Miss Charity's Case (16 page)

“Then there is nothing we can do?”

“Let me ask a few questions about Town.” His thumbs tilted her chin back so her lips were directly below his. “I can make no promises.”

“Do you think you can find Joyce?”

“I shall try. I shall think of nothing else until she is safe at your side once more.”

She curved her fingers around his nape as he drew her mouth to his. While he savored the sweet honesty of her kiss, he hoped she would not guess his words were lies.

Thyra was delighted with the charade Oliver had suggested to protect Charity's reputation. Thyra would pretend she had accompanied Charity, for it could not be known she had visited the docks alone. With the sunlight, Thyra's good spirits had returned. She teased Oliver for being her dashing knight when she had needed none and assured Charity their friendship was secure.

Grosvenor Square was filled with activity when the carriage turned onto the square. Remodeling was continuing on the row of terrace houses which faced her great-aunt's. They promised to be even more elegant.

Waiting for Oliver to assist Thyra to the ground, Charity was glad her friend had agreed to come here and brave Lady Eloise's censure. What a hubbub there would have been if Charity had arrived with only Oliver! She gave the coachman a smile, knowing he would keep her secret, for she had promised to pay him well.

Charity gasped as Prentiss ushered them into the hall. Every surface room was covered with flowers. The rich scent of roses and the lighter aroma of field flowers surrounded them.

“What is this?” Charity asked in amazement.

Lady Eloise appeared at the top of the stairs. Her smile gleamed with satisfaction, but wavered when she saw her unexpected guests. Then her smile returned as she begrudged them a greeting while she descended the stairs. “How kind of you to call, Thyra! And you, Oliver, you look well.”

He bowed over her wrinkled hand. “I believe you look younger every day, Lady Eloise.”

“Sling the hatchet at someone else, young man. I do not need you lathering me with untruths.” She linked her arm through Charity's and guided her over to a lush collection of red roses. “Look at what was delivered for you. What a hit you must have made last night! They arrived just after you left. The duke was much distressed to discover he had missed you.”

“The duke?” Charity repeated faintly. She turned to Thyra, whose large eyes were awash again with tears. “Why don't you come upstairs and sit, Thyra?”

“Quite impossible!” ordered Lady Eloise. “You must dress, Charity. I told the Duke of Rimsbury you would be at home for tea. He is sure to return then. No man sends such a generous token if his intentions are less than serious.”

Oliver put his hand on Thyra's arm. “I think it would be wise if we depart now. Thyra, did you forget we had an appointment with your father's solicitor this afternoon?”

“That was this afternoon?” She flashed him a smile of appreciation, and Charity guessed Oliver had suggested this tale to save Thyra from more embarrassment. “I own the appointment went quite out of my head.”

“Mine as well.”

Taking Charity's hands, Thyra said, “I must ask you to excuse us. This meeting shall be a dreadful bore, but Oliver insists I must attend it.”

Oliver added, “Because I wish you to be as aware of your financial situation as I am. It continues to amaze me a woman is expected to oversee the running of a household—a most complicated task—but considered incapable of using her skills beyond the four walls of her home. Thyra, you must be able to make decisions without me.”

“Are you leaving again so soon?”

Charity held her breath as she waited for his answer. A man whose business involved shipping and the sea must be obliged to spend time with his ships. Despair taunted her as it had when she had thought she might not see Oliver again.

He looked in her direction, and she knew her thoughts were visible. A slow smile wafted from his lips to his eyes, but she was unsure if he were pleased or amused.

“I shall,” he said, “be ashore for a time yet. You ladies must, therefore, tolerate my company until I find I am needed aboard ship.” Holding out his arm, he urged, “We must not be late, Thyra. Nor do we wish to delay Charity from being at home for her callers.” He tapped a leaf. “You seem to have made quite a conquest last night, Charity.”

“Oliver,” chided Lady Eloise, who had been oddly silent for too long, “you should remember your manners in my house.”

“You have been scolding me for that since I was in short coats.” He chuckled. “I fear I am too accustomed to my uncivil ways. Come along, Thyra.”

