Charity Begins at Home (6 page)

"She won't see you," Lawrence said with a return to his gloomy disdain.

"Oh, I shan't give her the chance to tell me! I'll just burst in like the big bad wolf and blow all her protests out the window. Now go on, you find the broom, and I'll go huff and puff and blow down your mama's door."

Braden heard the boys pelter off, then the girl's heels clicking on the oak parquet. "Ick. Little boy hands are always so sticky. Jam, jam, all over my dress." At first he thought she was addressing the maid or had perhaps discovered the listener above her. But then he saw her emerge from under the balcony and cross to the brass mirror on the opposite wall, and he realized she was talking to herself. He wondered if that was a habit of hers, if she was so used to cajoling and coaxing others she addressed herself with the same cheerful purpose.

Now he recognized her as exactly the Charity he had unconsciously envisioned, a small girl with a neat figure, in a chocolate riding habit of fashionably military cut. The short jacket just skimmed her trim waist; the hem of her skirt was a little dusty from the floor. Her thick curls were of a matching brown, tumbled from their pins by little-boy hugs. What he could observe of her face was pretty, triangular, wide at the brow and pointed at the chin, with a certain liveliness around the dark eyes that accorded with her lively voice.

Her features arranged so easily into a merry smile that he thought it must be customary, along with the wrinkled-nose face she made in the mirror. She rubbed at a smudge on her cheek, murmuring, "Minx! The elegant Anna will never believe you took in London." She laughed at her reflection's reaction to this and suddenly leaned over the rosewood table and kissed herself in the streaked mirror. Then she made another silly face and vanished, or so it seemed, but Braden realized she had only run up the steps. He melted back into the shadows, for spies best remained hidden, and watched her emerge at the top of the stairs and head to his sister's room, the motley assortment of blossoms back in her hand.

Once she had knocked and entered without waiting for a response, Tristan moved closer to his sister's open door. He was not, in the general way, an eavesdropper. But this chit had marched into the house and immediately set about disciplining his nephews, very capably, he had to admit. Then she started talking to herself and kissing herself in the mirror. Of course, she thought herself unobserved, but her unconventional actions, coupled with that reference to the boys' criminal pagan of an uncle, made him wary. Now she meant to assault his sister with her unique brand of impertinent cheer.

He could forgive himself a certain unease about Anna's fate at the hands of this very managing Miss Calder.

But fascination with her methods kept him out of the room and out of sight, though still within earshot. He leaned against the wall, waiting to hear Anna's faint voice of protest. But she never got the chance. Miss Calder began chattering as soon as she cleared the threshold. "Anna, dear, how lovely to see you. But how sad, too! What a sorrowful time you've had of it. Kenny was so young. Such sad news, and the vicar told me you had to manage it all quite alone until your brother arrived. I'm so glad he's here, for I can't bear to think of you by yourself in this big house. Of course, you have the children, but they really cannot help as a brother can. You have been so brave! Oh, my dear, go ahead and cry, only you'll probably make me cry, too, and I don't look quite so adorable in tears. Just look at you! It's entirely unfair how glorious you look with your eyes glistening so. Your nose doesn't redden in the slightest! However do you manage it?"

Before Anna could answer this unanswerable question, Miss Calder sped on. "I brought you some flowers. Just wildflowers. I gathered them from the copse, but they are pretty, aren't they? Have you been out to see the meadows? Full of daisies! Oh, you must see them! Kent is its loveliest in spring, you know, and that's very lovely! I'm so glad to be home when the flowers are blooming, aren't you? You really must come out to the garden, at least. Tomorrow."

Good luck with that, Tristan thought, pressing his head wearily against the wall. But at least Anna wasn't sobbing, not that she'd had time to get a whimper in edgewise.

"I'll pack a picnic lunch then. Alfresco meals were all the crack in London this season, so I've the most luscious menus. I'll tell you all about the Clayborne Mayday picnic at Ranelagh when all the London swells fell at my feet. I'd grabbed the last bottle of champagne, you understand!"

