Realm 06 - A Touch of Love (29 page)

“Brother and sister,” she announced after a brief pause.

Carter had preferred the idea of a pretend marriage; he had hoped to remain by Mrs. Warren’s side without censure. “Brother and sister, it is. I assume you have packed items for overnight.”

She granted him a slight nod of her head before asking, “Have you spoken to Lord Hellsman? Shall it be a nuisance to leave Simon behind?”

Carter good-naturedly patted the back of her hand. “The child will do well, even in our absence.”

Within a half hour, they were on the road again. From his place upon the rear-facing seat, Carter watched her carefully. Last evening, as he spoke with Lawrence regarding his plans, he had marveled at what a wonderful sport Mrs. Warren had been. Throughout the chaos surrounding this journey, she had never complained. The lady had trusted him implicitly. From London to Kent to Suffolk to Lincolnshire to Derbyshire, and now to Manchester, and nary a word of grievance. No woman of the
ton
would have considered even being uprooted one time, but Mrs. Warren had readily done so six times in less than one month, and with each situation, the lady had blended in with those she encountered. It was quite remarkable.

“Why are you smiling?” she asked with a carefree tone.

Carter schooled his expression. “Just considering the pleasure of seeing Manchester with a beautiful woman on my arm.”

“A beautiful
sister
,” she corrected.

The corners of his lips turned upward. “Amazingly, a man may possess a bevy of beautiful sisters. Some of which he discovers in the oddest of places.”

“Thank you for agreeing to speak with us,” Carter said as Isaac Cohen slid into the place beside him. The man appeared oddly amused by being summoned to the private dining room of the Capalett Inn on the main road between Manchester and Staffordshire. When they had arrived in the Manchester area, Carter had called in at Chesterfield Manor. Charles Morton, Baron Ashton, had quickly located a leader of the local Sephardic community.

“The baron is an excellent patron of many of my compatriots, as well as an honorable man.”

Carter’s gaze spoke his earnestness, and the man presented him an almost imperceptible nod in response. “My sister and I have an unusual predicament, and we require both your assistance and your discretion.”

Rigid with disapproval, Cohen’s eyebrow rose in curiosity, but he said, “I would be pleased to be of service, Mr. Patrick.” It was the name upon which Carter and Mrs. Warren had agreed.

Carter articulated the tale he had previously constructed. “I am a war veteran, Mr. Cohen, having served on several fronts, but before I entered the service, my sister and I followed our father from Portugal and Spain across the European continent.” A knot of eager anticipation tightened in Carter’s stomach as the stranger nodded his encouragement. “After one of the bloodier battles in 1812, my sister discovered a small babe, which was sheltered in a recessed area of one of the few remaining cottages of a burned out village. We used our limited resources to discover the child’s family, but as the war raged onward, we could do nothing less than to take the child with us. Since the war’s end, I have used my connections to the government to review every record of the aftermath of that particular campaign to locate the child’s family.” His mouth compressed in a frown. “The boy is five years of age, and we are willing to assume his care, but if he has family, then it would be best to place him with those with whom he serves a heritage. Even now, it will be difficult for the boy to call others family, but it would be unfair to wait until he is older.”

Cohen asked with a mischievous grin. “I assume the child is Jewish.”

Carter nodded, forcing a grateful smile. “Yes, I should have made the situation clearer. We were near a village outside of Salamanca at the time. Our enemy burned crops and everything in sight before the British-Portuguese forces under Graham drove them from the area. Most of the British troops gave pursuit, but my father’s company was to push the straggling French sympathizers toward the prisoner ships.”

“You were part of the force?”

“A lieutenant.” Carter spoke in half-truths. In reality, he had finished up university in 1810 and had not entered his military service until 1813.

“And this was Spain?”

Was that suspicion Carter heard in the man’s tone? Cohen sounded almost protective. “Yes,” he said simply. “Realizing the child is Spanish is the basis of our seeking your advice. We must discover where members of your race from Algeciras might have settled in England.”

If Cohen meant for Carter to question his decision to seek this man’s assistance, he succeeded. “My people have worked hard to assimilate into English society, Mr. Patrick. Since the early 1700s, our schools have taught our children English, and many of our religious services are offered an English translation.” Cohen paused before saying, “The Jewish world has known wars in central Europe, massacres in Poland, and expulsion from Bohemia, as well as daily persecutions elsewhere. We have come to England and have taken occupations no one else would do, just to demonstrate our usefulness.”

Carter interrupted, “I assure you, Mr. Cohen, I mean no petty torment. If the boy remains as part of our family, he will be educated as a gentleman, but more importantly, the child will know the conversion of the Church of England. This will be our last effort to locate the boy’s family. After this, he will permanently become a Patrick.”

“But not have the look of a Patrick,” Cohen said wryly.

Carter scowled, “No, but it is our God-spoken responsibility to see to the child’s education.”

Cohen studied their expressions, “And you feel likewise, Miss Patrick?”

Mrs. Warren shifted in her seat, but her voice was steady. “The boy has become a cherished member of our family, Mr. Cohen.”

