The Seduction of Lady Charity: The Baxendale Sisters Book Four (10 page)

“Your uncle had a keen eye for art. He could hardly go wrong with Rembrandt,” she said pragmatically.

“Indeed.” Aware that he and Charity were in a bedroom, standing before a naked woman in the throes of passion, he tugged at his cuffs. “I should keep it?”

“Oh yes.” She sounded breathless. “I would. It’s perfect for this lovely room. Whose bedroom would this have been? We’re not in the guest wing, are we?”

“This is the duchess’s suite. There’s a dressing room through that door, which opens into the duke’s bedchamber.”

She walked to the door and peered inside. “My, what a big bath. You could almost fit two in it.”

He raised an amused eyebrow. “I believe it might be possible.”

She spun on her heel and walked to the window. “There’s a wonderful view of the rose garden from here.”

He came to stand beside her and leaned forward, his head close to hers. “And the ornamental lake. See?” He pointed. “In the distance.”

“I can see it shimmering. One day, I should like to visit it and the gardens.”

“I’ll be pleased to give you a guided tour. When would it be convenient?”

She turned around to face him. Before she could answer, someone knocked on the door.

Robin sighed. “Enter.”

His butler came in. “Lord Bellamy has arrived, Your Grace. As he has joined Lady Mercy in the salon, I thought I’d better advise you.”

“Thank you, Franklin.”

Charity was already heading for the door.

Chapter Ten

When Charity entered the salon with Robin, she stopped and drew breath. Held close in Francis’ arms, Mercy waltzed with him across the expanse of carpet.

“Mercy!”

Her young sister turned to them as Francis dropped his arms and stepped away.

Mercy widened her eyes. “I was merely teaching Lord Bellamy to waltz.”

“I am sure he is quite familiar with the dance,” Robin said dryly, frowning at his friend.

“Not the finer points.” Francis gave an embarrassed shrug. “And Lady Mercy is a remarkably good dancer. Light as a feather.”

Robin crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “I don’t doubt it, but it would be wise for you to seek instruction elsewhere, Bellamy.”

Charity turned to Robin. “We should leave.”

He straightened and went to pull the bell. “Of course. I’ll have your gig brought around.”

“Will you come again tomorrow?” he asked as he saw them off. “You have yet to view the portrait gallery. And we might have time to visit the lake.”

“I would be pleased to. Thank you.”

Charity took up the reins, and the horse began walking down the long drive. Once they’d passed through the ornate gates, she turned to Mercy, who was uncharacteristically quiet. “You must be careful, Mercy. Your reputation, once damaged, can never be mended.”

“I don’t think I did anything so awfully bad.”

“Dancing alone with a gentleman you are barely acquainted with, when you are not yet out? And you are too outspoken.”

“So I must become a quiet little mouse and never express an opinion?”

“Of course not. Honor, Faith, and Hope speak their mind, and I believe I do also. Just be careful and don’t encourage them.”

“But you’re not interested in marriage, Charity. And I want to be wed.”

Charity took her eye off the road to study Mercy’s face. She didn’t like seeing her unhappy. “Of course you do, dearest. But you’ll soon be attending assemblies and can dance every dance. I know you won’t be short of partners.”

“Lord Bellamy has wonderful green eyes, with a deeper green around the iris.”

“I cannot say that I noticed his eyes.”

“You don’t think he’s handsome?”

“I can’t say I do. It’s entirely irrelevant, anyway, for he is not for you.”

“Why not? His father is an earl.”

Charity sighed. “I do hope your taste in men improves, Mercy. You seem to have a penchant for rakes.”

“I’m still not entirely sure what a rake is. If it means they are charming, and never boring, I suppose I must have.”

“Rakes do not make good husbands.” Charity patted her sister’s hand. “You have a wonderful London season ahead of you when you’ll meet many suitable gentlemen. But you must present yourself with more deportment. Please think before you act and speak. One false step can ruin a young girl’s life.”

