Once Again a Bride, page 30
Lucy sat on a chaise by the second window. She had nowhere else to go. She looked out over the masses of flowers and trimmed shrubs in the garden. That would be Mr. Trask’s work, she realized; another sign of Ethan’s connection with this place. This was his home; he didn’t feel alien and uncertain here, and he’d obviously abandoned her for his family and friends. But at least no one would enter this room without knocking. She’d have some warning. Lulled by Miss Charlotte’s even breathing, she put her feet up on the chaise and lay back. In a very short time, Lucy was asleep as well. Silence descended on the room.
Twenty-five
When Alec plodded into the stable yard two hours later, he had no energy left. His thoughts were centered on food and sleep and a wash. He knew he had to rally to organize the search for Charlotte, and he would. That came first, no matter what. But his eyes felt gritty with lack of sleep, and his body ached from many hours in the saddle.
He blinked. The paved yard between the stables and the back door seemed remarkably crowded. Two maidservants were arguing with each other, one shaking a finger in the other’s face. A pair of grinning grooms egged them on, and to the other side hovered… Ethan? Alec blinked again, wondering if his eyesight was failing from fatigue. It couldn’t be Ethan. Ethan was in London. But it was him. The shorter, angrier maid turned, saw him, and bustled over like a hen chasing a beetle. Ethan hurried after her. “Thank heaven you’re back, sir. There’s been such doings here! Very irregular, as I told Ethan more than once.”
Alec couldn’t remember her name. He knew it, of course. But he was so tired.
“He had no right to be putting females in bedchambers and ordering tea made and I don’t know what all, for all the world like he was in charge…”
Ethan stepped in front of her. “I knew you’d want…”
She popped out from behind him. “Don’t you be pushing me aside, you great lug!”
“Ethan, what are you doing here?” Alec didn’t speak loudly, but the yard went silent at the sound of his voice.
“I came up after Mrs. Wylde, sir.”
“Cha…?” Alec shook his head to clear it.
“There was a note… only it didn’t make any sense, and then I went to Lady Isabella’s house and saw… It seemed like there was something wrong. So Lu… that is… I took the stage up to see if I could help. She’s upstairs resting now.”
“Wait, who is…?”
“Mrs. Wylde, sir.”
“Cha… Mrs. Wylde is here?” Alec couldn’t take it in. “Upstairs, here?”
“Yes, sir. She was worn out. We… I… took the liberty of having her put in a bedchamber.”
“But…” All his searching, and she hadn’t even needed him. She’d somehow come safe to his home on her own. “She’s all right?”
“Yes, sir. Just tired, like I said.” Ethan glanced around the yard, and Alec became aware of the circle of curious eyes. This discussion should be taken elsewhere.
But he couldn’t help asking again, “You’re sure?”
At his footman’s confident nod, Alec finally released the tension he’d been holding through the night. Slowly, his fear drained away. She was safe; it rang in his head like a refrain. Charlotte was all right.
Slowly, stiffly, he dismounted. “See to Blaze, Robin,” he told a groom who hurried over, handing off his horse’s reins. “He’s been ridden too hard. See he gets plenty of oats, and a rest.”
“Yes, sir.” He led the horse away.
Alec wanted to see Charlotte, to be certain she really was all right. But Ethan had said she was resting. That was good. Rest was a very good idea. Very good. A few hours of sleep and he would be able to think, to wonder how she’d made it here from Aunt Bella’s, and all that had occurred. For now… Alec headed inside. “Thank you, Ethan. Well done.” The maid beside Ethan sniffed. Alec couldn’t imagine why. “I’ve been up all night. I’m going to follow Mrs. Wylde’s example.” She was here, in a room in his house. In a daze, Alec sought out his own.