The man nodded curtly. “This will be no easy task, Mr. Patrick. Not counting those in London there are established Jewish communities in nearly every market town, seaport, and provincial center in England, as well as a sprinkling of families throughout most rural villages. Portsmouth and Plymouth are likely, but we could also be looking to Ipswich, Falmouth, Exeter, or a dozen other settlements. I will place inquires as to where those from Salamanca might have settled. How may I reach you?” He retrieved his hat from the empty chair.

Carter said casually, “I will leave my directions with Baron Ashton.” He and Cohen stood together. Carter extended his hand in earnest gratitude. “We will appreciate whatever information you may secure.”

With a brief bow, Cohen disappeared into the inn’s interior. Carter watched him go before returning to his seat. “The conversation went better than I had expected.”

“Do you think Mr. Cohen will prove valuable?” she asked in concern.

Carter said honestly, “Cohen may not trust us, but he will not wish to disappoint Ashton. I hold no doubt Cohen knows who to ask.” He caught her hand in reassurance. “We will have an answer soon. Trust me.”

“I do,” she whispered.

Carter brought her knuckles to his lips. “Let us order our meal. I have secured rooms for this evening. We must wait until tomorrow to return to Derbyshire.” His lips lingered upon her skin. He might have taken her into his arms if the door had not suddenly opened to reveal Mr. Bradleton, the innkeeper.

“Excuse me, Sir.” The man bowed awkwardly as he approached Carter to speak to him privately. “I have the Earl of Charleton waiting for a room. Might I prevail upon you to share the private dining room with him?” Mr. Bradleton nervously shifted his weight from side to side.

Carter shot a quick glance to Mrs. Warren. She would not welcome what would happen in the next few minutes, but he would not permit Mr. Bradleton to know Charleton’s wrath. Neither could he avoid Gerhard Rightnour, who held great sway among those in Sidmouth’s administration. “Certainly, Mr. Bradleton.” The innkeeper presented him a curt nod and rushed away to bid Charleton’s entrance.

“What is amiss?” Mrs. Warren asked from where she sat.

Carter wished to observe her reaction to the earl and his to her. “Mr. Bradleton wishes us to share the room with a member of the aristocracy.”

Mrs. Warren nodded and stood in obligation. Carter moved to brace her stance. He had touched her elbow just as Charleton strode into the room. The earl’s easy smile faded quickly as he stumbled to a stop. “Sophia?” he said on a rasp.

“The Earl of Charleton,” Carter whispered through tight lips, and he felt her recoil in alarm. He nudged Mrs. Warren into an awkward curtsy as he bowed. Then he waited for her response. In a sharp rebuke, she countered, “No, Uncle. I am Lucinda.”

Charleton gave his head a good shake. “Of course…you are Lucinda… but you so resemble your dear mother…” he stammered. Another hard shake brought his shoulders back. “My God, Child! I held no idea you were in England. I have heard nothing of your whereabouts since Waterloo. I feared you had perished along with Roderick.”

A brief flinch announced her discomposure, but she responded, “No, Uncle. I have been in London since my return from the Continent.” Her voice spoke of calm, but Carter could feel the tension coursing through her muscles.

Charleton looked as if someone had struck him soundly. “Can I hope you were traveling to Lancashire to become reacquainted with your family?”

“I fear not, Sir,” Mrs. Warren said defiantly.

Charleton’s eyes finally rested on Carter, and recognition crossed his countenance. “I was told the room was occupied by Mr. Patrick and his sister. What play do you practice with my niece, Sir Carter?” The earl’s gaze locked on Carter’s hand on Mrs. Warren’s arm.

Carter swallowed hard, but he said, “It is not what you think, Your Lordship.”

Charleton scowled, “My niece is alone with a gentleman in an inn with nary a maid or chaperone in sight. It is exactly as I think, Sir.”

“No, Uncle!” Mrs. Warren protested, but Carter interrupted.

Surprisingly, he expected panic, but somehow Charleton’s poorly veiled suggestions did not go against Carter’s own thoughts of late. He could do worse than Mrs. Warren as his wife. “Please join us, Your Lordship.” Carter gestured to the table, but he purposely refused to release Mrs. Warren’s elbow. “Permit us to make an explanation. Afterwards, if you still feel a need for my speaking my intentions, I will do so willingly.”

“No!” Mrs. Warren turned pleadingly to him. “No! I shall not permit the earl to punish your kindness by forcing upon you a marriage proposal. Lord Charleton has no right to speak for me. I have had no contact with him for more than two decades! It is ridiculous! You deserve a wife not already steeped in scandal! Save your ‘willing’ proposal for a woman worthy of your regard. My answer is an unequivocal
No
.”

H
e watched half in surprised and half in admiration as Mrs. Warren strode from the room. Their acquaintance was of a short duration, but Carter knew without a doubt she bit her lower lip to keep from crying. Her shoulders were stiffly straight, forbidding the emotions to show.

“Lucinda!” Her uncle called after her retreating form. “Child, I demand you return to this room immediately!” But the lady ignored the earl’s command. “Bloody stubborn chit,” he growled in disbelief.