Charity (9 page)

Lachlan did indeed mind. He’d hoped to find a quiet moment, perhaps on the ride home, to steal another kiss or two. He’d carried the memory of that morning’s embrace with him throughout his busy day, and it had brought many a smile as he recalled Amity’s unguarded ardor and her shy yet passionate response to his touch. With Charity along, a replay would be impossible. His polite smile faltered only slightly, however, before he recovered.

“In that case, the men will envy me all the more, for I shall arrive with the two loveliest women in all of London.”

Charity, barely managing to suppress an indelicate snort, rolled her eyes. She looked at Lachlan, found him watching her, and offered up a sweet, saccharine smile. “You are too kind, my lord,” she said softly, though her inclination was to tell him exactly what she thought of his, to her mind, insincere attempt at gallantry. For Amity’s sake, she would hold her tongue for as long as she was forced to endure his
company; then, when they reached the ball, she would gratefully disappear into the crowd.

She managed quite nicely during the short ride in his coach. Lachlan and Amity conversed quietly, leaving Charity to her thoughts, which, to her horror, kept returning to the kiss shared in the garden that morning. So caught up was she in her thoughts, she didn’t even feel the coach come to a smooth stop and was startled when the footman opened the door.

Dutifully she allowed Lachlan to help her down and then placed her hand on the arm he offered. Amity took his other. The trio strolled inside, relinquished their wraps, and then joined the people waiting in queue for their names to be announced by the Upshaws’ butler at the second-floor entrance to the ballroom.

Charity smiled a greeting at an acquaintance every now and then but remained mostly silent until after the servant had called their names into the crowded room and they had descended the ornate staircase. “I think I’ll go look for some friends,” she said, removing her gloved hand from Lachlan’s arm as soon as her foot cleared the bottom step.

She’d given Amity a quick hug and took two steps away before Lachlan’s voice stopped her in her tracks. “Charity.”

She turned, one eyebrow raised in query, and waited.

“Try to stay out of trouble.”

Charity’s eyes widened, and she sucked in her breath. Of all the unmitigated gall! She opened her mouth to give him the blistering setdown he deserved, caught the pleading look on Amity’s face, and closed it again with a snap. Without a word, she spun on her heel and disappeared into the crush.

Lachlan watched her go, and then turned back to Amity, who, relieved her twin had been willing to let the command
go without making a scene, was now regarding him with a look of tolerant amusement. “I didn’t handle that very well, did I?”

Amity laughed softly and shook her head.

“She’s going to make me pay for it, isn’t she?”

“I’d count on it, my lord.”

He scanned the crowd, but Charity was long gone. “I’m not sure why your sister and I just don’t seem to get along.” He thought back to the first time they’d met, at Faith’s wedding the previous year, and frowned. “I don’t think she likes my teeth.”

At that odd statement, Amity laughed aloud.

Those standing nearest the pair immediately noted that the Marquess of Asheburton, though so recently arrived in Town, already seemed quite comfortable with one of the Ackerly twins. Disappointed debutantes looked on in resignation, jettisoning their dreams of becoming a marchioness; the Ackerly sisters had, for two seasons running, captured the attention and the hands of Society’s Most Eligible, and it appeared that this Season would be no different. The mamas, however, knew that until an engagement was actually announced, there was still a chance. They wasted no more time, hastening their young charges over to beg an introduction.

Lachlan handled it all with polite grace. Amity stood off quietly to the side, secretly grateful for the steady stream of blushing girls and their pushy mothers. She was even happier when a friend appeared.

“My goodness!” Amanda Lloyd eyed the gaggle of women surrounding Lachlan. “But didn’t I see both you
and
Charity arrive with Asheburton?”

Amity nodded. “It looks as though my escort’s dance card may be getting rather full, doesn’t it?”

“But where’s Charity?”

“She escaped as soon as we arrived.” Amity glanced around the room but didn’t see her sister. “I’m sure she’s found some quiet corner in which to seethe.”

“Seethe? Who made her angry this time?”

Amity pointed at Lachlan. “
He
told her to stay out of trouble.”

“He did not!” Amanda looked highly entertained. She raked the besieged marquess with an assessing gaze. “He doesn’t know her very well, does he?”

