Miss Charity's Case (15 page)

“Lady Eloise will be expecting me home.”

He frowned. “Most peculiar. I am certain she asked if I would be so kind as to escort you home at the end of our evening.”

Charity clenched the front of the box. As she had suspected from the onset, this reeked of Lady Eloise's manipulations. How pleased her great-aunt would be that Charity was seen with a duke!

“I vow I shall return you to Lady Anthony's home at a reasonable hour,” Rimsbury continued when she said nothing. Tucking her hand into his arm, he said, “Come along, Miss Stuart. I shall have a wretched evening if you fail to accompany me.”

Charity smiled. The duke was pleasant company, and Thyra was attending the party. Mayhap Charity could arrange that waltz with the duke for Thyra.

And, if Thyra were there, Oliver would be as well. Certainly Oliver would be able to offer her assistance in finding Joyce. She must discount Joyce's warning, for any risk—even her heart—was worth having her sister home and safe once more.

Although the evening might not turn out as Lady Eloise had planned, it was sure to be interesting.

As soon as she entered the Aftons' crowded ballroom, Charity found herself surrounded. All the guests were eager to fawn upon her, simply because her escort was the Duke of Rimsbury.

“Do let me know when you are next having an at-home,” gushed an attractive woman.

“Yes,” said another, “it is time we became better acquainted.”

Charity answered, “Lady Eloise is always at home on Tuesday afternoons.”

“But you, Miss Stuart, when shall I call on you?”

She was overmastered by the question from Lady Pyton. Lady Eloise had despaired of ever hosting the countess. Charity kept her smile in place. For the first time, she was beginning to understand the benefits Lady Eloise reaped from her sponsorships. No wonder she had been so anxious for Charity to arrive at the party with the duke.

“You are welcome to call on Tuesdays, Lady Pyton,” she said softly. She whirled as another question was fired at her. This was absurd! Months ago, she had been a parson's daughter, a person Lady Pyton and her friends would have greeted politely but no more.

At a tap on her shoulder, she turned to the duke. Rimsbury must have noticed she was overwhelmed, for he whispered, “Shall we take a turn on the dance floor, Miss Stuart?”

“I would be delighted.” She put her fingers on his hand, and let him lead her through the crowd that parted to allow them to pass.

Charity was relieved to hear the music of a reel. Taking her place opposite the duke, she dipped in a curtsy. She almost gasped aloud as she rose and saw, farther along the line, Oliver. She admired the smooth styling of his coat that accented his lean strength.

Across from him, Thyra avoided Charity's eyes. The music spun them into the dance, and Charity had no choice but to follow. She made the motions woodenly and waited for her chance to speak to Thyra. Too many people stood between them. The dance seemed to go on without end, but finally the last note sounded.

Thyra gathered her skirts and ran from the floor. Charity's eyes were caught by the recriminations in Oliver's. His fury startled her, for she had guessed he disapproved of Thyra's infatuation. Otherwise, surely he should have approached the duke himself on her behalf.

“Excuse me,” Charity whispered, trying to escape from that icy blue gaze.

Rimsbury caught her hand. “Miss Stuart, is something amiss?”

Wanting to ask how he could be oblivious to Thyra's dismay, Charity feigned a smile. “I shall return as soon as I can.”

Charity followed her friend up to the second floor. Peering into each door along the long corridor, she discovered Thyra sitting at a dressing table in a light blue bedchamber where the bed was heaped with cloaks and shawls.

Closing the door, so they would not be disturbed, Charity said, “Thyra, please let me explain.”

“You told me you were not coming tonight.” Although Thyra did not turn, Charity could see her pale face reflected in the glass. “What other lies do you plan to tell me?”

“That was not a lie. Lady Eloise
did
send her regrets to Lady Afton.” Charity crossed the room to sit on a stool by the table. “What I did not know was that she arranged for the duke to join me at the theater.”

“And bring you here?”

“I assure you I have done nothing to suggest to the Duke of Rimsbury that I am interested in his company.” She put her hand on Thyra's quivering arm. “He was quite insistent that I accompany him. Knowing you planned to attend, I agreed.”

