The Unwanted Heiress (15 page)

“Well, I can honestly say I did
not expect to be mauled when I came out here,” she replied.

“And I did
not expect to maul you, but you were exceedingly tempting.”

“I am not, nor have I ever been, tempting.”

“That shows you what you know, sapskull.” He held his breath, waiting for her reaction.

Half a giggle escaped. He breathed again and smiled. Her shoulders shook beneath his grip and his muscles ached to pull her against him. He wanted to feel the warm length of her against him while she vibrated with laughter. If she tilted her head up slightly, her smiling lips would be mere inches away….

“Your Awful Wickedness,” she said, her voice shaky with laughter. “If you are through insulting me, I believe we should return. Otherwise, you will be horribly compromised and gain an entirely undeserved reputation for an intelligence inappropriate to your social station.”

“Wait,” he replied, his voice suddenly serious. “I did want to ask you something. It will be to both our benefits.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. You must have noticed that
I am, well, I never get a moment’s peace. Surely, if you are going to be gone in three years, you would not mind. It would help me tremendously to be free to investigate this wretched murder.” He stopped abruptly. He needed to explain it in a more appealing light. “Would it not be jolly to have the status—if you don’t mind referring to it that way? I mean, you would be courted and invited everywhere. Damn it, that is not how I intended to propose.”

“I should sincerely hope not!” He could tell she meant to make her tone frosty. But her efforts fell short of the mark and s
imply sounded rather miserable.

“Let me explain,” he said.

“I would rather you didn’t. Really. I think it best if you did not explain what you meant by that extraordinary speech. I cannot believe that your explanation will make it any better.”

“But, I—”

“No.” She laid her cool fingers against his mouth.

He grabbed her hand and pressed her palm against his lips, as desperate as a drowning man who has missed catching the last rope flung out to save him. The waves crashed over his head. He could see his fair ship sailing out of sight beyond the horizon. “Charlotte—”

“No. I know what you wanted so don’t insult me, or yourself, by stating it. You are tired and perhaps overwrought, trying to prove your innocence.” She gave a bitter laugh. “I have certainly read enough about it in the papers.

“
But have you considered how awful it would be if you suddenly found yourself truly in love?” she continued. “How would you explain it to her? Besides, I am going to persuade the Archers to manage my inheritance for me and permit me to travel to Egypt now. It is what I’ve always wanted to do. It is where I intend to go. If I must hire a duenna to accompany me, then so be it, but I will go. Now, if you will excuse me, we really have tarried too long. I fear for your reputation.”

“Charlotte, I—”

“No, Your Grace. You are a duke. I cannot live in your stratified world and don’t wish to. Release me and be glad I did not accept your extraordinary offer.”

“Will you—will you at least do me the honor of remembering to call me on occasion by a more appropriate honorific? Your Mindless Exaltedness, perhaps?”

She laughed and stepped out of his grip. “If you forget yourself, then yes, indeed. I will be delighted.”

Seduction is not a criminal offence, but civil proceedings may be taken by the parent.
—
Constable’s Pocket Guide

“Miss, shouldn’t you ought to be getting ready?” the abigal asked Charlotte the next morning. “Lady Victoria will be awaitin’ ye in the hall.”

“What?” Charlotte asked, still dreaming of Nathaniel’s kiss the previous night.

What had he been thinking? Just because he knew she had no intention of getting married didn’t mean she would be willing to agree to a false engagement.

However, the newspapers were certainly painting him in a grim light. They hinted he had murdered Lady Anne because he hated women.

Could it be that he tried to propose to Charlotte to prove the rumors false? It seemed a possible explanation
although it was not a particularly flattering one. If she had been idiotic enough to agree, their arrangement would only have ended with her looking the fool. When she left for Egypt, Society would think she was fleeing England because the duke had broken her heart. They would never believe her real reason: the culmination of an eight-year old dream.

Worse yet, what if
he fell in love with some fair-haired lady? He would have to end the engagement early and again, Charlotte would be left to face society as the jilted betrothed. Not that she cared, but she didn’t have any particularly burning desire to suffer such a humiliation.

So the duke would just have to find another method to hide his dislike for women
, and Charlotte would have to be very careful in the future. It would be so easy to give in and do what he wanted. But it was not what she desired. She wanted to go to Egypt, preferably with her heart and reputation intact.

“Miss? Are you ready for your walk?”

“Yes. Oh, yes.” She pulled on the dark brown bombast and allowed the abigal to button her up and place a straw bonnet with ivy and rose trim on her head.

When she finally descended the stairs, she found the hallway quite deserted. Charlotte swept around the table in the center and paused. She adjusted the bouquet of late spring flowers and picked out a few dead leaves before she was interrupted.

“Miss?” the butler bowed to her, holding out a small silver salver. On it rested a black-edged envelope. It looked like an announcement of death, but she had no relatives left.