Ethan watched him go, wishing he could find a feather mattress and drop onto it himself. But his problems weren’t over, not by a long shot. His mother was off visiting his sister, and wouldn’t be back till tomorrow. He couldn’t tell anyone about Lucy and their plans until he spoke to her. She’d skin him alive, in the first place, and anyway he needed her help in smoothing things over. He could tell her the whole story. There was no one on earth more trustworthy. She’d understand why they’d traveled up here together, and she’d take his word that nothing wrong had gone on. As if he would! She’d like Lucy, too. He was certain about that. But she couldn’t like her till she met her, and in the meantime there were cats like Alice Ramsay making remarks and asking awkward questions. She’d shut her trap when Ethan’s mother spoke to her! Till then, he had to stay alert and make sure nobody bad-mouthed Lucy, or Miss Charlotte for that matter. Sleep would have to wait.
***
Charlotte woke in a strange bedchamber. It was a lovely room, hung with flowered chintz in soft yellows and blues. The scent of flowers drifted in through the open window. Lucy lay asleep on a chaise beneath it. The light outside slanted golden; it must be late in the day. All was quiet. She felt more rested, if not completely back to normal. She was in Sir Alexander’s house, she remembered, safe.
She relaxed into the comfortable bed and sorted through jumbled memories. Her brain was finally clear of the confusion brought on by the drug given her, and she reviewed all that had happened in the last few days. Lady Isabella really had confessed to Henry’s murder and the robbery attempt; that had not been a dream or delusion. She’d confessed without a trace of guilt. Charlotte still found it incredible. Clearly, Lady Isabella’s mind was unbalanced. Somehow, she had concealed this, living in that sad, empty house, subsisting on gossip about other people’s misfortunes. Why had no one noticed? Why hadn’t her own son noticed?
Edward—he had gone to her. What would he do? And was it to be left up to him? Didn’t she have an obligation to notify the authorities?
She could clear her name, an eager inner voice pointed out. The Bow Street Runner’s hateful accusation would be proven wrong once and for all. She could have the pleasure of throwing his mistake back in his ferrety face and forcing him to apologize. She enjoyed that idea for a few minutes.
But her brief satisfaction would come at what cost? A murder trial in the family would bring scandal crashing down on all of them. Her own pitiable history with Henry would be dragged into a public courtroom and rehashed for all to hear. More than that, the gossip would spill over onto Alec and Anne and Lizzy and Frances. Perhaps she had no social position to protect, but it would wreck Anne’s debut. Edward would be followed by whispers wherever he went; how he would detest that! She had a notion that trials went on for months; the ton would relish every twist and turn. She could see it so vividly—gentle Anne walking into a glittering ballroom and hearing murmurs fall silent, facing a sea of hard, avid eyes. Charlotte shivered and drew the coverlet higher. She couldn’t let that happen.
No one but Alec knew the Runner had accused her. As far as the world was concerned, Henry Wylde had been killed by footpads. It was old news now, mostly forgotten, and no one had cared very much in the first place, Henry being Henry. Perhaps Lady Isabella’s crimes could be kept secret, though of course something must be done about her… The main thing was—Alec must know the truth. That was all she really cared about, Charlotte realized. She had to forever erase that excruciating moment when he had looked at her with pained suspicion.
Charlotte clutched the bedclothes closer. Alec. She was in his home, but she didn’t feel welcome. They’d been greeted with such reluctance. The servants would be gossiping about it even now. Why had she arrived unheralded in an old farm cart? Where was her luggage? Why was she visiting when all the ladies were away? That in itself was… say unorthodox, to be charitable. What would Alec say when he returned and found her here? When he heard the news she had to give him? Their first encounter since he’d held her in his arms would be fraught with complications. More complications. As if there were not enough already. Charlotte had a craven impulse to flee. Perhaps she and Lucy could sneak out to the stagecoach stop and…
A knock on the door brought Lucy upright. She blinked blearily, then jumped up at a second knock and opened the door. Two maids stood outside, the friendly one who had brought them upstairs, and the one who had made such a fuss about their arrival. The latter gazed avidly into the room. “We’ve brought your things,” said the first cheerily. She carried a small valise. “And some hot water.” The other maid had the can. “I’m to tell you dinner’s in an hour.”
“Has Sir Alexander returned?” Charlotte asked.
“Yes, ma’am.” They deposited their burdens. “Is there anything else you need?”