Thyra touched her handkerchief to the corners of her eyes. “He was insistent?” Rising, she wrung the slip of material. “He has said no more than a dozen words in a row to me in all the times we have met.”

“I'm sure he was being kind to me as a favor to my great-aunt.”

Thyra wrapped her arms around herself. “Forgive my hasty words, Charity. Oliver told me I was being an air-dreamer to be obsessed with a man who treats me with considerate indifference.”

“What a horrible thing for him to say!”

“But true.”

“Thyra, surely we can change the duke's mind.”

She shook her head. “He has chosen you for his companion for the evening. Enjoy it.”

Charity put her hands on her friend's arm and whispered, “How could I enjoy this when you are in anguish?”

Thyra turned away. “Allow me some time to compose myself. Then I shall return.”

“I will sit with you if you wish.”

“Let me be alone.” With a shudder of a strangled sob, she added, “I am not wound up with you, Charity. You have been maneuvered into this by your great-aunt, but …”

Charity was unsure what the “but” might be. When Thyra did not continue, she eased out of the room, closing the door behind her again. Sympathy would not help Thyra now. On the morrow, she would call on Thyra. Then, when her friend was in control of her frayed emotions, they would decide what to do to get Thyra that dance with Myles Hambleton.

She descended the curving stairs with its twisted metal railing. Music and conversation swelled up to draw her into the gaiety. Her smile widened when she noticed some of the women flirting blatantly with prospective husbands. It was not unlike country lasses ogling the farmers' sons at a church festival, but the
ton
would be affronted by the comparison.

Charity searched the room as she walked across the marble floor. With ease, she could pick out the duke by the crowd surrounding him, but she did not walk toward him. She needed to speak to Oliver.

“Congratulations, Charity. You have done yourself and your great-aunt proud tonight.”

At his mockery, Charity smiled. She should not be surprised Oliver had been seeking her as well. “I am pleased to see you. I must speak with you.”

“Pleased?” His smile was cold. “If I could give voice to my thoughts, you might choose another word. I had not guessed you would turn on Thyra at your first chance to advance yourself. I ask you to excuse me.”

“Take with you the thought that Thyra is my dear friend.”

“Her friend? Is this how friends behave? You know her feelings.”

“As do you.” Her voice trembled, in spite of her efforts to calm it. “I believe Thyra can obtain her heart's desire. You don't. Who is her true friend? I—”

He put his hand on her arm, startling her into silence. When he bent so their eyes were level, Charity wondered if she had forgotten how to breathe. The sapphire flame of his gaze surrounded her.

“I regret I am—in spite of the rumors to the contrary—a gentleman. If that were not so, I would delight in telling you the course of my thoughts.” He released her as he continued, “I shall reveal this much. No one else has succeeded in trying to trip me the double in many years.”

“I have been honest!” How could he be angry when she needed his help to find Joyce? Gripping his sleeve, she said, “Oliver, I must speak with you.”

“I have nothing else to say to you, Miss Stuart. Just looking at your pretty face reminds me I have been shown to be a widgeon.” His smile became even more grim. “I do not suffer my own foolishness gladly.”

“Oliver, please—” Someone touched her elbow, but she shrugged it off.

He chuckled. “I have seen the truth. You are no different from the other covetous women who parade themselves about like tumble-a-beds in the hope of obtaining what you were denied by birth.”

Charity's hand rose before she could halt it. The sound of it against his rugged cheek was sharp. When the guests gaped at them, he put his hand to his cheek. She could read nothing in his hooded eyes.

“Oliver, forgive me. I—”

“I th-th-think you have endured B-B-Blackburn's insolence l-l-long enough, Miss St-St-Stuart.”

She whirled. Rimsbury's fury, which had left him stuttering, was visible on his face. “Your Grace, do not chastise Lord Blackburn. I should not have done that.”

“No need to worry,” Oliver said icily. “Miss Stuart need not endure my company any longer.”

Saying nothing, the duke took her hand and led her away. She looked back to see Oliver storm out of the room. She fought her feet which yearned to chase after him. Sobs battered at her aching heart, for she feared she never would see him or—without his help—Joyce ever again.

