Chapter Six
“Are they still arguing?” Charlotte asked, looking up from her pillows.
Caroline nodded, walking from the threshold of Charlotte’s chamber toward the bed. She moved slowly, her motions stiff, the hems of her gown and dressing robe swaying loosely about her ankles. She kept her hands pressed against the swell of her belly and groaned softly as she sat next to her sister. “Mother is in a state, that is for sure,” she said.
Charlotte sat up, scooting back toward her headboard. She looked at Caroline unhappily. “She will find some way to yet see me marry James,” she said. “I just know it.”
“I do not,” Caroline replied, smiling as she patted Charlotte’s foot. “You have found a fairly good ally for yourself in Father. He is not bending on this at all, and you know he has never been much to stand against Mother once she sets her mind to something.”
Lady Epping had not said a word to Charlotte since they had left Rycroft House that afternoon. Charlotte had spent the carriage ride home in a dazed sort of stupor, surrounded by a tension so heavy within the cab it had been nearly palpable. The only words offered at all the entire way had been Lady Chelmsford’s, who had kept rolling her eyes, leaning her head against the wall and moaning. “How could this have happened?” she had said. “Six months meeting in London! Where was I during it all?”
It was well past dusk now. Lady Epping had hauled Charlotte’s father into the library promptly upon their return to Darton Hall, and from there, behind closed doors, the arguing had commenced. Charlotte had no idea what might be happening behind the library doors; only occasional muted sounds of her parents’ sharp, raised voices floated up from the first floor to offer hints, and for once, her notorious curiosity seemed content to remain un-piqued.
“Here, do not look so glum,” Caroline said. “It will all work itself through in the end. Turn around. Let me braid your hair. I cannot believe you do not wind up with a matted nest, sleeping with it unfettered as you do.”
Charlotte did not have the heart to argue with her sister, and did as she was told. She turned about, presenting her back to Caroline, crossing her legs before her. She hunched her shoulders and hung her head miserably as Caroline took up her brush from the bedside table and ran it through her hair.
“I think it is rather sweet myself,” Caroline remarked. “You marrying for love, and keeping it so secreted.”
“It was hardly a secret,” Charlotte said. “We met in public places for public functions all the while in London—perfectly proprietary.” She nearly clapped her hand over her face and groaned aloud, unable to believe she was going along with the preposterous ruse.
“I have only been reintroduced to Kenley on a couple of occasions these past months, but he is certainly handsome,” Caroline said. “And his manners are quite dashing, I must say. You could do far worse for yourself.”
“Tell that to Mother,” Charlotte said, wincing as Caroline stroked the brush against tangles.
“Oh, piffle,” Caroline said with a laugh. “Mother only wants what is best for you. She just happens to have decided James Houghton is what is best. She will come right ’round on things, you mark me. Do not worry about it.”
“Is Father really standing up for me?” Charlotte asked, glancing over her shoulder.
“Oh, yes, and shouting quite a storm,” Caroline said. “It is a good thing. She pushes him about something awful sometimes. I love Mother dearly, but she has grown dreadfully spoiled.”
“She will not give up so easily on James,” Charlotte said.
“Well, he is the son of the earl,” Caroline said. “To Mother’s point of view, this makes him a far better choice of husband than a recently reestablished young baron. You are the daughter of a viscount. Marrying a baron means marrying downward in status, and given the Theydon history of gambling away their money, it is a reasonable concern.”
“Kenley does not gamble,” Charlotte said. “He told me that. He saw what it did to his father. It had effect on him, too. He is still answering for it.”
Caroline set the brush aside. She gathered the sheaf of Charlotte’s hair between her hands and separated it with her fingers into three long sections. “He was a very unhappy boy,” she remarked as she twined the portions together in a plait. “You do not remember him well, do you, from when he used to visit Reilly? I remember. Mother thought he was one for mischief, but I always thought he was unhappy. Angry, I suppose. That is why he found trouble for himself. With a father like Lord Theydon, I imagine the poor thing had plenty to feel angry and unhappy about.”
“He is not like that now,” Charlotte said. “He is trying to make amends for his past, to be better in spite of it.”
“Yes, well, unfortunately every moment of his past is perfectly available for Mother’s scrutiny, thanks to James Houghton and that thief-taker coachman of his,” Caroline said. “I am sure James has sent Mr. Cheadle out to find every whit and scrap of discredit that can be discovered.”
“We all have pasts,” Charlotte said, frowning. “And plenty of men have done things in their youths they regret upon maturity. Even Father—he agreed to that ridiculous duel when he was nineteen.”
Caroline chuckled. “Oh, how he dearly loves to regale us with that story,” she said. “And tell us over and over, as if we have never heard, ‘Thank God I kept my snuffbox tucked in my breast pocket, not my hip, else I might have been punched clean through.’”
“‘I still drew first blood,’” Charlotte said, lowering her voice to mimic her father’s.
