The Wicked Baron (13 page)

‘I was outside the window when Broxted said he wanted to take you to town. It was your birthright, Carlotta. I could not deny you your chance.’

Broxted’s words echoed again through his head with painful clarity.
Carlotta should come back with us now and take her rightful place in society. We would treat her as our own, give her every luxury—I will even settle upon her the portion that should have been yours, dear sister. Carlotta will have the opportunity to make a good marriage—nay, an excellent match—as befits the granddaughter of an earl.

‘So you went away again.’ Carlotta’s quiet statement sliced into his heart.

‘Yes. I’m…sorry.’

He cursed himself for the inadequacy of his words. Should he tell her how much it had cost him to ride away that day? How he had thrown himself into the improvements at Darvell Manor in his efforts to forget her? He glanced at her again. No. She was unmoved by his apology. It was too late.

T
hey swept into Malberry High Street less than three hours after leaving Berkeley Square.

‘I’d wager there ain’t a cove living who could beat that,’ remarked Billy as the curricle pulled up.

Carlotta barely heard him. As soon as the curricle stopped she began to climb down; by the time Lord Darvell had given his instructions to his groom, she was at the door, pushing past the maid and running up the stairs.

‘Mama, Mama!’

Mrs Durini appeared on the landing and Carlotta threw herself into her arms.

‘How is Papa? What happened? Where is he?’

‘Carlotta! Gently, gently, my love.’ Her mother hugged her fiercely. ‘How glad I am that you are here, and so quickly!’

‘Of course. Your note—’

‘Oh dear, did I frighten you? I should have waited to write to you, but I was in such a panic, and for a few hours the doctor thought—but that was last night. Today your papa is much better and Dr Johnson is confident he will make a good recovery.’

‘May I see him?’

‘He is resting now, but you may come in.’

Nodding, she led Carlotta into the bedroom where her father was lying in the middle of the large bed. The sheets were pulled up to his chin, but one side of his face was misshapen and heavily bruised, the purple-and-red blotches an alarming contrast to the white bed linen.

Carlotta put her fist into her mouth to stifle a cry of anguish and sank down beside her father.

‘He is sleeping,’ said her mother softly. ‘The doctor has given him a draught and says he must rest as much as he can.’

Carlotta reached out her hand to touch his swollen cheek. ‘Who could have done this?’

She felt her mother’s hand on her shoulder.

‘Come downstairs, love. Bessie shall sit with him while I tell you what I know.’

Carlotta followed her down the stairs, clinging to the rail as her knees threatened to give way. They went into the little parlour, where Luke was waiting for them.

‘I hope you will forgive the intrusion, Mrs Durini,’ he said. ‘The door was open…’

‘This is Lord Darvell, Mama. He brought me here.’

Her mother moved forward, hands outstretched in welcome. ‘Then you have my heartfelt gratitude, my lord,’ she said. ‘I dared not hope Carlotta could be here so soon.’

He bowed. ‘I was with Miss Rivington when your letter arrived. It was the least I could do. May I enquire how your husband goes on?’

‘He is recovering, sir. He suffered a serious beating around his head and shoulders, but we are hopeful that there will be no lasting damage.’

‘Mama,’ said Carlotta, ‘will you tell me what happened?’

Mrs Durini hesitated, and Luke said quickly, ‘Pray allow me to stay, ma’am. I may be able to help.’

With a nod Mrs Durini sank onto the sofa, drawing Carlotta down beside her.

‘Giovanni was working late at the Court last night and he was set upon as he returned…Footpads. They were lying in wait for him as he crossed the stile. If it had not been for Jack he might have been—’ She broke off to wipe her eyes with one corner of her apron. ‘Jack—our m-manservant, my lord—was throwing rubbish on the midden when he heard Giovanni cry out. Jack went to find him and—and the attacker ran off.’

‘Attacker. There was only one?’ asked Luke, frowning.

‘Jack saw only one.’

‘And did he get a clear look at him?’

‘N-no. It was too dark.’

‘What is it, my lord?’ said Carlotta quickly. ‘What do you suspect?’

‘How many people use that path and the stile?’ he countered.

‘The servants from the Court, when they come to the village,’ said Mrs Durini.

‘How often would that be, once or twice each day?’

‘Possibly. It will be more when the master and his guests arrive.’

Carlotta fixed him with an anxious gaze. ‘Lu—Lord Darvell?’

He hesitated. ‘It seems an odd place for footpads to lie in wait.’

As his words sank in, Carlotta felt the chill running down her spine. ‘You think they were waiting for Papa?’

