Miss Charity's Case (20 page)

“Yes.” She gazed up at him. How easily she could love this arrogant, mercurial man!

“Will you dance with me?”

“Yes.” Even though she did not hesitate, she looked toward Lady Eloise. A furious cloud darkened her great-aunt's eyes, but the glare was aimed past her. She turned and understood why Lady Eloise was so angry.

Alone in the otherwise empty ballroom, to the melody of a trio of violins, Myles waltzed with Thyra. Their happy faces put an end to speculation about the duke marrying the grandniece of Lady Eloise Anthony.

Pausing by the doorway, Charity watched them. They were oblivious to everyone else. Once she had fallen in love as quickly. It had swept away every morsel of her sense, but she hoped Thyra would find a happier conclusion to her dreams.

The song ended, and the next began with only a moment's pause.

“Another waltz?” Charity whispered.

Oliver answered as softly, “Rimsbury's selection. It appears he wishes to have a chance to learn more about Thyra without eager ears eavesdropping.” Holding up his hand, he asked, “Shall we?”

Charity slipped her fingers into his broad ones which closed around them as his hand settled at her waist. She lifted her skirt and smiled as he whirled her into the dance. The room, the music, everything but his touch and the immeasurable warmth of his eyes vanished while they moved together to the rhythm of her heart's joyous beat.

His fingers laced through hers as he smiled at her. Slowly, so slowly she was barely aware of his arm slipping around her waist, he drew her nearer. On every step, his strong legs brushed against her, hinting at the pleasure they could find in an even more intimate dance.

“They are staring at us,” he whispered.

“Let them stare!”

His chuckle was husky with passion. “What do you think they would say if I kissed you right now?”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I suspect it would be said you had ruined another woman's reputation.”

“It is just as well they cannot read my thoughts.” He paused, then murmured, “Charity?”

“Yes?” She looked up at him.

Instead of answering, he stopped. She was about to ask what was wrong. Then she realized the music had stopped. A single note came from the violin, and she lifted her hand to his again.

“Enough!”

Charity stiffened as her great-aunt strode toward them, her cane castigating the marble floor on every step. The old woman halted next to them.

“Good evening, Lady Eloise,” Oliver said with a polite bow. “I appreciate you allowing me to enjoy Charity's company this evening.”

“You have enjoyed too much of it.” She pointed toward the door. “Our cloaks are waiting by the door, Charity. Bid
Lord Blackburn
farewell.”

Charity was aware of every eye focused on them. To infuriate her great-aunt more could cause a scene that would be fodder for the gossips for days. “Lady Eloise, we should not insult Leatrice by leaving at such an early hour.”

“Leatrice will take no insult that you have showed uncommonly good sense in taking your leave.” Gripping Charity's arm with her gnarled fingers, she snapped, “Goodbye, Lord Blackburn.”

“Deuced fine set of affairs!” snapped Oliver as he tossed his top hat into the hands of Thyra's butler. He shrugged off his cloak and dropped it on the man's arms.

Thyra laughed as Oliver assisted her with her shawl. Taking his hand, she led him up the stairs and drew him into the sitting room. She watched as he served himself from the bottle of port set on the sideboard.

Dropping to the pink settee, she asked, “What did you expect? That Lady Eloise would allow you to bring Charity back to Grosvenor Square? Did you think she would let you two share a
tête-à-tête
on the way from Hanover Square?”

“The old virago has gone too far this time.”

Again she laughed. “You sound as if you intend to call her out to avenge your blemished honor. She is a virago, I own, but she thinks she has her grandniece's best interests at heart.”

Oliver took a deep drink of the wine and smiled. “Come now, Thyra, you cannot believe the nonsense you are spouting. Lady Eloise's only concern is making a grand match for her grand-niece.”

“You should have known she would not let you continue to dance.” Curling her feet under her, she accepted the glass he held out to her.

“You are fortunate your guardian does not watch over you so closely.”

She dimpled. “How can you argue with me catching the attentions of a duke, Oliver? Even Lady Eloise would be pleased with that.”

