The Gallant Guardian (27 page)

“Are you going with us then?” William asked his guardian eagerly.

“No, lad. As you can see, this is not my team.”

“Whose is it?”

“Well, er, the horses are mine. I use them for my traveling carriage and when I need an extra team, but the curricle, I believe, is yours.”

“Mine!”
Too astonished to do or say anything more, William stood rooted to the spot, his face pale with suppressed excitement.

“Er, well yes, it is yours, but I thought you might want to share it with your sister since she too has done well at her driving lessons. Griggs will follow you to Harcourt in the curricle and then he will return here with the horses.”

These last words were entirely lost on William, who had hurried down the last few steps to examine the miracle that had appeared before him. But in a minute he was back to grab his sister’s hand. “Come look, Charlie. Look, it is painted yellow just like Lord
Lydon’s and everything is just like his. Griggs says it is made by Barker, the very same coachmaker that made yours, sir.”

“But of course.”

William was off down the steps again to look and exclaim and admire the finer points of the coachbuilder’s art, but Charlotte remained with her guardian, too overwhelmed to say anything. “No one has ever given us anything before,” she whispered at last. “I…I don’t know what to say except…thank you.” Her eyes shining with unshed tears, she reached up and kissed his cheek.

“There is no need to thank me. There is so very little that I am able to do for you.” Max looked down at the face turned up to his, alight with gratitude, the soft lips parted in surprise, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to kiss them. “Good-bye, Charlotte. Take care of yourself,” he whispered back before pressing his mouth to hers. He had meant it to be a simple farewell kiss, but the moment her lips parted under his, he could not help himself and he pulled her into his arms. All the worry he endured on her behalf and all the longing overcame him and he pressed her to him as if he could give her some of his strength, as if holding her close could soothe all the confused and conflicting emotions he had suffered since she had come to Lydon Court.

Charlotte, on the other hand, was aware of nothing except the solid reassurance of his embrace as she clung to him, the warm firmness of his lips as they gently caressed hers, and the strength in the arms that held her. She wanted to stay like that forever, cared for and protected. Then she heard her brother’s shout to Griggs. “Is it not the most bang-up rig you ever saw?” Her mind came dizzily back to the present.

What was she doing? There was no such thing as security and safety like that. It was all an illusion; no one could give her peace and protection except herself. If she were not careful, she would lose that self in the illusion and then, when it was shattered and she saw it for the illusion it was, she would suffer the same terrible sense of loss, the same hopeless longing she had suffered years ago for her absent father. Once was enough. She never wanted to endure a pain like that again. “It is wonderful, William,” she responded brightly and, pulling herself quickly away from the marquess’s embrace, she hurried down the steps to get a closer look and share in her brother’s excitement.

William’s simple joys had always been her pleasures. Losing herself in his happiness had always been her solace. Keeping him
safe and happy was what had made her happy, and it would continue to do so, she told herself as she listened to his catalog of the finer points of the vehicle.

“Perhaps you would like to drive it part of the way home,” Charlotte suggested as she admired the powerful spring, the gleaming yellow paint, and inhaled the delicious smell of new leather upholstery.

“Do you think I could?” Her brother looked eagerly from Griggs to the marquess, who had followed Charlotte’s precipitate flight at a more leisurely pace.

“Do whatever you like, you’re the master. And you’ll never find a better tiger than I am to be with you on your first long journey.” Griggs winked broadly at him.

“Oh, sir, may I?”

“As Griggs so rightly puts it,
you’re the master.
You may do whatever you like, but I do think it would be nice of you to offer your sister a chance with the ribbons. It is a present to her as well.”

Again his eyes were fixed on her with that secret sort of smile in them. It made Charlotte uneasy and breathlessly happy at the same time. “Oh, no, I prefer to ride in the carriage at a leisurely pace and enjoy the countryside. William may wear himself to a fare-thee-well tooling along at a slapping pace, but I shall relax and let Speen do the work.” Charlotte could have kicked herself for allowing the marquess to affect her in such a way. Her voice came out all squeaky and she sounded as odiously missish as the Winslow girls. It was high time to leave before she turned into a perfect ninny. Summoning as much dignity as she could, she held out her hand to her guardian. “Thank you so very much for everything. It has been a delightful stay.”

