Charity (13 page)

With sudden dread, Charity realized exactly what Amity needed her to do. “No way!” She stood up, and this time she started pacing. “I am not pretending to be you while being escorted by that . . . that . . . man.” She spit out the last word like an epithet.

“It’s the only way,” pleaded Amity.

“I don’t like him.”

Amity bit her lip. “Actually, darling, I think you do.” Charity stopped mid-pace and whipped her head around to stare at her sister, who stared back unwaveringly. “What’s more, I think he cares for you as well.” Her eyes were soft and understanding.

“You’re wrong.”

“Oh, Charity . . . not everything is a battle you must win at all costs. You spend so much time fighting everything, even yourself. Sometimes it’s okay to just relax and let things happen around you.” Amity paused, watching her twin struggle against her inner turmoil. “Think about his behavior at the ball that evening. Don’t you think it was more the way a jealous man would act than a protective one?”

“I don’t know,” Charity muttered.

“Think about it,” advised Amity. “Just do me a favor and think about it.”

Thirteen

Charity
wrinkled her nose as she surveyed the row of dresses in the wardrobe. Pale pink, pale lavender, pale blue, white, white, white. Every single frock was demure and correct and boring. And she had to choose one.

With a sigh she pulled out three of the brightest and spread them on the bed, finally choosing one in a mint green simply because it was the least fussy. Reflecting on the events of the day, she began getting dressed without waiting for Amity’s maid to help her.

She’d traveled with Grace in the morning to visit Faith and the baby and then stayed, ostensibly to spend the afternoon with Amity before they both left to attend the ball that evening. By afternoon tea, both girls were jumpy and nervous while they waited for Matthew to come for his daily check on his London patients. So far, there had been three knocks on the door, all of them deliveries of more flowers to welcome little Imogen to the household.

At the fourth knock, Faith finally noted and remarked on it: “Goodness, Amity, you nearly jump out of your skin every time someone comes to the door. Are you feeling all right?”

Amity’s eyes grew wide, so Charity hastily answered before her twin gave away the entire elopement plan, knowing her inability to skirt the truth when put on the spot. “I think she’s just looking forward to seeing the Marquess of Asheburton again tonight.”

Faith smiled and sipped her tea. “Gareth tells me he’s been courting you since the Season began. I’m happy to see you return his interest. I understand he’s rather well-regarded by Trevor, too.”

Charity did her best not to snort and roll her eyes while Amity agreed that yes, he passed muster with many people of good standing and character within the
ton
. Fortunately, Desmond appeared in the doorway then and announced the arrival of Dr. Meadows.

All three girls stood. Faith excused herself and left the room to take Matthew upstairs. Amity and Charity followed her to the doorway and then peeked around the edge, silently following their progress with excited eyes until the pair disappeared down the corridor that housed both the master suite and the nursery.

“All right, they’re gone.” Charity reached out and grasped Amity’s hand. “Let’s go change.”

Amity hesitated. “Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

With a smile, Charity took her sister’s face between her hands. “I think it doesn’t matter what I think. The only thing you should be listening to right now is your heart . . . and Matthew.”

Amity smiled back, a tremulous expression of thanks, and then she nodded firmly. Hand in hand, the girls ran up the stairs and down the hall to Amity’s bedchamber.

By the time Matthew and Faith reappeared, smiling and talking about Imogen’s good health, the girls were waiting together in the foyer. They exchanged greetings with the doctor, and then Amity, posing as Charity, turned to Faith. “Well, it’s time to go back over to Grace’s so I can get ready to go out this evening. May I send for someone to prepare a conveyance?”

Matthew spoke up. “There’s no need for that, Miss Charity. I’m just leaving, and I’d be more than happy to drop you at Lord and Lady Huntwick’s home.”

Amity smiled. “That’s very kind of you, Dr. Meadows. It is only a short way up the block, but these silly slippers, though fashionable, are certainly not meant for a great deal of walking.”

“Yes,” agreed Faith. “Thank you. That’s a lovely offer.” She gave Amity a hug then bent and kissed her on the forehead. “We miss having you and all your excitement around here, Charity. Now that Imogen has arrived, why don’t you think about coming back to stay with Amity again?”

