The Seduction of Lady Charity: The Baxendale Sisters Book Four (8 page)

“We have an excellent library here,” Robin said. “Your aunt is more than welcome to peruse the tomes. There might be something that appeals.”

Mercy giggled. “You wouldn’t have the sort of stories Aunt Christabel reads.”

Charity raised her eyebrows at Mercy. Their aunt preferred Gothic romances, the more lurid, the better.

“I see.” Robin nodded, although she suspected he didn’t. “I’ve discovered some excellent books on art in the library. Perhaps I might show them to you, Charity.”

She replaced her teacup in its saucer. “I should like that.”

Robin stood. “If perhaps Mercy and Lord Bellamy will spare us a few minutes, there might be one or two you’d like to take with you.”

Charity was startled by his lapse of manners, and her eyes widened. “I don’t know if—”

“Shall we play a game of checkers while we wait, Lady Mercy?” Francis said hastily.

“Oh yes. Let’s.”

“Mercy shall come with us,” Charity said firmly.

Mercy frowned. “I’d rather wait here, Charity.”

Robin went to the door. “I’ll call for a footman to stand in the room.”

“I say, my reputation isn’t that bad,” Francis protested with a grin.

“Nevertheless.” Robin grinned and escorted Charity from the room.

****

They walked along the corridor. Charity paused to examine a fine tapestry depicting a hunt. “Your new home is magnificent.”

He smiled, pleased. “You haven’t seen much of it, yet.”

“I would very much like to see the gardens; their beauty is renowned.”

“Then you shall.” He directed her into the library, feeling ridiculously delighted to be able to share it with her.

“Oh, this is breathtaking.” Charity turned slowly on the Aubusson carpet, her arm gesture encompassing the rows of bookshelves reaching almost to the high-coffered ceiling.

She strolled across and turned the world globe on its stand. “Have you been well?”

Robin was still reeling from the explosion of feeling he’d suffered at the sight of her in his salon. He walked up behind her and forced himself to stop a few feet away, admiring her elegant back in the cream velvet spencer and the way the blue dress skimmed her hips. Her dark blonde hair was swept up from her tender nape. He could so easily shape her waist with his hands and draw her against him. Wasn’t that why he’d angled to get her alone? “Why, I am the very ‘pinke of curtesie,’” he said, quoting
Romeo and Juliet
. “And you?”

She turned, and they were almost at kissing distance. Her cheeks grew pink. Did he imagine something passed between them beyond an appreciation for Shakespeare? His blood thudded through his veins. Might he dare hope that she would reconsider his proposal? No, now was not the time to risk his heart again and be rebuffed out of hand. For that would leave him defeated. And it would finish things between them.

She straightened her shoulders. “Now, where are these books?” she said briskly, reminding him of a governess talking to her charge.

He strolled over to a table. “These are some I’ve been perusing. I would have ferreted out more had I known you would call.”

She bent her head, absorbed, flicking through each book. “Look at these wonderful botanical drawings. Breathtaking!” Was she enamored of that annoying Scot or merely grateful? Her recent success might make her even more determined to concentrate on her art. Any move on his part now would be unwise. He would have to woo her—remind her of their interests in common that she was unlikely to share with Gunn. At least the baron was not here in Northumberland. Robin would have her to himself for a while.

She chose two of the books and hugged them to her chest, foiling his view of her rounded breasts. “Thank you for these. I shall enjoy them and have them sent back.”

Sent back?
Not on your life
, he thought. “No need. I’ll come to you. I’d like to see your parents again.”

She smiled the first genuine smile he’d seen. “They would very much like to see you, Robin. Father is a bit downcast. He makes a very bad patient.”

“Then I shall endeavor to think of something to cheer him and call tomorrow.”

Returning to the salon, they found Mercy in the act of trouncing Francis, who uttered a loud cry of dismay.

“Thank goodness you’re back,” he said, rising from the table. “My belief in my skill at checkers is now in tatters.”