“I am glad you enjoyed it.” Max’s voice was formal, as formal as hers was, as he bowed over the hand she extended to him, but his eyes glinted with amusement. So she had been unnerved by his kiss. Good. So had he, but he was not going to let her forget it easily. Pressing his lips against the cool smooth skin of her hand, he whispered, “I shall miss you, you know.”

Her green eyes widened and she blushed adorably as she turned and climbed into the carriage. He closed the door behind her and gave the signal to Speen, who whipped up the horses and headed down the drive before Charlotte had a moment to react or to collect her thoughts.

As they rolled on down the drive she was doubly grateful for the
curricle which was occupying her brother’s attention and allowing her to be alone with her confused jumble of thoughts and feelings.

Whatever had possessed her to kiss the marquess like that? Though it was true that he was her guardian and she had made the gesture in the same manner as she would have to a favorite uncle, it had certainly not ended that way. His kiss in return had not been the least avuncular, nor had her reaction to it been that of a niece. It was a great blessing she was leaving, for who knew what could have happened next?

Charlotte leaned back against the squabs of the carriage and tried to concentrate on all the things that would need looking after at Harcourt. Her efforts to focus on her responsibilities did not meet with a great deal of success, however, for her mind kept wandering back to their good-bye. All she could think about was the warmth of his lips on her hand and the look in his eyes as he had said
I
shall miss you, you know.
Would he miss her? She would miss him, she admitted unhappily to herself. But would he miss her? She very much doubted it; why, in no time at all he would probably invite his friends and their ladies back to Lydon Court to pick up where they had left off when Charlotte and William had burst in upon them. With beautiful, amorous women around, the marquess was not likely to spare a thought for his dowdy, unsophisticated ward, and would he miss her? Charlotte thought it highly unlikely.

Chapter Twenty-nine

She was entirely wrong, however. The marquess was in a rather gloomy state of mind as he climbed slowly back up the stairs after bidding them farewell. Riotous parties and beautiful women were the farthest things from his mind as he made his way back to the library. He had a vague notion of tackling some of his correspondence and looking over reports from London that lay on his desk, but in truth, he was retreating to the library because that was where he pictured Charlotte the most often. They had spent their evenings there playing chess or talking, and as he took his place in his chair by the fire, he could picture her sitting in the one opposite as she had so many times, leaning forward with her feet tucked under her, eyes bright with interest, her face eager as she debated this topic or that political question with him, enjoying the challenge of pitting her mind against his.

Max ran his hand through his hair distractedly. Why was he so affected by the Winterbournes’ departure? He was acting like some moonstruck youth instead of a man who had been on his own, making a name for himself since he was eighteen.

There was a muffled knock on the door. “I’ve brought your mail, sir.” It was Felbridge. At Lydon Court the butler ordinarily brought the marquess his mail and had been on his way to do so when he had been waylaid by Felbridge. “I shall be happy to take that to his lordship, Mr. Hickling, as I am on my way to consult with him on several items.”

“That is most kind of you, Felbridge.” Though he was technically head of the household at Lydon, the butler accepted Felbridge’s superior claims as the marquess’s chosen companion unquestioningly.

In truth, Felbridge had nothing in particular to discuss with his master, but he was consumed with curiosity. The marquess had been dressed for riding when he bade farewell to the Winterbournes, and usually he spent the morning riding around the estate checking horses, fences, and fields and indulging in the physical exertion that would clear his mind for more intellectual pursuits in the afternoon such as reading the paper, keeping up with correspondence, and in general tending to his affairs. Felbridge had placed himself strategically in the window of his master’s dressing room so he could keep an eye on the Winterbournes’ departure. As he checked over the marquess’s freshly laundered cravats he had been surprised to note that the marquess, instead of proceeding to the stables after waving them off, had turned back toward the house.

