The Seduction of Lady Charity: The Baxendale Sisters Book Four (7 page)

Charity turned to thank him. With a sweep of his arm, Gunn gestured to where the portrait hung, well lit by candlelight.

There was very little she would alter, she thought, studying it, should she have the opportunity to do so. Perhaps that shadow against Gunn’s right leg might be made stronger. Charity smiled down at him, then watched him stride from the Hall. You couldn’t help liking Gunn. With a sigh, she turned to climb the stairs.

As they climbed sleepily into bed, Mercy snuggled down with a yawn. “I love Scotland.”

“Do you, dearest?”

“Everything about it seems…bigger.”

“Bigger?”

No reply came. Mercy was already asleep.

That was a perfect description of Scotland, Charity thought, settling her head on the pillow.

****

Lady Boothby and her daughter accepted Robin’s invitation to view his gardens now dressed in autumn leaf. Lady Boothby declined to join them, however. While she remained in the salon, Robin took the opportunity to draw Kitty out as her maid trailed at a distance behind them. The day was fine and cool, and a mat of fallen leaves in the colors of crimson, gold, and bronze muffled their footsteps as he and Kitty strolled amongst the centuries-old trees in the park.

Kitty, a dainty young woman, bundled up in her golden brown, velvet pelisse with a matching hat on her dark hair, rubbed her arms with her gloved hands.

“Are you cold?”

Her small shoulders shivered. “A little.”

“Shall we return to the house?”

“Heavens no. I shan’t let the cold spoil the day.”

Robin uncoiled his scarf. Kitty stood quietly, her dark lashes resting on her cheeks as he wrapped the wool around her neck. She raised her chin, and he got the impression she invited him to kiss her. Aware that the kiss would be a declaration of his intentions, especially as the maid was only a few yards away, he stepped back. “Better?”

She patted the scarf in place. “Oh, so much better, thank you, Your Grace. I am a silly thing to suffer from the cold.”

“No need to apologize.”

She glanced at him. “Mama says I should marry someone who could take me somewhere warm for the winter.”

He was sure it was common knowledge that he’d inherited his uncle’s property in Italy, but as he was yet to visit it, he didn’t mention it. Annoyingly, it was Charity he could see there with him, visiting the art galleries and the ancient sites, enjoying the food. This young lady was so petite he doubted she’d have a robust appetite. But she was very pretty. Sweet and biddable, which Charity was not.

She linked her arm through his, and they walked on. “Shouldn’t you like to escape the Northumberland winters? But I suppose someone so big and strong wouldn’t be troubled by the cold.”

“Escaping the middle of winter does sound very appealing.” He smiled down at her urchin face. In truth, he liked the crisp autumn air, and even enjoyed the winter, although the castle’s heating needed improvement. He was encouraged by the scientific approach of Professor Meissner of the Vienna Polytechnical Institute in Austria, who’d published a book on heating with hot air, explaining the laws of warm-air heating. “What part of the garden would you like to view? Do you have a particular preference?”

“I am happy to go wherever you choose to take me, Your Grace.”

“Not many blooms this time of year, but the autumn trees are beautiful, don’t you agree?”

“Oh yes, the leaves of that tree match my pelisse.” She pointed to a majestic towering ash.

He led her along a wisteria-covered pergola. “This is beautiful when in flower,” he said. They emerged onto the lawns, and passed a large marble fountain in silence.

“We have abundant birdlife here,” Robin said, giving up on discussing the garden. He’d struggled for the last half-hour to draw a response from her.

“I like swallows,” Kitty said. “I enjoy watching them soar and dip in the sky.” She fell silent, studying a wet leaf that had stuck to her half boot.

“I suspect you would prefer to be sitting by the fire with a nice cup of tea,” he said, leading her back toward the house.

She didn’t resist but looked anxious. “Have we been gone long?”

“Long enough for you to become too cold,” he said, wondering at the question. “You might prefer to visit the garden in springtime when there’s an abundance of flowers.”

