Once Again a Bride

Six



“Was that Elizabeth running down the corridor? Really, Frances, she’s become a positive hoyden,” said the newcomer. She raised her brows at the footman. “Are you going to take our things, young man?”

Charlotte had thought the Wylde ladies’ clothes very fine, but as the footman hurried to divest the callers of a beautiful fur-trimmed pelisse and a many-caped overcoat, she knew herself to be in the presence of true high fashion, such as she’d seen only in magazine illustrations. The woman’s deep green morning gown was intricately and exquisitely cut, its high neck and long sleeves severely elegant and very flattering to her small wiry frame. The younger man’s pale pantaloons and dark blue coat fit him perfectly; his neckcloth and mirror-bright boots proclaimed a Pink of the ton. They also had a distinct air about them—she couldn’t define it exactly—confidence perhaps.

Lady Isabella Danforth’s sandy hair and green eyes suggested she was related to the Wyldes. Her companion, on the other hand, had coal-black hair and blue eyes, and a narrower, more delicate face, with the advantage of thick, dark lashes. He was one of the handsomest men Charlotte had ever seen. Noticing her gaze, he smiled at her.

“Hello, Bella,” said Frances as the footman went out. “Charlotte, this is Alec’s aunt—Henry’s sister—and her son, Edward Danforth. Bella, this is Mrs. Charlotte Wylde.”

The caller turned avid eyes on Charlotte, surveying her from head to foot, as if committing every detail of her appearance to memory. “It is true then? Henry was secretly married? We only just heard.”

“It wasn’t a secret,” said Charlotte, flushing under her scrutiny.

“But he didn’t tell anyone.” Lady Isabella looked from her to Frances. “Unless… you and Alec knew?”

Frances shook her head.

“How very odd.” Lady Isabella’s sharp gaze shifted back to Charlotte. “Quite a… romance.”

Charlotte grimaced at the revolting thought and saw that the visitors noticed.

“Edward saw Henry quite often at his club, you know. I can’t conceive why he didn’t mention you.”

“Because all he cared about was spending my money on his wretched collection.” Charlotte flushed. She’d done it again, blurted out her thoughts like a gauche schoolgirl. Had a year of misery obliterated all her social skills?

“Really? My dear, how dreadful for you. Are we going to sit down, Frances?”

Their hostess’s cheek reddened. “Of course.” She gestured at the sofa and sat. The others followed suit.

“If only I had known,” Lady Isabella continued. “I could have introduced you into society, shown you the way to go on, you know.” She smiled at Charlotte, then looked away. Charlotte had the feeling that her ugly black gown positively hurt the visitor’s eyes. “Poor Henry was quite… eccentric, of course. I don’t believe he ever accepted an invitation, but not even to tell his family that he had married!”

“He never talked of anything but some chunk of pottery or bit of parchment he’d gotten his hands on,” said Edward Danforth. His voice, low and melodious, matched his appearance. “Not once, in all the times I ran into him in the clubroom.”

Charlotte nodded feelingly. She and Edward Danforth exchanged a knowing glance, which held long enough for Charlotte to feel a flutter of warmth.

Lady Isabella shrugged. “Ah, well, Henry was secretive even as a child. I remember once—he must have been about five, because it was the year James left for school—little things began to go missing around the house. Trinkets, mostly, but then one of Mama’s diamond earrings disappeared. It was such an uproar—the house turned upside down, the servants being questioned, one of the housemaids nearly taken before a magistrate. And then all the things were discovered in a box hidden in Henry’s bedchamber. He was furious when they were taken away.”

“He didn’t care that the housemaid…?” began Frances.

“Not a whit.” Lady Isabella made an airy gesture.

Charlotte had no trouble believing it. Things had meant far more to Henry than people.

The young footman returned with a tray, setting it on a low table in front of Frances. “Will you have some tea?” she asked.

Edward shook his head, but his mother nodded. “Charlotte… may I call you Charlotte? We are family, after all.”

