Miss Charity's Case (24 page)

“My things?” asked Charity, astounded.

“What would Lady Eloise do with the frocks she had made for you?” Oliver smiled icily as he leaned one elbow on the mantel. “I took it upon myself to call upon your erstwhile guardian and explain to her it would appear most unflattering if it were discovered she had ejected you from her home with nothing but the clothes upon your back.”

Thyra asked, “She acquiesced so easily?”

He tugged at the cuff of his coat, then grinned. “Not easily, but she acquiesced.”

“You nick-ninny!” Charity cried. “You have given her the first volley she needs in her battle to see you bankrupted.”

“I think you give her more credit than she deserves.”

“I give gossip all the credit it deserves. How many people have had their lives wrecked because of goose's gazettes? She intends that you will be the next.”

Thyra whispered, “Oh, my, this is horrible. What can I do to help?”

Oliver smiled. “Go and make yourself lovely for your duke. Charity and I shall speak in the garden.” He held out his arm.

Gingerly Charity put her fingers on it as he led her down the stairs. She fought to control the longing that raged through her. When he put his hand over hers, she knew he had sensed her quivering through the wool of his navy coat. Brilliant sunshine struck her as they walked out into the tiny garden that was redolent with roses.

Charity faced him as they paused by a stone bench and exclaimed, “You shall suffer me to listen this one time!” She put her fingers over his mouth, startling him to silence. “Lady Eloise has information that would ruin your business enterprises and could lead to your arrest.”

“For what?”

“Smuggling.”

He laughed as he cupped her elbows and drew her closer. “So, fearing for me, you turned me from your door, Charity? That suggests you care deeply for me.”

“Did you doubt that?”

“Never.” As his face descended toward her, he released her so abruptly she rocked back.

Charity stared at the unkempt man skulking around a shrub. His gaze flicked over her, leaving her feeling as filthy, when his grin broadened.

“Keefe!” snapped Oliver in the coldest tone she had ever heard. “I told you not to contact me here.”

“But I 'ad no choice, Cap'n Blackburn. 'Owell gave me this. Said to get it to you in a Barnaby dance. 'Ere it is.” His tongue scraped across his lower lip as he stared at Charity.

Oliver stepped between her and the coarse man. Holding out his hand, he did not flinch when dirty fingers dropped a paper onto his palm. Or, at least, Charity thought she saw a slip of paper. It vanished before she was sure. Wondering if Oliver had cached it up his sleeve, she watched in silence.

“You've done your duty,” Oliver said.

“Cap'n …”

He grimaced at the wheedling tone, then ordered, “Begone. You know you'll be paid only after I am sure you haven't played me false, Keefe. Take yourself down to the Red Hound, and tell Betsy to give you a brace of rums.”

The wretched looking man grinned, then rushed to the back of the garden. He climbed over the wall with the ease of a lad half his age.

Charity whispered as she dropped to a bench, “Who was that?”

“No one important.”

“Really? I think it is time you explained, Oliver.”

He gazed across the garden. Putting one foot on the bench, he leaned his elbow on the knee of his nankin trousers. “I fear I cannot.”

“I said that when you delved into my past, but you insisted.”

“So I did.”

When he added nothing else, Charity put her fingers on his rough wool jacket. “Oliver, I thought you trusted me.”

“There's no one I trust more than you. There is also no one I care about more than you.” Sitting beside her, he drew her into his arms. “You must forget you ever saw Keefe.”

Her fingertip traced his imposing ebony brows. “I find it impossible to forget anything about you.”

“Do you remember this?”

She softened against him as his lips found hers with the yearning of the hours they had been forced apart by an old woman's threats. Her fingers curled through his thick, black hair which was warm with the sun. She moaned with soft surrender.

“Charity,” he whispered, “there has been a void in my life without you. Marry me, Charity.”

She gasped, “Marry you? Oliver, have you forgotten what I told you?”

“About your father? It means nothing when you do not know the whole truth.”

“Nor do you.”

He frowned. “What truth? Do you pine for another? Did you leave a lover behind in Bridgeton?”