As he expected, Anna made a demurring noise. But then the resourceful Charity changed tactics again. No longer the social director, she was regretful and a bit insulted. "Oh, I knew you wouldn't believe me. I told myself, Lady Haver is a true cosmopolitan. She'll never believe an ordinary girl had her day in the London sun. So I shan't even tell you." This haughtiness lasted exactly a second. "Although I was hoping you'd be the slightest bit intrigued. Even proud. For you were my model. Oh, not in appearance, of course. I hadn't a prayer of suddenly acquiring inky black waves and those flashing eyes of yours. But I'd truly applied myself these last years, ever since I first met you, to determine how you'd behave always so exquisitely. I was ever such a hoyden, but I was fortunate to have a pattern of a true lady to follow. So whenever I found myself in a precarious situation, I would ask, How would Lady Haver handle this? And I would do it just that way, and I fancy I always acted with a bit of your grace."

To his surprise, Anna finally spoke. It was a little more than a squeak, and quickly faded, but her voice showed more animation than he had heard since he arrived. "Did you really think of me?"

"Yes, I did. I never told any of the multitude who complimented me on my pretty behavior that it was all copied. I preferred they thought it was entirely natural, that I had grown up in some royal court and not a rough-and-tumble manor house. But I knew the flattery was really due you, even if the flatterers didn't."

Painfully Anna asked, "Were they all talking about— about me in London?"

"Well, I hope not!" came the gay reply. "They were all talking about me! Who is that mysterious Miss Calder? Oh, perhaps she looks as if she's just up from the country, but see how she pours tea. Exquisite, don't you think?" Her imitation of a London fop was note-perfect, and Tristan was hard-put not to announce his presence by laughing aloud.

"I mean, were they all talking about the duel?"

"Oh, the duel. Well, there was some talk in March, but the season was just beginning and the next thing we knew that German princess had eloped with her physician and everyone suspected he had been drugging her. So no one gave poor Kenny another thought." Ruefully she added, "Fame is ever fleeting in London, you know."

"But here, here in Calder. Everyone's gossiping, I'm sure."

"Gossiping? Come, dearest, this isn't London. People have better things to do than endlessly work over the latest scandal. Especially after the flood in April. And the Midsummer fair is coming up, and there's ever so much work to do. You know, I think your boys might like to help me with the preparations. Lawrence is quite the little Hercules. And they can go through their toys to donate a few to the jumble booth. You'll remember to ask them, won't you? They will love the fortune-teller, I know. Everyone will, except the vicar. He thinks it's paganism."

She broke off her cheery monologue, and Tristan could hear his sister's now-familiar sobs. He almost went in, but then the heartbreaking sounds quieted, and he imagined Miss Calder's shoulder was getting soaked again.

"There, there, darling. You know, this is all sad enough without you thinking yourself the center of gossip. For Kenny was ours before he was yours. We all loved him despite his faults, so we can hardly think the worse of his wife for feeling the same way."

"But I didn't even know that he had faults like that."

"You are in good company! Why, only this morning Mrs. Jenkinson— she buys our excess milk from us— told me that Kenny Haverton was the sweetest boy in Kent and no one would ever convince her otherwise. Of course," she continued thoughtfully, "he'd never put a snake in her picnic basket, so she could still cherish an illusion or two."

A watery giggle was her answer. "Did he really do that?"

"Yes. And much, much more. I was only eight. Lord, he must have been eighteen then! And still playing such pranks. At any rate, he was very sweet when he wasn't wicked, and no one blames you for loving him. You deserved better, of course, but surely you've noticed most women deserve better than the husbands they end up with."

There was a sardonic note in her lilting voice that saved it from girlishness, and Tristan recalled her rejected swains. Not particularly respectful of the opposite sex, Miss Calder. But then her tone briskened. "Now then, what's this about you not receiving callers? Not everyone is as rude as I, you know. If you tell them to go away, they will usually go away. And then you're left all alone with your sad thoughts. No, Anna, no more hiding away in your lonely tower. Your brother is here and I am here, and you shan't be alone, prefer it or no!"