Charity grasped her friend's hand and said, “Trust me. Everything shall come to rights. Won't it, Oliver?”

“I hope so.”

She blinked back tears at his somber tone. For the first time, she questioned if she could save her sister from her own folly.

Charity's hope that she might deal with the problem of the Duke of Rimsbury faded soon after he returned her to Grosvenor Square from an evening with Leatrice at the theater. Every effort to introduce Thyra into the conversation had failed.

The footman helped Leatrice from the carriage. She hurried into the house with undue haste, and Charity guessed she was acting on Lady Eloise's orders. It startled Charity that her great-aunt would risk Charity compromising herself in any way, but then realized the old woman hoped to see her grandniece become a duchess.

The footman returned to hold the door open as the duke stepped out. With a warm smile, he handed her to the ground and walked with her to the steps to Lady Eloise's door.

“Miss Stuart, I have enjoyed your company this evening.”

“And I yours.” She glanced toward the door, but her hint may have been too subtle for he did not bid her a good evening.

When the duke took Charity's hand, she bit her lower lip. This was not going at all as she had hoped.

“I trust you shall be busy with Lady Eloise on the morrow,” he said, “but may I call on the chance that you will be at home?”

“That may not be wise, Your Grace.” She drew her fingers out of his.

“For what reason?”

Charity considered demurring, but the truth must be voiced. “Lady Thyra Estes is my dear bosom-bow, and I do not wish to see her in grief.”

He sighed. “Ah, yes, Thyra. Such a beautiful woman. It seems most unfair she has set her heart on Blackburn when he makes no move to marry her. Yet, I am afraid to own, I fail to see what that has to do with me calling upon you.”

“You might find she is not as attached to Lord Blackburn as the gabble-grinders would suggest.”

“No?” His eyes widened as he rubbed his gloved fingers along his long chin. “I find it arrant nonsense to believe Blackburn is not elated to wed her. She is charming, is she not?” Before she could answer, he continued, “But I am remiss to be speaking of another beautiful woman in your presence, Miss Stuart.”

“There is nothing wrong with speaking of mutual friends.”

“I delay you when it is quite late. I trust I shall see you on the morrow when I call to thank Lady Eloise for allowing you to join me this evening. She appears to be recovering from her recent malady, and I would like to ascertain for myself that she does better. Do not begrudge me that simple consolation.”

Charity recognized defeat. For all his retiring ways, the Duke of Rimsbury was as irritatingly stubborn as Oliver. The thought of Oliver's amusement at her fruitless efforts added to her exasperation.

“I am sure Lady Eloise will be at home tomorrow for you,” she answered.

“And you?”

“I promised Thyra I would ride with her in the Park. Would you care to join us?” Her eyes brightened as she urged, “Do come with us. Both Thyra and I would enjoy your company.”

The duke hesitated, his face reddening. “I think that would be quite inadvisable, Miss Stuart.”

He folded her hand between his. When she pulled her hand away again, he did not try to hold it. Mayhap he was not like Oliver, after all.

“Thank you for a pleasant evening, Miss Stuart.”

“I look forward to seeing you again.”

“Tomorrow.”

Charity realized that was an order. Nodding, she whispered a good evening and hurried up the stairs. Prentiss met her at the door to tell her that her great-aunt wished to speak to her before she retired. His message was unnecessary, for she had seen the light in Lady Eloise's room and the silhouette peering around the drapes. Lady Eloise would want to know every detail of the evening.

She sighed as she handed a footman her cape. The long evening was not yet over, and she was beginning to think there was nothing she could do to escape the slowly closing trap her great-aunt had devised which would end in her marrying a man she doubted if she ever could love.

Lady Eloise emerged with a broad smile from the Duke of Rimsbury's carriage in front of Almack's. Nothing could be grander than this night. With Charity on the arm of a duke, her grandniece would make a grand entrance where only the
élite de l'élite
were welcome. Then everyone would forget Charity's mother had been such a muttonhead to spurn the affections of a marquess to run off with a penniless parson.