She picked up the card and deposited a fistful of withered leaves on the salver. The butler’s bushy brows rose, but he turned solemnly away with his new burden.

Charlotte opened the envelope and pulled out the single sheet.

The patronesses of Almack’s regret to inform Miss Charlotte Haywood that they are unable to extend an invitation to attend this Season’s remaining entertainments.

Her numb fingers released the letter. The sheet fluttered down to the table while Charlotte stared at the floor with unseeing eyes. She had forgotten Lady Victoria had applied for entrance to Almack’s. Why had not she listened? The idea was ridiculous, particularly since the season was nearing a close.

Her eyelids fluttered over her burning eyes. She pressed her fingertips
against her closed eyes and sniffed. Suddenly, it was difficult to breathe. Her chest ached painfully.

No matter what she did, she wasn’t acceptable.

“Charlotte?” Lady Victoria asked from the middle of the stairway. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” She straightened her back and took a deep breath, waiting patiently for Lady Victoria to reach the hallway.

“Did you get a letter from one of your friends?”

“Not precisely.” Charlotte handed her the single sheet, resolutely fixing a smile on her face. “I wish you had asked me first. I could have warned you would be useless.”

Lady Victoria’s eyes scanned the brief message and then flew up to study Charlotte’s face. “I am terribly sorry. I was so sure that they would offer you an entré.”

“That’s very kind of you to think so, but I could have predicted otherwise. An American—heiress or not—would never be allowed to set foot inside that bastion of British propriety.”

Lady Victoria grasped Charlotte’s hands and squeezed them. “Don’t let it bother you, my dear. In fact, it might have been due to your sponsors.”

“My sponsors?”

A light laugh greeted Charlotte’s surprised question. “I am afraid John Archer is not precisely…. Well, in some quarters, he is not considered the best of ton.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I cannot say that I am overly concerned.” She hugged Charlotte and then draped an arm around her waist. “So shall we go on our expedition to Grafton House? It is just too bad the fashions this year seem limited to black and white to honor poor Princess Charlotte since the lack of color does not favor either of us. But we shall do our best. I would adore seeing you in white silk with silver foil and jet trim. And did I tell you we have invitations to Dacy House this Friday? They are having a ball. Just an intimate affair, really, fewer than fifty couples, I am told, but very select.”

“Dacy House?”

They climbed into the elegant carriage awaiting them at the curb. Charlotte took the seat across from Lady Victoria, facing the rear.

“Oh,
I am frightfully forgetful. You don’t know the Dacys do you? Lady Dacy is His Grace’s eldest sister, Oriana. Mr. Archer introduced Lord Dacy and Oriana, so we were all very fortunate that it worked out for the best.”

“
Fortunate?” Charlotte asked, uncertainly.

Lady Victoria smiled. “My husband’s schemes so rarely work out. So yes, fortunate.”

The carriage navigated the crowded streets as Charlotte listened numbly to Lady Victoria’s anecdotes about the Archers. Finally, the carriage halted, depositing them outside the famous shop, Grafton’s. The next few hours were spent studying trim and fabrics and laughing over some of the more unflattering swaths. On a whim, Charlotte purchased a set of jet drop earrings while Lady Victoria’s attention was elsewhere.

When they left the shop, they gave orders to the clerk to deliver the selected fabrics to Lady Victoria’s favorite mantua-maker. Lady Victoria took Charlotte’s arm and they walked, arm-in-arm, the few blocks to the seamstress. The proprietress was busy when they arrived and Charlotte took the opportunity to present the earrings to Lady Victoria.

“When did you get those?”

Charlotte grinned. “While you were studying the silver gauze. Do you like them?”

“Yes!” Lady Victoria held an earring up and craned her neck to peer into a small mirror resting on one of the counters. “You are such a sweet girl—I wish my Mary—” She broke off to press a brief kiss to Charlotte’s cheek.

Charlotte hugged her, feeling as if she had known Lady Victoria her entire life. She had never felt so much at home.

The rest of the day passed quietly and the duke seemed to have forgotten her. He did not visit the Archers and, for once, Charlotte spent a quiet evening at home. With no distractions, she had plenty of time to fret over the duke’s preposterous proposal.

The next morning, she entered the breakfast room and found the duke pacing. He strode from the table to the sideboard and back again with an empty plate held in one hand. Lady Victoria, seated at the table, sipped her coffee and cast exasperated glances at him.

“How could my uncle already be gone?” Nathaniel asked. He paused to remove the silver cover to one of the warming pans. Clutching the serving spoon and his still empty plate, he stalked back to the table to glare at Lady Victoria. “He never gets up early. I need to speak with him.”

“Put the cover back on the eggs, dear,” Lady Victoria replied. “Why don’t you have a cup of coffee?”

“That is the last thing he needs—he is nervous enough already,” Charlotte said. She felt bitterly pleased to see Nathaniel—His Grace—so upset. He deserved it after causing her several long and sleepless nights.