Ten

Oliver read the dispatch on his desk again, then tossed it aside. The order was clear. Find what had been lost with no delay. Too much had been sacrificed. A simple order, if only he had an idea where to look.

Striding out onto the deck of his ship, he ignored the thunder of hammers and the curses of the workmen. He walked to the railing and looked down into the dirty water of the Thames. It was as clouded as his head.

He smiled wryly as he kneaded his brow. Giving nature a fillip last night had been unwise. Now he was left with an aching head that had more to do with his problems than the wine. Even as he had been giving the last bottle a black eye, he had been unable to forget the dressing-down he had received from Thyra last night.

She had been right. He had acted beastly, not giving Charity a chance to explain. Yet he could not explain either. He had thought it wise to take the opportunity last evening had presented to kill their friendship as surely as his contact had been killed. It was his misfortune that he rued one loss as much as the other.

“Oliver, are you there?”

He pushed himself away from the railing and strode to the other side of the ship. On the quay a familiar form was swathed in light blue. “Charity! What are you doing here?” He hurried down the plank to assist her up onto the deck. “Are you alone?”

“I had Lady Eloise's coachmen bring me.” She twisted the ribbons of her reticule. “Oliver, I came to ask you to forgive me.”

“Impossible!”

Her face paled. “I am so sorry. Please reconsider because I need your help so much.”

He smiled as he unlaced the ribbons from her fingers. “You cannot apologize, for I am the one who should apologize. I should have spoken with Thyra before I accused you of being heartless.”

“You did only as a friend should.”

“As you did, I have been told.” He led her along the deck. Chuckling as her feet fought the gently swaying boards, he said, “You are truly a landswoman, Charity.”

She sat on a crate and gripped its sides. “Will you help me?”

“With Thyra and Rimsbury?”

“With Joyce.” She closed her eyes, then, squaring her shoulders, said, “My sister is missing.”

“I had heard—”

“Lady Eloise's out-and-outers. Oliver, Joyce has vanished.”

He pulled up another crate and sat, facing her. He could read terror in her eyes. “Abducted?”

“No!” She pressed her hands to her breast. “Do not suggest the situation is even more horrible than it is. Joyce has gone to a gentleman she trusts.”

“Who?”

“I am not sure.”

He took a deep breath. He did not need this complication when he had other concerns, but he could not turn Charity away when she had braved the worst the city had to offer to come here to gain his help. “Have you checked with Monthorpe? The young dolt was all a-lather about your sister. I suspected he would dangle after her all Season, if he could not convince her to accept his suit posthaste.”

“I have sent him a carefully worded message. His reply made it clear he has not seen Joyce in several days. She showed me a lovely bracelet she had received from a man she said touched her heart. I believe she is with him. She must be prodigiously frightened.”

“Of what?”

Rising, she wobbled, then sat again. A fleeting smile fell into fear. “I am not certain of the whole, but she warned me away from you.”

Oliver cursed, ignoring the rush of pink climbing her cheeks. He stood and drew her to her feet. “If what I suspect is true, Charity, your sister is the one in grave danger.”

“You must help her, Oliver.”

“I am not sure I can.”

Her slender fingers clutched his arm as she whispered, “If you will help me find her, I will—”

He put his finger against her lips. “Do not say something you might regret later.” He tipped back the wide brim of her bonnet. “Did you come here to make me a proposal I would be a shuttle-head to refuse? I hate to disappoint you, Charity, but even I am not that much of a profligate.”

“I did not mean that!”

“That is unfortunate for both of us.” Gazing down into her eyes, he tightened his grip on her arms, bringing her even closer. Then he released her. Damn! He could not allow his longing for her to cloud his mind now. Turning away, he jammed his hands into his pockets. “Not that it matters, Charity. I have no more idea than you do where to begin such a search without rousing the interest of the Polite World.”

“Oliver, you are my only hope.”

“I hate to disappoint you.” He faced her, a mistake he knew when he saw crystal tears clinging to her lashes.