Charity (7 page)

Lachlan bowed over the older lady’s extended hand. “My lady,” he said. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

When he straightened, she was giving him a probing, assessing look. “So it’s to be Amity, then? I can’t say I expected that. I suppose it is fine, though it won’t be nearly as entertaining for me.”

Lachlan raised his brows, not quite sure what to say to this harridan’s odd and outrageous statement.

Grace choked back a gasp of horrified laughter. “And, of course,” she said hastily, stepping forward and extending her hand, “there’s no need to introduce me. I’m very happy to see you again, Lord Asheburton.”

“Likewise, my lady,” Lachlan replied. He turned to face Amity, and held out his arm once more. “Shall we?”

Hundreds of eyes followed them to the dance floor, all speculating about the unusual appearance of the Marquess of Asheburton at a Town event. Even those who had never made his acquaintance knew him by description and reputation. Most came to the immediate—and correct—conclusion that he sought a wife.
And
, it was noted with narrowed eyes by the matchmaking mamas, it appeared for the third Season in a row an Ackerly sister was well on her way to knocking the Most Eligible off the list of prospects.

One particular set of eyes widened in surprise and then immediately narrowed. Charity Ackerly watched her twin sister step into Lachlan Kimball’s arms, and felt a surge of . . . what? She furrowed her brow, unable to identify the curious feeling that was making her stomach twist itself into an ever-tightening knot. She gripped the railing of the balcony that encircled and overlooked the teeming ballroom below. Her sickened feeling increased until she finally looked away, her eyes skipping over the crowd. They collided with those of her aunt, who stood just outside the circle of people that comprised Charity’s family. Cleo Egerton was looking up at her niece with unconcealed glee.

The gnawing feeling in her gut forgotten, Charity lifted her chin and stared back until the older lady looked away, only to lean over and whisper something to Grace, who
glanced up at Charity and laughed. She gave her younger sister a wave.

Instead of waving back, Charity pushed away from the railing and walked along the balcony until she reached the curving staircase that led to the ballroom. She lifted her skirts slightly and began a swift, graceful descent. Once she’d gained the main floor, she crossed the ballroom, making her way through the milling throng with quick, dainty steps. She stopped when she reached her destination and frowned as she glanced from one smiling face to another.

Aunt Cleo laughed. “You’ll never find a husband if you intend to stand around on balconies looking like a thundercloud instead of dancing, my dear.”

Charity opened her mouth to respond but then bit back the retort. Behind her assembled family she saw Anthony Iverson, the young and dashing heir of the Earl of Endlecourt, making his way toward them, an inviting smile on his handsome face.

“Excellent advice, Aunt Cleo. I shall dance with the very next gentleman who asks.”

With Lachlan Kimball’s mocking grin and her aunt’s words prominent in her mind, she turned a bright, dazzling smile on the approaching young man. She waited while he requested an introduction from the Earl of Huntwick, then curtsied gracefully and accepted his invitation to dance. The couple glided off to the dance floor just as Lachlan was returning with Amity.

Amity smiled in her sister’s direction. “Who is that dancing with Charity?”

“Anthony Iverson,” Grace replied in a distracted voice. She looked troubled, and turned to Aunt Cleo. “Wasn’t there some rumor last Season about Iverson and someone’s wife?”

Cleo furrowed her brow. “A duel, if I recall correctly,” she mused, then lifted her cane to point it accusingly in Trevor’s direction. “Why in the world did you introduce Charity to that blackguard?”

Trevor eyed the end of her ebony walking aid with understandable trepidation, having been its target on more than one occasion. “I know his father. Good man,” he replied. “Don’t you think ‘blackguard’ is a trifle harsh for someone you only
think
‘may have been involved in something or other with someone’s wife’?”

Grace ignored that bit of logic and glared at him. “How could you not know better than to send my sister off to dance with someone of questionable reputation?”

Trevor snorted. “In the first place, finding anyone with an unblemished reputation in Society verges on the impossible. In the second place, it is entirely likely that I missed large chunks of gossip from last Season, since I spent the bulk of it trying to keep
you
from interfering in Gareth and Faith’s marriage.”

