Page 19 of Hearts at Home

11

T wo days later, Charis was dreaming on the window seat in the little upstairs sitting room the sisters had taken for their own. From this vantage point, she could see the approaches to the front door and the gate to the side of the house, for less lofty visitors.

So far, today had been like any other, with little morning traffic. The household’s senior footman had left and returned with the mail (their budget didn’t run to a butler). The butcher’s boy had delivered meat to the kitchen. Phoebe had taken her hoop to the enclosed garden on the other side of the road, accompanied by the nursery maid, and returned with a story of being watched by a sinister man. Phoebe’s adventures tended to the gothic and were entirely imaginary, so this flight of fancy was dismissed.

Despite the lack of activity and the chill off the glass, Charis couldn’t tear herself away when the next person to stop at their house might be Eric.

“Cas, did you hear me?” Her sister Matilda spoke from a few inches away, making Charis jump.

“No, I did not. Did you need me for something?”

Matilda rolled her eyes, saying, in sing song tones that underlined her irritation at repeating herself, “Mother wants us all in the parlour. Even Phoebe. She read a letter that arrived in the mail and is a state.”

Charis felt around the floor for the slippers she had kicked off. “What about?”

“Matilda does not know,” Eugenie said, linking arms with her twin. “Come along, Charis, and we will find out.”

Mother was striding back and forth as she did when she was cross, but she was also beaming from ear to ear. When her daughters entered the room, she rushed to Charis and enfolded her in a huge, smothering embrace.

“Oh Cas, I was in despair, and then so happy. You have saved us all! Cas, my precious, precious love. Let me look at you!” She turned Charis around by the shoulders until Charis had spun a full circle and then hugged her again. “I have such good news, my dears.” She shrugged. “Bad news, too, but is it not ever so? Sit down, young ladies. Sit down. Cas, you shall sit beside me.”

She sat herself and included them all in her beatific smile.

“Should I call for tea, Mother?” Charis asked.

“Tea? You can think of tea, at a time like this? Are you not excited? Yes, yes. Eugenie, call for tea. The best leaves, for we are celebrating.”

Eugenie and Matilda exchanged glances in a wordless twin communication, and Eugenie went to the door, while Matilda asked. “What are we celebrating, Mother?”

“Oh, my goodness, I have not said. I declare my wits have gone begging. Let me tell you the bad news first, for I do not wish to think of it again. We must leave Bath. The house agent writes that another person has leased the house, and we must leave by the end of this week.”

“But Mother,” Matilda protested, “the Valentine’s Day Ball!”

“I know. Oh dear, I know.” Two fat tears rose in Mother’s eyes at the thought of missing the treat everyone else in the household had looked forward to, but then she cheered.

“That was one of the letters I received today. You will never guess what was in the other.” She stopped talking while the maid wheeled in the tea trolley, then waved the girl off.

“We shall serve ourselves, Milly. Close the door to keep the heat in. There’s a good girl.”

Eugenie was instructed to pour the tea while all four daughters bit their tongues. Asking Mother what had put her in such a good mood was as likely to fetch a scold as an answer.

Charis was about to make the enquiry anyway when Mama spoke. “The Earl of Wayford has spoken for you, Cas. Your Uncle Benjamin has consented to the match, and you shall be a countess. What do you think of that?”

Charis had no words. Uncle Ben had approved Wayford? But Eric’s message said he had succeeded. Her uncle had betrayed them.

“To think.” Mother said, her smile blissful. “My little bookworm is to be the Countess of Wayford.”

“What!” Charis must have heard wrong.

“Yes, indeed. I do not marvel at your surprise, Cas. I was astounded, as was your Uncle Ben, when the earl said he had long admired you and would have no other to be his bride.” She patted Charis on the shoulder. “No other, Cas. Did you hear that?”

Charis pulled her hand from under her mother’s. “No, thank you, Mother.”

