The Fairest of Them All (16 page)

Chapter Sixteen

T
oday was the day of Whitridge's meeting.

That was Char's first thought upon rising. Her hand touched Leo's hat folded under her pillow. The moment she felt the worn leather, she had an ominous feeling.

Discomforted, she sat up. She pushed her braid back over her shoulder. Something was wrong. Perhaps it had nothing to do with Whitridge.

She expected to see him that evening at Menheim. The dowager had planned a dinner party for the Americans. The duke would be sending his coach for Char and Lady Baldwin.

Pulling the hat from beneath her pillow where she'd kept it all night, she held it for a long moment . . . and thought of the duke.

She would never feel for him the rush of excitement she had for Whitridge. She heard Sarah's cautions. Her aunt wanted what was best for Char, and yet Sarah did not know Whitridge.
Jack
. His name was Jack.

For a moment, Char tried to conjure the memory of her mother's face. She could not remember her smiling. For years before and after her husband's death, Julie Blanchard's expression had been one of disappointment, fear, resentment.

But Jack Whitridge was not her father. Her father had terrible weaknesses. Her mother had suffered because of them.

There was
nothing
weak about Jack. And nothing staid and predictable about the life he led.

What she did know was that she could trust him. There was a connection between them, the very beginnings of a bond that, she believed, would grow over time.

And then there was the duke.

Char began unbraiding her hair, her thoughts troubled. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the wall over her washstand.

Her breath stopped, and she knew. She would never feel for the duke what she felt for his brother. Nor could she allow herself to accept the un­acceptable the way her mother had.

And now that she had an inkling of what love could be, she knew she must be honest and tell Baynton that her affections lay elsewhere. The sooner she told him, the better.

She also needed to tell Sarah.

Char dressed quickly, taking a moment to carefully place Leo's hat in her wardrobe. She went downstairs. She found her aunt in the kitchen breaking her fast while reading a book. Char stopped in the doorway and studied Sarah a moment. She owed her so much.

“That book must not be interesting,” Char said. “You haven't turned a page.”

Sarah startled and looked up. Her eyes were heavy-­lidded, tired. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to tell you aren't really reading. Dull book?” Char walked into the kitchen.

“Um, yes, it is. Tea?”

“I would like a cup if the pot is still hot. I am going to toast bread. Would you care for some?”

“That would be lovely. Thank you.”

“Is Lady Baldwin still abed?” Char placed a griddle on the grate over the fire to heat while she sliced the loaf of stale bread.

Pouring tea in a cup for her, Sarah said, “No, she left very early. She is excited about this ­evening and wanted to prepare. Are you ready for an ­important evening? Someone told me that Baynton's chef is French. Take special note of the dishes he prepares. See what he does ­differently than we British. I might try to copy one of them.”

Slicing into the loaf, Char carefully said, “I wish you would go with me this evening. The duke keeps asking about you.”

Sarah smiled as if pleased and then shook her head. “You don't ask the woman he believes is your maid or one who is in truth an actress to a dinner party of the top peers in the country. Not to say I wouldn't be able to hold my own.” She leaned over and placed a loving hand against Char's cheek. “I'm pleased you would want me there, but let us wait until he is so hopelessly in love with you, he'll forgive a bit of subterfuge.”

“I always want your presence, Sarah. You saved me. Who knows what my uncle Davies would have done if you hadn't intervened?” She placed the bread slices on the hot griddle.

Sarah did not argue. “You have been a blessing in my life as well.”

“I don't know if that is true. You could be with a troupe and perhaps have your plays staged out in the countryside. London is too rigid. It doesn't seem right that they label you an understudy or a costume mistress while they use your talent. You have been fearless, Sarah.”

Sarah laughed. “That is true. It took great courage to settle you down and teach you to read.”

“I was shockingly uneducated.”

“But you are wise in what is important,” Sarah assured her, reaching up and smoothing back Char's hair.