Amity gulped and nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Charity gave her a hard look from behind Faith’s back and said, “Speak for yourself, Faith. Maybe I don’t miss her all that much.”

They all laughed, and then Amity and Matthew left, climbed into his curricle, and drove off down the street.

Charity watched them go, then took a deep breath and turned back to Faith. “I think I’ll go read a bit before it’s time to get dressed for the evening. Would you mind if I just took a light supper in my room instead of coming down for the meal?”

Faith tilted her head. Viewing her with assessing gray eyes she asked, “Are you sure you’re feeling all right, Amity? Perhaps you should think about staying in.”

“No, I’m fine,” Charity hastily assured her, knowing that the more time she spent with her older sister, the sooner Faith would figure out that she and her twin had switched places. “I’m just really involved in this book and haven’t had a great deal of time to read lately.” She’d smiled disarmingly and walked away before Faith drew her into any more conversation.

And so here she was, dressed in Amity’s mint green dress—she had to admit, it looked nicer than she’d thought it might—waiting for the Marquess of Asheburton to arrive.

As if summoned, she heard a vehicle pulling to a stop just outside the town house. Charity walked to the window and looked down. Lachlan Kimball was just stepping out of his coach, a bouquet of flowers in one hand and his hat in the other. He spoke to his footman a moment, and Charity rested her forehead on the cool glass, pondering what Amity had said about Lachlan having feelings for her. She chewed on her lower lip in consternation, her stomach doing odd little flip-flops as she watched him walk up the steps, placing his hat back on his head as he did, and then reaching for the knocker. She caught her breath. He was really very handsome.

The door opened, allowing light to spill out onto the steps below. Charity smiled to herself, hoping Desmond treated Lachlan with respect this one time. She’d made sure to tell the butler that the Marquess of Asheburton would be arriving that evening, in order to spare him the servant’s typical indignation at unannounced visits. The last thing she needed was for the marquess to be in a poor frame of mind before she attempted to pull off the charade of being Amity.

A soft knock sounded on the door to the bedchamber, and a maid stuck her head inside. “Miss Amity, the Marquess of Asheburton has arrived.”

“Thank you, Millie.” Charity took a last deep breath and went down to begin her ordeal.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

Charity pulled her gaze from the row of opulent town houses passing at an astonishingly slow pace because of the
evening traffic in this section of town. She sat with her hands folded primly in her lap, trying to distract herself from the knowledge that she was positioned across the coach from the one man who had the disconcerting ability to make her burn with both anger and yearning. She forced herself to smile and quietly replied, “I’m nursing a bit of a headache, my lord. I’m sure it won’t trouble me the entire evening.”

Lachlan leaned forward and covered her hands with his. “Would you prefer spending the evening in, Miss Ackerly? I can take you back home and we can see each other another night.”

That was the last thing she wanted. There would be explanations to Gareth and Faith, and Charity was fairly certain she wouldn’t get past the second sentence before her sister figured out that she wasn’t Amity. She shook her head. “It’s minor, my lord. Thank you so much, but I think it will fade within the hour.” She turned back to the window, hoping he’d allow the silence until they reached the ball since she hadn’t a clue how to go about having a simple, quiet conversation.

Lachlan sat back and regarded Amity’s profile, trying to put his finger on the difference in her tonight. It was, to his recollection, the first time they’d been alone together since the morning in the garden when he kissed her. He smiled to himself at the memory.

“It’s nice, Miss Ackerly, to spend a quiet spell with you in this manner. I know you enjoy having your sister along, but things are seldom calm when Charity is around. I confess to finding it a bit of a relief.”

Stung, Charity bitterly recalled her sister’s words.
What’s more, I think he cares for you as well
. She blinked a couple times, angry to find herself on the verge of tears.
It’s your own fault
, she silently chided herself,
for allowing such silly romantic notions to enter your head
. Instead of replying, she simply smiled and nodded, and then straightened in relief when she felt the coach pull into the small half-circle drive of the home hosting the ball they were to attend.

