Miss Charity's Case (23 page)

Charity whispered, “You make yourself completely clear.”

“Then make it as clear to me what happened to the carriage you took out last night.”

Horror pinched her. When nothing had been said to her this morning about the missing carriage, she should have guessed it was only a matter of time before Lady Eloise was informed it had not been returned. “It is missing.”

“Where?”

“I am not sure. If I knew where it might be—”

“Do not be flip with me, child!” She dropped to sit on the chair by the window.

Charity nodded. Her great-aunt deserved the truth. Too many half-truths had been spoken in this house. “It was stolen when I went in search of Joyce down near the Pool.”

“Down … near … the …” Lady Eloise put her hand to her ample breast and wheezed. She waved Charity aside as her eyes narrowed in fury. “You empty-headed widgeon! I told you that your ungrateful wretch of a sister was out of your life.”

“No edict from you or anyone can halt me from rescuing Joyce.”

“Rescue? Bah! But how were you rescued, Charity? How did you return home if you were such a stupe as to let my carriage be stolen?”

“Oliver brought me home.”

“Lord Blackburn!” Again the old woman pressed her hand to her chest and wheezed. “Was he helping you search for her?”

“I had hoped he would be. When I received the note from Joyce, I went to—”

Lady Eloise set herself on her feet and struck her cane against the floor. “I shall hear no more of this. No more of your sister, and, certainly, no more of Lord Blackburn. He will wreck all I have planned for you.” She smiled slyly. “See him again, Charity, and you shall discover you have been the instrument of
his
ruin.”

“That is impossible!”

“Do you think so? It has been rumored—during the war with that Corsican monster—that your charming earl was often on the continent. Why? What reason but that he is a smuggler and used his ships to bring contraband into England? A word in the right ear, and he shall be arrested. Do you comprehend what I am saying?”

Charity nodded. She understood, too late, how completely her great-aunt meant to rule her life. Lady Eloise's pride was more important to her than Charity or anyone else.

She whispered, “I shall not see Oliver again.”

Oliver whistled a light sea chantey as he climbed the steps to Lady Eloise's house. When was the last time he had been so impatient to finish his work and begin the afternoon's round of calls? Mayhap never until today when he would give Charity and her hornet of a great-aunt a look-in.

The footman opened the door only wide enough to look out. “I regret Miss Stuart is not at home this afternoon, my lord.”

Oliver almost laughed at the idea of Charity spending the whole afternoon primping to look lovely for the evening. She had been beautiful last night with her fiery hair flowing in a damp river along her bare shoulders. As his fingers recalled each strand's silky warmth, he could almost smell her cologne. He swallowed roughly as he thought of her gowned in lace tonight. Her slender limbs, her soft curves … He forced the image aside before he was jobbernowl enough to shove the footman aside and race up the stairs to sweep her into his arms.

Drawing a small case from beneath his coat, Oliver pulled out a
carte de visite
. He held it out to the footman, who regarded it with disdain.

“Miss Stuart asks that you be given her regrets, my lord,” he said coolly, “for she will be unable to join you at the theater tonight.”

“Is she ill?”

“Miss Stuart is in good point, as always. She simply is not at home to you.”

“On Lady Eloise's orders?”

“The order came from Miss Stuart. She said to tell you that it is not in your best interests that she receive you.”

Oliver's eyes narrowed. Why was Charity refusing to see him? Blast! She must still believe what she saw as a dishonorable past could harm him. Damn Stuart! Had he given a thought to what his life would do to his daughters? Both of them were captives now because of it.

Tossing the card onto a table in the hall, Oliver strode down the steps. He looked back at the house, but the door closed resoundingly. He smiled. There was nothing he liked better than a challenge, and he intended to prove that to Miss Charity Stuart. Not that he had any choice when disaster could still overcome all of them.

“What is that, Prentiss?” Charity asked as she came down the stairs. For a week, she had chafed under her great-aunt's strict supervision. She was never allowed to leave the house without Lady Eloise. She was mightily tired of the whole, especially of wandering past the door so often in the hopes someone might call who would be willing to take a note to Oliver on her behalf.

