Chapter Twenty-Four
April 1749
Charlotte knelt on the ground beneath the parlor window of Theydon Hall. She reached beside her, slipping her hands into a large canvas sack she had stuffed full of dried pine needles, and pulled out a large pile. She pressed the mulch around the base of a small boxwood she had transplanted from Epping Forest to the yard. She had trimmed its wide limbs back close to the trunk, hoping this measure, and the warmth of the new spring sunshine might coax it into settling comfortably in its new home.
She had lined the entire front of the house with the small shrubs, interspersing bulbs and perennial seedlings between them. It would look lovely when it all came fully into bloom; by the beginning of summer, the gray stones and stern angles of Theydon Hall would be well complemented by a bright array of colorful flowers.
The windows on the whole of the first floor, and most of the second had been filled with new glass panes. Work on reconstructing and repairing the roof was nearly completed; they had needed to pause in their efforts during the winter, but had resumed them in full once the colder months had passed. She could hear the sounds of the carpenters and tilers at work three stories above her, and lifted her head toward the noise, smiling. Lewis and Will had both been up there since dawn, laying and setting new peg tiles atop fresh rafter beams.
With James’s death, so too had the legend of the Black Trio died. Howard Linford had announced publicly that Edmond Cheadle, Camden Iden, and Julian Stockley were to blame for every one of the Trio’s notorious robberies—with James as the instigator behind it all and standing in during Charlotte’s robbery to offer pretense against any seeming culpability in the crimes.
The events at Roding Castle had swept any suspicions or rumors to the contrary aside, and life had moved forward without Reilly, Lewis, or Will ever doubted in their accounts.
Charlotte did not even heard the soft creaking of rope as Will lowered himself swiftly, gracefully from the roof. She did not hear his quiet footsteps, his boots in the new vernal grass behind her, and when he leaned over her shoulder, drawing his arms about her and nuzzling her ear, she jumped, laughing aloud, draping her hands against his arm.
“You yob,” she said, grinning as she rose to her feet and turned to face him. “You gave me a fright. You will make me drop this baby right here in the yard.”
“It takes hours of conscientious pushing, shoving, and pain to birth a baby. You cannot just spread your legs and drop it,” Will replied, leaning his forehead against hers. “Your sister told me that.”
His hands moved, falling gently against her growing belly. Such a softness always came upon him when he did this; his brows would lift tenderly, and he would flush with fondness. “And hullo to you, little Lord Theydon,” he said with a smile, bending down to kiss the swell of her abdomen.
“How do you know it is a lord?” she asked, playfully, tousling his dark hair with her fingertips. “It could well be a ‘my lady,’ and here already, she is not even born yet, and you are offering her offense.”
If anyone in the Essex County social circles had taken notice of the fact that Charlotte’s pregnancy seemed to come about within a very narrow timeframe— only weeks following her wedding to Kenley Fairfax, Baron Theydon in early November—neither Charlotte nor Will were the wiser for it. In fact, neither of them had stepped foot into a banquet hall or ballroom since they had left Roding Castle. They had wed gratefully, willingly, and gladly; and neither of them had thought of much else but each other, the promise of their child, and their home in the months that had followed.
“Oh, it will be a lord,” he said, glancing up at her. “God would never suffer me so to endure even a miniature version of you. One is aplenty.”
Charlotte laughed, slapping at him. He had anticipated this response—counted on it, actually—and caught her hands with his own, drawing her against him. “I could never know any greater blessing than that,” he added softly, leaning forward to kiss her.
They both heard the sounds of distant hoofbeats along the drive leading toward the house. Will turned, and Charlotte moved beside him, both of them curious and puzzled as they caught sight of a carriage approaching, followed in line by three large, laden buckboards.
“Are you expecting more lumber delivered?” Charlotte asked, drawing the blade of her hand toward her brow to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare.
“No,” Will replied. “Anyone to pay call for you?”
“No, Caroline is not due until Thursday,” Charlotte said. She frowned thoughtfully. “That looks like Father’s coach.”