“Oh, yes.” Kitty smiled up at him, her red nose reminding him of an endearing kitten.

Singling Kitty out in this manner could herald a proposal of marriage, but something held him back from committing himself. He refused to consider it was Charity, who was most likely lost to him.

Two days later, in response to his father’s demands, Francis Bellamy returned to Northumberland. His father subsequently read him the riot act, which put Robin’s friend in a bad mood. A good gallop had been Robin’s suggestion of a temporary cure.

Francis took him up on it. “I’m keen to show you the new addition to my stables. But beware, we shall show you a clean pair of heels.”

Robin scoffed. “Brave talk from one who rides mostly in Hyde Park.”

They left the bridle trails when Robin’s spirited chestnut cleared a fence. He galloped Golden Prince across the fields toward the castle with Francis riding flat-out in his wake. Approaching the park, Robin eased the horse to a walk. He grinned with a good deal of satisfaction as Francis caught him up. “And you say your horse is superior to mine.”

“My stallion has his mind on other matters,” Francis said with a snort of disgust. There was little sign that his mood had lifted.

They walked their horses along the road and into the stable yard. Dismounting, they handed the reins to the waiting grooms.

Francis tucked his crop under his arm and pulled off his gloves. “Will we see you at the assembly tonight?”

Robin groaned. “I’ll put in an appearance.”

“I gather Lady Katherine, she of the big brown eyes, will attend?”

“I expect she will. Kitty is a sweet girl. I feel some sympathy for her.”

“Sympathy?”

The grooms led the horses away, and the men ambled back to the house. “Is that the right emotion to feel for a potential bride?”

“No.”

“Then I caution you not to show her too marked a preference.”

Robin swung around to face him. “Oh? I gather gossip is doing the rounds in London. I’m surprised it reached you in the environs of Covent Garden where you spend most of your time.”

Francis glared at him but ignored the gibe. “I heard it from Mother. Lady Boothby expressed the view a betrothal isn’t far away.”

“Lady Boothby can say what she likes.” Robin kicked a pebble.

“Mothers like her are dangerous. I’m merely requesting you open your eyes. You seem to be going about in a funk.”

“Trust a friend to feel the need to sort a fellow out.” With a flash of annoyance, he poked Francis with his crop. “When said friend lives the life of a rake!”

Francis, no doubt smarting from his father’s lecture, retaliated, wielding his crop like a sword. “Someone has to tell you, dammit. Most are too frightened to face up to you. You’ve grown too big for your boots! It’s common knowledge amongst the fellows that you visited the widow in her bedroom the night of the ball.”

Robin swiveled to face him. “You’re clutching at straws. You have no idea whether I did or not.”

“There were one or two other like-minded fellows. I imagine she preferred a duke.”

Robin scowled with a growing sense of helplessness. He refused to marry one of those debutantes who would drag him about town every Season. He wanted a quiet life, living with his books on birds and art and gathering information for his manuscript on the birdlife in Kent. Would he ever feel on top of things? Although he employed a large staff, he was exhausted by the time he went to bed at night after dealing with matters concerning his estates. He should be grateful and felt even worse because he didn’t.

“Now that you’re a duke, you seem to feel you can toy with a debutante’s affections with no intention of marrying her,” Francis said, continuing his frank assessment with the confidence of their long friendship.

He danced away out of reach of Robin’s menacing crop.

“You’re right.” Robin ground his teeth at the unfairness of the statement. “I am a duke. And I’ll have you boiled in oil!”

He ran after Francis, who dodged and employed evasive tactics. When his laughter slowed him, Robin managed to land a good whack on his back. “Or locked up in the tower!”

Chuckling, he backed away as Francis, with colorful curses, swiveled to attack. The tip of his crop slashed at Robin’s arm.

“Ouch!” Robin rubbed his arm.

“Touché!”
Francis roared with laughter.

With a disdainful grin, Robin attacked again, catching Francis on the shoulder. “Take that and mind your manners.”