Her mother gave a smothered gasp. ‘No, it cannot be! Giovanni has no enemies.’

‘You are sure of that?’ he asked.

‘Of course I am sure. He is very well liked here in Malberry.’

‘Be that as it may, if you will permit me, I shall set my groom to make enquiries in the village—perhaps a stranger has been seen here. Can you think of anyone who might harbour a grudge?’

‘My father is an honest man,’ replied Carlotta, holding her head up. ‘He pays his debts and has never cheated anyone.’

He regarded her steadily. ‘I believe you, but until we get to the bottom of this matter, it would be as well for you to take extra care.’

‘We shall do so, my lord.’ Carlotta nodded at him. ‘Thank you.’

‘Yes, thank you, my lord, and thank you again for bringing my daughter to me so quickly. But I have offered you no refreshment, let me—’

Luke held up his hand. ‘No, I will not trouble you, ma’am.’ He rose. ‘My groom is waiting for me at the George—I am going on to the Court, but I shall call again tomorrow, if I may.’

His words dispelled the anxiety that had been growing within Carlotta.

‘You are not going back to Town?’

‘No.’ His look and the little smile that accompanied it warmed her. ‘I shall stay at the Court now until James arrives.’

‘And you will be very welcome to call here at any time, my lord,’ put in Mrs Durini.

‘Thank you, ma’am. Miss Rivington, it now occurs to me—we came here in such a hurry, would you like me to send Billy back to town tonight for your clothes…?’

‘Thank you, sir, but I would not have you put to such trouble; I have sufficient gowns here.’ Carlotta gave a little smile. ‘They may not be fashionable, but they are perfectly adequate.’

Her mother nodded. ‘Indeed they are, my love, for you will not be venturing out of doors while you are here.’ She glanced towards the ceiling, as if anxious to get back to her husband. ‘Well, my lord, we must not keep you longer. Until tomorrow, then. Carlotta, since Bessie is still upstairs, perhaps you will show his lordship out?’

Carlotta picked up his hat and handed it to him, then led the way back into the little passage. At the door she turned to him, suddenly shy. ‘My lord, I—’

He put one finger against her lips. ‘I will call again in the morning.’ He looked at her, his hazel eyes warm with concern. ‘Unless you would like me to stay…?’

The idea made Carlotta’s insides tie themselves in knots. She would like nothing more than to have him stay with her for ever, but that was not what he meant. She summoned a smile. ‘Thank you, sir, but we shall manage. We will check that all the doors and windows are locked, and Jack shall sleep with a thick staff beside him.’

‘Make sure he does,’ he said, giving her a faint smile. ‘Goodnight,
cara
.’

Carlotta returned to the sitting room to find her mama looking out of the window, watching Lord Darvell’s retreating form.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘what a very kind gentleman he is, to be sure. And is he related to Mr Ainslowe, who owns the Court?’

‘His brother, Mama.’ She flushed at the speculative gleam in her mother’s eyes.

‘Ah. And is he the rich suitor your aunt has mentioned in her letters?’

Carlotta’s blush deepened. ‘Lord Darvell has no fortune; Uncle Broxted considers him a wastrel.’

‘Well, that is a pity, for he seems a most pleasant gentleman, and uncommon kind to bring you all this way.’ She sighed. ‘But there, it would do no good for you to throw yourself away on a handsome face, my dear. Your prospects are so much better now.’

It was strange, after the luxuries of Broxted House, to be waking up again in the tiny bedroom of her parents’ cottage. It took Carlotta several moments to collect her thoughts and separate dreams from reality. Despite knowing that her father lay injured in the next room, she felt none of the anxiety and distress that had filled her days in London. Lying very still, listening to the birdsong outside her window, Carlotta thought about the calm sense of well-being that enveloped her. The answer came to her in the form of a memory, a pair of hazel eyes smiling warmly at her. She was no longer at odds with Luke. Something had changed yesterday when she had received the letter from Malberry. Instinctively, in her need she had turned to Luke for help and he had answered her mute appeal without hesitation. And he had called her
cara
—dear one. Her heart singing, Carlotta slipped out of bed and scrambled into her clothes. Luke had promised to call again this morning!

As soon as she was dressed Carlotta went to see her father. It was clear that her mother had kept an all-night vigil at his bedside and Carlotta immediately took her place and sent her off to rest. There was little to do, for her
father was sleeping quietly, but she knew her mother would not be easy unless someone was keeping watch. An hour dragged by; sitting in the quiet bedroom, Carlotta thought back to the journey to Malberry, riding beside Luke in his curricle. She had been so anxious for her father that she had given little thought to Luke’s explanation that he had come to the cottage, but had turned away again when he heard her uncle’s plans for her.

