Belong To Me (book 4) (The Fielding Brothers Saga) (13 page)

She pulled the buggy to a stop in the front of the castle and she and Allison climbed out. Charlotte’s attention caught on a set of hardwood double doors, and especially a carved lion’s head looming over the entrance.

She dropped her jaw and gawked in awe, as a small gasp escaped her lips. “Can you believe this? Isn’t it absolutely Medieval?”

“I can’t wait to see the inside,” Allison whispered.

“Now remember,” Charlotte said in a whisper, “his face is hideously scarred, but you can’t be frightened or he’ll turn us away. He really is a gentle, kind man.”

Allison nodded and licked her lips. “I’m ready.” Charlotte rapped the knocker on the door.

“Did you hear how it echoes?” Allison whispered.

“Indeed. It sounds eerie.”

They waited a few minutes before Charlotte raised the knocker and let it drop again. This time, the knob turned. As the door swung open, a piercing squeal from the rusted hinges filled the small foyer. At first all she saw was darkness, and then as her eyes adjusted to the light, a body emerged through the shadows and into the sun’s rays. Lord Thatcher wore a black over-jacket and trousers, suited to fit his station.

Her heart beat erratically. “Good morning, Lord Thatcher.”

When his eyes rested on her, he smiled. “I rather suspected you’d be back.”

Her cheeks burned. “Yes, well, my father did tell me I was too curious as a child.”

“And are you still curious as an adult?”

She nodded. “Can I help it that your castle has me intrigued?”

Lord Thatcher’s gaze moved to Allison. “Mrs. Fielding, aren’t you going to introduce me to your lovely friend?”

Today he wore a dark, thick scarf around his head that tried to hide the scares on his face. He must have done this for Allison’s sake. Thank heavens his scarf didn’t hide his groomed black mustache and beard, which she thought made him look sophisticated.

“Oh, Lord Thatcher,” she exclaimed, “please forgive me. This is Mrs. Allison Archibald.”

Allison’s unsteady hand stretched out. Lord Thatcher took it tenderly in his grasp and placed a small kiss on her knuckles. Allison’s face paled slightly. Charlotte held her breath, praying her friend wouldn’t swoon. Allison straightened and lifted her chin, finally gaining control. Charlotte slowly released her breath.

He smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet the friend of Mrs. Fielding.”

“The privilege is all
mine
, my lord.” Allison bowed slightly.

He stepped away from the door and motioned with his hand. “Would you please come in? I’m certain you would like to see inside.”

Allison chuckled. “Yes, I have to admit I’m very curious.”

Charlotte stepped into the hallway first, and darkness surrounded her. The only light was the shimmering flame of a candle sitting on a large side table by the door.

“You’ll have to forgive me, but I don’t have an oil lamp on this floor just yet.” He retrieved the candle.

“This is all I have right now, but after we get into the castle further, I’ll be able to retrieve my oil lamp. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Oh, no,” Charlotte replied as her eyes darted around the floor, praying no mice were scurrying about. “We’ll just stay close by you.”

Charlotte remained directly on Lord Thatcher’s heels, and on a few occasions grabbed anxiously onto the sleeve of his coat. The walls were of stone, and a musky scent hung in the air. Their footsteps reverberated down the cold hallway. A chill ran through her, and she felt a cold aura to the place that a million fires couldn’t dissolve.

He led them from one room to the next, and in the semi-darkness, his limp echoed through the corridors, accenting his deformed leg. Each room they passed, she peered into the emptiness. Surprisingly, they were larger than most dining rooms of the wealthy nobility. They held no furniture and reminded her of great dance halls. It was hard to see if the rooms held paintings or decorations because of poor lighting. “Lord Thatcher? Are there any windows in this castle?”

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Fielding, but they’re all boarded. In my housecleaning, I haven’t tackled that chore.”

“Lord Thatcher?” Allison’s voice echoed through the empty halls. “Are you in need of help to fix up this place?”

“Why, Mrs. Archibald.” He glanced over his shoulder at her, holding up the flame to see her facial expression. “Are you offering your services?”

Although Allison may have been weak-kneed at the door, she seemed to have gathered her wits together. “Well, yes, I suppose I am. It just occurred to me that while Mrs. Fielding and I are here, we might assist you.”

“I’m afraid the work is far greater than two gentle bred ladies are accustomed to.”

Allison chuckled. “Hard work has never bothered me, what about you Charlotte?”

Charlotte hesitated before answering. The truth was, she’d never worked a day in her life nor lifted a finger to do the work of a servant. Her father had seen to that. She fidgeted with the folds of her skirt. “Well, I don’t know what kind of help I’d be, but if you’ll show me what to do, I’d be happy to give it a try.”

He laughed. “I couldn’t possibly allow you ladies to work. You’d ruin those delicate hands of yours.”

Relief poured through Charlotte and she sighed.

Ahead of them, a bright rectangle of sunlight lay on the stone floor. Charlotte was drawn to it. She stood agape in the doorway of a most amazing room. Many oil lamps sat on the tables in the large area. Three enormous windows helped to welcome in the sun, uncontained in the late morning light. The sun’s heat gave the room a wonderful homey atmosphere, relaxing Charlotte’s nerves. In the corner of the room, built into the wall, was a huge stone fireplace with a fire inside.

Charlotte gasped. They were in the library. The tall shelves were higher than she could reach, but long ladders were placed along the bookshelves, helping to reach the elevated locations. Each shelf supported very old novels, their covers dusty and worn.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen so many books in one place,” she exclaimed.

Allison walked to a shelf and removed a book. “Were all these here when you came to live here?”

“Yes. I’ve replaced a few because they fell apart when I opened them.”

“Amazing,” Charlotte replied, enthusiastically.