The butler was about to hand a slip of paper to Lady Eloise's companion. Miss Munson looked chagrined, but Prentiss raised his chin in a copy of his lady's choice pose.

“'Tis nothing, Miss Charity.”

“A message?”

Miss Munson mumbled, “Yes.”

The butler shot her a furious glare.

“For my great-aunt?” Charity persisted.

“I was,” Prentiss said in his most formal tone, “about to give it to Miss Munson to deliver to her ladyship.”

“No need.” Charity held out her hand. “Lady Eloise has just sent for me. I am sure she wishes to speak to me alone.” She paused, knowing neither of them could deny the old woman had given Charity a lick with the rough side of her tongue every day. “Prentiss?”

The butler faltered, then placed the slip of paper on her hand.

Charity turned it over, not startled to see her name written on it. “How many other letters have not reached me?”

“Lady Eloise insists—”

She did not wait to hear the rest. To perdition with the lot of them! Racing up the stairs at an indecorous pace, she ran into her bedchamber and slammed the door. Her chest heaved with unvoiced anger as she read the note from Thyra. As she had expected, this was not the first message Thyra had sent her.

This was too much. Her great-aunt's actions were beneath reproach.

Charity went to her great-aunt's room. Her sharp knock on her great-aunt's door brought a command to enter. Taking a deep breath to control her temper that teased her to give it free rein, she entered and said, “I came in only because I wished to tell you I am accepting an invitation from Lady Thyra to join her for a ride in Hyde Park within the hour.”

“That is quite impossible.” Lady Eloise scowled. “Tell her, Leatrice.”

“It is quite impossible,” Leatrice echoed dutifully.

“Hardly,” Charity retorted, “for I vowed only that I would not endanger Oliver by letting him call upon me. I said nothing of cutting myself off from my dear friend.”

Her great-aunt gripped her cane. “You shall keep yourself from Lady Thyra's company, for I collect you wish to loiter at her house in the hopes of seeing Lord Blackburn. Lord Copley will be calling within the hour. He has expressed interest in you, despite your foolish attempts to destroy yourself as your mother and sister did.”

“My mother destroyed nothing but your unrealistic expectations.”

“She married beneath her!”

“She married a man she loved,” Charity returned, her voice more serene than her thudding heart. “You could not forgive her that, could you? Why do you wish no one else to experience the joy you've denied yourself? As for Joyce, I pray every hour she is unharmed, for I know she is in grave danger. I shall not cease looking for her. Nor shall I set aside my friends to satisfy you.”

Lady Eloise clutched the arms of her chair. “You will obey my rules, or you shall no longer be welcome under my roof.”

Charity did not hesitate. “Then I bid you farewell, my lady. I shall pack my things and leave immediately.”

“You shall take no more than you brought with you, you ungrateful baggage!”

“If that is how you wish it to be, I shall obey. Farewell, my lady.”

Lady Eloise shouted to her back, but Charity did not slow as she walked out of the room.

Charity was hot and tired by the time she knocked on Thyra's door. It had been a long walk from Grosvenor Square, but she had refused to ask her great-aunt for the use of a carriage. Then the old woman would have berated her again for the loss of the gig.

Her burden was small, for she carried only the cloth covered case. She wore her best bonnet and the dress she had planned to don for tea. She had had no choice. The one gown she had worn from Bridgeton had been given to the servants.

When the door opened, Thyra's butler could not conceal his amazement. Charity whispered a greeting, then pushed by the man who seemed incapable of movement. She walked up the steps and into the small sitting room.

“Thyra, I need your help,” she said, throwing pride aside. She could not afford it now.

Thyra rose, her dressing gown singing a silken song on the rug. She threw her arms around Charity. “Thank heavens, you are here. I thought you were angry at me when you did not answer my letters.”

Charity put her small case on the floor. “Lady Eloise forbade me to see both you and Oliver.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I told her I would choose whom I wished to have as my friends.” Taking a shuddering breath, she whispered, “She insisted I conform to her wishes or leave. I left. May I beg your hospitality?”