Grace colored and looked a bit sheepish. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing to be done about it now,” she said, “except to wait for their dance to end.” She watched the couple glide around the floor with anxious eyes. If Charity’s bright eyes and animated face was any indication, she was enjoying the dance very much indeed.

Lachlan listened to the exchange for a moment, but his eyes weren’t on the dancing couple like everyone else’s. Instead, they swept the crowd that ringed the dance floor. Women were nudging one another and whispering, some with obvious malice. It had not escaped his notice during his dance with Amity that the young ladies in attendance had a less than favorable opinion of the twins. And while he knew it was largely due to jealousy because of the matches
their older sisters had made, he also knew that something had to be done to distract the crowd, and quickly. The only way he could think to accomplish that was to give them something else to watch and discuss.

He turned to the eldest member of the group. “Lady Egerton?”

Cleo didn’t even spare him a glance. “Not now, young man.”

Lachlan almost smiled at her impatient dismissal. “Oh, but I really feel as though this cannot wait.”

She gave him an irritated look. “What is it?”

“Well,” he began, and sketched her a gallant little bow, “I hoped you might honor me with a dance.” He straightened and sent her a speaking look, his eyes willing her to accept.

Surprised, Grace glanced away from Charity and her partner. “Aunt Cleo doesn’t dance!”

At that, Cleo snorted. “I most certainly do!” She thrust her cane at Trevor, who took it from her with a wide grin.

“Yes, Grace,” he said solemnly. “She most certainly does.”

Lachlan hid a smile at the old lady’s indignation. He extended an arm, which she took more firmly than he would have imagined possible, and then walked along beside him with surprising agility. Lachlan had to shorten his strides only a little, and he found himself wondering at the actual depth of her need for the cane.

When they reached the dance floor, she turned to face him and they fell quite neatly into step. “That was brilliantly handled, young man.” She looked reluctant to part with the compliment.

He smiled. “What was, my lady? Managing to convince a beautiful woman to dance with me?”

“You are altogether too charming, Asheburton. Flattery
will get you nowhere with me,” she chided, though she flushed with pleasure. She looked over his shoulder, scanning the crowd, most of whom were now staring in fascination at the unprecedented spectacle of the large, powerfully built marquess dancing with a lame old woman. Lachlan had to jerk his head back quickly when she turned her head in order to avoid being smacked by the lime green feather bobbing helplessly in her magenta turban. A smattering of laughter rolled through the watching crowd.

It went unnoticed by Cleo. She continued, “Strategy, however—
that
will get you an open invitation to visit my nieces.”

“You are gracious, my lady.” He could tell, despite her stalwart effort to hide it, that she was tiring. Luckily the music was drawing to a close.

“Bah!” Cleo made a face. “I am many things, young man, but ‘gracious’ is certainly not one of them.”

Satisfied that they had drawn the attention away from Anthony and Charity, Lachlan smiled and drew the old woman’s hand through his arm, offering his strength and support in a way that wouldn’t be obvious to the crowd of onlookers. As they left the floor, a few people began applauding. Cleo smiled and acknowledged the accolades with a regal nod of her head, first to the left and then to the right. By the time they reached their group, the ovation was deafening.

Lachlan saw Trevor hand Cleo her cane. His friend gave the woman a grin of admiration and a little bow of respect, then he intercepted Charity and Iverson, who were returning from the dance floor as well, largely unnoticed. Smoothly Trevor escorted the young buck away from the others. “Iverson, I’m so glad you’re back. I wondered if I might entrust you with a message for your father.”

The men’s voices faded, and Lachlan watched their retreating backs.

Grace breathed a sigh of relief, tossed Lachlan a grateful smile and turned to the twins. “I think,” she declared, “we should call it a night.”

Eight

Charity
, you really shouldn’t lie like that,” admonished Faith quietly from the bed.

“I know,” her sister agreed pleasantly. Her voice was muffled by the pillow she’d pulled over her face to keep out of her eyes the morning sun that slanted in through the window, and she lay on the floor with her feet propped on the seat of a chair, her skirts inching up her calves. “But there’s nobody here except you, me, and Amity.”

“And Gareth, who could walk in at any time, and the servants,” said Faith.

“And Dr. Meadows,” came a male voice from the doorway.