There was a gentle lift to Lord Thatcher’s mouth. “Do you like to read, Mrs. Fielding?”

“Indeed, I do.”

“What sort of books do you like?”

“Mysteries.”

He smirked. “Strange, but I didn’t think you’d be the type.”

“Why?

He shrugged as he walked to the soft brown leather sofa. “I don’t know. I just can’t imagine your interest to lie in that area.” He paused and grinned. “Would you like to look around?”

“Oh, yes,” Charlotte and Allison chimed in unison.

Charlotte moved from book to book, trying to decide which one to read first. The castle was more exciting than she’d thought possible, and Lord Thatcher intrigued her by the minute. She hoped she could develop a lasting friendship with the man. But then Lord Thatcher didn’t like Ian. This would certainly become a problem in the near future.

* * * *

Adam relaxed against his leather couch as Charlotte scanned the bookshelves, her hand moving along each book as she went. Those two women were different as night and day. Each had their own special beauty, but Mrs. Archibald seemed to be more aggressive after she got over the initial shock of seeing his face. Charlotte presented a sweet demure of politeness in a shy sort of manner. Their tastes in books were even different. Whereas Charlotte looked for the mysteries, Mrs. Archibald settled more for the non-fiction or biographies. He even noticed she picked up a few sonnets.

After the women made their selections, they sat on the sofas huddling around the fireplace. They discussed the books they’d previously read. It surprised him to hear Charlotte was indeed the mystery type woman. The more he knew about this lovely woman, the more intrigued he became.

Mrs. Archibald poured tea as they visited for two more hours. Unfortunately, he couldn’t visit with them much longer. Too many things needed to be done around the castle.

He cleared his throat, getting both women’s attention. “I hate to put a damper on our lovely afternoon, but I must get back to work.”

Charlotte frowned, which made Adam grin. It was good to know she enjoyed his company as much as he enjoyed hers.

She nodded.
“Perfectly understandable, Lord Thatcher.
Both Mrs. Archibald and I think it’s a pleasure to have spent the afternoon with you.”

“Then our feelings are mutual.”

He led them back through the castle to the front doors. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you an adequate tour, but after I fix up the place, I promise to invite you back for a grand excursion.”

Charlotte gently laid her hand on his arm. “Thank you for a wonderful afternoon. Is there anything I can bring you from town?”

His heart sped. It’s been far too long since a woman touched him so personally. “Not at this time. You did, I presume, get the job notice posted?”

“But of course.”

“Splendid. I hope to hear something soon.”

He walked the ladies to their carriage and assisted them inside. Galloping horses coming up his drive made him turn in that direction. When he saw the uninvited visitors, he frowned.

He stepped back away from the carriage to greet them. Three of the commissioner’s men rode up and stopped. They passed him rude stares through their squeamish expressions.

“Are you Lord Thatcher?” the first man asked with gruffness in his voice.

Adam folded his arms across his chest. “I am. May I be of any assistance?”

“Yes. We were told Mrs. Fielding is here.”

Confusion rooted itself in his mind as he glanced over at the buggy. “Yes. She’s preparing to leave.”

“We need to speak with her.”

Adam’s heart sank as he studied their faces. Something was not right. He hobbled to the buggy and helped Charlotte down. She faced the commissioner’s men wearing a worried brow.

“I’m Mrs. Fielding.”

“We need to know the whereabouts of your husband.”

A knot formed in Adam’s throat as Charlotte’s gaze darted back and forth between him and Mrs. Archibald. Why were the commissioner’s men asking these questions?

Charlotte raised her chin. “He’s out of town, but why do you need to know?”

The man in the middle, wearing the biggest scowl, stepped forward.
“Because Madame, your husband is in trouble with the law.”

Charlotte gasped. “What? Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

“But why?
What has he done?”

“We expect him of thievery.”

Charlotte gasped again, and tossed him a harsh laugh. “Ian Fielding?
A thief?
I think not. You must be mistaken.”

“No, Madame. Several people have come forth and accused him.”

Charlotte’s brows drew together in irritation. “Like whom?”

“Most of his clients.”

“What proof do you have?”

The man shifted in his stance. “Your husband’s business is the only thing these fine people have in common. Your husband has done some investigative work for them in the past few months.”

She laughed ignorantly. “That’s all? That’s the only proof you have of his thievery?”

Her question made the lead man in charge blush. “Yes, so far. We’re just looking to question him in regards to some improprieties.”

“Improprieties?
Indeed,” Charlotte snapped.

Adam shook his head. Nothing made sense.
And poor Charlotte.

She held a straight expression. “Forgive me, but I cannot help you. I know he left yesterday morning and that he will be home tonight, but I cannot tell you what time.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Fielding. We’ll have a man on watch at your house for when he returns.” The man nodded then mounted his horse and left with the other two following close behind.

Mrs. Archibald placed her hand on Charlotte’s shoulder, but Charlotte stared after the commissioner’s men as they rode away.

“Charlotte?” Allison asked softly. “What are you going to do?”

“I—I—I don’t know.” She glanced back at Lord Thatcher. “Ian wouldn’t do something so despicable, would he?”

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t wish anything bad to happen to your husband, but there is the fact that...” he trailed off, hesitant to tell her.

“What?” Charlotte grabbed hold of his black-gloved hand. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, it’s a known fact to most of Bath that your husband’s finances are not in great condition. His work has been suffering and he hasn’t been making payments to his creditors.”

“No,” she gasped as her hand flew to her mouth.

“
Which draws me to the conclusion that his so called friends have turned on him for some insane reason.
Just because he’s had a bit of bad luck doesn’t mean he’s a thief. Your husband wouldn’t lower himself to steal.”