Charity pulled herself up short. Here she was warning Mercy against being different, when it was what she’d always fought for, for herself. But that way lay pain, and she hated the idea of seeing her sister hurt.

“If I must.” Mercy chewed her lip with a frown.

Charity wondered if her words fell on deaf ears. Mercy would always be Mercy, and Charity had to admit her sister had a good deal of charm. In time, she would choose her own path and was likely to be even more unconventional than Charity was herself. A fact she couldn’t help applauding. “You’re to go home with Mama in a few days. You must try to be of help to her. She has much to concern her.”

Mercy rounded her violet-blue eyes. “Oh. I will, I promise.”

Charity guided the horse along the tree-lined lane. “I know you will, dearest.”

“Do you love Robin, Charity?”

“We are good friends,” Charity said, startled.

She edged the gig around a cart laden with hay, and they drove on up a hill.

When they’d reached the top, Mercy turned to her. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because he loves you, of course.”

“Nonsense.”

A half-mile on, Charity threaded the gig through the gates of Aunt Christabel’s property. and they continued up the drive to the stables.

“It is not nonsense.” When the gig stopped, Mercy took the groom’s hand to climb down.

Charity joined Mercy. She linked arms with her and walked to the house. “I believe Robin has his future duchess in mind.”

“Really?” Mercy shook her pale curls. “I wouldn’t have believed it.”

They walked into the entry hall. “You confuse friendship with love, Mercy.”

“Perhaps you are the one who does,” Mercy replied ambiguously then disappeared down the hall after a cat.

Charity walked slowly after her. Why did Mercy think Robin loved her? She’d never seen any sign that his affections ran deeper. Apart from the proposal, which seemed more a statement of his intention than a sign he desired her, he had not said he loved her. They shared a meeting of the minds. Their mutual interests were the reason he’d wanted her for his wife. She frowned. Everything had changed of late. He had changed too. She’d felt an undercurrent today, which she couldn’t precisely identify. It was as if he’d straightened his spine to take on the duty and responsibilities forced upon him. Consequently, she was more physically aware of him, his manliness and masculine smell, the warm touch of his long-fingered hands as he’d guided her through his beautiful rooms.

Why did she think of his hands? This appalling daydreaming did her no good and served no purpose. Here at Aunt Christabel’s, she had too little to occupy her mind. She thought of her half-finished work at home. Exasperated, she went in search of her mother. At breakfast, Father had insisted he was much better, and after Mama had his promise to convalesce sensibly, she made plans to leave the next morning.

Charity stood with her father to wave goodbye to her mother and Mercy as their carriage took them away on their journey south. “I’m to view Robin’s portrait gallery after luncheon,” she said. “Will you be all right alone, Father?”

He scowled as if she’d insulted him. “Dash it all, of course I will. I declare you fuss as much as your mother does. I intend to read another of those excellent books that Harwood brought me. Thank heavens for them. I couldn’t find a thing to read in my sister’s bookroom. Never saw such a load of rubbish.”

“When you are in need of more, Robin has invited you to visit his library.” Charity smiled at him as they walked to the house. “Are you happy to remain here at Aunt Christabel’s?”

“It’s comfortable enough for a big, old creaky house. I can only say I’m grateful Highland Manor was rebuilt in the last century.” They climbed the steps. “It’s an isolated spot too. I don’t know how my sister can bear it. At the time, I did question why our father had to drag her away from London after that unfortunate business during her first Season.”

“What business was that, Father?”

“I suppose that after Christabel’s marriage to Huddlestone ended, he wished to avoid any gossip. Then our father promptly turned up his toes and left her here.”

He made it sound as if grandfather had been careless to depart this earth at such a time. She’d never realized how difficult life must have been for Aunt Christabel. How curious. “Huddlestone never came here to fetch her?”