Nathaniel whirled around, nearly smacking her in the eye with the spoon. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” Charlotte replied. She raised her hand to block his waving spoon. “Good morning, Lady Victoria.” She bent and kissed her cheek briefly before picking up a plate.

“Good morning, dearest. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you.” Charlotte strolled over to the pan of fluffy eggs topped by bits of chives and cheese. “Would you mind handing me the spoon, Your Grace?”

“The spoon?” He stared at his hand in surprise before thrusting it at her, scowling. “Where is Archer?”

The ladies exchanged sighs and shook their heads.

Charlotte selected a thin slice of toast and a small helping of eggs. “I
don’t have the slightest idea.”

“He i
s at—” Lady Victoria stopped, a look of consternation passing over her patrician features. “Well, I am not precisely sure. However he left at least an hour ago.”

After sitting down, Charlotte accepted a cup of coffee from Lady Victoria and spread a teaspoon of orange marmalade on her toast. With another quick look in
Nathaniel’s direction, she asked, “Why are you carrying an empty plate?”

He slammed it down on the table, rattling all the dishes. “I need to speak to my uncle! Immediately!”

“Well, as he is not here. I suggest you try to eat something. Would you like a nerve tonic, perhaps? They are wonderfully soothing.” Lady Victoria offered. She winked at Charlotte.

Charlotte hastily stifled a laugh behind her napkin. “No, I do not want a nerve tonic. I have no need of one,” he snapped before picking up the plate again. He paced around the table. “
I am not nervous. I am angry—as any simpleton could plainly see. I came here to speak with my uncle about—about an urgent matter. He seems to have vanished!”

“The eggs are very good, Your Grace,” Charlotte observed, ignoring his tirade.

Lady Victoria made an odd, snuffling noise behind her lace handkerchief.

“This is absurd!” he said, slapping the plate back onto the table. “If he comes back, tell him I must see him immediately!”

After he stalked out, Lady Victoria daubed at her eyes. “That was shameful of us. But he was always been such an impatient child. I had hoped he would grow out of it.”

Pausing with a forkful of eggs and cheese near her mouth, Charlotte gazed back at her. Suddenly, she realized Nathaniel might have had a very good reason for being angry. Perhaps Mr. Archer had tried to force him to offer for Charlotte in hopes of keeping her from going to
Egypt. Clearly the duke had thought better of the notion and now found it distasteful.

Or it could be something far more serious.

“You don’t suppose something has happened—you don’t think anyone would formally accuse him of murder, do you?”

“Oh, no. Not a duke—they would no
t dare!” Lady Victoria’s gray eyes flickered toward the newspaper folded near the place where Mr. Archer usually breakfasted. “It could not be that, could it?”

As Charlotte considered it, she grew more certain he was not upset about his proposal. He was upset about the murder inquiry.

She put her fork down. “I—oh, dear. And we were teasing him when he may have been in terrible need of our assistance!”

The ladies stood up. Lady Victoria clutched at Charlotte’s arm as they both dashed into the hallway. The foyer was deserted.

“We must do something to help him—he is completely innocent!” Lady Victoria said. “I have known him since he was a babe. He would never do such a dreadful thing.”

“We are in complete agreement. You wait here for
Mr. Archer. I shall go speak with Nathaniel—His Grace. We will not leave him without assistance!”

Charlotte glanced around. One of the maids was cleaning the table in the center of the entryway.

“Come with me!” Charlotte said. She grabbed the maid’s arm and dashed toward the door.

“But Miss, I
cannot!” the maid complained, her dust rag falling from her fingers. “I don’t even have a shawl!”

As they neared Suddley, the ever-prepared, he presented Charlotte with her wrap. He simultaneously shoved a second, moth-eaten gray shawl with only half a hem toward the maid. The girl barely had time to drape it over her thin shoulders before Charlotte grabbed her hand again and ran outside.

The door to Nathaniel’s carriage clicked shut just as they reached the bottom step. Before the driver could flick his whip, Charlotte wrenched the door open. She shoved the maid inside and climbed in after her, nearly tearing her hem in her haste.

Triumphant, she sat back on the padded leather seat to catch her breath. Across from her, Nathaniel frowned.

She smiled serenely at him. To her amusement, his scowl deepened.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Helping you, of course. Unless you would rather hang for murder?” She raised a mocking brow. Even he wasn’t so lack-witted that he imagined he could investigate without her assistance.

He leaned forward, face expressionless. His broad shoulders filled the center of the carriage. Suddenly, there seemed to be very little room inside the confined space.

Charlotte tried not to display any cowardly weakness, but she couldn’t help leaning back a little further into her corner. Her breathing stopped while her gaze flitted from his glinting eyes to his hands, resting with deliberate casualness on his thighs. His silence and air of barely leashed anger made words superfluous.