The Reluctant Marquess (8 page)

Charity spluttered. “But I didn’t…I don’t!” She had not intended the flirtation to go as far as it did.

“You don’t? That’s not the way it looked to me.” Robert’s voice sounded indifferent.

Was this heir going to materialize like magic? She thought crossly. So, he didn’t care if she eventually took a lover. Might he then happily continue to visit his mistress?

Everything was wrong and had been from the beginning. But the more she struggled to right it, the deeper into trouble she fell.

What could she do? How could she convince him Southmore meant nothing to her? She could beg him to believe her, but her pleas would fall on deaf ears. Somehow, she would have to show him.

She settled against the velvet squabs of the luxurious carriage. Another awful silence enveloped as it continued on through the streets. In the dim light of the lanterns, Robert’s face looked closed as he sat back with his arms folded. His very stance shut her out. She wanted to creep into his arms and have him fold them around her, but it was fast becoming an impossible dream.

In the corridor outside her chamber, he barely touched her gloved hand with his lips as he bid her goodnight.

“Robert?”

He turned back to her, his brows raised, looking every inch a marquess. “Yes?”

She put her hand to the emeralds at her throat. “Shouldn’t you return these to the safe?”

“That might be wise.”

“Come in and help me take them off.”

He followed her into her boudoir, as she removed her gloves. It was empty for she’d told her maid not to wait up.

His touch on her neck felt cool and impersonal. He slipped the necklace into his pocket and turned to go. Charity touched his arm. “Won’t you kiss me goodnight?”

He bent his head and touched his lips briefly with hers. She put a hand on his chest, feeling tension there. He was always annoyed with her and she struggled with the unfairness of it.

“Stay a while?”

“I thought you didn’t wish me to make love to you.”

“Not in the salon. Here, in my chamber.”

His blue eyes blazed hot with anger. “Perhaps Lord Southmore can oblige. He knows where to find your chamber.”

Charity slapped his face. The noise seemed to reverberate around the room in the long silence which followed. They stared at each another, breathing heavily. “I did not deserve that. I find your behavior disappointing, my lord.”

Robert raked a hand through his hair. He gave a crooked grin. “That makes your true feelings clear then, my dear, doesn’t it?”

He turned on his heel and left her chamber, closing the door behind him. The room seemed too quiet with just the ticking of the mantel clock. Charity put her hands to her flaming cheeks.

His rebuff hurt as surely as if he’d thrust a knife in her heart.

The moon cast a ghostly haze over the trees on Hampstead Heath. An owl flew low across the clearing in search of prey.

Robert could still feel the sting of that slap as he waited. Something far more serious than physical pain lay behind it. The cool night air did little to dampen the rage burning in his breast. He did not believe Charity openly encouraged Southmore, for he knew what the man was. But be damned if he’d play second fiddle to Southmore in his wife’s affections. The sound of horses’ hooves on the road reached his ears. Moments later, two men emerged from the shadows lighting their way with a lantern. Sir Lionel Bartholomew walked towards them, Southmore behind him.

Robert and his friend, Lord Percy Spencer, strolled across to greet them.

“It’s damn cold, and it looks like rain. Are you sure you want to go through with this, Robert?” Spencer asked in an undertone.

“Would it not be better to have a bout at the club?”

“What, and have all of London agog as to the reason?” Robert shook his head. He divested himself of his coat and slipped his shirt over his head. Southmore had this coming. He would have preferred a pistol at forty paces, but he was a better shot than Southmore. And the temptation to run him through with his sword was too strong; if he killed him, he’d be ostracized for years. No, he intended to give the man the licking of his life. Not just for him, but for all the cuckolded husbands in London.

He moved towards where Southmore stood waiting, stripped to the waist and licking his lips nervously, his hands clenched into fists.

Robert bowed. “Southmore.”

“St Malin.”

The men circled each other.

Robert sized up his opponent. He knew Southmore didn’t pursue the sport as keenly as he, but he was light on his feet. Robert had the advantage of being fuelled by anger. His anger might be directed at a friend who had betrayed him, but he was also angry at himself.

Southmore executed a few fancy steps ducking and weaving, better on a dance floor and in a ladies boudoir, perhaps. The thought of him in Charity’s boudoir made Robert’s lips thin and his eyes narrow.

Southmore took a wild jab at him and missed when Robert ducked.