“I wish I never had to disappoint you,” Char said. There, she'd started but was suddenly unable to meet her aunt's eye. A knot had grown in her throat.

“You won't,” Sarah answered confidently.

Char said, “I can't marry Baynton.”

There, she'd done it.

Silence fell over the kitchen.

Char forced herself to breathe.

Sarah sat, her hands on the table, a line of worry between her eyes.

“I shall tell him this evening,” Char said. “I know that your life would be immeasurably easier if I was a duchess—­”

“This isn't about me, Char—­”

“Then know that
I
can't marry the duke when I love another.”

“The man last night? Who is he?”

“The duke's brother. His
twin
brother.”

Sarah's jaw dropped. She closed the book, pushed it aside, turning away herself.

The smell of burned toast started to fill the air. With a cry, Char turned back to the griddle and, using her fingers, gingerly plucked the bread off the hot metal and tossed it onto a plate on the kitchen table.

Sarah was very quiet.

Char busied herself buttering toast. “It is a bit black but not too terrible.” She offered the plate to her aunt, who did not move. “You are unhappy.”

“Concerned is a better word.”

“There is something else you should know.” Char was ready to confess all.

Sarah swung in her chair. “It can't be worse than what you've just said. You are in love with the duke's brother? This is messy, Char. The sort of stuff that hounds people's reputations forever.”

Char nodded. “Would you prefer I be dishonest with Baynton? That I pretend?”

“It would be safer.”

“But at what cost? Could you have pretended with your husband?”

Sarah rose abruptly. “Let us leave Roland out of this. He's dead. Gone. While your gentlemen are very much alive and
related
to each other. Why could you not have found a different man to choose over the duke?”

“It was not my intention to fall in love with Jack. It just happened—­”

“Wait, is this the American? The one who has everyone in uproar because he had once disappeared and then just turned up.”

“It is.”

“Oh, Char, he's using you. Can you not see that? I've heard the gossip. They say he and his twin never really rubbed well.”

“That is not true,” Char answered. “I have seen them together. They are as all brothers.”

“And you know this because you have sisters? And so much experience with siblings?” Sarah queried. Her tone said she wanted Char to think.

“I know because I love Jack. He is honorable, Sarah. He is good. We tried to avoid this.”

Her aunt threw her hands up in the air.

“There is more,” Char continued.

“I don't believe I can take more,” Sarah snapped.

“Uncle Davies has not been paying the money for my support.”

“What?” Now she had Sarah's attention. “Are you telling me he is going to stop?” She moved so that the table was between them.

“He hadn't started since he quit sending funds months ago.”

“But he sent money. There was that purse—­”

Char shook her head.

“You told me it was from him,” Sarah pointed out.

With a deep breath, Char admitted, “I lied.”

“Then where did the money come from?”

This was not going to be easy. “I picked a few pockets.”

“
What?
” Sarah almost knocked the table over in her shock. The teapot, cups, and saucers ­wobbled on the table before she settled it with a hand. Coming back around, Sarah sank into her chair. “Charlene Blanchard, you must tell everything.”

Char did. She started by explaining about being afraid they would be tossed out by the landlord.

“A real fear,” Sarah conceded. “Of course, now he is waiting for you to marry the duke so that he can collect favors.”

“Which is despicable of him,” Char announced. “Be that as it may, I saw this lad in the market pick the pocket of a wealthy man. I mentioned it to Lady Baldwin and she said she knew how to do it. She has had a rather colorful past.”

Sarah groaned aloud and buried her head in her arms on the table.

“It really isn't Lady Baldwin's fault. I begged her. I was rather good—­”

Her aunt groaned again.

“I tried to be careful in choosing my marks. I gave you the money and told you it was from Uncle Davies.”

Raising her head slightly, Sarah said, “So that heavy purse was stolen—­?”