“I was the one left behind.”

“What?”

Here in the haven of Oliver's strong arms, Charity could have almost laughed at his astonishment. She lowered her eyes so she would not see that amazement turn to amusement. “There was a man—”

“In Bridgeton?”

“No, before we moved there. Papa did not approve, but I was so wildly in love. If he had told me the sea was green and the grass blue, I would have believed him.”

“The sea can be green and blue and the enigmatic shade of your eyes.” He brushed her lips with a swift kiss before asking, “But he left you?”

“On the day we were to be married. He ran off without a backward glance. I was left at the altar to the shame of my family.” She stared across the garden. When he brought her face back to him, she whispered, “That may be why I understood Joyce's desire to be with a man she loved and I yearned to help Thyra and Myles. I understand the pain Myles felt when he was jilted.”

When Oliver laughed, Charity feared he had gone mad. “Rimsbury never won his beloved's heart,” he said, “because she refused to give it to the man who had killed the man she truly loved.”

“
He
killed a man? Myles Hambleton?”

“Unbelievable as it sounds, he did. In a duel.” His palms grazed her cheeks as he cupped her face. “Charity, Rimsbury and Thyra have put the past aside and found pleasure together. Why do you cling to something that does not matter? Forget that blackguard who deserted you.” He chuckled. “How can I ask you to forget when I find it impossible to forget anything about you? Do those words sound familiar? They may be the prescription for an ailment of the heart that only a lifetime with you can cure.”

She rose and went to stand by the low, brick wall that led down into the garden. “Will a lifetime be long enough for me to understand why you say you love me, but refuse to explain what secrets you are involved in?”

“Secrets?”

Whirling, Charity snapped, “I can see what is before my eyes. Keefe belongs here no more than a cat belongs in a dog house. He came to deliver a message to you. About your ship? That would have been handled openly. About my sister? No, you would have told me the truth. Then about what?” She clenched the back of the bench. “Is it true what Lady Eloise says? Are you involved in smuggling?”

“I cannot answer … now.” He stood and put his fingers on her shoulders. “I can promise you my love. Can that not be enough for you?”

“But if Lady Eloise—”

“Lady Eloise be damned!” He lowered his voice as he said, “I want you as my wife, Charity. Say yes.”

“Oliver—”

He captured her mouth, silencing her so sweetly she melted into his embrace which contained more heat than the sunshine. Sprinkling kisses across her face, he bent to press his lips to her throat. She gasped as the soft warmth of yearning became a wildfire. With a low chuckle, he murmured, “Charity, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she whispered when he gazed down at her, although she knew she should insist he open his heart completely, “I shall marry you.”

Fifteen

A delighted Thyra wasted no time planning a party to announce the betrothal of Lord Blackburn and Miss Charity Stuart. “Think how surprised everyone will be!” she exclaimed over breakfast as she began a guest list and another list for the items she must order for the party. “Not only have you convinced Oliver to give up his bachelor fare, Charity, but the party will be hosted by the woman everyone believed to be his
fiancée.”

Charity pushed back the wide sleeves of her dressing gown as she sipped her cocoa. “You are devious, Thyra Estes.”

“I intend for you to return the favor, Charity, when Myles and I announce our plans.”

“So he is growing more serious?”

Her eyes glowed with joy. “He kissed me after Mrs. Church's
soirée
last night. You know that is nearly as good as an offer of marriage.”

Charity toyed with the fruit muffin on her plate. “Does Oliver ever speak to you of his shipping business?”

“Of course not!” She gave a genteel shudder. “Why would I wish him to?”

“I was curious about where his ships went and how often he would go with them.”

Thyra chuckled. “I knew you would be the perfect wife for Oliver! You even share his interest in that business which he has spent too much time with. I swear he was barely ashore a month last year.”

“Where did he go?”

Again she shrugged. “I believe he goes to Spain and Italy. Once he mentioned Africa.” Picking up one of her lists, she said, “Charity, I think we shall have a masked ball. Myles will, I am sure, offer his home for the gathering. What do you think?”

