The Gallant Guardian (26 page)

However, it could not go on. As her guardian, unsought as the responsibility had been, he owed it to her to protect her from men like him. He was there to insure her peace of mind, not to threaten it. How he longed to threaten it, just as she threatened his. How he longed to fill her thoughts as completely as she was filling his.

“Ahem…my lord?” Max barely heard the footman addressing him, though the man was standing practically at his elbow.

“Yes?”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but Will Foster is here and he said you asked to see him the moment he returned.”

“Yes, yes I did. Have him wait for me here in the library. I must get out of these wet things. Oh, and Lumley?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Tell some of the lads from the stables to hitch up some of the plow horses and pull the boat from the lake, would you?”

“Yes, sir, very good, sir.”

Will Foster. Max opened the door to the library and headed for his bedchamber and dry clothes. Here was news that would distract him from the dangerous territory into which his thoughts insisted on straying.

He changed hurriedly and was soon back in the library. “Well, Will, what news have you to report?” The vigorous toweling he had given himself before putting on dry clothes had cleared the cobwebs from his brain and allowed him to push aside his disturbing reflections to become his customary energetic self.

Will’s broad, ruddy face looked drawn and tired. “Well, sir, I put up at the Green Dragon, like you said, and I got to be on pretty good terms with folks in the taproom, told them I worked for a wealthy banker who wanted to build an estate in the area. People were friendly enough, and I even had the opportunity to speak with
some of the lads in the stables at Harcourt, but there was nothing to find out except that they do not care overmuch for the new man, Tom Piggott. He keeps pretty much to himself, does not seem very knowledgeable about horses, and the general opinion is that he has been sent by Sir Cecil to spy on Lady Charlotte and her brother in order to prove that his young lordship needs the guidance of an adult.”

“They
have
the guidance of an adult.
I
am their guardian.”

“Of course you are, sir, but this here Sir Cecil wants to prove that you are always absent and are not fulfilling your duties in the proper manner, or leastways, that is what most people think.”

“No, I have the audaciously improper notion that two people who have been managing by themselves for years, quite nicely thank you, are not suddenly in need of the help of some outsider who is totally unfamiliar with Harcourt and its people.”

“As you say, sir, most everyone seems to feel that Lady Charlotte is entirely capable of taking care of it all herself.”

“Yes, and then some. Was there any mention of poachers?”

Will shook his head, a perplexed frown wrinkling his face. “No one had heard of such a thing. The Winterbournes always have allowed people to hunt on their land, so perhaps it was just someone from the village out hunting who fired the shot and was afraid to own up to nearly missing the earl, but there was nothing out of the ordinary that I could find.”

“Thank you, Will. I have no doubt you have conducted a most thorough investigation. Now go and get some rest.”

“Thank you, sir.” Will took leave of his master and headed toward the kitchen, eager to have a bite of apple tart that had smelled so enticing when he had come in from the stables.

Max remained for some time staring unseeingly out the library windows. The men had arrived to pull the boat out, but he did not even notice them as he mulled over the information that Will had brought him. It did not appear as though there was any immediate threat. If there had been any truly suspicious characters or suspicious activity, someone at Harcourt would have noticed. Surely if he sent someone back with Charlotte and her brother to watch over both of them, they would be safe enough. After all, how safe was Charlotte here? She had begun to dominate his thoughts in such a way that he knew it was better for him to send her away, and where else could she go but to Harcourt? Did he dare send her there? Max
rang for a footman and continued to stare out at the expanse of green lawn stretching before him.

“Yes, sir?”

“Could you please take word to Lady Charlotte that I am in the library and wish to speak with her at her convenience.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Never one to spend a great deal of time on her dress, Charlotte was already changed, all traces of the accident completely eliminated, by the time the footman knocked on her door, but after receiving the marquess’s summons she lingered in front of the looking glass, patting in a stray curl here and there, and fiddling with the lace of her collar. She still needed time to recover her composure before she could meet her guardian with the customary easy friendliness she had shown him before their sudden dunking.