“From a friend of Mr. Whitridge's and now you know how I met him. He caught me, but I escaped him and, well, the important part of the story is that some of what was in that heavy purse should have gone to Leo—­”

“Who is Leo?”

“He oversees the criminal territory of this area. He leads a group called the Seven because there are seven of them. They are all quite close. They are boys actually but they can be very menacing, especially when they are together in a pack. They do most of the pickpocketing and some general thievery in our section of town.”

“Interesting.”

Char knew Sarah didn't mean that. She could tell her aunt was overwhelmed, and yet she needed to know all. “They were a bit of a problem for me. They were trying to blackmail me, and then they would have eventually blackmailed the duke, but Mr. Whitridge talked to Leo and now all is fine.”

Sarah sat in stunned disbelief. Char placed a comforting hand on her arm. “I am sorry for all that I've done. I was trying to help us stay in this house. Before Lady Baldwin managed an ­invitation to Baynton's ball, everything had seemed so bleak and you were working very hard just to feed us—­” She took a deep breath and r­eleased it. “Oh my, I am so happy to have that off my conscience.”

“And on to mine.”

Char shook her head. “Why? You have done nothing wrong.”

Sarah didn't act as if she agreed. She lightly danced her fingers on the table as if thinking.

Char watched her carefully. “I'm sorry, Sarah.”

Her aunt reached for her hand. “I wish you had confided in me sooner. Or hadn't been so worried over the rent. It will all work out, Char.”

“I know it will. Mr. Whitridge will see to it.”

At the mention of Jack's name, her aunt gave a thin smile, but she didn't comment.

“I plan on telling Baynton of my feelings this evening,” Char said. “However, I believe I should talk to Mr. Whitridge first.”

“That is a good plan,” Sarah agreed, but she was not happy. Actually, she acted distracted. However, before Char could question her, she picked up her book. “I need to go to the theater.” She walked to the door, and then stopped. “Char, I feel I've failed you. Your parents would never have wanted you to rob people.”

“I didn't consider it robbing, Sarah,” she ­confessed.

“How did you think of it?”

“I considered it a retribution of sorts. There are those who stole all my father owned, ­including his dignity, and called it gambling. And here we were, going into debt and in danger of being tossed into the street. I was not right to do what I did. I lost my way. But, I must confess, it was a brilliant adventure—­”

“
Charlene
.”

Char shrugged. “It was. For a span of time, I felt as if I had some power in this world. You talk about how it is hard for women to manage alone. However, when I was out on the street, moving along, I felt strong, alive. That being said, I've promised Mr. Whitridge I have set aside my breeches and I shall be all that is feminine from this day forward.”

“
Your breeches? You have been parading around town dressed in breeches?
”

“Of course,” Char said. “You didn't believe I would go pickpocketing looking like this. I'd not be able to close in on a mark without being recognized. I needed a disguise.”

“Close in on a
mark
?” Sarah shook her head in outrage. “Oh, Lady Baldwin has much to answer for—­and you will not do anything illegal again. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“I mean it, Char. I don't know what I will do if I catch you in that sort of behavior, but I will do something.”

Char tried to look contrite. “I promise I will behave.”

Sarah appeared doubtful. She took a step and then rounded back on Char again. “And don't be too hasty in rejecting the duke. See what Mr. Whitridge does. Time helps us discern the true character of a person. Will you promise me that you will not do anything rash or foolish until you talk to Mr. Whitridge?”

Since that was Char's intention, she nodded, and yet her aunt did not seem mollified. “Is ­something the matter? I meant what I said about never doing something like picking pockets again.”

Sarah shook her head, a small, tight movement. “I love you, Char, as if you were my own. Let me tell you something I have never spoken of to anyone else—­I can never have children.”

“How do you know this?”

“First, at four-­and-­thirty, I am too old.”

There was that.

“But Roland was not a kind man. I do not like speaking of this. He could become violent. He threw me down the stairs once. I was at the ­beginning of a pregnancy. I was young. No older than you.”