The action unbalanced Southmore, and he rocked backwards. Robert saw his chance. He struck the first blow on his jaw with a right uppercut and followed it with a left.

Southmore’s head slammed back. He cursed and staggered, his body already slick with sweat.

Another right hit its mark. Southmore fell to his knees but recovered quickly. Robert felt the sting to his knuckles and began to enjoy himself. Poor Southmore would take a beating for the sins of many others as well as his own this night.

The silent woods filled with heavy breathing, the pounding of flesh on flesh, and the cries of the men’s friends urging them on.

Chapter Six

The next day, after lunching alone, Charity asked for the town carriage to be brought round. “I wish to visit Lord and Lady Charlesworth,” she told the butler. “I’m not sure where they reside.”

“I believe they have a house in Portman Square, my lady,” Hove said.

“Won’t take John but a moment to drive you there.”

As the curricle negotiated the London streets, Charity clung to the window-frame and watched sightlessly as the buildings flew past. Was she doing the right thing? It was an enormous risk she knew, but she could think of no other possible course to take.

The curricle pulled up outside an impressive three-story townhouse. It faced the leafy trees and flowerbeds of a square contained by a black iron fence. A mother sat on a bench while her children played with a ball on the grass in the sunshine. Charity climbed the steps still wondering if she’d been rash. She smoothed the skirts of her redingote. Was she dressed correctly? The butler answered her knock at the glossy black door and when she gave him her card, he failed to hide his surprise.

“Please inform Lady Charlesworth I’m here to see her.” She was aware it was too late for a social call, but if she waited until another day, she’d lose her nerve. She could only hope the lady would agree to see her.

He bowed. “Please wait, Lady St Malin.”

She sat in the marble vestibule, watching him climb the grand staircase and disappear where it branched at the top. She clutched her gloved hands together. What if Robert’s mother refused to see her?

The butler returned in a moment and led Charity upstairs to the drawing room. She walked into a room furnished in the dainty Chinoiserie style which suited its occupant perfectly. A blue and gold patterned Aubusson carpet covered the floor, and swags of gold silk hung at the windows.

Birds adorned the gold wallpaper. Floral bouquets in porcelain urns were placed about on gilt-edged tables. Lady Charlesworth, like a flower herself, dressed in a lilac round gown, was pacing the floor, her embroidery on the floor at her feet. A flush coloured her cheeks.

It occurred to Charity that she may have hoped her son accompanied her. The lady rushed forward, arms outstretched.

She took Charity’s hands in hers.

“Lady St Malin, how good of you to come.” She drew Charity down to sit beside her on the gold damask sofa. “I was just about to have tea.” Lady Charlesworth rearranged the cashmere shawl hugging her slender shoulders with quick nervous fingers. “So you are Robert’s wife. I knew his uncle planned to have him marry the woman of his choosing.” She smiled. “But I confess you were a surprise.”

Her words sounded sincere and warm. Charity could detect no criticism in them, although she would be entitled to wish a better marriage for her son. Charity decided to get to the point before the moment turned awkward. She leaned forward. “I’ve come to ask for your help, Lady Charlesworth.”

The older woman put a pale hand to her throat. “I don’t know that I could be of any help to you, my dear. But I’ll certainly try.”

“Robert appears troubled. I’m at my wits’ end to understand why.”

“Troubled?” Tears sparkled in Lady Charlesworth’s blue eyes, which were disturbingly like her son’s. Her obvious distress sent a shaft of guilt through Charity. “It might be because he has lost his uncle of whom he was inordinately fond.” Lady Charlesworth put her hands to her flushed cheeks. “You must be aware that my son and I have been estranged for some time. I don’t expect that will change now. I used to pray for his forgiveness, but now I just want him to be happy.” Her lips trembled. “I’m sorry if he isn’t.”

“Robert has told me nothing of this estrangement.” It was obvious at the ball that something was badly wrong between them. He was stiff and aloof in his mother’s presence and had later refused to talk to her about it.

“No, that doesn’t surprise me. He keeps his own counsel.”

She said no more and Charity wondered if she’d come on a wild goose chase. She leaned forward. “I’m desperate, Lady Charlesworth.”

“Oh?” Her ladyship fingered the lace on her sleeve. “I wish he would talk to you. It would be so much better for him.” She paused. “It would be better for you to know what you’re dealing with.”