“Now, now. These maidenly airs are lovely but not necessary. He has seen you, and he wants you, and Uncle Ben and I have said yes on your behalf.”

Charis sat, rather heavily, on a handy chair. “No. No I cannot marry the earl. And I will not marry him. I am promised to another.”

“Just think, we shall be able to… What do you mean, ‘I am promised to another’?”

“I do not wish to marry the Earl of Wayford, Mother.” Charis took a deep breath and steeled her resolve. “I shall not marry the Earl of Wayford.”

“Oh, but—” Matilda began, stopping at an urgent poke from Eugenie.

Mother shrunk a little, hunching over. “Did you want to marry Mr. Moffat, then? He asked last night if he could pay his addresses, but I did not think you liked him above half.”

“I will not marry Mr. Moffat, either, Mother.”

Mother shook her head slowly and patted Charis’s hand again. “I do not believe Chadbourn to be in earnest, Cas. One dance only each evening and never a visit? Take it from me, Cas, you will not bring him to the point. Besides, why hold out for Chadbourn when you already have an offer from an earl.”

“Chadbourn is merely a friend, Mother. I have no interest in any of them.”

“And I will not permit you to marry that Mr. Taverton, and so I told him. ‘Do not bother to call again, Mr. Taverton,’ I said, ‘for my daughter will not be at home.’” She gave a single fast nod.

“Mr. Taverton called? And you turned him away?”

“I think only of your own good, Cas. Lady Wayford warned me that the man is not to be trusted. The man is a common thief, she said. A highwayman, Cas.”

“Mr. Taverton fought for our King against the French, Mother, pretending to be a bandit. He is a good man and a friend of Eric. How could you, Mother?”

Mother began to cry again, great teardrops running down her cheeks as she ranted. “How could you, Charis. You owe it to the family to marry well. You know this. You have two offers, both from wealthy men. You must accept one of them. Do you not see that?”

Charis suppressed the guilt her mother excelled in creating. They had a roof over their head and food, servants, a few luxuries. They managed. And soon, they would have one less mouth to feed. “I have three offers, Mother, and I am accepting an offer from the man who holds my heart.”

Mother drew herself up. “A man? Charis Amelia Fishingham! Have you been meeting a man behind my back?”

“I am marrying Eric, Mother.” Hearing her own words made her smile and gave her the courage to continue. “You remember Eric Parteger? The earl’s cousin? He has lived next door to us all his life, except when he was in Italy. Now, he is home, and we are to be wed. If not soon, then later this year when I am of age.”

Again, Matilda said, “But—” and was shushed by Eugenie.

Mother was more bewildered than angry. “The Beast? You are marrying the Beast of Beastwood? How will you survive?”

“He is not a beast, Mother, and I will thank you to forget that horrid name.”

Mother scowled. “Charis Fishingham, you shall not talk to your mother that way, and you shall marry Lord Wayford, not some crippled cousin.”

“I shall marry Eric, Mother.” Charis stood, smoothing down her skirts in an effort to hide her shaking hands. If she heard any more insults from her mother, she would say something unbecoming. “I am in some need of some air. May I be excused, Mother?”

She left the room without waiting for an answer and stood in the hall outside for a moment, waiting for her roiling emotions to settle.

From inside the room, she could hear her mother complaining about ungrateful daughters and bemoaning their coming exile back to Ridley House. Nearer the door, Matilda said to Eugenie, “Why did you not want me to tell her…?”

“Matilda, hush. I will explain later.”

“Miss Middleton says that secrets are unbecoming,” Phoebe pointed out.

Charis was heartily tired of them all: Mother with her plots and plans, Matilda and Eugenie with their secrets. As for that horrid book by Miss Middleton, if Phoebe quoted from it one more time, Charis would season it with salt and pepper and make her eat it.

“Milly,” she said to the hovering maid, “tell John I am going for a walk and want his escort. I will fetch my bonnet and coat and meet him by the gate.