Anna made some inarticulate protest, and Miss Calder laughed, an impish sound, light and teasing. "You haven't any choice, my dear, so you must get used to it. Come, give me your arm, and I'll show you. Just lean on me; of course you're feeling weak, you've been lying down forever." Her voice, when it resumed, came from farther away. "Now do you see my brother and his crew there? You have been taken over by Calders. Francis has been trying to buy that south field from Kenny for years. Now he'll get his chance to farm it, after all. He is such an enthusiastic farmer, you know."

"I'm so glad," Anna replied. "Please, take me back to bed now." There was a shifting of the mattress, and Anna's sigh. "I am glad, for I hadn't given a thought to the planting, and I doubt poor Tristan knows a hoe from a serving fork. He's not a farmer, you see."

"But an artist! Much more exciting, I think. You never told me your brother was the famous Lord Braden. I must tell you what my aunt said when she saw his—"

Tristan thought it best to cut short this artistic discussion before he heard something he preferred not to— the fate of all eavesdroppers, he understood. He knocked on the open door and entered to see his sister pale and lovely, traces of tears silver on her cheeks, her blue-black hair arranged against the white pillow. "Oh, Anna, I see you have a visitor." He was rather proud of his nonchalance. Miss Calder wasn't the only one worthy of Drury Lane.

As his sister performed the introductions, even smiling a bit, Braden got his first close look at Miss Calder. She rose from her perch on the bed, her fair cheeks flushed, but she quickly regained her composure. Her hand was small and warm in his, her smile merry, revealing a couple of dimples. Her eyes, a clear hazel, were nicely fringed with dark lashes; her gaze was direct and unafraid. She had discarded the light jacket of her riding habit, and a white chemisette hinted pleasantly at the curve of her breasts. She had no claim to beauty, for there was no mystery in that gaze. But this was an appealing face, fresh and piquant and intelligent.

And the contrast between the energetic Charity and his beautiful, broken sister was almost too painful to bear.

As if she understood, Miss Calder moved away from Anna's bed and began to arrange the neglected wildflowers in the pitcher on the mantel. Tristan's sharp eye noted her felicity with the simple art. The daisies were surrounded by the deep pink hedgeroses, and a single green fern, asymmetrically placed, balanced the pitcher's spout. "Lady Haver has agreed to come out to the garden with me in the morning. I told her she would like the flowers, but actually I'm planning to bore her with tales of my life in London."

"London suited you then?"

She looked back from her flowers, perhaps sensing some challenge, though he had meant none. The she chuckled, a pretty sound, like gold coins in a pocket. "But of course. And I suited London! I was named the Incomparable! Actually," she told Anna in a stage whisper, "I was called the Comparable, but here in the country they don't understand such distinctions and think it a fine title indeed."

Anna, he was glad to notice, made a brave show of feminine curiosity. "Did you fix the attention of any special gentlemen?"

Miss Calder set the pitcher of flowers on the night table and wrinkled her nose in dismay. "Oh, tomorrow when we are in the garden, I shall confess all. Now I must take my leave and go back to the church. Oh, Anna, Lawrence has a matter to take up with you. Please don't be too angry with him, for he's a boy, and boys are inclined to be troublesome." She cast a mischievous glance at Tristan. "Of course, you only had the one brother, and I've no doubt he was a paragon. But mine weren't so good, and Lawrence is no worse than the best of them—or no better than the worst, is that what I mean?" She picked up her jacket and gloves and bent to touch Anna's cheek. "Till tomorrow, dearest."

"I'll see you out," Braden said in response to the speaking glance the girl gave him.

As he had expected, the silent invitation was extended for purposes less lascivious than instructive. While they walked down the staircase, Miss Calder quickly outlined Lawrence's crime and punishment. She gestured to the dingy parquet floor of the foyer. "You see, he's swept every bit. So if you could just— oh, forgive me. I shouldn't tell you how to handle your own nephew. I've so many brothers, you see, that I tend to play big sister to any little boy. But he really was very sorry."

Tristan promised not to give Lawrence the thrashing he no doubt deserved. "They have no nurse, you see, and have been let to run wild."