Inside, Lachlan placed his hands upon her shoulders. “I’m going to see if I can procure you some refreshment. Do you mind waiting for me here?”

Charity smiled and shook her head, still too angry to trust herself to speak. She watched the marquess walk away. His stride was fluid, reminding her of predatory cats about which she had read, and she shuddered slightly at the image. Such creatures were beautiful to observe, but only from a distance; up close they were deadly. She’d felt his gaze on her after their brief conversation in the coach and known she was in for a long night of trying to avoid situations in which they might find themselves alone.

Without warning, Lachlan appeared at her elbow and handed her a glass of lemonade. “I was going to bring you champagne, but thought it might intensify your headache.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she murmured, and took a sip.

“Would you care to dance right away, or would you rather look for some of your friends?”

Neither
, thought Charity wryly. Aloud she said, “I think I’ll find the ladies’ retiring room and freshen up a bit.”

Lachlan bowed and watched Charity go, his head tilted thoughtfully to the side. She seemed different than he remembered. The Amity Ackerly with whom he was familiar was quiet, yes, but poised and open and engaging. Tonight there was an air of nervous energy about her, even in the way she moved through the crowd, glancing about her as though expecting some sort of ambush. As though she were
uncomfortable in her own skin. As though someone might know and reveal her secrets.

As the last phrase entered his head, several little inconsistencies clicked into place and he was suddenly overcome by a sense that the girl who accompanied him tonight was not Amity Ackerly. It was her twin sister. He was sure of it. But he had no idea why.

Setting his glass of champagne on a nearby table, Lachlan headed purposefully in the direction Charity had disappeared. He didn’t want to spark a combative situation by openly questioning her. Instead, he would see if he could get her to reveal her identity on her own, and
then
he’d learn why. But the only way to learn what he must was if Charity spent the remainder of the evening at his side.

Unaware of her companion’s resolve, inside the small room set aside for ladies to rest and repair their appearance, Charity sat quietly on a low stool and waited. She watched several groups come and go, and sighed when the last gaggle exited; a couple of the ladies had whispered to one another and then looked back in her direction. If she didn’t go back out into the ballroom, rumors would fly that Amity Ackerly was secreting herself away from her escort for the evening.

She reluctantly rose and departed, but as soon as she exited the short hall off which the room was located, Lachlan appeared, pushing himself away from the wall and falling into step beside her. “Feeling better, Miss Ackerly?”

Startled, Charity almost dropped her fan. “W-why, yes,” she stammered. “Sitting quietly for a few moments was just the thing.” She had a moment of inspiration and handed him her empty glass. “And the lemonade really helped, I think.” She smiled at him as brightly as she could. “I don’t suppose you’d be a darling and go get me some more?”

The coquettish little smile and attempt to make sure they were in separate parts of the ballroom gave Lachlan even more reason to trust his instincts. He took the glass from her and smiled disarmingly. “Of course,” he replied, but drew her hand through his arm. “Walk with me. I do so enjoy your company.”

Charity kept the smile pinned to her face but looked away, pretending an absorbing interest in the other guests. She nodded at one or two acquaintances, then flipped open her fan and beat the air with it until they reached the refreshments table.

Securing two more glasses of lemonade, Lachlan guided her toward a small curtained alcove near the dance floor. Instant alarm set in. “Where are we going?” she asked, but then forced herself to calm down when she heard the breathy, urgent tone of her words.

“I thought it would be nice to sit and talk a few minutes,” Lachlan replied. “Unless you’d rather dance?” He turned as though looking for a place to set down their glasses.

“No, the alcove is fine, my lord,” she said. Numb, she wondered how early she could safely ask him to take her home without running the risk of encountering Faith and Gareth before they went to bed.

Lachlan made sure Charity was comfortably situated on a red brocade-upholstered sofa, and then handed her the lemonade. He sat beside her and sipped his own, watching her over the rim of his glass. Her misery was plain, despite the polite expression she was trying to maintain. He hid a smile, almost feeling sorry for her, then decided it was a perfect time to step up his game. “You seem . . . different.”