* * *

Bath, at long last. Eric handed over the post-chaise and paid the post-riders. More coins went to a couple of porters to carry his bags, though the most important of his purchases rested in an inner pocket of his coat.

“Come on, Ugo,” he said to the dog. “Sorting out Lady Wayford is not going to get easier for being left.” When Phillip had told him that her ladyship had been countermanding Eric’s orders and continuing to treat the earldom’s coffers as her personal bank, Eric had been more annoyed with himself than with Lady Wayford. He had seen the signs but hadn’t believed them.

An hour into his first meeting with his solicitors, and his anger had expanded to include the lady herself and all who had made her theft possible, starting with Osric. She had been systematically raiding the estates to enrich herself.

Since he arrived back in England, Eric had been avoiding confrontation. Had he hoped for some sign of affection? If so, some of this was his own fault, since he’d never had any reason to believe she would treat him kindly or even fairly.

She, on the other hand, had every reason to expect him to leave her in command. He had refused to yank the domestic reins from her hands, steered clear of discussing her treatment of him as a child, refused to confront her about setting spies on him, and fled rather than tell her that his choice of bride was none of her business.

He should have stopped her for those things alone, but now he knew she had stolen from him, he could leave her be no longer. Today, they would have their long overdue discussion.

As he climbed the steep street leading to his Bath residence, Ugo barked, the sharp yip that warned of danger. Eric let his eyes follow the dog’s pointing nose as Ugo trembled with the contrary urges to stay at heel as commanded or to bound to the rescue of a woman all bundled up against the cold, whom two burly characters were trying to force into a carriage.

Eric resolved the dog’s dilemma with the command to ‘get it.’ “ Prandial , Ugo!” The dog bounded away, Eric running behind him. The woman had a hand on either side of the carriage door way and was shouting for help. If anyone inside the houses heard, they didn’t want to interfere.

One of the men lifted something over the woman’s head. A cosh? Eric had been wondering if he was stepping into someone else’s domestic dispute, but no one had the moral right to hit a woman over the head, whatever the legalities.

He breathed a prayer of thanks for Ugo, who surged into the bounder and knocked him to the ground. The other assailant made one more attempt to push the woman into the carriage, then shoved her away and leapt in himself, shouting to the coachman to, “Get us out of here.”

“Ugo?” The woman pushed her bonnet out of the way and looked around.

“Charis?” It was her! He swept her into his arms, hugging her with all the relief of their long separation and the fear he would have felt had he known it was her being abducted. “Charis. Bellissima . Amore Mio . Are you hurt?”

“No, but I fear John Footman is, Eric.” She pulled out of his embrace, leaving him bereft, though it was some consolation when she took his hand. She led him to where a man in the Fishingham livery was beginning to sit up, groaning, his hand to his head.

“John? Are you well?” Charis asked.

“Miss Charis? Miss Charis, thank God you are safe. Sir, my thanks. They surprised me, sir, and the next thing I know, lights out.”

“Mr. Parteger and his dog arrived in time, John.” Eric winced to hear her call him ‘Mr. Parteger,’ but didn’t correct her. He’d have to tell her soon, certainly before he asked her to marry him, but this was not the right time, when she had had such a fright and all her attention was on her footman.

“We must get you home and to a doctor,” she told the man.

“Lady Wayford’s place is closer,” Eric pointed out. “We’ll get John patched up and send someone for the constable.”

“Not Lady Wayford’s, sir,” the footman protested. “That was her carriage, that was.

Charis protested, but Eric had no difficulty in believing that a footman would know the carriages of his betters. He had already known that Lady Wayford was capable of wickedness but to kidnap Charis? Why? To get rid of Eric by driving him to despair? Beyond a doubt, losing Charis would have had that effect.