Lachlan chose that moment to glance over the heads of the women around him and offer Amity a warm, apologetic smile. She returned the expression. “He’ll learn,” she said.

“They don’t even like each other. How is he going to learn?”

Amity’s smiled softened, her eyes glowing at a memory. “When we were little girls, Charity had a friend named Robert Benton. If you chanced across us when we all played together, you’d have thought Charity
hated
Robert. She threw rocks at him, called him names, repeatedly chased him into a field that contained an angry bull, and once she even trapped him in our tree house by removing the steps of the ladder Papa had nailed to the tree trunk.”

Amanda laughed. “That sounds just like something Charity would do. But what does that have to do with Lachlan Kimball?”

“Well, one day, when I was looking in our bedroom for a piece of paper on which I’d written some notes from a grammar lesson, I found instead a crumpled-up page torn from a journal Charity kept in the drawer beside her bed. When I opened it and smoothed it out, I saw that she had written ‘Charity loves Robert’ across it, over and over and over in big, loopy letters.”

“So she was mean to him because she didn’t know how to tell him she liked him,” Amanda correctly surmised. “That’s really a very dear story.”

“I think she would have been content to eventually marry Robert, but he found another village girl who didn’t plague him to death, and recently married her. Charity’s too old for throwing rocks now, but because of the way she treated Robert, I’m not sure she dislikes the marquess as much as she wants all of us, herself included, to think.”

As it turned out, Amity was wrong about her sister’s whereabouts. She had not gone to seethe in a corner. She’d taken a few moments to calm down and was just on her way back to her sister’s side, determined to keep her composure and to help her twin get through this evening as she’d promised. Beginning tomorrow, she decided, they would come up with a plan to rid themselves of the Marquess of Asheburton’s unwanted attention.

She didn’t get far, however. She stepped around a square pillar, glanced in the direction of the stairs, and stopped in her tracks. There, in the middle of a knot of fawning females, stood Lachlan Kimball. And he was completely ignoring Amity, who stood off to the side with Amanda Lloyd.

Infuriated again, Charity turned, leaned back against the pillar and closed her eyes. “Bloody wretch,” she muttered under her breath, and then peeked around to see if anyone had heard. More hot words tumbled through her mind, all aching to slip past her tightly compressed lips and hurl themselves at the blackguard upon whom she could no longer rest her eyes. He was a cad, a bounder, a libertine. A . . . a . . . Her mind finally drew a blank, so she took a
deep breath, struggled for control, and narrowed her eyes at the group near the stairs.

So, it was popularity he sought. Charity released her breath slowly and smiled. At that game, she could certainly best him.

She straightened her posture and glanced about the room until she saw a group of ladies separate themselves from the crowd and walk toward a hallway. Certain they were making for the ladies retiring room, Charity followed their lead. A moment to compose herself and freshen up would be just the thing.

A full thirty minutes of polite, perfunctory conversation passed before Lachlan was finally able to extricate himself. He exchanged a greeting with Amanda Lloyd, then bowed slightly from the waist and smiled at Amity. “If you can forgive my poor manners in neglecting you for such a span of time, I’d enjoy a dance, Miss Ackerly.”

“Ah,” she replied with a regal inclination of her head. “A pretty apology, my lord. Consider yourself forgiven, so long as you manage to conduct yourself as gracefully on the dance floor as you do in conversation.”

Lachlan offered his arm. “I would, indeed, be less of a man if I were to back away from such a sweetly delivered challenge.”

Behind his back, Amanda made a face, pretending to gag, and stuck her tongue out. Amity smiled serenely, placed her hand on the offered arm, and glided with him out onto the floor.

The Countess of Seth watched Amity and Lachlan for a few moments before deciding to look for Charity. With the exception of the conversation she’d just had with Amity,
the ball thus far had been less than scintillating, and Amanda could think of no one better than the fierier Ackerly twin to enliven it.

