Charity Begins at Home (10 page)

Embarrassed as she was to be caught in such a trick, Charity was nonetheless excited. So few people saw below the surface of human converse to recognize underlying motives and methods. But Lord Braden's slight smile told her that he understood her cozening ways rather too well for comfort. No doubt an artist learned to read people in order to capture their essence with paint and canvas.

Charity felt a warm rush of gratification. So handsome, so talented, so observant—so intense. This was a man she could admire, a man she could respect. And, she thought as she gazed into his stormy dark eyes—Adonis's eyes—he was a man she could desire.

"Please join us." She gestured at the extra place. "I brought enough for all three of us."

That moment of communion vanished. He moved back a step, wariness replacing the amusement in his eyes. "I meant to get started on sorting out Haver's books this morning."

He thinks I've set my cap for him, Charity realized. For all that she had just decided to fall in love with him, Charity was insulted. She tilted up her chin and gave him a look utterly devoid of regret. "Just as well. I've so much gossip I can't imagine relating in mixed company."

Now amusement flickered in those speaking eyes of his. She was diverted for a moment, for she was learning to watch his eyes for the emotion that he masked with those chiseled features. But she regained her hauteur as he took a seat beside her and held out his plate. "Say on, then. Please pay me no mind, except to spear me a bit of that Moroccan melon of yours."

"As you wish." Charity forked a slice of melon and dropped it carelessly on his plate. 'Then, taking him entirely at his word, she turned to Anna. "Have you heard about the Abshire twins?" She did not even glance at Braden, although she was burningly aware of him. "Twenty-four-year-old identical twins. By identical, I mean identically tall, blond, handsome, and wealthy. They arrived in town in search of brides. Then they announced they would only accept a pair of twin sisters! Such despair you would not countenance. Priscilla Barrett and I thought we might pass ourselves off as twins."

"Who is Priscilla Barrett?" Braden broke in.

As if Anna had asked this, Charity favored her with a smile. "Oh, Priscilla looks nearly as much like me as Abshire One looks like Abshire Two. But she and I couldn't decide how we would divvy them up, or how we would keep them divvied after that. For they are very mischievous, and it would be just like them to switch off occasionally, just for variety!"

"Charity! What a thing to say!" Anna inclined her head in her brother's direction, but Charity ostentatiously paid this no mind. Even when Braden refilled her glass from the jar of lemonade, Charity kept her smile focused on her hostess and her gossip as scandalous as possible.

She ran through all the stories she could remember which had naught to do with straying husbands and fatal duels, and succeeded in diverting the countess. Lord Braden made no further attempt to intervene in the conversation. But she knew he was listening, for she heard his quiet chuckle whenever she said something particularly outrageous. She still hadn't forgiven him, but she was conscious of his gaze on her face, could feel its heat right there above her cheekbone. Sometimes, out of the corner of her eye, she could see his hands. Slim and graceful as they toyed with utensils, here and there stained with paint, his hands fascinated her. They created the art she admired so much. She longed to see them at work, longed to touch them.

Anna spoke little, but finally she managed an inquiring smile. "But Charity dear, you haven't told me the least bit of gossip that included you!"

Charity gave into the spirit of mischief yet again, bringing her hand to her cheek in mock chagrin. "You've heard then? Oh, that's the last time I trust a tsar who promises not to kiss and tell!"

Anna gasped, then blushed and slapped Charity's hand lightly. "The tsar? Oh, Charity, you are horrid! And I recall you as ever the prettiest-behaved girl!"

"Blame it on Alexander then. I never said such things before I experienced his royal Russian charm."

Anna gave way finally to laughter, a weak series of chuckles that barely shook her frail shoulders. But Charity knew from the rusty sound that the countess had not used this reflex for months now. And so she redoubled her attempts to amuse, making risqué plays on the word Russian that had Anna helpless with giggles.