This was not at all like Lord Lydon, who had also been uncharacteristically taciturn last evening as Felbridge had helped him undress and also this morning when he had shaved him. His lordship’s silence had not been the silence of a man at peace with himself and the world, but more reflective, as though he were grappling with some complex problem. Felbridge knew that his master had been ignoring his correspondence from the City lately and had therefore ruled out any problem connected with business. None of the servants had mentioned any difficulties related to Lydon Court or its tenants, which left Felbridge with only one conclusion: His master’s somber mood was the result of something personal. Felbridge did not have to look far for the answer.

He had observed his master quite closely during the Winterbournes’ visit and had seen the marquess’s spirits rise as he began to slack off from his usual routine and indulge in some of the diversions with which Charlotte and William had chosen to amuse themselves. It had been a different sort of pleasure that Felbridge had witnessed this time. It was not the uproariously high spirits Lord Lydon enjoyed when carousing with his friends, nor was it the half amused, half ironic air he wore after an evening with one of his highborn mistresses, a beautiful opera dancer, or any of his other interesting ladybirds. No, this was a quieter sort of enjoyment, something verging on happiness—a state quite foreign to Felbridge’s cynical master and one the servant had despaired of the marquess ever attaining. But these last few days, as Lord Lydon had participated in the Winterbournes’ simple pleasures, there had been an air of contentment that surprised Felbridge, acquainted as he was with his master’s restless spirit. Now the visit was over and with it, apparently, Lord Lydon’s peace of mind. But Felbridge had not yet seen enough to convince him one way or the other—hence
the offer to deliver the letters and avail himself of another opportunity to evaluate his master’s state of mind.

Max’s fit of abstraction was such that he had not heard the knock on the door and he gave quite a start when Felbridge addressed him.

“Oh…the mail, er, thank you. You may leave it here.” He shoved aside some papers on the table at his elbow, but remained staring blankly into the fire.

“They are off, sir, are they then?” Felbridge spoke in the conversational tones of a long-trusted friend and servant.

“What? Oh, yes, they have gone. The curricle was a great success.”

“I am glad of that, sir. Were Master William and Lady Charlotte surprised?”

“That they were.” The marquess smiled at the memory of William’s excitement.

“It was most kind of you. I hope they enjoy it.”

“I am sure they will.” There was a wistful note in Lord Lydon’s voice that sounded perilously close to loneliness, something that Felbridge had never heard before from his master, a man whose lack of family and romantic ties had heretofore been something to celebrate rather than regret. But regretful was decidedly the mood that the marquess seemed to be in at the moment. Though the servant sympathized with his master’s somber frame of mind, he also rejoiced at it, for it had seemed to him, after much critical observation and one or two carefully casual conversations with Mr. Speen, that Lady Charlotte and her brother were precisely what his lordship needed to make his life complete.

“I believe the staff will miss them. The place will seem quiet now that they are gone; with them here it seemed like a home.” Felbridge’s eyes were riveted on the marquess’s face, alert for even the tiniest change in expression that would reveal the true nature of his feelings.

“Something it has certainly never felt like before, I assure you.” The sardonic note was more pronounced than ever, as though Lydon was realizing just how much he had missed in his isolated childhood now that he had finally seen what a real family could be, even though it was just brother and sister.

Max stared intently into the fire for some time and Felbridge, sensing that there was still something left that the marquess wished to say, remained waiting quietly, patiently, for whatever it was. The marquess had never been one to confide in or ask for help from others, but to the man who had known him since he was a child, even the most oblique remark could contain a wealth of information. “I have asked Griggs to accompany them and take a look around Harcourt before he returns,” he said at last.

So that was it. In spite of Will Foster’s report, the marquess still worried that something threatened the young earl and his sister. “Griggs is a very clever man. He will get to the bottom of things if anyone can. He is awake on all suits, is Griggs. Lady Charlotte and her brother could not be in better hands.”