Tonight that would be changed. In exchange for a few favors she had done in the past, Lady Eloise had obtained her grandniece an invitation this Wednesday night. Charity did not recognize the honor done her, but she would learn.

With barely restrained impatience, Lady Eloise waited for the Duke of Rimsbury to bring Charity to the door. There, Lady Eloise watched as her grandniece was introduced to Lady Cowper.

Charity dipped in a deep curtsy. Aware of her great-aunt's intense scrutiny, she was glad Leatrice had not been invited tonight. She did not need both of them hovering over her, anxious to chastise her for the slightest breach of etiquette.

Lady Cowper smiled as Charity rose. With her wide eyes and silky, dark hair, the
très grande dame
was younger than Charity had expected. “How pleasant to meet you, Miss Stuart,” Lady Cowper said softly. “I trust we shall speak later if the duke and Lady Eloise can bear to lose you for a single moment.”

“I look forward to that time, my lady.”

Knowing no other conversation was required at that moment, Charity allowed her great-aunt to guide her about the main room, introducing her to people she had not met before. Always the Duke of Rimsbury stayed by her side, like an attentive puppy. She almost grinned when the comparison popped into her brain. Lady Eloise might ask her to explain, and that she could not do.

“So what do you think of this place?” the duke asked as he brought her a piece of cake and a glass of lemonade.

She grimaced as she took a sip. It was sour. When he chuckled, she smiled. “I have heard, even in Bridgeton, that Almack's offers many entertainments.”

“Lady Eloise would not approve of you wandering among the rooms where gentlemen enjoy their cards.”

Her answer was stalled when his name was called by one of the guests who sparkled as brilliantly as the chandeliers overhead. Few people danced. Standing around and speaking of the latest gossip and intrigues in the government seemed to be the primary activity in the crowded room. An orchestra was set in a high galley on one side of the room, but the music was muted to abet the conversation.

Charity spoke politely, but watched the door. When she saw Thyra enter on Oliver's arm, she was surprised no one, save her, took note of their arrival. Interest in their long relationship had been eclipsed by hers with the Duke of Rimsbury. As she deflected the questions that probed too intimately into her friendship with Myles—as he had requested she call him—much to her great-aunt's delight—she tried to fathom a way to get Myles and Thyra together.

When Oliver led Thyra toward the opposite side of the room, Thyra looked at Charity helplessly. Charity smiled to bolster her friend's spirits. The evening would not be short. Somehow she would convince Myles to dance with Thyra. Not a waltz, for the waltz was not accepted here on St. James's.

“So you think pink should be worn only during the day, Miss Stuart?”

Charity blinked as she looked at the puppy-fat face of a woman whose name had vanished from her brain. That these women were interested in her opinions was incredible. “Pink is not my favorite color,” she answered, trying to see where Thyra and Oliver had gone. Certainly Oliver would seek her out if he had discovered anything about Joyce's whereabouts.

“Then do you like green?”

“Yes.”

“And yellow? Do you like yellow?”

Charity did not answer as Oliver stepped from among the people ringing the room. She wondered where Thyra was. In disbelief, she watched as Oliver nodded at the duke, but continued past. He paused to greet Lady Cowper.

When Oliver bid Lady Cowper a good evening, he turned toward Charity. She was about to greet him, then bit back her words when he stared through her and smiled as he strode past her again. The insult was as stinging as a slap to the face. She flinched as she recalled she had done exactly that the last time they were among these people.

But hadn't they patched up the differences between them? Surely he understood how anxious she was to hear what he had learned about Joyce.

“Miss Stuart, do I have your attention?”

At Myles's poignant question, Charity faced him. “Forgive me. I fear my mind was elsewhere.”

“What has upset you so?”

“Oliver!” she snapped.

“Blackburn? What did he do?”

Charity clamped her lips closed. She was proving she was as much a widgeon as Lady Eloise had named her on more than one occasion. Snapping open the fan which was connected to her wrist by an emerald velvet ribbon, she smiled. “He did nothing. He can be a most irritating man.”

“Perhaps that is why Lady Thyra Estes is so beguiled by him.” He smiled. “They are much the same.”