“For Charity. You and Rimsbury are quite the pair,” he said, as he sat next to her. Stretching his arm along the back of the sofa, he thought of the many late nights they had sat together like this. If Thyra had her way, this would be one of the last.

“And you and Charity.”

“We have vowed to become friends, although her great-aunt will surely not approve.”

“Friends?” Thyra tapped his nose. “You needn't pretend with me, Oliver! You were as pleased as a child at Christmas when you had the chance to dine with Charity tonight. When are you going to own you are quite besotted with her?”

He met her eyes steadily. “Being besotted with Charity would be insane. You know that, Thyra. Mayhap it is for the best that Lady Eloise stepped in tonight.” He rocked his glass in his hand. “I must have enjoyed too much of Hoyle's wine. What place do I have for a woman in my life?”

“It is not that, and you know it! You are afraid love will bind you to shore.”

“Does the reason matter when the end result is the same?” Crossing one foot over the elegant white knee of his breeches, he mused, “Now you are all agog with your dashing duke, and I shall have to endeavor to regain that reputation I put aside when you so compliantly became my escort.”

Thyra slapped his arm, laughing. “You are all about in your head. Remember how much you hated playing the rakehell, Oliver? Not that you did not do it superbly. Lord Copley's sister still barely acknowledges you.”

“It is no loss.”

Again she laughed. “That is so, but do you want to begin that charade again?” When he started to answer, she put her hand on his arm. “Are you willing to break Charity's heart?”

“That is what I am trying to avoid.” He rose and went to the hearth. Drumming his fingers on the mantel, he stared down at the fire. “More than anything else.”

“It may be too late.”

“I fear you are right.”

“And what of your heart, Oliver?” She came to him. Leaning her head on his shoulder, she whispered, “You have protected it for so long. Are you willing to risk it now?”

“I must. I promised her I would help her find her sister. Charity is such an innocent. She thinks she can save her sister alone.”

Thyra's eyes filled with tears. “That is such a tragedy. What have you learned?”

He smiled icily and faced her. “Too little so far, Thyra. Field is being his usual, slippery self. But why would he be dropping hints that he is back in London, unless he wished to be found?” He lifted his glass toward her. “And you can be sure, Thyra, that I shall find him.”

Thirteen

Dearest Charity
,

How you must fear for me! I know I fear for you. Every day, you are in my thoughts. Each night, I close my eyes with a prayer that soon we will be together again
.

This letter will let you know I am fine and I am thinking constantly of you. I know you have so many questions, but I cannot give you the answers now. Soon, I pray
.

Charity lowered the slip of paper signed in her sister's hand and stared at the lad who was holding out his palm that was threaded with dirt. When she dropped several coins onto it, he made them disappear with a single, swift motion.

“You say a dark-haired lady gave you this?”

He nodded.

“Can you tell me where?”

With a grin, he raised his hand again. She placed her last two coins on it. “She be at The Boar and Bear.”

“The Boar and Bear?” she asked carefully, although no one else stood in the small storage room behind the kitchen in her great-aunt's house.

Charity had not thought the lad from the butcher's shop would come with such information in the hour after dinner. Only chance had arranged for her to be home this evening.

Chance and Lady Eloise
, she amended silently. Her great-aunt wanted to prevent any chance of a replay of the previous night's events, so Charity was a captive until Lady Eloise could find another appropriate suitor for her grandniece. Even Charity's request to visit the
couturière
had been denied, for Lady Eloise preferred to remain indoors on the rainy day. Further, the old woman insisted her creaking bones would prevent her from enjoying anything but an early retirement to her chambers.

“The Boar and the Bear be near The Pool, miss,” the lad continued. “The wench there be called Joyce. That be the name of the lady ye seek, right? She works there in the evenin's. She gave that note to m'friend, so I could be bringin' it to ye.”

Charity could not conceal her shock. Her one brief visit to the Thames had shown her it was no place for a lady.

Oliver was familiar with the area
. The thought popped into her mind, unbidden.