“Please.”

“We met the strangest man when we called at Henry’s house. Quite… rough-hewn. He would scarcely speak to us; it was difficult even to discover that you were visiting here.”

“He is keeping watch over the house. Someone broke in during the night and stole one of Henry’s… artifacts.”

“No!” Lady Isabella put a hand to her cheek. “While you were at home?”

“Yes. It was very frightening.”

“Terrifying, I should think.” She took a cup from Frances and sipped.

“You should get rid of the whole lot,” Edward put in. “Sell it as fast as you can.”

“I should like nothing better, but I cannot. Henry’s will made the collection into a museum. If anything is sold, even one object, the entire estate goes to the British Museum, including the house.”

Lady Isabella drew herself up so abruptly she almost spilled her tea. “That is outrageous!”

Charlotte was touched by the older woman’s visible anger. “But perfectly legal, I’m told.”

“You poor thing. And so you are left all alone.”

“Hardly alone, as she is quite welcome here,” said a voice from the doorway. Sir Alexander walked in and took up a station by the fireplace. “Hello, Aunt Bella. Edward.”

“Alec, dear,” replied Lady Isabella. Her son merely nodded.

Charlotte heard the lack of enthusiasm in both their voices, and wondered at it. The atmosphere in the room seemed to tighten.

“You do know that rumors are flying all over town,” she added, almost as if it were Sir Alexander’s fault. “First Henry’s murder—murder, unthinkable! And now I hear there has been a robbery as well. In our own family! We can only be thankful that the Season hasn’t really started.”

“Indeed.”

“What do you intend to do?”

Charlotte expected him to explain about the Bow Street Runner and the investigation, but he merely repeated, “Do?” in the tone she herself found uniquely irritating.

“To stop the talk, of course. The Wyldes have practically become a scandal. You should hear all the tiresome jokes being made on the name.”

“I’m sure I have, Aunt, at one time or another.”

“Of course he has,” Edward said to his mother.

Charlotte couldn’t help but compare his soothing manner to Sir Alexander’s rigidity. The cousins seemed to be opposites in many ways.

A small movement caught her eye. One of the double doors leading to the corridor shifted a bit, but no one entered. A moment later a small dark shape was pushed through the opening. Charlotte glimpsed a white hand helping it along. The door closed. The cat Callie skittered across the floor and disappeared under the table holding the tea tray.

“What was…?” began Lady Isabella. A paw flashed out and snagged the fringe on one of the armchairs. “It’s some sort of animal!”

“Just a cat, I think, Mother.” Edward sounded amused.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Sir Alexander bent, reached under the table, grabbed, and missed. Callie erupted from the other side, raced across the room, and clawed her way up one of the brocade curtains. She hung there, well above all their heads, glaring. Edward laughed.

Lady Isabella, on the other hand, went rigid, as if the incident had been designed to offend her. “A little joke of Elizabeth’s no doubt. I have told you and told you to send her to school.”

“So you have,” said Sir Alexander through gritted teeth.

“Well, you must admit that I am right! She is completely out of hand. I am sorry, Frances. I don’t mean to criticize your disciplinary methods, but really you…”

“Enough.” Sir Alexander strode to the bellpull and yanked it. “As you say, you have made your opinion quite clear on many occasions, Aunt.” A footman arrived in a rush, not the one from before. “Our guests are leaving, Ethan. Fetch their things.”

Lady Isabella stood, her green eyes flashing much like Sir Alexander’s. “This is the way you treat me? And you wonder that I…?”

“On the contrary, I don’t wonder at all. Allow me to see you out.” He herded his aunt toward the door. Edward followed with easy grace and an amused glance for Charlotte as he exited.

Lady Isabella’s voice drifted back from the stairs. “Do not expect me to help you…”

“I expect nothing,” Sir Alexander replied.

Frances rested her forehead in her hand. Charlotte considered trying to coax the cat down off the drapery, but decided that stillness was the best choice at the moment.

