Miss Charity's Case (25 page)

Nobody moved or spoke for, what to Charity, seemed an eternity. Then a cheer of well wishes was accompanied by the crystal clink of champagne glasses throughout the room. Charity's smile became brittle when her great-aunt pushed her way out of the room. Thyra had been wrong—Lady Eloise would not accept the betrothal graciously.

“She cannot hurt me,” Oliver whispered. “No matter how you and Thyra fret.”

“How did you know what I was thinking?”

His fingertip stroked the curve of her cheek. “Darling, my heart tells me.”

When Oliver tapped his glass against hers, he offered her a sip from his glass, and she smiled as she obliged him. His fingers teased the sensitive skin along the inside of her wrist as he lifted her glass to his lips.

Another cheer rang through the room as he led her to the center of the floor. A signal from Myles set the band to playing a waltz. Charity laughed and let Oliver sweep her into the dance. Tonight was for happiness. She would let nothing or no one destroy it.

That was the only dance Charity had with Oliver, for every gentleman seemed determined to have her as his partner. Curiosity reigned about the woman who had tamed Lord Blackburn.

Fatigue tugged on Charity as the moon set and dawn was only hours away. Her feet ached in her satin slippers, and she was anxious to sit and talk quietly with Oliver, Thyra and Miles as soon as the last guest took his leave.

“Miss Stuart, I have been very patient,” said a tall man who bowed his head to her. “Will you reward me with a dance?”

She peered at the face behind the feathered mask, but she did not recognize either the man or his voice. Forcing a smile, she said, “It would be my pleasure, sir.”

He motioned for her to precede him to the dancing area. Dismay cut through her when she heard the first strains of a waltz. She had promised the next one to Oliver. She saw him walking toward her, but the masked gentleman swirled her out onto the floor.

“I feared I would not have a chance to dance with you this evening, Miss Stuart,” the dark haired man said with a smile which tilted the corner of his domino. “I regret, as well, we have not had the chance to meet before this. I feel I know you.”

“Do you?” Charity took a step back. He was leading the conversation in an uncomfortable direction.

“Mayhap I feel that I know you, Miss Stuart, because I have heard so many charming things about the lady who has the whole town buzzing with her loveliness. Your father was wise to keep you hidden in his parsonage, so no young rakehell spirited your heart away before this.” He laughed, the sound tauntingly familiar, but she could not guess this mysterious man's identity. Perhaps Lord Copley … No, not him, she realized. Then who?

He continued, “I have sought you out tonight for a very important reason.”

“Pray reveal it.”

“I know you have a great deal of sorrow in your life,” he said, all humor leaving his voice. “Not only have you recently lost your father, but your sister has disappeared. I have come to tell you she is fine.”

Charity stopped in mid-step, not caring the other dancers regarded her with amazement. “Tell me, sir, if you have a heart beating within you, where I can find my sister.”

“You need only ask Blackburn.”

“Oliver?”

The man raised her hand to his lips as the music faded into the plaster medallions on the ceiling. Holding her gaze with his, he said, “I know not what tales he has spun for you, Miss Stuart, but he can lead you to your sister whenever he wishes.”

“That is not true!” She lowered her voice when curious faces turned toward them. “He knows how dearly I wish to find Joyce.”

“As everyone knows, but who has come forward to help you before me?”

“Who are you?”

“Stanhope, Lord Heath. I regret I have been unable to contact you before this.” He gave her an apologetic smile. “Rather than speak to you when you were surrounded by a bevy of admirers when you were escorted by Rimsbury, I waited. I had hoped you would see the wisdom of dispensing with him, and you have. Now, if you could only be so wise and eject Blackburn from your life, you would prove you are as intelligent as you are beautiful.”

Charity whispered, “This is arrant nonsense! Oliver has offered to help me find my sister. He would not hurt me by denying me the comfort of knowing she was safe.”

“You know him so well?”

“I am marrying him, aren't I?”

He smiled. “Do you trust him, Miss Stuart?”

“Yes!”