She still could not get out of her mind the expression in his eyes as he had looked at her, nor could she wipe out the image of the muscles rippling under his shirt as he had gently placed his coat around her shoulders, and she could not stop the curious quivery feeling that came rushing over her at the thought of him. She leaned closer toward the looking glass examining herself more carefully and not with a great deal of satisfaction.

She wished her mouth were smaller. The eyes looked well enough, but the lashes were too thick and dark and her hair was too curly. She pulled the collar again and sighed at her reflection. Now that she thought of it, she really was too thin. It would have been nice to have some curves under the fall of lace on her chest, curves like those of Lady Hillyard—not that she wished to look quite so obviously enticing as that lady—but it would be nice to appear as something more than just a slip of a girl. Would she never grow up? Odd how she had never noticed such things about herself before, nor had she ever felt so dissatisfied with her appearance.

In a corner of the bedchamber, picking up her mistress’s sodden things, Lucy glanced surreptitiously at Charlotte. It was most unlike her ladyship even to consult a looking glass, much less examine herself in one. Ordinarily, Charlotte never gave a second thought to the way she looked or, if she did, it was only to appease her maid and only out of concern for Lucy’s reputation. What had occurred to effect such a change? A sly smile crept over Lucy’s face, and she bent down quickly to hide it as she retrieved a wet stocking. It could only be his lordship who had wrought such a transformation. Come to think of it, ever since they had been at
Lydon Court there had been a sparkle in Lady Charlotte’s eyes and a lightness in her step that she had never seen before. The maid wished fervently that she had Cook or Mrs. Hodges to discuss this delicious state of affairs with her. Lucy was sure she was correct in her reading of the signs, but still it would be nice to have someone with whom she could share it.

Giving a final tug to her collar, Charlotte let out a dissatisfied sigh and descended to the library, taking several deep breaths along the way. By the time her hand was on the door she had herself well in hand and was her usual calm, collected self, until the marquess, rising to greet her, smiled at her with a special intimate smile. Then she suddenly felt hot all over even though she was still somewhat chilled from her dip in the lake.

“I have some good news for you.” Max gestured toward a chair on one side of the fire and seated himself on the other.

Charlotte sank into it gratefully, for her knees were feeling peculiarly unsteady. She was thankful that the glow from the fire hid the flush that surely must be obvious. What on earth was wrong with her?

His lordship, however, did not seem to see anything amiss. “Will Foster reports that he has scoured the countryside around Harcourt and has not been able to discover any reports of poachers or other undesirable persons in the vicinity. He has also made discreet inquiries about Tom Piggott, and has come to the conclusion that though the man is certainly spying on you for your Cousin Cecil, there is no evidence that he is trying to do anything more than discredit you and prove that William needs more care than you can offer. Perhaps that is the case. Perhaps he is merely trying to scare you rather than harm William. I know, I know” —Max held up an admonitory hand as he saw the spark of anger kindling in Charlotte’s eyes— “Cecil is all sorts of a scoundrel, but we have no proof, and we can do nothing without proof. Let me send Will back with you. Surely you could use another servant somewhere, and he can keep an eye on things.”

Charlotte digested this slowly. She did not know what to do. On one hand, she was uneasy about William’s safety and she felt protected at Lydon Court. On the other, she knew they could not run away forever and though she felt physically safe with her guardian, her peace of mind was most definitely at risk. She could not live with a man who, simply by looking at her, could make her
feel as she was feeling now. Surely a pulse as rapid as hers and breathing so irregular were not at all healthy for a person.

Max saw her indecision and it tore at his heart. He reached over and tilted her chin to look deep into her eyes. “Charlotte, I promise you I will let nothing happen to you or to William. Do you believe me?”

Charlotte sat as if mesmerized, unable to look away, but afraid to look into his eyes, which had the strangest expression in them. It was as though they were speaking to her, asking her something, something she was not sure of, and it made her feel all fluttery inside. Slowly she nodded.