“Thank you,” she said to the lad as she looked toward the door.

The urchin knew he had been dismissed. He raced out.

Charity hurried back to the kitchen. She closed the heavy, walnut door, leaning against it as she considered her options.

She would be a cabbage-head to go to The Pool alone; certainly she should not go after dark. Asking Thyra would be useless. Two women alone would be no safer from the unprincipled folk who made that wicked place their home.

Oliver will help me
.

Grabbing one of the maid's shawls off a nearby peg, Charity whirled out the door and ran to the stable, which was only a dark block in the thickening twilight.

“But, Miss Charity,” bemoaned the groom, “Lady Eloise said no one was goin' out tonight.”

“Lady Eloise has no plans to go out, but I need to go out on a small errand.”

Suspicion constricted his dark eyes. “Now? Ain't no time fer a lady to be doin' errands.”

She considered bribery, but she had given her last coins to the butcher's lad. It would be too risky to return to her bedchamber for more. Lady Eloise was sure to hear and ask Charity to come and sit with her.

“But how,” she asked with a faked sob as she covered her face with her hands, “am I to get my dear great-aunt this surprise if I cannot go across the square for it?”

“'Cross the square?”

She rubbed her eyes, hoping they would look red. “Do you think me so mad I would go farther at this hour?” She began a new flurry of feigned sobs.

“Do not be weepin', Miss Charity.” He rubbed one foot against the back of his other leg. “I be gettin' the small carriage fer ye. Wait right 'ere.”

Charity resisted clapping with delight. As she stepped into the light gig, she took a deep breath. The price of disobeying Lady Eloise would be high, for the old woman would not forgive her any more than she had forgiven Joyce. That mattered little when her sister's life might depend on her.

She shook her head when a stableboy offered to serve as her tiger and drive the vehicle from the rear platform. She had no interest in making an impression this evening. Getting to Berkeley Square to obtain Oliver's help, then reaching the odious area around The Pool were her only goals.

She must succeed, or all might be lost … forever.

Slowing before the door of the town house around the corner from Thyra's home, Charity smiled grimly as the first drops of rain struck her. The curved hood of the carriage had protected her long enough. Surely Oliver would take his phaeton so they might reach The Boar and Bear with all possible speed.

The door opened on her first knock. A short man who seemed as round as he was tall greeted her with a smile. It broadened his pudgy cheeks when she identified herself.

Stepping aside, he said, “Miss Stuart, do come in out of the storm.”

The hall was a shock, although she wondered why. Unlike the other houses she had been in, which were decorated with bucolic country scenes, this entry was awash with a trio of ships that were set to sail from one panel to the next. Rollicking waves dashed against the ships, sending them surging forward. She could imagine no setting more perfect for Oliver.

She ignored the butler's childishly stout hands that were held out to take her damp cloak. “May I see Lord Blackburn?”

“Lord Blackburn is not at home, Miss Stuart.”

“I realize this is an unannounced visit,” she said with a smile, “but this is very important.”

The butler said gently, “Miss Stuart, he is not here. He is away on business. I cannot tell you when I expect him to return.”

Charity hesitated. She could stay and hope Oliver would return while it was still possible to see the woman named Joyce at The Boar and Bear. Wringing her gloved hands, she knew she would go quite mad if she was forced to wait. “Is he at his ship?”

“I believe so.”

“Thank you.” She hurried out the door.

There was no other choice. If she wanted to determine if this woman was her sister, she must leave posthaste for The Pool. Her actions might send her directly to perdition, but she would go gladly if she could save Joyce.

The docks were more contemptible than Charity had remembered. Stenches she could not identify smothered her on every breath. She tightened her grip on the reins as she drove between the stacks of goods waiting to be laden aboard ship. In the steady downpour, she could see few people on the street.

She drew the carriage to a halt by the ship which seemed even more massive in the storm. It fought to escape the ropes binding it to shore. Looping the reins over a stack of barrels, she ran across the slick boards of the dock. She inched her way up the plank to the deck.