“Does he trust you? Does he speak to you of the life he hides behind a cloak of respectability?” When she hesitated, his eyes narrowed behind the domino. “Ah, so already he keeps you from learning the truth whispered throughout London, Miss Stuart. Many suspect Lord Blackburn has increased his fortune through illicit trade.”

Charity tugged her hand out of his. Fury honed her voice. “You can tell Lady Eloise to take her threats to perdition! I will not be plagued by such unfounded lies.”

His lips straightened in a scowl. “I have not had the honor of meeting your great-aunt, Miss Stuart. If she is here, perhaps she will listen to my concerns. She cannot wish one of her grand-nieces to marry the man who is responsible for the disappearance of the other.”

“You are lying!”

Lord Heath fisted his hands at the waist of his breeches. “I wish I knew how to convince you I speak the truth. I do not wish to stand by and see you hurt as well.”

Charity gasped, “Joyce has been hurt?”

“Only in spirit, I would suspect.” He laughed without mirth. “Blackburn's ways are not physical. He gets what he wants by battering the spirit or by the charm that he clearly has exerted with such success on you, Miss Stuart.”

“Oliver would hurt neither me nor my sister. Why should I believe you?”

“Because I have come to warn you that your sister's future well-being may rest upon you.” He glanced across the room and stiffened. “Forgive me, Miss Stuart, but I shall endeavor to contact you again soon. I need not warn you to say nothing of our conversation to Lord Blackburn.”

Charity started to ask a question, but the faceless man was gone with a swirl of his coat-tails. Was he mad to speak so, or was she to give credence for even a moment to his words?

“I wondered where you had scampered off to,” said Oliver as he handed her a glass of champagne. “So lowered? I thought you would be smiling tonight. Or do you regret agreeing to be my wife?”

“Of course not,” she said rapidly, but she heard her voice squeak with tension. Lord Heath was a stranger. Oliver was willing to marry her despite her advanced years and lack of a dowry. More importantly, Oliver was the man she loved.

Yet if Oliver knew where Joyce was …

She had believed her papa was a man of integrity. He had proven how blind she was to his darker side. If she were as mistaken about Oliver, the tales Lady Eloise had told—which the stranger had confirmed—might well be true. No! She did not believe that. She loved Oliver. He loved her.

Yet if Oliver knew where Joyce was …

“I wish Joyce was here tonight,” she whispered. “I miss her so much.”

“Charity, mayhap we shall find her tomorrow.”

“I once dreamed she would come home soon, but my dreams have turned to dust.” She raised her glistening eyes to him. “Oliver, is there anything more you can do?”

His dark brows lowered. “Why do you ask when you know that I would have found her for you long before this if it had been possible?”

“You are so often at the docks or talking to strangers on the street while you tend to your businesses. Mayhap one of your business acquaintances might know of her whereabouts.”

“My business acquaintances don't do business with Kerry Field.”

When she heard his icy tone, Charity wanted to apologize. She had done him a grave insult. Knowing she should explain, she recalled the masked gentleman's command to say nothing to Oliver. What was she to believe? Her heart, which urged her to trust Oliver? Her head, which suggested caution? She had every reason to trust him, but he did not trust her. He was hiding something, but she could not believe it was her sister. As she sipped her champagne, she knew her brief happiness had come to an end.

Sixteen

The message Charity received the next morning was simple.

Dear Miss Stuart
,

I have discovered the whereabouts of your sister. I will send a carriage to you at three o'clock, so we might meet at your great-aunt's house. Because of the delicacy of the situation, I must insist you come alone. Please share this with no one. I am sure you understand
.

I remain

Your servant
,

Stanhope Heath

Charity crumpled the page. She did not want to believe Lord Heath, but, if he could lead her to Joyce, she had no choice but to go.

“What is that?” asked Thyra as she looked up from the morning paper. Before Charity could answer, she cried, “I knew your betrothal would be listed prominently! Oliver has been elusive for so many years. That makes his betrothal even more newsworthy.”

Charity did not look at the paragraph that topped Thyra's favorite column filled with tidbits about
Le Beau Monde
. She tore the note into narrow strips and dropped them by her untouched muffin, then stared out the window at the fingers of fog.