“No,” said Lucy. “That’ll do fine. Thank you, Sally.”
They left. Lucy rubbed her eyes and then bustled about opening the case and pouring hot water into the washbasin. “A good thing we took off your dress,” she said. “It’s not a bit crumpled. Too bad it’s a morning gown, but that can’t be helped. We’ve got your brushes and all, so that’s all right.”
Lucy’s gown was sadly crushed from her nap on the chaise, Charlotte noticed. Her presence was such a comfort in this house. “I haven’t thanked you properly, Lucy, for coming after me. I’m sorry. I believe the drug they gave me was still having an effect.”
“No need for thanks.” Lucy seemed subdued.
“Of course there is. You and Ethan…”
“Nothing improper went on, while we wa… were traveling!”
“I never imagined it did.”
Lucy muttered something under her breath.
“Has anyone reproached you?” Charlotte’s temper flared. “Just tell me and I will speak to…”
“No, no, nothing like that, miss.”
“Believe me, I will see to it that they don’t.” Lucy gave her a smile but didn’t look convinced. And indeed Charlotte understood that she could do little about servants’ gossip.
“There’s no need to worry,” said Lucy, as if she spoke to herself as well as Charlotte. “I expect we’ll be going back to London as soon as may be?”
“I was just thinking the same. But I believe stagecoaches generally leave in the early morning.”
Lucy nodded. She gestured with the towel she was holding. “Best get ready for dinner, then.” Her blue eyes were somehow bereft. Charlotte didn’t understand it, but she felt the same melancholy in herself. She and Lucy had been together so long. She was a friend more than a servant, and yet… there seemed no way to voice the feelings that they clearly shared. “What would I do without you, Lucy?”
The words made the maid stiffen. Why?
“No worry about that,” Lucy replied. “I’m right here. Come and wash before the water goes cold.”
***
Dinner in the “small” dining parlor was stilted. With servers continually in and out, bringing dishes and removing them, waiting just behind a swinging door to fulfill any requests, there was no opportunity for private talk. Charlotte, nearly bursting with the news she had to give Alec, struggled to find topics of conversation. She was also terribly aware of how odd it was for her to be dining alone with him, to be visiting him alone. She felt watched, and judged, and thoroughly uncomfortable. And Alec seemed a different man from the one who had left her bedchamber just a few days ago, much more like the distant gentleman she’d first met on the day of Henry’s death. “What… do you have any news of the men who were marching to Nottingham?” she asked him.
“How do you know about that?” was the sharp reply.
“I… heard… about it.” She couldn’t tell him—here—that she’d been crouched in the darkness as they whipped themselves up to set off.
He closed his lips on another question. “A courier came by with news this afternoon, since I am one of the local magistrates. They marched on through Ripley, gathering more men, willing or not so willing in some cases. Toward Codnor and Langley Mill—you won’t know these places, of course—they woke up several innkeepers demanding beer and bread and cheese. The beer made things worse, I’m sure. It was raining hard by then, and I’d wager a good few slipped away home. Twenty Light Dragoons caught the remainder at Giltbrook, and they scattered under the charge. About forty men were captured. Not the leaders, they think, but those will be taken soon enough. The government won’t rest until they are. Lord Sidmouth has a network of agents who will ferret them out.”
Sidmouth was the Home Secretary, Charlotte remembered. “What will happen to them?” she wondered.
“Transportation to Australia for some. The leaders will surely be hanged.” He said it with a weary finality.
“If that man…” Charlotte could almost remember the name shouted out. “If they hadn’t fired on the house in the village…” Alec was scowling at her; she had forgotten again that he didn’t know she’d been there.
“They killed a servant in Mary Hepworth’s house in South Wingfield,” he agreed after a short silence. “But even if they hadn’t, the punishments would be the same. ‘Armed insurrection’ will not be tolerated.”
“Insurrection?”
“That’s what it is being called—that and high treason. Some of the leaders had formed ‘revolutionary committees’ and sketched out plans for a general uprising. These are not words any government can easily tolerate. The impulse may have come from unemployment and privation, but…” Alec threw his napkin on the table. “Have you finished eating?”