“Company is coming,” Lewis called from aloft.
He swung down from the eaves, his boots swinging wildly in the air as he swooped toward the ground, clinging to the rope. He landed heavily, his face glossy with sweat. “A coach and three wagons coming up the way.”
“We know,” Charlotte said. “I think it is my mother and father.”
Lewis arched his brow at Will, taking into account his cousin’s rather disheveled appearance. Will was dressed for labor in old, stained, and faded breeches; muddy boots; and a patched and decidedly threadbare shirt with half the buttons missing so it lay open to nearly his navel. Will’s hair was askew in mad-capped tufts and curls framing his head and clinging to his cheeks with sweat. There was dirt smudged on his face, crusted beneath his fingernails.
“Sweet God,” Lewis remarked, turning his gaze to the roof again. “I think I shall head aloft again, and miss the ensuing fun.”
The Epping carriage drew up in front of the house, the horses reined to a halt. Will glanced at Charlotte, stricken. She rose onto her tiptoes, kissing the angle of his jaw. “You look lovely, and smell even better,” she said. “Do not fret.”
“Your mother is going to devour me,” Will groaned as Charlotte took him by the hand and dragged him toward the coach.
The footman had already propped open the door, and Lord Epping disembarked, smiling broadly to see them. “Hullo!” he cried, opening his arms wide.
“Father, hullo,” Charlotte said, accepting his embrace and smiling as he kissed the corner of her mouth. “What a surprise!” She glanced behind the coach, toward the buckboards. The wagons were filled with heavy loads of furniture. She spied chairs, a buffet; a pair of highboys, a large wardrobe, a matching set of carved head- and footboards to a bed, several writing desks and more. She turned to her father, bewildered. “What is all of this?”
“Obviously if someone did not intercede on your behalf, darling, you would raise that baby in empty rooms with only its echo against the ceilings for décor,” Lady Epping said, as the footman helped her exit the coach.
“Mother,” Charlotte said, smiling warmly as Lady Epping embraced her.
“Look at you,” Lady Epping fretted, cradling Charlotte’s face between her hands. “Dressed like a peasant and dusted in dirt. What have you been doing?”
“Planting boxwood, Mother,” Charlotte said proudly. “I transplanted it myself from the forest. It will look divine when it blooms along the outer wall, do you not think?”
Lady Epping turned her gaze toward Will. Lord Epping had extended a fond greeting to the young man, clasping hands with him heartily, but under Lady Epping’s scrutiny, Will’s bright expression faltered. “How… how do you fare, my lady?” he asked, lowering his face politely toward his toes.
“I am well, Lord Theydon, thank you,” she replied. “I thought since my daughter was with child, and thus fairly well confined to the grounds here, I might save her the trouble of shopping and offer you these furnishings, if they would please you.”
Will blinked at his wife and mother-in-law. “I… thank you, my lady,” he said. “That… that is kind of you. I… I have been meaning to bring Charlotte to London before she grows too uncomfortable for the trip, but I… we were hoping to have the roof finished, and the glass replaced in the third floor…”
“They all belonged to Charlotte’s grandmother,” Lady Epping said. “My mother, Lor
d Theydon. Charlotte should enjoy a certain fondness to keep them.”
“That is very gracious, my lady,” Will said, completely flabbergasted by her generosity.
“I am certain they are a bit antiquated for your tastes, but they are functional yet, and not repulsive to the eye,” Lady Epping said, flapping her hand dismissively. “I thought perhaps you might offer me a proper tour of your home. I am certain I can offer some suggestions for pleasing placement.”
Will’s eyes grew very wide and round as he blinked at Charlotte, stunned anew. “I… well, I… of course, my lady,” he stammered. “I… I would be pleased to, and… and delighted besides, and…” He glanced down at himself, and struggled against a dismayed groan. “I will change first, my lady,” he said. “And… and wash a bit… make myself more presentable.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Epping said. “You have been working. There is no shame or offense offered when a man presents himself in a state wrought of decent labor. You can escort me as you are, Lord Theydon.”