She had almost forgot Lord Braden, as much as she could forget a man whose image had haunted her dreams all night long. But as she leaned over to pour a glass of lemonade to soothe Anna's laugh-roughened throat, Charity saw his face, so vivid, so austere under the dark curls. As he witnessed his sister's amusement, his eyes were stormy now with some anger Charity couldn't comprehend.

But she felt rebuked again. Perhaps she had gone too far beyond the acceptable with her last sallies, however successful they were with Anna. So she only handed the countess her lemonade and bade her drink, then concentrated on buttering her a slice of rye bread. But her silence reminded Anna of her original inquiry. "Come, Charity, tell me," she said, her breath coming in little gasps of laughter, "wasn't there any man short of royalty who paid you special attention?"

Charity felt Braden's gaze on her again and murmured something negative. Anna, not entirely lost to nuance, did not press the issue, doubtlessly believing Charity to have been an utter failure in London.

But to her surprise, Braden took up the question even more bluntly. "No suitor then? Not even one?"

This stung like a slap; for the first time in a half-hour, she faced that dark gaze levelly. "None I care to name. I am not like the tsar, you see. I see no sense in boasting of my conquests."

"Oh, I knew you had conquests! And you did promise yesterday to tell me of them!" Anna cried. Then she dismissed her brother with an imperious gesture. "Tristan, dear, you must leave. She won't say a word when you're about."

"I beg leave to doubt that," Braden observed coolly, "as she's favored me with three months' worth of scandal in thirty minutes. Miss Calder, do not shy off now. Or do you gossip only about other people?"

Hurt, trapped, Charity could only bite her lower lip and then, addressing Anna, said quietly, "No one I thought to marry, obviously. Terence Wetherby. His father the general liked me, and Terence, I think, wanted to incur his approval. Which he's never had, poor boy. And Bessemer," she concluded in a rush.

"Bessemer?" Anna's echo plainly expressed her incredulity. "Surely you don't mean Sir Ralph."

"He has three little sisters, you see." Charity tilted her head wryly, more in control now. "I gather he's fond of them in his way but has no idea how to go about rearing them. Why he thought I would, I can't imagine. Now if he had three little brothers, I might be tempted, for that is my field of expertise."

Anna shook her head in wonder. She might have married for love (however foolish that seemed now), but her subtle disapproval indicated that a girl like Charity should not be so choosy. Braden, however, would not let the matter rest. "Only the two?"

Charity refused to dignify his taunting with the truth. She had no need to boast, after all, for there was nothing very much to boast about. "I am so sorry to disappoint you, Lord Braden. Anna, dear, thank you for your company and your garden." She scraped their bread remains into a bowl then carried it to the wall and tossed the crusts into the weedy tulip bed for the birds. Returning to the table, she briskly stacked plates into her basket.

After a stunned moment, Braden must have realized that he had no maid to call to clear away, and rose to help. He gathered the silverware into a linen napkin and wrapped it up safely. Anna only sat there musing over Charity's foolishness. Finally she looked up. "Oh, dear, you aren't leaving, are you? I would so love to hear if Sir Ralph went down on one knee and vowed to slay dragons for you."

"Of course not! He saves such dramatics for more intriguing propositions! Arid I must go. I've lumber to order, and then I'm to start planning the children's play. We're doing Jonah and the Whale—do say Lawrence and Jeremy can help with the rehearsals. They might even get parts as Jonah's disloyal shipmates. And, Anna, you must help also. Mrs. Hering expects sixty rag dolls for booth prizes, and I shall never have time!" Before Anna could protest that she couldn't, she just couldn't, Charity turned to Lord Braden, letting the slightest hint of malice enter her merry voice. "And your brother can paint the set for my play! A backdrop of the sea, with a great whale rampant!"

She smiled sweetly at the horror that dawned on his face and hardly heard Anna's hasty agreement to the rag doll proposal. Then she turned briskly back to her packing, wrapping the lemonade jar carefully in the tablecloth, covering the plates with a napkin. "The Ferris girls are coming up to clean. I hope you don't mind that I promised them a silk gown apiece. They wouldn't take on this task for mere money!" She closed the picnic basket with a definitive snap. "I'll come round tomorrow to see how Cammie has fared against the boys. I'm taking wagers on her knockout in round three. I shall make my fortune, I think, for the boys have some fervent advocates in the stables who are ready to give me odds."