Thyra reached for one of the scraps of paper, but Charity shook her head. “It is nothing.”

“The note must have disturbed you if you shredded it.”

“It is nothing.”

“Charity!”

Knowing some truth was necessary, she said, “It is a demand I come to Lady Eloise's house this afternoon.”

“Of course, you are not going.” Thyra plucked another muffin from the basket a maid had set on the table. Lathering it with butter, she said, “You need not bow to your great-aunt's wishes any longer.” She took a bite, and her smile was shone with butter. “You need answer only to Oliver now.
That
is enough for one woman.”

“I think I shall go.”

Thyra's elbows crinkled the newspaper as she leaned toward Charity. “Are you mad? The old tough ejected you from her home. She wishes to apologize so she can regain your favor now that you shall be a countess.”

Charity smiled sadly. “I find it quite unlikely Lady Eloise will apologize.”

“Then why are you going?”

“Papa always insisted we must be forgiving to those in our family.”

“Then I shall go with you.”

Shaking her head, Charity rose. She put her hand on the shoulder of Thyra's blue silk wrapper. “Thank you, but this is my problem, and I must deal with it.”

The carriage came to a stop in front of the familiar town house on Grosvenor Square. Charity stared out the window at the place she had never considered home.

As the coachee opened the door, Charity pulled her brightly printed Kashmir shawl around her shoulders. Was she being an air-dreamer to think she might find Joyce this easily? Her heart cramped, reminding her of her promise to do nothing without letting Oliver know.

But if she could find Joyce …

She climbed the steps. When she had left Lady Eloise's house, she had not guessed she would be returning like this. That her great-aunt was Lord Heath's ally was no surprise, for Lady Eloise would delight in anything that painted Oliver Blackburn as evil.

Prentiss opened the door before Charity could knock. When she saw his uncharacteristic smile, she nearly turned on her heel and ran back to the carriage. His good spirits did not bode well for Charity.

She steadied her rapid breathing as he ushered her into the house. Pressing her hands over her mouth, she stared at a slender form standing by the stairs. “Joyce!”

She flung her arms around her sister, then stepped back to look at Joyce from an arm's length. So often, Charity had dreamed of this moment. Except for gray arcs of exhaustion beneath her sister's eyes, Joyce appeared unchanged.

“I feared I would never see you again,” Charity whispered, as she wiped her hand against her wet cheeks.

Joyce's eyes glittered with tears. She drew a handkerchief from the lace trimmed reticule which matched her pink muslin gown. “I have thought the same thing many times since …” She hesitated, then said in a whisper, “Charity, we must speak. I must tell you that—”

“Dear Joyce, to see you again with your sister brings such gladness to me.”

Charity noticed how her sister stiffened, then looked toward a man. Lord Heath! He had a hint of gray in his dark hair. She frowned. He had been emphatic that they had not met before last night, but something about him was familiar.

“Thank you, Lord Heath, for this reunion,” Charity said. “Please excuse us while I speak to my sister of her misadventures.”

“Charity, you must listen,” hissed Joyce.

She looked back at her sister. “What is wrong?”

Lord Heath stepped between them. Hooking his arms through theirs, he said, “We should not keep your great-aunt from sharing this reunion, should we?” He motioned toward the sitting room where Leatrice waited in the doorway, eagerly eavesdropping.

They were halfway up the stairs when Joyce wobbled. Lord Heath caught her before she could collapse. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her up to the sitting room. Charity followed, horrified.

When he put Joyce on the settee, Charity knelt beside her. “Joyce?” she whispered. “Joyce, what is wrong?”

“Another fainting spell?” asked Lady Eloise as she peered over Charity's shoulders. “She has woken on her own before.”

“You should send for a doctor,” Charity said, looking up at her great-aunt.

“Nonsense! She is simply overcome by seeing you again.” Lady Eloise took her favorite chair and motioned for the others to sit.

Lord Heath held out his hand to bring Charity to her feet. “Forgive our odd request, Miss Stuart, but we feared Lord Blackburn would attempt to halt you if he got wind of our plan. I am, of course, Stanhope Heath, at your service.”