“Of course, my lady,” Will said. He stepped toward Lady Epping as she held out her hand expectantly. He offered his elbow, and she draped her fingers against his sleeve. “Charlotte, darling, why do you not survey the wagon contents?” she called over her shoulder while Will led her toward the front steps. “If there is anything that does not suit your fancy, tell your father, and we can bring it back to Darton.”
“Yes, Mother,” Charlotte said, as confounded as her husband. Will gave her one last fleeting glance over his shoulder, his expression caught between stricken and bewildered, and he and Lady Epping entered the house.
“What in the bloody world has gotten into her?” Charlotte asked, turning to her father, wide-eyed. “She is not going to hurt him, is she?”
“I should think not,” Lord Epping replied. “She has been in rather good humor about this visit all morning—excited, even, I dare say.”
“I thought that was on my account,” someone said, and Charlotte’s eyes widened in new surprise as Reilly stepped down from the coach.
“Reilly!” she cried, hurrying toward him, hugging his neck fiercely. “What are you doing in Epping parish? You are supposed to be shipboard and two months out on the Atlantic!”
“I have been land-laid, and two months in London,” Reilly replied, kissing her cheek. “I have missed too much being out to sea, and now my little lamb sister is about to drop her baby. I would rather keep to England, all things being equal.”
“They let you resign from the navy?” Charlotte asked, blinking with surprise.
“King George himself granted me an honorable discharge,” Reilly said, smiling. “Thanks to the gracious intervention of Kenward Houghton, the Earl of Essex, I suspect.”
“Splendid, Reilly!” Charlotte cried, hugging him again. She turned her head toward the roof and shouted over his shoulder. “Lewis! Lewis, look who is here!”
Lewis’s head appeared over one of the peaks. “By my breath, they will let anything wash ashore these days!” he cried out, laughing. Again, he went hurtling off the rooftop for the pulley lines. Again, he swung downward, laughing all the way. “You bloody bastard, I thought you were doomed to chase rum-runners and privateers south of the Caribbean!”
As Lewis and Reilly exchanged fond embraces, Lord Epping took Charlotte by the hand and led her toward the buckboards. “I think Reilly has taken a lass for himself,” he remarked once they had drawn a safe distance out of Reilly’s earshot.
“Really?” Charlotte asked, feigning surprise.
Reilly had not yet broached the subject of Meghan with their parents. He would eventually; it was unavoidable, but she did not blame him for his reservations.
Lord Epping nodded, seeming pleased by the notion. “I do not know whom, but I suspect she is someone rather dear in his regard,” he said. “He has made mention to me a time or two, only in passing, mind you, but enough to see it plainly in his face. He is smitten.” He looked momentarily thoughtful. “Though I do not know why he would hesitate to tell your mother.”
Charlotte raised a dubious brow. “Why, I cannot imagine either.”
Lord Epping glanced at her, and the corner of his mouth hooked. They both laughed.
“Come on, Father,” Charlotte said, trying to steer him toward the house. “I will have Una or one of the maids fix a pot of tea. I cannot dare leave Kenley alone with Mother too long.”
“She wants to like him,” Lord Epping said. “Truly, I think she does.”
“Despite herself,” Charlotte added, and he laughed again.
“She is trying, at any rate,” he said. “And there is a good enough place to begin, do you not think?”
Charlotte smiled at her father as they stood in the comfortable shade of Theydon Hall, the home she and Will were making together. She leaned toward him to kiss his cheek, and felt the baby stir lightly, moving within her womb. She drew her hand against the swell of her belly and smiled at Lord Epping. “Yes, Father,” she said. “I do believe that it is.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
“Definitely an author to watch.” That's how Romantic Times Book Reviews magazine describes Sara Reinke. New York Times bestselling author Karen Robards calls Reinke “a new paranormal star” and Love Romances and More hails her as “a fresh new voice to a genre that has grown stale.” Find out more about Reinke and her available titles at www.sarareinke.com
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