“I shall be discreet about anything you tell me, Lady Charlesworth,” Charity urged.

“The trouble between us, if that is what is behind this, began some time ago, when I married Lord Charlesworth. It was only a short time after Robert’s father died, and far too soon for some.”

The recollection seemed to upset her. She drew a handkerchief from her sleeve and twisted it in her lap. “I became enceinte almost immediately and my daughter was born a month early. For some time, I was censured by the ton. Vicious rumors abounded. It was said that I’d been unfaithful while Robert’s father lay dying.” Her eyes took on a stricken look. “As if I could do such a thing. The ton can be monstrously cruel. Once bereaved, a man may marry immediately, if he chooses, but a woman must wait a year. I could not afford to wait. I was in dreadful financial straits and didn’t know which way to turn. I was afraid for myself and my son. Robert was but a boy and away at school. I believe he suffered from the gossip also, but I could never tell him his father was an insatiable gambler. I beg you not to tell him that, for it would serve no purpose now.” Her hand returned to the pearls at her throat.

“My husband and Robert got off to a bad start. Robert never accepted my husband, which is a shame, for he is a good man.

“And then things grew worse after Robert became enamored of a young lady who did not meet with our approval. He and Lord Charlesworth argued over it dreadfully. It was the final straw, and Robert became estranged from us.”

Charity’s heart swelled with sorrow for Robert. “He could not marry the woman he loved?”

“I don’t believe it was because of our disapproval. She chose to marry someone else.”

“How surprising.” Charity found it impossible that any woman could resist Robert’s handsome face. And he could be very charming, when he wished. If only she’d been the object of his affection and seen that side of Robert, the ardent suitor, seeking her hand in marriage. She felt a swift rush of jealousy which ebbed away into despondency.

Lady Charlesworth nodded with a small smile. “After his separation from us, he grew closer to his uncle. I did feel he would have come back to us if his uncle had not been there.” She drew in a breath. “I was glad he had the love and support of St Malin, even so.”

Charity wondered if Lady Charlesworth had loved Lord Charlesworth when she first married him. Or was it a marriage of convenience like hers and Robert’s? She certainly seemed fond of him now, and this gave Charity a small spark of hope for the future.

A servant brought in a tea tray and placed it on the octagonal table in front of the sofa.

Lady Charlesworth presided over the tray. “Cream?”

“Thank you.”

Lady Charlesworth poured tea into flowery cups. She gestured toward the array of cakes on the silver tray. “Do have something to eat, please.”

Charity selected a tiny iced almond cake. She laid a napkin in her lap and nibbled at it, not really tasting it. “There must be something I can do.”

“Perhaps by just being you, my dear. I can’t tell you how happy you’ve made me, coming here.”

“I’m glad.” While Charity sipped her tea, the door opened and two children burst into the room. A girl of about fourteen with her dark hair in curls down her back was followed by a slightly younger, tow-haired boy in short trousers. Lady Charlesworth held out her arms. “These are my other two children, Clare and Frederick. Children, please come and greet Robert’s wife.”

Frederick gave a well-practiced bow. Clare curtseyed while she gazed at Charity’s wide-brimmed hat adorned with feathers and ribbons. “How pretty,” she said, edging closer.

“Would you like to try it on?” Charity asked her.

“Yes, please,” she said in a breathy voice.

“Oh, no, my dear. You will spoil your hairstyle,” Lady Charlesworth protested.

“Lud, what of that!” Charity laughed. She removed the pin and took off the hat. Placing it on the young girl’s head, she set it at the right angle.

“Very fetching! Go and look in the mirror.”

Clare rushed to the gilt mirror over the mantel and posed, turning this way and that. It was much too big, but she looked quite sweet in it. Her mother laughed.

“Do you know any card tricks?” Frederick took a pack of cards from his pocket and set it on the table.

“I confess, I know not one,” Charity said.

“I know a lot. Shall I show you?”

“Not now, Frederick,” Lady Charlesworth said. “Please say goodbye to your new sister-in-law. Back to the schoolroom, the pair of you. Your governess will be waiting.”

Clare reluctantly removed the hat from her head and returned it to Charity.

“You have lovely children,” Charity said, after the door closed behind them.

“Thank you. Do you…wish for children, my dear?”

“I do. I hope to have many.” As she said it, a swift, deep yearning filled her.

“How wonderful.” Lady Charlesworth’s eyes widened as she poured more tea into Charity’s cup.

