Belong To Me (book 4) (The Fielding Brothers Saga) (14 page)

Tears welled in Charlotte’s eyes as she shook her head.

“Mrs. Fielding, the best thing for your husband right now is to stay away from the commissioner until he can discover who has laid claim to these false crimes.”

* * * *

Charlotte breathed slowly as the confusing thoughts swam in her head. She wanted to cry and scream all at the same time. And she wanted everyone to leave her alone to wallow in her misery. It wasn’t good to show her emotions now. The shock was too great for her to bear in front of company.

She turned to her host. “Lord Thatcher, thank you for the lovely afternoon, but we shan’t burden you a moment longer.”

When she moved to climb into the carriage, Lord Thatcher assisted her.

“Mrs. Fielding?” His voice brought her attention around. “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

She nodded, and then Allison urged the horses forward.

Silence hung thick in the buggy for the first part of the ride back until Charlotte couldn’t hold back her doubts. “I think Ian wants me to stay with him for a month not only to rectify our marriage, but because I have the money to help him out of his problems. I’m certain once he gets the money from me, he’ll leave me again.”

Allison touched her hand. “You can’t know that.”

Charlotte shrugged. “
It’s
how I feel.” Her gaze remained on the road. “What am I supposed to think, Allison?” She didn’t look at her friend, but continued. “The note he sent last night said he wasn’t going to make it home until this evening. Now I wonder if he’s out stealing from another client. Does he expect me to lie for him?”

Allison released a heavy sigh. “Oh, Charlotte, I think your imagination is getting the best of you. Why don’t you give Ian a chance to explain before you condemn him?”

Charlotte rolled it over in her head then nodded. “I’ll try my hardest to understand his explanation.”

She seriously hoped her confusion wouldn’t control her thoughts when she finally listened.

After Charlotte left Allison at the hotel, she returned to Ian’s townhouse. As the horse clip-clopped up the drive, she sighed in frustration. Three different men with police badges stood by the gate waiting to pounce on her like wolves on sheep. By their superior know-it-all stance, it was obvious they were lying in wait for her husband.

Lifting her chin a notch higher and keeping a straight back, she descended from the buggy and made her way toward the house. The men swarmed around her, demanding entrance into her home to search the premises. Their
snippish
attitudes made her want to drive her fist through their turned-up noses, but Charlotte simmered her anger and let them in. They pushed past her in haste when she opened the door, nearly knocking her down in the process. Their boots clomped on the hard wooden floors, making her stomach twist.

A small crowd gathered outside her home to watch the spectacle, and embarrassment washed over her again. She turned to hurry back to the buggy, but a haggardly old woman stepped in her path and stopped her by grabbing her elbow.

“Excuse me, dearie?” the woman’s high-pitched voice squeaked. “Are ye all right? Are those men bothering
ye
?”

Charlotte yanked her arm away. “I’m fine, and no, those men are not bothering me. Not yet, anyway.” Once again, Charlotte tried to leave, but the old lady stopped her.

“Do ye needs me to stay
wit
ye?”

She gave the tall but portly woman a crossed look. “No, I’ll be quite all right.”

The lady wrapped her fingers tighter to Charlotte’s elbow, her eyes darting around the small gathering. The crowd pushed closer to the house, and the older woman pulled Charlotte away from the onlookers.

Charlotte tried to pry the miscreant’s fingers off her arm, getting more frustrated by the second. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you will unhand me or I’ll scream,” Charlotte snapped.

“Charlotte, it’s me.”

When she recognized her husband’s voice, her eyes widened and a small gasp escaped her throat. She swept her gaze over the old lady once again and noticed a slight resemblance to her husband, but the full bosom and rounded hips were that of a woman.

“I’m in disguise so the commissioner’s men won’t notice me,” he said softer.

She scanned his attire again, still not believing what she saw. “What are you doing here?” Her voice rose. “And why in heaven’s name are the commissioner’s men here?”

“I don’t have time to explain, but you have to help me.”

“I will not!”

“
Shh
.” He tugged on her arm. “Please lower your voice. Charlotte, you have to hear me out, but I can’t explain right now. There are too many people around.”

“No, I do not have to hear an explanation from you,” she snapped.

He released her arm, his face sobering. “No, I suppose you don’t, but will you anyway?”

She really should send him on his way, but the gentleness of his voice tore at her heart. She relented. “Where and when?”

He gave her a soft smile. “I’ll wait until the men leave. I’ll remain as an old woman, so when I come to the door, please let me in.”

Charlotte’s impatient footsteps marked up Ian’s expensive gold and red Persian rug as she paced in the parlor, waiting for the commissioner’s men to finish their business. She glanced at the pendulum against the far wall as the minutes slowly crept by, each tick making her want to scream.

Another hour passed with her holding her tongue, but she finally had enough. She let her temper explode at the first man who crossed her path. “I do believe your time is up!”

He lifted his chin a notch higher. “But the commissioner—”

“I don’t give a hoot what the commissioner says.” She anchored her hands on her hips. “Unless he has a handwritten note from the mayor himself, I’ll not let you into my house again. Is that clear?”

Ian’s servant, O’Toole, quickly took his place by her side, his chest puffed and ready for battle. It relieved her to see he and the other servants ushering the lawmen outside with brooms and sharp utensils in their possession. It was her privilege to slam the door, but when the commissioner’s men lurked in the yard, her heart sank.

The butler moved beside her. “Don’t believe a word those men say. The master would never do anything as despicable as what they’re accusing.”