“Good girl. We shall get to the bottom of this if I have to hire an army to protect you. Now I must speak to Will and make some arrangements of my own.” He dropped a gentle kiss on her forehead and was gone, leaving her to stare blankly into the fire feeling strangely bereft.

It was some time before Charlotte could pull her scattered wits together, but at last she rose. There was packing to be done and orders to be given to Speen and Lucy, but somehow she was finding it difficult to concentrate on anything but the warmth of the marquess’s lips on her forehead and the look in his eyes as he had promised to protect them. She was in the grip of an odd sort of lethargy that made her long to remain right where she was, savoring the feelings of being cared for and watched over, feelings she had never had before in her life.

At the same time, a tiny voice in the back of her mind was telling her to get up and go away before she grew to like such feelings too much. At the moment it was too new, but oh she could grow accustomed to having someone to turn to with problems that seemed too difficult, someone to hold her when she was exhausted. It was a dependency to be avoided at all costs, for no one knew better than she did that life was not that way, that the only person she could count on to take care of her was Charlotte Winterbourne. Painful experience had taught her that thinking or hoping anything else was merely setting herself up for further hurt and disappointment.

With a wistful sigh, she rose from her comfortable seat by the fire and headed toward the stables where she was sure to find her brother as well as Speen.

Chapter Twenty-eight

The next morning after breakfast, a subdued little group gathered on the drive. The previous day, when informed of their plans, William had wailed unhappily. “But I don’t want to go back to Harcourt. I like it here. Can’t we stay with Lord Lydon, Charlie?”

Charlotte, who longed to express very similar sentiments herself, smiled sadly at her brother. “I am glad you enjoyed yourself, dear, but we must get back to Harcourt. Jem and Tim will have been missing you, and certainly Duke has been wondering where you are.”

“Oh.” William had stirred the hay in Caesar’s stall with his foot and hung his head dejectedly for some minutes. Then he had brightened. “Could we not ask Lord Lydon to come back to Harcourt with us?”

“That would be nice, but this is Lord Lydon’s home and he has a great deal to do here and in London.”

Speen, who had been examining one of the carriage horses in the next stall, thought that his mistress’s voice sounded hardly any less sad than her brother’s at the thought of leaving Lydon Court, and he nodded his head knowingly. Her enjoyment of their stay at Lydon had not been lost on the coachman. Like Lucy, he had observed the disappearance of the preoccupied frown she had been wearing lately and the ease with which she smiled and laughed. He did not have to look far for the cause. He could tell from the way she relaxed immediately when the marquess was around that at last she had found a friend, someone she could count on, someone who could advise her and help her, someone who made her feel as cared for as she did for her brother, and, in Speen’s opinion, it was about time she had such a person in her life.

In bidding farewell to Felbridge, Speen had discovered that the Winterbournes were not alone in their lack of enthusiasm for their return to Harcourt. “We shall certainly be much quieter here at
Lydon Court, Mr. Speen,” Felbridge had replied to Speen’s thanks for the hospitality. “I have not seen his lordship so diverted for quite some time.”

“Nor her ladyship so carefree.”

Felbridge nodded meaningfully at the coachman. “I believe we understand each other, Mr. Speen.” The faintest of smiles warmed the coachman’s craggy features. “I believe we do, Mr. Felbridge; and may I say we look forward to seeing you at Harcourt in the not-so-distant future.”

It was Felbridge’s turn to smile ever so slightly. “I believe you may, Mr. Speen.”

Not only was William distressed at having to part with the marquess, he was suddenly struck by another unhappy thought as their carriage drew up in front of the marble steps. “Griggs! I must say good-bye to Griggs.” And he turned to rush down the stairs toward the stables. A firm hand gripped his shoulder, stopping him in mid-flight.

A curious smile played about the marquess’s lips as he held his ward captive. “If you wait a minute, lad, I believe Griggs will be here directly.”

The smile was not lost on Charlotte, but she could not fathom the significance of it; however, she did not have long to wonder at it for there was a crunch of wheels on gravel and they turned to see Griggs pulling up in a curricle.