“I think you are determined to do this to thumb your nose at my great-aunt, and there is nothing I or anyone can do to stop you.”

Smugly, Thyra said, “Now you are being sensible.”

The night of the ball, Charity endured the ministrations of Thyra's abigail, but the young woman despaired as Hélène had at getting Charity's russet hair to curl. Finally Charity urged her to pull it up in a bun that hairpins might control.

When she stood for Thyra's scrutiny, her friend announced, “Perfect! The green ribbons are the exact foil for your coloring.” She adjusted the white satin of the skirt which reached just above Charity's ankles and puffed the small sleeves. Pulling on the green silk cord that edged the sleeves and dropped along the back of her skirt from the high bodice, she nodded. “Every man there will have eyes only for you.”

Charity laughed. “Until they see you.”

Thyra glanced at her white gown which was accented with the pink that looked so lovely on her. “I am nothing tonight. You are the bride-to-be. Oh, I cannot wait to see Lady Eloise's amazement!”

“I hope there will be no trouble.”

“She would not dare!”

“No?”

Thyra smiled. “Charity, she will be among the first to congratulate you. Trust me on this.”

“I do.” Charity laughed uneasily. “It is my great-aunt I do not trust.”

Charity's disquiet grew as the evening passed. According to Thyra's plan, both Oliver and the duke took themselves off to play cards at the beginning of the ball. Whispers warned the guests were wondering what had happened between Lady Thyra and the Duke of Rimsbury. No one spoke of Charity, and—although she recognized both her great-aunt and Leatrice in spite of the dominoes they wore—no one seemed interested in the whereabouts of Lord Blackburn. Thyra's plan had been inspired, but Charity was anxious for the announcement. Only then could she be sure Lady Eloise would accept the inevitable with grace.

When Thyra urged Charity to join her by the stairs, Charity nodded. Familiar laughter descending the long curve from the upper floors. Oliver was patting the duke on the back as they walked down the steps.

“What mischief have you two been involved in all evening?” Charity asked as Oliver put his arm around her shoulders.

He smiled. “Are you going to be a shrewish wife? As Thyra suggested, we passed the time at the board of green cloth. Rimsbury is quite the man for cards.”

“Me?” asked Myles, his speech blurred with wine that added color to his cheeks. “I would say you were having the better of the game, Blackburn.” He laughed. “I have seldom seen such a run of good fortune. You should be able to buy a new ship rather than repair that old one with the money you have taken from me tonight.”

Thyra looked at Oliver. Some unuttered message passed between them. Charity was unsure what it could be, because there had been no words, no expression, other than the slightest flicker of an eyelash as Thyra tensed.

Instead Thyra smiled. “The cards must wait. There is an announcement to be made now.” Putting her fingers on the duke's arm, she asked, “Do you think you can manage, Myles?”

“I may be a bit fuzzed,” he said with a wink at Oliver, “but I can toast the soon-to-be newlyweds.”

Oliver wagged a finger at his ward. “Don't be chiding the man, when he's only done as you asked.”

As Myles and Thyra walked into the ballroom, Charity whispered, “Is something amiss?”

“Nothing that I know of tonight.” He brushed her lips with his. “This is your final chance to change your mind, Charity. Once our betrothal is proclaimed, you have little choice but to marry this barely reformed rake-shame.”

“I have told you I have not changed my heart.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. When his arm curved around her, she whispered, “Do you wish to change yours?”

“Never.” He kissed her before a silence from the ballroom told them Thyra had garnered everyone's attention.

Charity settled her domino in place as she walked by Oliver's side into the room. The press of the guests moved aside reluctantly so they could watch Thyra and Myles. As champagne was served to the eager witnesses, Charity listened to the whispered speculation of when and where Lady Thyra and the Duke of Rimsbury would be married.

A flush climbed Myles's cheeks, but he managed not to stutter. “Lady Thyra has asked me to welcome you tonight. We are sure you share her delight and mine when we announce the betrothal of our dear friends Oliver Blackburn and Miss Charity Stuart.” Raising his glass in their direction, he smiled. “Long life and happiness.”