“I suppose it’s because I’m an only child that I like big families.” Could she mend what was wrong between her and Robert? She was aware he needed an heir, but at this rate they would never make peace with one another long enough to produce one. She was horrified at the thought of an arrangement that would send them to live in separate residences after she became enceinte.

“Does Robert want a big family too?” She had to be honest. “I’m not sure.”

Lady Charlesworth shook her head. “Men never know these things. They need to be ... persuaded.”

“Persuaded?”

Lady Charlesworth smiled. “Women have a lot of power over men, my dear. I’m sure you know what I mean. A clever woman can achieve what she wants with subtlety.” She gave a laugh. “They need never be aware that they’ve been manipulated.”

“Robert recognizes the need for an heir,” Charity said, surprised to find Lady Charlesworth, who looked so demure, a little calculating. Might she be right? An older woman was surely wiser in these matters.

Lady Charlesworth smiled proudly. “He is a man of some consequence now, isn’t he?” Her fine brows rose. “Forgive me for saying this, but you love him very much, don’t you? I see it in your eyes when you speak of him. It’s difficult for one woman to hide this from another.”

Chastity nodded. “I want a good marriage.”

Lady Charlesworth smiled. “Then you shall, I’m sure of it. I suspect you are just what Robert needs.”

“I do hope so.” Charity sighed; not at all convinced that it was so. “Thank you for inviting me into your home. I must go.” Charity rose to put on her hat and her squirrel-coloured redingote. She felt an urgent need to find Robert and talk to him.

Robert’s mother rose, too. She took her hands and squeezed them. “If only there was some way I could mend this hurt, but I’m afraid it lies in Robert’s hands. I wish you both happy, my dear. Could you, do you think, call on us again?”

“If you’d like me to.”

Lady Charlesworth hugged her. “Oh do, please. Don’t stand on ceremony, my dear. Call anytime. We’d love to see you.”

Dusk closed in as the carriage bore Charity home through traffic-filled thoroughfares busy with the men of business seeking finance and trade. Night enveloped the city. Already, the coffee houses and elegant shops were closing their doors. Soon, the glow of oil-burning street lights would appear as the London night came alive and the playhouses, theatres, music halls and gambling houses opened.

The carriage stopped, held up by traffic when a cart lost its load of vegetables. The delay gave Charity time to think of what she had learned. How awful that Robert suffered the loss of his father when just a boy. She knew how devastating that was.

How cruel that, following what he saw as his mother’s betrayal, the woman he had loved broke his heart. She tried to bury her curiosity about the woman. It was painful to think he’d chosen her and had loved her passionately. No doubt she was quite different to herself. Tall and fair perhaps, like Lady Arabella?

If nothing else came of this visit, she now understood Robert better. He was afraid of love, because for him love resulted in loss and heartache. She determined to make him understand that her love was constant. She frowned. This could not be achieved in a day. She tapped her fingers on the window ledge, gazing out at the busy streets. The spilled cabbages had been swept aside, and the carriage began to move forward.

Her soft heart ached for Robert, and her love spilled over.

Had she been wrong? To be a good wife, must she first act like that mistress Brigitte had told her about? If Robert felt more in control with a mistress, then Charity determined to act like one.

She called to the driver. “We’ll make a stop at my modiste in Albemarle Street, John.”

When she arrived home, she raced to her bedchamber with her parcel.

That evening, Robert appeared in the salon before dinner. He had a small bruise and a cut high on his cheek.

She gazed up into his face. “You have been hurt. What on earth happened?”

Robert touched it tentatively as if he’d forgotten. “I scraped it on a branch when riding in the park.” He held out his arm, and they walked to the dining room.

“In Rotten Row?” She looked at him doubtfully, knowing what a fine rider he was. “You should be more careful. Have you had it attended to?”

“It’s just a scratch.”

“Perhaps put some—”

“Please don’t fuss, Charity.” He stood at her chair. “I don’t need my wife to turn into a mother.”

Charity settled herself, tucking her skirts around her. “You won’t turn to your mother for assistance though, will you?”

He frowned and turned to Hove and the footmen. “Would you leave us?” He gazed at her warily as the door closed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

She swallowed, almost losing her nerve at the sight of his cold blue eyes. “Only that an older and wiser woman is an asset to any family.”

“I’ve got on quite well without it.”