Winded, they leapt up onto the terrace and approached the French doors, where Robin grasped the door handle. He turned back to his friend. “What I choose to do or not do about the fetching Lady Kitty is my affair,” he said, aiming one last nudge at Francis shoulder.

“I’ll wager my stallion against your chestnut that you marry Lady Kitty before the year is out…” Francis broke off and stared into the room.

Robin stepped into the salon.

Two ladies sat together on one of the pair of blue and gold damask sofas, drinking tea. “I hope you don’t find me presumptuous, Your Grace,” Charity said, her eyes lacking their usual warmth. “But Franklin knows me so well he was confident you’d invite us to take tea with you.”

Mercy leapt up and ran to throw her arms around him. “How wonderful to see you, Robin.”

Robin accepted the hug, his gaze meeting Charity’s cool one over Mercy’s head. Pleasure warmed him at the sight of her perched on his sofa, holding a flowery blue teacup the same shade as her dress. Suddenly, his world seemed to have righted itself.

Chapter Seven

Cold, earthy smells from the garden had followed the men through the door to mingle with the smoke from the fire burning in the grate of the marble fireplace. When Mercy drew away from Robin after her impulsive greeting, he strode over and kissed Charity’s hand. “It is good to see you.”

“And you.” She was pleased, despite the strange hollow feeling in her chest at overhearing his mention of another lady. It was hard to believe he was now a duke, for he still had the same boyish smile. Surely she hadn’t expected him to be the Robin of old. But had he moved on so quickly that he’d forgotten his friends?

After the maid brought hot water, extra cups, and hot buttered crumpets, Charity removed the teapot from the stand and poured the brew into two porcelain cups for the men, who had seated themselves on the matching sofa.

Charity studied Robin while he listened to Mercy explain to Francis the difficulty of producing lotions for ladies’ complexions and the book she was writing. Robin seemed very much at home here. Her first view of the castle nestling in its manicured gardens had quite taken her breath away. This room was charming with its blue silk wallpaper, white marble columns, and painted ceiling. She wondered who Lady Kitty was and what she meant to Robin. Uncomfortable, she began to doubt she and Mercy should have come without notice. Eavesdroppers never prospered. Suddenly aware Robin’s eyes rested on her, she dropped her gaze to her plate and forked up a piece of pound cake.

Robin took a large bite of crumpet. He licked a smudge of butter off his lip. “How did you find Scotland?” he asked her politely.

“Wild, poetic, —very different to England,” she enthused, giving in to the urge to embellish, although her experiences of Gunn’s country had not yet become clear in her mind. Every time she evoked the delicious experience of being commended for her art, Gunn, large and vigorous, seemed to get in the way.

“Oh, it was vastly entertaining, Robin,” Mercy broke in. “Lord Gunn held a wonderful dinner for us. We were piped into the baronial hall for a fabulous feast! His castle is huge, and you can see the sea from the tower.”

“I’m pleased that you enjoyed yourselves,” he said in a coolly impersonal tone. “And the portrait was a success?”

“It appears so.” Charity stirred sugar into her tea. “I would have written you about it had I known you were interested.”

“Of course I am. I have been a poor correspondent.” Robin nodded. “I do apologize.”

“I imagine you’ve been very busy,” Charity said, relenting slightly.

“It was so exciting.” Mercy directed her conversation to Francis, who smiled approvingly. “Guests filled the Great Hall, and everyone applauded when the cover was removed. In the gilt frame, the portrait did look magnificent.”

“I must say I am not surprised.” Robin smiled. “And for what reason are we blessed with your delightful company?”

“Father found the trip dreadfully fatiguing.” Charity scrunched her napkin in her lap. “He plans to extend his stay with Aunt Christabel for a sennight in order to recuperate. I don’t believe you’ve met Lady Huddlestone?”

“I’m sorry your father is unwell. And, no, I’ve yet to have that pleasure.”

“Aunt Christabel lives no more than a few miles from here, Robin,” Mercy said. “She is very fond of reading.”