It made sense, and undoubtedly the man cringing under the threat of Ugo’s bared teeth would confirm the woman’s involvement. Eric let nothing of his disgust show in his voice. “ Bravo reglaze , Ugo. Custodiae . Charis, you stay with John and Ugo, and I’ll get some help.”

He banged on a knocker chosen at random and soon had a servant scurrying for the constable, another for a doctor, and a third standing at a respectful distance from Ugo ready to sound the alarm if the thoroughly cowed captive tried to escape.

Once the doctor and constable arrived, he gave them both his card, scribbled his address on the back, and informed them he was escorting Miss Fishingham home. She had been carried off by the householder’s wife and was sipping tea when he came to get her.

A maid was detailed to follow them home and ensure propriety, which meant they couldn’t talk. On Charis’s door step, she stopped and sent the girl to stand over on the other side of the road.

“Eric, you must leave me here. I will tell Mother what happened, but this is a bad day for her to meet you. She is already angry because I told her I would marry you and no other.”

Eric took both her hands. “I suspect that is what angers Lady Wayford, too, though heaven alone knows what she planned. I will marry you and no other, care Mia . I will return in the morning, and we’ll have it out with your mother.”

Heedless of the maid, he gave her a quick peck on the cheek, then watched as she entered the house and shut the door behind her.

* * *

At Eric’s hotel, Phillip Taverton was waiting. “I’ve been unable to deliver your messages saying when you will arrive, Eric,” he said in lieu of a greeting. “Mrs. Fishingham will not let me see her daughter, and Lady Wayford has refused me.”

“No matter, Phil. I’ve seen Charis, and Lady Wayford has overreached one time too many.” Quickly, he caught his friend up on the attempted abduction. “I’m off to have it out with her ladyship as soon as I’ve washed and changed into dry clothes. Will you keep Ugo with you?”

“Are you sure you don’t need me to watch your back? She has a house full of henchmen.”

Eric lifted one eyebrow, and his smile was by no means amused. “She has a house full of servants whose wages are paid by me,” he pointed out. “Ah. That’ll be my bath.”

Dusk was turning to full dark when Eric rapped on the door of Lady Wayford’s residence with the head of his walking stick. Behind him, Phillip waited with Ugo, Eric having lost the argument about the safety of the Wayford townhouse.

The servant who opened the door tried immediately to shut it again. Eric stopped the door with his foot and shouldered it open. Phillip and Ugo crowded in behind him, and when the man opened his mouth to shout, Eric lifted a finger and shook his head. “Uh uh,” he said. “No shouting. Where is Lady Wayford?”

The servant’s nervous glance up the stairs told its own story, and Eric took the steps two at a time, Phillip and Ugo following. From the landing at the top, the direction was obvious, since light showed under only one door, probably a front parlour. Below, the servant who’d let them into the house, whether he wished to or not, was hurrying through to the back of the house, probably for reinforcements.

“Ugo and I will make sure you are not disturbed,” Phillip offered, taking station beside the parlour door.

Beyond the door, Lady Wayford was kneeling before a fireplace in a luxurious parlour, feeding paper into the fire a sheet or two at a time.

“Destroying the evidence, my lady?” Eric asked.

She started back from the fire, then lifted her chin and sniffed. “You are a barbarian, Wreck. Gentlemen wait to be announced.”

“In my own home, madam?” Had he spoken in that cold polite voice to any in his mountain band in Italy, they would have scattered to avoid the Inglese or leapt to obey him.

Lady Wayford sneered. “You have always been a disappointment.”

Somewhere inside, the small boy who would have died for this woman’s favour hesitated between grovelling and screaming his rage. Eric did neither but crossed the room in a couple of strides and grabbed Lady Wayford’s wrist as she went to shove another handful of papers into the flames.

He ignored her protests while he quickly scanned the top page. A letter to a doctor, committing a hysterical female of his household into the doctor’s care.

Lady Wayford struggled to free herself. “You are hurting me, Wreck.”