Thyra grasped Charity's hands. “My dear Charity, of course, you shall stay with me. This is the perfect solution. How could I have Myles call on me if I had no chaperon?”

Lifting the small case, Charity murmured, “I have a few pieces of my mother's jewelry I can offer in exchange for your generosity. This is all I have, I am afraid.”

“I want nothing from you, but your friendship.” Thyra took her hand. “Come upstairs. You shall have the room next to mine. What fun we shall have without your shrewish great-aunt poking her nose into your business! Oliver will be so delighted. He has been much the ogre this past week.”

Charity sighed. “I doubt he wishes to see me.”

“Fiddle!” She started up the steps and called for her abigail. “We shall settle you in while I shall send a message to Oliver. It shall all come to rights.”

Although Charity had her doubts about that, she allowed her friend to prattle about Myles Hambleton. Servants skittered about the comfortable chamber Thyra offered her. It was decorated in the pinks Charity abhorred, but she was grateful for a haven.

It did not take long to unpack the few things she had in the small satchel. When Charity lifted out the bundle of letters, Thyra peered across the bed.

“What are those?”

“Letters from my mother to my father and his to her.” Charity brushed her fingers lovingly over the pages that crackled with age. “Lady Eloise refused to let Mama see Papa. Papa told me how many bizarre ways he had to devise to smuggle his missives to Mama.” Her brow wrinkled with memory. “He always laughed when he said that.” Charity tightened the ribbon on the letters. “He said his escapades had trained him well for life.”

“How would such subterfuge help a pastor?”

She smiled. “Mayhap it allowed him to understand the mischief of the sinners around him.”

Thyra sat on a mahogany chair by the dressing table. “Now Lady Eloise has forced you out of her life as well.”

“She considers me no better than my mama. Although she meant that as insult, I was honored.” She slipped the letters back into the satchel.

When several pages fell from beneath the ribbon, she tossed them atop the others. She noted how they were not as yellowed. Held between the others, they must have escaped the ravages of sunshine. She closed the case and put it in the nearly empty cupboard. Once again, the small bag was her sole connection with the past.

“Thyra! Where are you?” The bellow raced up the stairwell.

Thyra seized Charity's hand and pulled her out into the hall. “Oliver! It is about time you arrived!”

Charity clenched the railing as Oliver walked up the stairs. Every warning in her head told her to command him to leave and never speak with her again. Not that it mattered now. Lady Eloise would be resolved to begin the rumors which could utterly destroy Oliver Blackburn.

He paused on a lower step so their eyes were even. She never had been able to look into their wondrously blue depths like this, and she could be lost forever within the promise of passion glowing there. With a gasp, she turned away. She must not think of such pleasures when she needed to warn him to protect himself.

When he gripped her shoulders and brought her to face him, she wobbled on the edge of the landing. He leaped up to the hall and pulled her to him. A fearsome frown creased his forehead, but he did not release her. “Why are you playing coy again, Charity? I had thought when Thyra contacted me that you had had another change of heart.”

“My heart has never changed.”

“That much is quite clear.”

Charity gasped, “Oliver, please—”

“Not now!” he snapped. Taking her arm, he drew her to the side as a trunk was carried into the house and up the stairs. “I shall not pull caps in front of a collection of strangers.”

Charity bit her lip. He must let her explain. Lady Eloise would be unrelenting in her determination to destroy him and his shipping line.

Thyra stared at the trio of burly men, bafflement ruffling her forehead. One hand held her wrapper closed. With her other hand on the banister, she said, “Oliver, if this unannounced invasion of my home was your idea, I find it beyond tastelessness.”

He took her hand and motioned for Charity to follow them down the stairs into the sitting room. Seeing Thyra's astonishment, Charity had no chance to explain that Oliver once again had misunderstood. Her heart had not changed. She loved him.

Oliver said as they entered the sun-swept room, “I did not suspect, Thyra, you would be disturbed when I made certain Charity's things were delivered to her.”