Mercy chortled. “I can offer you a rematch, Lord Bellamy.”

Francis bowed. “I decline, thank you. I shall take myself off home to lick my wounds.”

“We must go too, Mercy.”

Robin saw them to their gig and watched as Charity drove away. Two pretty women. He had eyes for only one, but he wasn’t blind to Mercy’s dawning beauty. With her pale blonde hair and violet eyes, plus a curvy figure, which had not been in evidence the last time he saw her, she would set the
ton
on its ear. She might have had that effect on Francis. He would have to have a word with him.

Chapter Eight

The next afternoon, true to his word, Robin entered Aunt Christabel’s drawing room where Charity and her mother drank tea. He was followed in by a heavily laden footman, his arms stacked with large tomes.

“They are for Father? How kind of you, Robin. I’ll send a maid to fetch him.”

“I hope he finds something of interest.”

Once the books had been deposited on a table, and the footman dismissed, Charity glanced at the titles, which included a study of navigation, discoveries of the new world, naval battles, and a large volume about Admiral Nelson.

Father was presented with them when he entered the room. His tired eyes brightened. “By God, I am glad to see you, Your Grace. I am tired of being fussed over and chivvied about my health. I’m a lucky fellow to be attended to by an abundance of tender femininity, I grant you, but a man yearns for masculine company for, one might say, ballast.” He laughed and flicked through the pages of one of the books. “Have you read any of these?”

“I must confess I haven’t,” Robin said, with a nod of thanks to Mama, who’d poured him a cup of tea. “My interests don’t tend to lie in that direction. Although I can quite see why you find them so interesting.”

“Is your new home to your liking, Your Grace?” Mama asked.

“I do like it, thank you. I find it comfortable and enjoy the gardens. It would be remarkably bad humored of me to say otherwise.”

Father looked up from a book. “You’ve taken a good deal on your shoulders. Has it been more difficult than you envisaged?”

“Overwhelming at first. There is a such a lot to master. I hope I shall achieve some measure of success without making any irretrievable blunders. I’m reading up on the modern methods of farming and forming a few ideas to make life easier for my tenants, which, when I’m cognizant, I’ll put in place.”

Charity knew Robin had hated inheriting the title. While she admired how he worked hard to get on top of things, she detected a touch of restlessness behind his words.

“Well done.” Her father put the book aside. “Have to care for one’s tenants. I must say I struggle to keep up with the swift changes in this modern world of ours. You have a good estate manager?”

“Yes, he worked for my uncle for some years.”

“You’ll learn much more when you attend the House of Lords.”

“I rather hoped you might advise me, sir. You’ve managed your own estates with great success.”

Father’s brows rose. “On a smaller scale. But I should be pleased to offer whatever advice I can.”

“Then, perhaps, when you have recovered sufficiently from your journey, you might accompany me on a ride over the estate.”

Her father sat up straighter in his chair. “I should enjoy that. I grow stronger every day.”

With a surge of relief, Charity noted her father’s face flush with interest. She met her mother’s gaze and realized she felt the same.

Mercy wandered into the drawing room, a purring orange cat in her arms. Aunt Christabel had several cats. Charity wasn’t sure of the exact number, for many were similar in appearance. “The post has come. I’ve received a letter from home. Wolf is in good health, as are the cats.”

“Then we can all breathe a sigh of relief, Mercy,” Mama said with a smile.

Mercy held out a letter. “This has come for you, Mama.”

She frowned. “It’s from Faith. She must have written as soon as they received our direction. Please excuse me, Your Grace, I feel I should read it.” She tore the missive open and quickly scanned the pages.

“Oh, my goodness.” She gazed up from the page, her cheeks flushed. “The doctor suspects Faith is having twins!”

“Twins?” Father repeated, his eyes widened. “How can they be sure? It sounds like absolute nonsense.”