“Thank you, O’Toole, but I’m anxious to hear Ian defend these accusations.”

“Can I get you a snifter of brandy? Perhaps that might help calm your nerves.”

She nodded as she rested her stressed body in the softness of the parlor’s sofa. “That would be delightful.”

O’Toole stepped out of the room, gently closing the door. The ring from the pull-string outside echoed through the house, making her headache pound. “O’Toole, please send whoever it is away. I don’t feel up to company this evening,” she called out to him, laying the palm of her hand on her forehead.

“Yes, Mistress.”

Sighing, she relaxed her head against the softness of the heavily cushioned sofa. As she took a deep breath, she tried to calm her pounding head, but suddenly, loud arguing voices disturbed her peacefulness.
Ian!
With her heart in a quick rhythm, she jumped up and hurried to the door. O’Toole stood next to the haggardly lady, physically attempting to prevent her from coming through the door.

“O’Toole?” Charlotte cried out. “It’s all right. I’d forgotten she was coming for tea this evening.”

Confusion creased O’Toole’s brow as he stared dumbstruck at her, but he nodded and stepped away from the door. He opened it wider and let the older woman in.

“I told
ye
!” The old woman hit the butler over the head with her handbag. “
Yer
nothin
’ but a
twitterin
’
fool
.”

Charlotte hid her grin behind her hand. Ian did such a good job acting the part of an old woman it was really quite comical. It pleased her to know the butler was so protective. She grasped control and erased the humor from her face. “Please, come into the parlor with me.”

“Ye had better give that butler of
yers
a good
talk’n
to,
Miz
Fielding,” the old woman snapped, glaring harshly at the servant.

“I will,” Charlotte assured. “O’Toole? Will you kindly inform the cook to make us up some cakes to go with our tea?”

“Yes, Mistress.”
He gave a quick scowl to the old woman, and then turned sharply and left.

After Charlotte closed the doors, the deep rumble of laughter echoed through the room as Ian’s chest shook. She, too, cracked a smile.

“Did you see his face?” Ian chuckled. “O’Toole will never forgive me when he finds out it was really me.”

Laughter left her. “I may never forgive you,” she softly replied.

Ian sighed as he walked to the sofa. Gingerly, he sat and patted the place beside him. “I want to first start off by saying I didn’t do the crimes which have been slandered against me. You cannot believe one word the commissioner’s men have said.”

She gave him a blank stare.

“Charlotte, you have to believe me, I didn’t steal from my clients. I’m not the thief they’re after. I believe the commissioner has put words into their mouths.”

Glancing over his attire, she asked, “Then why do you hide? Why don’t you come forth and proclaim your innocence?”

“You don’t know the way of things here. Everything is out of control, especially the government because there is no government. The richer you are the more power you have, and the more power you have, the more in control you are.”

“Are you planning on hiding for the rest of your life as an old woman?”

“No, my dear.
I plan on finding who is doing these crimes so I can clear my good name.”

As he stared at her, confusion swam in her head. It was hard to think right now, and her throbbing skull had nothing to do with it. “What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

His gaze dropped to his folded hands in his lap. “I don’t know.”

“I suppose you want me to stay in Bath?”

His head snapped up and his gaze met hers.
“Of course.
Where else will you stay?”

“I considered returning home to Surrey.”

O’Toole came back in the room holding a tray of tea and cakes. Charlotte kept silent, as did Ian as the butler placed the tray down on the small table in front of them, and then left the room.

“Would you like some tea?” Charlotte asked as she leaned forward on the sofa and began pouring.

“Yes.”

She handed him his cup. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“What are your comments to what I’ve said?”

“I wish you’d change your mind.”

Charlotte sipped her tea. “Why?
Because of our agreement?”

“Yes, mainly.”

“But how are we supposed to play out the month if you’re on the run and dressed as an old woman?”

He shrugged. “I’m not certain. I haven’t thought it out enough to decide what’s going to happen. All of this was rather sudden for me.”

After finishing her tea, she placed the saucer back on the tray. She stood and walked to the fireplace. “I’ll stay another couple of days. If you haven’t straightened this mess out, I’m leaving. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

When she glanced at him, his piercing brown eyes remained on her. Sadness showed through his disguised face. “I don’t suppose you’d like to come back home with me?”

Chuckling, he shook his head. “As much as the idea is tempting, my dear, I think my first priority is to stay and discover who is doing this terrible thing to me and why.”

“You’re right, of course.” Although, she’d figured him the kind of man to run off if life dealt him the wrong hand, she supposed he thought this was much more important than when he left her three years ago.

He moved to her side. “I should leave so I don’t make any of the commissioner’s men curious.”

Gently, she laid her hand on his arm. Strange it would feel like a woman’s arm, instead of a man underneath all of this padding.

“Ian? Please be careful. Although I’m still quite confused right now, I’m worried about your welfare.”

He grinned. “Thank heavens for that. I was beginning to think you were enjoying this.”

“No, Ian.”

Softly, he stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “I suppose it would be out of the question to kiss you right now?”

She chuckled. “I don’t think O’Toole would be able to handle seeing another woman kiss the lady of the house.”

“Then I shall save it for later when I’m back to being a man.”

She shook her head slowly. “I’m worried about your sense of humor, Ian Fielding.”

“I will keep in contact with you.” He moved to the door.

After opening it, she noticed O’Toole had remained close by. How much of their conversation had the butler overheard? Could O’Toole be trusted?