“It was an elopement. Huddlestone died in a carriage accident when they were returning from the registry before the marriage was consummated. The Huddlestones behaved outrageously, threatened to create a scandal.”

Neither she nor her sisters had ever considered their aunt’s past. It was all so long ago. Did Aunt Christabel dress so soberly in black or deep violet because she still loved Huddlestone after all this time? An elopement! Suddenly, her aunt appeared far more interesting. Charity couldn’t wait to write to her sisters.

They paused on the top step to look down through the gardens to the green dale and the purple hills in the distance. “I have to admit it’s a pleasant enough part of the world,” her father said.

“Yes. The rhododendrons covering the hill below will be glorious in flower.”

“I can’t say gardens interest me a great deal.” He walked inside. “A man prefers to be active, riding about his estate, dealing with whatever is necessary.”

She followed him. “You will be very soon.”

Father gave an impatient grunt and left her. He was a very bad patient; he’d refused to be bled when he had one of his bouts of sickness. Considered doctors to be the devil in disguise.

After luncheon, Charity studied her limited wardrobe and teamed her French beige kerseymere with the cream velvet spencer. She added a pale fur tippet at the neck and her brown fur-felt hat. It was a chilly day to drive in the gig, so she donned her warm, fur-lined cape and French suede gloves, even though they might not fare so well handling the reins. Her determination to look her best at all cost unsettled her.

As it turned out, she didn’t have to worry about her gloves, as her father insisted she be driven and collected again at four o’clock.

“Just because you consider yourself an old maid doesn’t mean you are one,” he insisted.

After a few anxious moments, Charity avoided having her aunt’s unpleasant maid accompany her. When Aunt Christabel decided she had need of air, she saved Charity from a very dull afternoon.

The castle greeted her in the cool sunshine, the lawns freshly scythed, and the contrast between the greyed stone and the fiery autumn foliage made the scene even more breathtaking.

“I’m pleased you’ve come.” As his butler took her cape, Robin’s appreciative grey gaze took her in from her head to her feet. “And looking very fetching.”

Robin led her through a dozen rooms where liveried footmen stood ready to open each door. They entered a long, narrow room. The gallery adjoined two grand reception rooms at either end, with a row of silk-draped windows overlooking the gardens. Beneath crystal chandeliers, Charity walked along the wide stretch of carpet woven with the ducal crest to view the gilt-framed portraits hung on maroon silk walls while Robin explained that his ancestors stretched back in an unbroken line from the fourteenth century. A barony had been awarded by the king for some act of valor during war and subsequent lands and titles gifted down the years. She was fascinated by his imposing ancestors and paused at a painting of a dark-haired, bearded duke with an enormous, intricate white lace collar who wore pearl-studded smallclothes. She imagined she saw something of Robin in his eyes. “Who is this?”

“I have to confess I’ve been reading up on each of them since I came here. That’s the first duke, Gerald. I found a book of his in the library.”

“On what subject?”

“His botanical drawings. They are quite exceptional. I plan to show them to you, later.”

“Oh please do. I’d love to see them.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You approve of my ancestors?”

She smiled. “I approve of him, but some of them look rather frightening,” she said, eyeing a haughty man in a white wig and black patches.

“I’m sure they could be on occasion.” He grinned. “There are some admirable fellows amongst them, however, whom I doubt I could live up to.”

She stood before a lady in a tightly laced, peach-colored gown with ruffled petticoats, her hair piled high on her head. Fat grey pearls decorated her décolletage. “Who is this lovely lady?”

“Caroline. The first Marchioness of Alstone.” He turned to gaze at her appreciatively. “One thing my ancestors had in common. At a time when marriages were arranged for lineage and wealth, they appeared to have wed beautiful women.”

Charity was so distracted by his look she realized belatedly that they’d come to the end of the gallery. “Thank you for allowing me to view your ancestors,” she said in an awkwardly formal tone. “The portraits are most impressive.”