“‘I yet have the snuffbox, dented nearly in twain,’” Caroline said, dropping her pitch to match Charlotte’s. “‘Here now, sit still, it will not take but a moment to fetch it from my highboy and show it to you.’”
Charlotte and Caroline both giggled together. It was the first time since that afternoon that Charlotte had smiled, and when Caroline paused in her braiding, touching her shoulder, Charlotte reached for her, squeezing her hand lightly. “I am glad you are here, Caroline,” Charlotte whispered.
“I am glad to be here, Charlotte,” Caroline said. “I would not have missed such a fuss for the world.”
“What I need to do is have a thief-taker of my own,” Charlotte said. “Someone to dredge up some awful, hidden measure of James’s past to prove that he is a scoundrel and unfit to marry—earl’s heir or not.” She glanced over her shoulder. “You are privy to all the Essex County gossip. Have you heard any about him?”
“No, nothing,” Caroline said. “He is the earl’s son, and Lord Essex is a well-respected and wealthy man. No one would say anything against him or his kin.” She paused for a moment, and said, “But I could ask Randall of it, I suppose. He might know.”
Charlotte frowned thoughtfully. “There must be something,” she murmured. “I know James too well to think he has lived some guileless existence. The man keeps a bloody thief-taker in his service. By my breath, there is something peculiar, if not insidious.”
Caroline turned loose of Charlotte’s hair, having fettered the braid in place with a small length of ribbon. “There you go,” she said. “See how easily a brush runs through in the morning.” She shoved her hands against the mattress and groaned softly as she stood. “You should turn in to bed,” she said. “Put this whole mess from your mind. Tomorrow shall be grand, I think.”
“Why?” Charlotte asked, puzzled, turning to look at her.
Caroline smiled. “Father did not tell you? He
sent word to Theydon Hall, asking Kenley to come for proper introductions.”
Charlotte’s eyes flew wide. “He did what?”
Caroline nodded. “Eleven o’clock promptly. I think you should wear your yellow dress with the cream- colored jupe and stomacher. That looks so lovely on you.”
“Kenley is coming here?” Charlotte gasped. “Why did Father do that?”
“He likes Lord Theydon, if only because you do,” Caroline said. “I keep hearing him holler at Mother that any man of wo
rthwhile enough character to impress himself upon you is suitable for him.” She dropped Charlotte a wink. “And I think Lord Roding’s tidings of Kenley’s sordid past have intrigued Father, given his own past penchant for such mischief.”
“Oh, God,” Charlotte moaned, flopping face down on her bed and smothering herself in her pillows. “Mother is going to flay him alive!”
“No, she will not,” Caroline replied. “If anything, Mother is at least a proper lady. He will make it out of here intact. I am fairly confident of that.”
Charlotte groaned again. She did not even notice the soft creak of floorboards at her threshold as someone approached. “Reilly, darling, here you are! Are you feeling well now and recovered?” Caroline said brightly, and Charlotte lifted her head. She saw her brother in the doorway, his blond hair sleepily askew, his face twisted in a groggy scowl.
“I am better, thank you,” Reilly grumbled. “What is all of that shouting from downstairs about?”
“No one has told you the news?” Caroline asked, smiling broadly. Reilly’s bewildered expression grew further confused, and she exclaimed, “Our lamb is getting married!”
“Married?” Reilly asked, blinking at Charlotte in start. “Lord Roding proposed?”
Caroline laughed. “So it was secret even from you,” she said. “No, Reilly. She is marrying Lord Theydon. They announced it this afternoon at Rycroft.”
“Lord Theydon?” Reilly asked. He stared at Charlotte, and she had no accounting for the sudden furrow that creased his brows. “You mean Kenley Fairfax, Lord Theydon?”
“Is it not delightful?” Caroline said. “For these past six months, they have been meeting secretly in London and have fallen in love. I think it is quite charming.”
Reilly leveled his gaze at his youngest sister. “These past six months?” he asked, and there was such doubt edged in his tone that Charlotte hunched her shoulders, ashamed. Reilly could not prove her a liar, but he still knew her well enough to smell rot when she offered it, and she felt hot patches of color stoke in her cheeks. “You and Kenley Fairfax have fallen in love these past six months?”
“In London,” Caroline said. “Is it not delightful, Reilly?”
Charlotte glanced at her brother, and he frowned at her. “Bloody splendid,” he growled, spinning on his heel. “My rot damn day is now complete.”
He stomped off, his footsteps heavy and pounding in the corridor. Charlotte blinked after him, wounded, embarrassed, and somewhat puzzled by his reaction.
“My, he is in a mood,” Caroline said, untroubled.
She looked down at Charlotte, and her expression softened. “Did he hurt your feelings, lamb? Pay him no heed.” She brushed her palm against the cap of Charlotte’s head. “He has been in a state all day, ever since this morning. I do not know what has flown up his breeches, but it is not you.”