She swept the room with her eyes, searching out her friend’s distinctive strawberry blonde hair and brightly colored dress. The combination typically made her stand out in the endless sea of pastel-clad mousy brunettes and milquetoast blondes, but Amanda did not see the girl anywhere. What she did observe, however, was an unusually large number of pouting young women in the ballroom. They stood about in petulant little groups, whispering to one another and casting resentful looks at the wall of many-paned doors that opened out onto the terrace.

Amanda followed their eyes. There, framed by the wide open French doors, sat Charity on the railing of the marble balustrade, completely surrounded by men. Her color was high, her eyes were sparkling with fun, and her smile was vivacious and bright. The faces of the men surrounding her were no less animated, and as Amanda drew within earshot she began to understand why.

Charity was in her element, holding court, as it were, and her subjects were nothing less than utterly besotted. Snippets of the conversations began to float in through the open doors, so Amanda stopped and leaned against the frame, snapping open her fan and idly waving the air with it while she listened.

“You did
not
actually ride to the hounds, Miss Ackerly,” said Lord Danforth in an incredulous voice.

“I most certainly did,” responded Charity proudly. “My elder sister Patience caught me before too long, so I was unable to finish the hunt. I did, however, manage to keep up with the men from the village without anyone knowing I was a girl.”

“But you could have been killed or maimed,” protested another admirer from the outer edge of the ring.

Charity scoffed. “The danger was no worse for me than it was for any of the men on the hunt, my lord.” She smiled and tossed the speaker a coquettish look. “Why, I’d imagine I’m in greater danger each time I step on the dance floor with one of you.”

The men all laughed. Lord Pelligrew tentatively asked if he could refresh her beverage, and Charity willingly handed over her glass, causing the shy young man to blush furiously and scurry off. Amanda watched him go with a wry smile that changed to one of pleasure when she saw her husband making his way toward her.

“Jon! I thought you’d be off all evening, playing cards or whatever it is you gentlemen do when you’re in your little man gatherings.”

The Earl of Seth bent and placed a kiss on her offered cheek. “I missed your beautiful smile,” he explained. “Now, what has you so amused?”

Amanda waved a hand in the direction of the terrace tableau. “Charity’s entourage.”

Jon frowned. “There must be thirty men out there.” He glanced back into the ballroom and noted the angry gaggles of young women and their mothers. “Ashe won’t like this,” he predicted.

Amanda slanted him a look. “And what has he to say about it? He had at least this many young women surrounding him when they arrived. Amity was standing quite alone, off to the side when I spotted them.” Her face lit up in comprehension. “Ahhh . . . that explains everything.”

Jon raised his brow. “Care to elaborate?”

“According to Amity, Charity and Asheburton clashed earlier in the evening.” Amanda laughed. “I’d wager she’s
out there giving him a taste of his own medicine. I’ve certainly never seen her intentionally court so much attention.”

“She arrived with Ashe,” Jon remarked, a note of disapproval creeping into his voice.

“He’s escorting Amity. Charity should be able to spend time with whomever she wishes.” But even as she said the words, Amanda knew this wasn’t necessarily the way Society would see it. Just then, as if summoned, she saw Lachlan Kimball heading purposefully toward them, his eyes locked on the group around Charity.

“Uh oh,” she said. “Looks like you were right.”

Jon glanced over his shoulder and followed Lachlan’s progress with a shake of his head. “You know, darling . . . it occurs to me that if you’d never befriended Grace Ackerly, my life would be a good deal less eventful.”

His wife smiled up at him fondly, but that smile faded as Lachlan brushed past without seeing them and approached the group near the balustrade. Those on the perimeter caught his baleful expression and stopped talking. Charity’s voice rang out quite clearly in the ensuing silence.

“Lord Bakersly, I’m not only quite sure that I could outrace you, if I were allowed to ride astride, but I’m also certain my younger sister Mercy could do so as well.”

No one responded. Noting the sudden dearth of interaction, Charity looked around in confusion. Her eyes collided with the cold, flinty gray stare of the Marquess of Asheburton. “Oh, bloody hell,” she muttered, and slid down from the marble rail upon which she’d been seated.

Lachlan flicked a glance at the silent men surrounding her. They promptly obeyed the unspoken command and scattered, some muttering quick good-byes on their way inside. Most simply disappeared, likely to spread the delicious bit of gossip they’d just witnessed.