“The doctor expects her to deliver early.” Mama cast Father an uncertain glance. “I should go to her.”

Father shook his head. “The birth of Faith’s baby is weeks away, is it not? Her mama-in-law and Honor, who is a mother herself, will be there for her.”

“I agree; Honor is very level-headed, but Faith will need her mother. If you’re in better health, my love, I shall go at the end of the week. I know you will benefit from extending your stay here. There are far too many demands made on you at home.”

“I am delighted you’ve planned to stay awhile, Baxendale,” Aunt Christabel said, entering the room.

She curtseyed to Robin. “Your Grace, how nice to meet you at last. One hears a good deal about you. I was sorry to hear of your uncle’s death. A decent man and his son and daughter-in-law gone far too early, so very sad.”

Robin bowed. “A tragedy, Lady Huddlestone.”

As soon as she sat in a wing chair by the fireplace, a grey cat that had followed her in jumped onto her lap. “How very nice to have your company for a little longer,” she said, stroking the grey fur. “I do hope my nieces will remain with you. I’d like to introduce them to society here.”

Father smiled. “Don’t tell me you’re tiring of your books?”

“I do believe I am. Well, I have read all of Ann Radcliffe’s novels, and
The Mysteries of Udolpho
several times, Walter Scott and Jane Austen too. I daresay something will come along to tempt me, but I now find that I’d like more society.”

Charity was surprised. Honor had thought Aunt Christabel to be a long-established recluse. But what she’d been like when young might have been quite different.

“Then we must have a party at Harwood before your nieces return home,” Robin said.

“That is indeed generous of you, Your Grace,” Aunt Christabel said.

Mercy released the protesting cat. “I can’t wait.”

“I’m afraid Mercy is not yet out,” Mama said. “She shall come home with me.”

“Oh, but, Mama, this isn’t London,” Mercy said, dismayed. “Robin is a good family friend.”

“What about Wolf?” Father asked her with a smile. “The dog will be pining for you.”

Mercy’s face clouded with indecision. “I expect he is.”

“I promise to hold a party for you when you have your first London Season, Mercy,” Robin said.

Mercy clapped her hands. “Oh, that’s marvelous, Robin.”

“If I ask my sister; Lady Miller, to be my hostess, I know she will be more than happy to agree.”

Charity decided her first impression of Robin had been wrong. He was no longer the boyish man she’d known in Tunbridge Wells. He was certainly better dressed, wearing his clothes with considerable grace, and even his dark brown curls had been stylishly tamed. But that was not it. He’d matured since he’d become a duke. She wondered if this Lady Kitty had been in some way the cause. It hardly mattered. She’d seen no sign that he still wanted to marry her. She should have been relieved and discovered she wasn’t. It was not like her to be muddleheaded, and she grew quite annoyed with herself.

****

“Will you take a turn around the garden with me?” Robin asked Charity when they stood at the front door. “We haven’t had much time to talk.”

Charity smiled and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “Let’s walk across the lawn to the gazebo.”

They strolled down the gravel drive, bordered by trees turning glorious shades of gold and amber. “The trees are magnificent. I think autumn is my favorite season.”

“Yes, this time of year is beautiful in Northumberland,” Robin said.

“I must agree.” She turned to look at him. “How kind of you to bring Father those books. And to know what interests him. It was…observant of you.”

“Well, I must confess he did tell me. More than once,” he replied with a grin.

She laughed.

“I know your interests, too, for we share some,” he said. “Art and ornithology for instance. Did you return to see the golden oriole again?”

“I did go back; the bird must have gone. But I did spy a red-flanked bluetail this morning. I looked it up in a book I found in my aunt’s bookroom.”

“Many of the birds here you won’t find in Tunbridge Wells.”

Charity studied his face. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“I need your opinion on the castle’s artworks. What I should do about them. Some seem desperately in need of restoration; they’re so dark one can hardly make out the subject. Others, I may not keep. Would you care to advise me?”