She had been moving the last bites around with her fork. She shouldn’t waste food when people were starving, Charlotte thought. But she didn’t want it. “Yes.”
He rose. “Then perhaps we can go into the library and discuss… the family business that brought you here.”
“Yes,” she said again. Nervous now that the moment had finally come, Charlotte followed him out of the room.
***
Ethan had no duties, as he was unexpectedly home, and neither did Lucy while her mistress was at dinner. So he shouldn’t have had much difficulty spiriting her out of the house into the long golden June evening. Lucy herself was the problem. She stubbornly ignored his signals, sticking by Sally Thorpe in the servants’ parlor as if they’d been friends all their lives. He finally had to resort to outright asking if she’d like to see the rose garden. “Grandad would be that glad to know you’d seen it.”
“You know Ethan’s grandad?” Alice Ramsay was quick to ask.
“And my grandmother, too,” Ethan put in. “They’re great friends.”
“Really? How’d that come about?” Alice looked from Ethan to Lucy speculatively.
“All right.” At last Lucy stood, though she didn’t look happy. “I’ll… I’d be glad to see Mr. Trask’s gardens.”
Ethan pulled her out and away before Alice could stick her nose in any further. He walked her fast down one path, and through a gate, and brought them out among swaths of heavy, sweet-smelling blooms.
“Oh,” Lucy said.
“Right pretty, eh?” He looked out over the clusters of rose bushes spreading around them. A flood of reds and pinks and whites, climbing over an arbor and spilling along a stone wall, so many it was dizzying. The perfume was better than a hundred fancy shops. “You like roses, I remember.” Lucy turned to him. “It was one of the first things you told me. White roses in the moonlight.”
“Don’t try to get around me when I’m mad at you, Ethan Trask!”
“Mad? Why?”
“You know very well why.”
If that wasn’t just like a female, claiming you knew what was in their heads when you had no blessed idea. And no warning. “I do not. We rescued Miss Charlotte, like we came to do, and…”
“And you just dropped me in it here, with everybody staring and making up Lord knows what stories. What your family must think of me! Not that I’ve met any of them, properly.” She took a step away from him and stared down at a deep red rose.
He couldn’t pretend not to understand what she meant, not with that dratted Alice snooping and sniping for all she was worth. “I’ve wanted to introduce you, official like. As soon as my mother gets back from visiting tomorrow, I’ll tell her we’re getting married. Best to tell her first. Well, I have to, Lucy. But she’s a wonder, she is. She’ll make it all right…”
“You’ll what! I never said I’d marry you, Ethan Trask.”
“You…” Hadn’t she? Ethan distinctly remembered… what? Hadn’t she said…? It was all settled. They were here, and he’d got the position, with the cottage and all. And it was okay with his dad, against all the odds. As soon as the family was back from town, they’d marry and move in. He’d seen it all in his mind, clear as clear.
“There’s the matter of your lying to me. You’re forgetting that, seemingly.”
“Lucy! I didn’t lie. I might not have told you…”
“That’s the same as a lie!” She glared at him with those devastating blue eyes. “You think you can ‘forget’ to tell me things you don’t want me to know whenever it suits you?”
“I won’t do it again.”
“How would I know whether you did?”
He was getting annoyed now. Why did she have to make things difficult? “Because I told you I won’t, Lucy. I promise. You can trust my word.”
“Oh, what does it matter?” Tears trembled in Lucy’s eyes. “I can’t leave Miss Charlotte, after all that’s happened to her. She needs me more than ever.”
“I thought you weren’t going to let that stop…”
“And everybody here thinking I’m no better than I should be. How could I come to live among them? They’d always be whispering. I couldn’t bear that.”
“Nobody thinks…”
“It’s no good, Ethan! It’s not going to work. Just take your new job and your cottage and everything you always wanted and… be happy!” Lucy turned and fled from him. He chased her into the house, but under all the curious eyes waiting there he couldn’t follow her up to Miss Charlotte’s bedchamber and pound on the door like he wanted to. Thwarted, furious, Ethan strode back outside to sulk.