She closed her eyes. If only he had seen her, talked to her. She shook her head. Too late for that now. Suddenly, in the airy stillness of the little room, she thought of how Luke must have felt on that day—not the confident, strong young buck that she knew, but a nervous young man, uncertain of his welcome, knowing that, despite his title, his financial position would fall a long way short of the ideal match Lord Broxted planned for his niece.

‘Oh, Luke,’ she whispered, ‘your fortune or lack of it did not matter to me—it has never mattered!’

She sat up with a start as her mother came into the room, carrying a large basket.

‘Look, Carlotta, is this not generous?’ she said, smiling broadly. ‘Lord Darvell brought it himself; the fruit is from the hothouses up at the Court. He said his brother’s visitors would not miss a few peaches and grapes, and when I protested he pointed out that the fruit is so ripe it needs to be eaten! What could I do, but accept it gratefully?’

‘Lord Darvell has been here?’

‘Yes. I was resting on the daybed in the sitting room when Bessie announced him, and you can imagine how flustered I was to be found out. I have not the slightest doubt that my cap was askew! But he was very kind, and said he only
wished to leave the fruit basket and would not disturb us. He is going to call again tomorrow, to see how we go on.’

Carlotta fought down her disappointment. There was no reason why he should ask to see her—in fact, she was not at all sure that he would want to do so.

Carlotta was carrying her father’s breakfast tray down the stairs when Luke arrived the following day. She heard his voice as Bessie admitted him and she hurried on to the kitchen with her dirty dishes. She hesitated only for a moment to consider running back up to her room to check her appearance in the mirror. That would waste too much precious time, so she contented herself with removing her apron and shaking out the skirts of her old dimity gown before hastening to the parlour. At the door she stopped, her hand hovering over the handle—perhaps he would not want to see her. If that was the case, she needed to know, and the sooner the better.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and went in.

Luke was standing by the window. His tall, broad-shouldered frame seemed to fill the little room. With his back to the light she could not see his face and Carlotta was suddenly too nervous to speak. Her mother was addressing her, and she made an effort to attend.

‘So your father has finished his breakfast?’

‘Yes, Mama. I left him with Jack, who has promised to shave him.’

Mrs Durini smiled and turned back to her guest. ‘I think that answers your question, my lord. My husband is feeling much more the thing this morning.’ She rose. ‘If you will excuse me, I had best go to him; he may even now be thinking of getting out of his bed.’ She added with a slightly
distracted air, ‘I have instructed Bessie to bring in refreshments for our visitor, Carlotta. Pray look after him.’ She was gone upon the words.

Carlotta cleared her throat. ‘My mother is very anxious for Papa…’

‘You do not need to explain.’ As he moved away from the window she was relieved to see he was not frowning. ‘She has left the door open; there can be no impropriety.’

Carlotta nodded, thankful for his efforts to put her at her ease. Bessie came in, carefully carrying a tray bearing glasses and two decanters. They watched in silence as the maid put her burden down upon a side table, bobbed a curtsy and scurried out again. Carlotta looked at the tray in dismay.

‘Oh dear, I expected her to bring in some small beer for you; I have no idea what is in these…’

‘I am being treated as an honoured guest,’ he remarked, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. ‘Allow me.’ He walked over to the table. ‘One is quite clearly brandy. The other…’ he lifted the stopper from the decanter and sniffed it ‘…sherry, I think. By your leave, Miss Rivington, I shall help myself to a little brandy. May I pour you a glass of something?’

‘N-no, thank you.’ Already nervous, Carlotta knew it would be unwise to accept, especially when she had never tried either of those beverages. She watched him fill his glass and take a seat opposite her.

‘You had no unwelcome visitors?’ he asked.

‘No, my lord. I explained everything to Jack and he insisted upon bringing Mack, his dog, into the house, but we have not been disturbed.’

‘And have you spoken to your father about the attack?’

She nodded. ‘He was well enough to talk about it yes
terday. He remembers very little, except being set upon as he climbed over the stile.’ She sighed. ‘We can none of us think of a reason for such an attack. It must have been footpads.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘You sound doubtful—what do you know?’

‘Nothing, but robberies usually take place upon known highways, not little-used paths.’

She shuddered. ‘I hate to think that someone wishes to harm Papa.’