Eric dragged her to her feet, away from the other documents she thought to burn. “You will address me by my title, woman, or this letter might yet be put to use.”

“Help!” she shouted. “William! Burton!”

“Sit,” Eric invited, backing her into a chair away from the fire so she had no choice but to obey. He dropped her wrist as soon as she subsided, and she hunched over, rubbing the red flesh with her other hand.

“You hurt me,” she accused.

Lady Wayford had caused the bruising herself, fighting to get free, but the effort to confine his grip to restraint had battered at his self-command. The greatest hurts he had suffered had been at her hands, and the letter he finished reading as he laboured to settle his breathing and his anger would have been the worst blow of all. The letter had today’s date. It committed an unnamed female for treatment for madness. It was signed by Lady Wayford as authorized legal representative of the Earl of Wayford. Behind a cold stern face, he howled at what she had intended for Charis.

“You have been stealing from me, madam.” He prowled the room, collecting the rest of the papers and putting them away from her reach and on the other side of the room from the fire. “I have already dismissed the Wayford solicitors and hired a new firm, whose first instruction is to uncover the dimensions of your transgressions as agent to my predecessor and now to me. I told myself that you kept the earldom together against Osric’s depredations, and retiring you to the status of dowager would be punishment enough. But this,” he shook the letter at her, “changes my mind. You would have condemned Miss Fishingham because I love her?”

“Listen to yourself, Wre—” Eric clenched his fist to remind himself to keep his temper. Lady Wayford caught the movement and showed her first signs of uncertainty, just a small withdrawal, a slight widening of the eyes. “—Wayford. Love is for peasants. You were never meant to be earl, but here you are, and you are choosing a countess. That girl will not do.”

“I am inured to your insults, madam.” A lie, for she continued to flay the little boy inside with her disdain. “You will, however, keep your vicious tongue from Miss Fishingham, who will be my countess within a week. As for your fate, I am still considering.”

She lifted her chin. “Everything I have done, I have done for the earldom, and you will throw away all my sacrifices, all my labours, all my losses for the sake of a girl who let you ruin her? Osric would never have betrayed me so.”

Oddly, this tirade settled Eric. The woman was unhinged, and one could no more expect sense from her than expect an amputee to get out of his bed and dance. “Your servants are currently being given a choice between serving me or being dismissed,” he told her. “I will no longer pay wages to those who do not have my interests at heart. I have instructed all my households and estates to ignore your instructions. I have rescinded the authority my brother gave you to sign on behalf of the earldom, which should have lapsed at his death. I have solicitors and business agents searching for funds and assets you might have put in your name using the earldom’s resources.”

Lady Wayford shrank a little at each revelation but flared at the last. “I am your mother! You cannot...”

“You remember that, after twenty-two years? I am your son, yet you locked me away in the country, ignored me, called me names, allowed my brothers to torment me, then...” Eric took a deep breath and let it out. No point in raking over bones long dead. “I have not made up my mind what to do with you, Lady Wayford.”

He went to the door, taking care to keep Lady Wayford under observation. “Phil, does Lady Wayford still have a maid?”

“I think so. Most of the household have claimed loyalty to you. I wouldn’t trust them, though. I think Ugo and I should stay here overnight, and we should hire some men of your own tomorrow morning.”

Tomorrow morning. When he would need to tell Charis about his title and deal with her response. He would win her; he was determined on it. But after she found out what he’d concealed from her, he might have to win her back.

“Get the maid to show you her ladyship’s chambers and search them for any papers. Once you’ve taken anything she might destroy, I’ll lock her in her rooms, and we’ll have a go at the rest of the house.”

He took another deep breath, and Phillip laid a hand on his arm.

“Are you all right, Eric?”

“I am.” As he said the words, Eric realized they were true, and he searched for more words to explain his feelings to this dear and loyal friend. “Tonight, we are cauterizing the past. Tomorrow, I start my future.”