she ought to be able to turn to had gone sneaky.

“I didn’t lie,” Ethan began.

“You did the same thing as.” With all the coming and going between the two households, it had been certain that Lucy would learn Tom the coachman had left Sir Alexander at their house, alone with her mistress. Miss Charlotte had been acting right odd ever since then, too, though she denied it. Lucy couldn’t forgive Ethan for hiding the information from her. She’d been avoiding him. But this morning, anxiety had propelled her into a cab to Sir Alexander’s home. It was the Trasks’ day out, and she hadn’t known where else to turn. She’d hoped for Mrs. Wright, or even Cook; they’d have good sensible advice. But of course, her luck was out. Ethan had been the first person she saw, even though she’d come in the back door rather than knocking at the front. He’d swept her off to the empty study before she could argue. “I can’t trust you,” she added, desolation on top of fear.

“You can, Lucy. I swear on my life that you can.” Ethan put his hands on her shoulders. “Tell me what’s wrong!”

Lucy let out a sigh and slumped in his grasp. “Miss Charlotte didn’t come home from the opera last night. I’m afraid she’s lying dead in the street somewhere. Like
him.
” Lucy could no longer hold back her tears. Ethan enfolded her, and it felt too good to resist. “Your grandparents had already gone out when I looked in her bedchamber. I was lettin’ her sleep in, see, ’cause she told me yesterday not to wait up. And then it was just Tess and me, and Tess wringing her hands and having the vapors. I didn’t know what to…”

“There must be a reason. Who’d she go with then, Lucy? It’ll be all right.”

“L-lady Isabella.” Lucy found her head resting on his shoulder. It felt like home, even though he was a lying viper.

“Maybe she spent the night with her then.”

Lucy straightened, sniffed. Reluctantly, she stepped away from him. “Why would she do that?”

“Well… it was late… and… if Lady Isabella took ill or some such and needed help… and it’s a good drive out to your place.”

“Miss Charlotte would have sent word if she’d done anything like that.”

“’Course she would. But if everyone was asleep, see, when they got there…”

Lucy tried to believe him, then shook her head. “What about this morning then? You’re saying all Lady Isabella’s servants are still abed? And no one to bring a message?” Lucy’s fears rushed back. “Miss Charlotte wouldn’t worry us like this. She never would. Something’s wrong!”

The study door, not quite shut, moved on its hinges. Lizzy Wylde peered around the panels, face brimming with curiosity. “I thought I heard voices.” She came into the room. “Hullo, Lucy. Is Charlotte here so early?” The girl looked from Lucy to Ethan, speculation dawning in her eyes.

Lucy swallowed, wishing she could scrub the signs of tears from her cheeks, and dropped a small curtsy, “Miss Lizzy.” She didn’t know what else to say. She’d seen enough of the youngest Wylde sister to be wary of setting her loose on a problem, even if she’d been of an age to help.

Lizzy looked from Ethan to Lucy. “
Is
Charlotte here?”

“N-no, miss. I was just… I came to…”

“Ethan has not gotten you ‘in trouble,’ has he?” Her glance from one to the other of them was bright as a wren’s. It was clear she had no idea what the phrase actually meant.

Ethan went stiff as a board, his eyes big and glassy with horror. Lucy might have giggled if she hadn’t been so worried. “No, miss… uh… nothing like that. I came because I’m worried about Miss Charlotte.”

“Is she ill? What’s wrong?”

“More a mix-up, like,” blurted Ethan. “I’ll go over to Lady Isabella’s and inquire, shall I?”