So, leaving Anna smiling tremulously but truly, Charity hefted the laden basket and crossed to the French doors. As she fumbled with the latch, Braden came up behind her and took the basket's handle. "Let me carry this to your gig."

Charity was entirely capable of carrying the basket all the way back to the Grange, but she had no desire to brangle further with him. Instead, she stayed silent, nursing the hurt in her heart, as they walked through the house to the front door. Her heart actually ached, she thought with a mingling of alarm and excitement. And all because he had spoken to her in that slighting way.

Finally, as they emerged into the sunlight, he broke the silence, not to apologize, but only to thank her again. "I thought I'd never hear Anna laugh again. But you had her giggling like a girl. I don't understand," he continued, raising his hand to signal the elderly coachman. "I am her brother, and yet I can do nothing to ease her pain. And you come in like a sunbeam, and she brightens again."

She realized now that his disconcerting anger had been self-directed. He wasn't incomprehensible after all; his thoughts only took some interpreting. With a secret thrill, she attributed that to his Italian side. "Oh, it's not so hard to understand. I'm not associated with any happy or sad times in her life. She risks nothing by letting me close."

Jem, yawning from his afternoon nap, had brought the gig around, and Braden handed him the basket. Still frowning, he said, almost to himself, "Yes, I suppose that makes sense. She expected nothing of you, so your kindness is a gift. But from me, she had a right to expect more than a letter every three months and an annual visit in London when the Academy had its exhibition."

Charity paused with one foot on the gig's first rung. She felt every sympathy for widows, but she saw no sense in Braden's getting caught up in the snare of Anna's helplessness. "But you have your own life. And your own work. You will do her no favor, you know, by making her dependent on you."

"I didn't mean to do that."

"Oh, but if you sacrifice for her, she will become dependent. For if she doesn't need you, your sacrifice will seem meaningless." She broke off, disoriented by her own insight. Braden was about to speak, but she forestalled him. "I saw your paintings at the exhibition in London. I was intrigued—and that was before I knew you were almost a neighbor! You must not let your sister's troubles upset you too greatly. She would hate to think she had interfered with your success, for I'm certain she takes great pride in it."

This long speech had the effect of diverting him from whatever assessing comment he meant to make. Instead, Braden smiled ruefully and shook his head. "Very nice, Miss Calder. I suppose you think susceptibility to flattery is a family trait? But having observed your technique with my sister, I am wise to your ways. You will not persuade me that my sister's well-being depends more on my finishing a painting than straightening out her finances. No, no!" He raised his hand, laughing. "Don't volunteer to do it for me. We have presumed on you enough already."

Was he implying that she took too much on herself, pushed to help where she wasn't needed? Her aid had never been turned down before. In fact, most recipients were all too happy to take advantage of her talents. But Lord Braden was probably used to minding his own affairs and expected others to mind theirs. His reluctance to join her little lunch, his challenging comment about her number of suitors—perhaps he felt pursued and was warning her off.

In the moment or two it took to reach this supposition, Charity had climbed nimbly in beside Jem. She just wanted to be gone from this difficult man who regarded her so coolly out of those burning eyes, who suspected motives she didn't quite have, who let her have only tantalizing glimpses of his thoughts. Even as she welcomed her own painful disorientation—surely it indicated intense emotion!—she felt cheated. She had always known that falling in love would hurt. But she had not reckoned that it would be humiliating, too.

Rejection was new to her. So she retreated into a familiar role, holding her hand out to him with a smile. "It was a lovely lunch. Thank you. Tell Anna I hope she will let me return her hospitality very soon."

"But you provided the lunch."

She withdrew her hand from his and nodded to Jem, who urged the horse on before Lord Braden could complete his objection.