Surprised, Charity peeked from beneath the pillow and then rolled onto her side. She scrambled to her feet, hastily shaking the wrinkles out of her skirt, her legs now decently covered. “Good gracious,” she muttered.

Dr. Matthew Meadows, the young physician Gareth Lloyd had befriended through the frequent injuries he suffered while “helping” renovate his estate, strolled into the room with a smile, his brown eyes twinkling. “Just stopping in to check on my favorite patient,” he announced cheerfully. Winking at Charity he said, “It’s okay, I’m a doctor. I’ve seen my fair share of female ankles.”

Amity laughed. Charity colored, stammered an excuse about reading in the garden, and promptly escaped.

Faith shook her head. “Sweet of you to call me your favorite
patient. Especially since Gareth dragged you from Roth-mere to London to dance attendance on me. I believe that currently makes me your
only
patient. And I’m doing quite well,” she added.

“I’ll just step out into the garden with Charity,” Amity suggested in a quiet voice. She turned to leave the room.

“No need,” replied Matthew. “I can already see that Faith is right where I’ve told her to stay, and that she’s looking as radiant and healthy as ever.” He grinned at Amity. “You and your sister keep her from becoming bored.”

“We do our best.” Amity smiled. “Charity pops in and out to make her laugh, but she can’t sit still for very long. Still, Faith and I have enjoyed one another’s company very much.”

“Excellent.” The young physician stared down into Amity’s bright eyes, and he seemed to forget, for a moment, that Faith was even in the room. Faith glanced back and forth between the two, noting Amity’s heightened color and the intensity of Matthew’s gaze. She almost hated to spoil the moment but knew it would become awkward when the pair realized they’d been staring.

She delicately cleared her throat, and then stifled a laugh when her sister jumped in reaction. “Amity, I don’t suppose you’d be kind enough to walk Dr. Meadows out, would you?”

“Of course.” Her sister covered the blush that was stealing across her face by ducking her head and pretending to straighten the extra blanket folded across the end of Faith’s bed while Matthew said his good-byes.

Downstairs, unbeknownst to the trio in Faith’s bedroom, the Marquess of Asheburton had arrived. “I’d like to see Miss Amity Ackerly, please,” he told the butler who’d wrenched open the door after his second knock.

Desmond scowled up at him. “Have you been announced?” he demanded.

Lachlan, who rather thought it was the butler’s job to announce him, remained nonetheless patient. “Well,” he said, “I’ve only just arrived.”

“
Un
announced,” declared Desmond, and he sighed heavily. He turned away, muttering something under his breath about constant interruptions, and then looked back at the marquess, who stood just outside the open door. “Are you coming in or not?”

His patience rapidly fading, Lachlan raised his brows and gave the butler a dampening look, and then he stepped inside, wondering why Gareth Lloyd continued to employ the man.

Desmond, who had seen Charity slip out to the back garden and steadfastly refused to try to distinguish one twin from the other, led Lachlan through the foyer and into a lovely solar. It was glassed on three sides, with doors that opened out into the back gardens, and Charity sat across the lawn on a blanket, quietly reading, her back to the house. The butler pointed in her direction and walked abruptly away.

Irritated by the servant’s utter lack of professionalism, Lachlan watched him go and then stepped outside. He stood a moment on the terrace, hoping the girl would look up and see him. She presented a fetching picture, clad in a simple cobalt morning dress, her strawberry blonde curls caught at the nape of her neck with a jaunty matching ribbon. She twirled a wayward strand of hair with a graceful finger and continued reading, utterly unaware that she was being watched.

When she didn’t look up, Lachlan descended the wide, shallow steps and began crossing the grass. He cleared his
throat lightly as he drew near, loath to startle her, but Charity, completely absorbed in her book, still did not sense him. He stopped a few paces from her blanket.

“Good morning, Miss Ackerly.”

Charity glanced up in surprise to see the man with whom she had sparred from the beginning of their acquaintance. This time, however, the expression on his face contained no trace of censure, disapproval, or annoyance. Instead, he looked unexpectedly amiable and quite handsome. Her heart skipped a beat, and then began pounding at twice its normal rate, as if to catch up. She bit her lip, oddly at a loss for words.