“She practically forced her way in,” said Frances when Sir Alexander stood in the doorway once more. “There was nothing I could do.” Callie hissed from above.

The master of the house turned back to the corridor and shouted, “Lizzy!” There was no doubt he was heard all the way to the top stories.

“It’s rather like Bedlam here, isn’t it?” popped out of Charlotte’s mouth.

Sir Alexander turned on her. “It is nothing of the kind!”

Lizzy rushed in, the ribbon sash of her gown dragging behind her, blue eyes sparkling. “Is she gone? I got rid of her, didn’t I?”

Sir Alexander stalked to the far corner of the room, seized a straight-backed chair, and carried it to the window where the cat perched. “Come here!” he said to his sister. It was the voice Charlotte had heard when he spoke to Holcombe, and Lizzy rushed to obey. He climbed onto the chair, heedless of his boots on the satin seat—the slender legs creaked a little—and without hesitation grasped Callie by the nape of her neck. For an instant, the cat relaxed. Sir Alexander plucked her from the curtain and thrust her down to Lizzy, who caught her in her arms. “Take that animal away and do not let me see it again.”

“What? Ever?”

“Do not test me just now, Lizzy! Do as I say!” He stepped down from the chair.

The girl goggled at him. “But, Alec, it was only…”

“Now!”

Lizzy looked scared. Clutching the cat, she ran out. Her feet pounded on the stair to the upper floors. Sir Alexander stood still, his back to the room, his fists closed; then, without another word, he strode from the room, his tread audible on the lower staircase. The room seemed curiously empty when he was gone.

Frances Cole dropped back onto the sofa and burst into tears.

As Charlotte went over to sit beside the weeping woman, it occurred to her that Sir Alexander Wylde thought he was in control of his household, his universe, but he wasn’t, not in the least. She patted Frances’s shoulder. Maybe he had been; his manner was certainly that of a man used to getting his way. But something was unraveling now. The threads were escaping from him, snapping like the warp of a broken loom. She only hoped she was present when he finally realized this.

“I b-beg your pardon,” Frances said on a gasp. “Please forgive me for this… this… I don’t know what’s come over me. What you must think of all of us!”

Not knowing what else to do, Charlotte patted her shoulder again. “Nothing bad. Not at all.”

The reassurance simply made Frances cry harder. “I believe Lizzy would love school,” she sobbed. “A good one, I mean. All those other girls to be friends with and… and m-match her high spirits. But she refuses even to c-consider leaving home.”

“She wishes to be with her family, I suppose.” Charlotte could certainly understand that.

“And this winter! It has been so difficult, nursing Anne… so worrisome. Lizzy needs a governess. She h-hasn’t enough to do, but she keeps chasing them off with her p-pranks. She n-never knew her mother, you know. I have done the best I can, but…” Tears overcame her.

“I’m sure you’ve done very well,” was all Charlotte could think to offer.

“James… their father was such a b-bulwark. To have him die so young! But he would go out in the w-worst weather. Sometimes I think he cared more about his wretched tenants than…” She gulped back the rest of this sentence.

“When did he die?” Charlotte wondered.

“F-four years ago. Things had been more trying since then, but only… Then when Anne could not shake off her cough…”

Frances sniffed, and Charlotte concluded that Anne’s father had died of a lung complaint. “It must have been frightening,” she said.

“H-horribly.” The older woman drew in a breath and visibly struggled for control. She pulled a handkerchief from a pocket in her gown. “What you must think of me!”

“I think you have been under a great strain.”

“Yes.” Frances sniffed, dabbed her eyes, then blew her nose. She nodded, as if unable to help emphasizing the fact to herself, but she did not meet Charlotte’s eyes. “I am feeling so old,” she added forlornly.

“You know,” Charlotte began, a thought forming. “I had a very good governess myself, as well as lessons with my father, and I enjoyed my studies. Particularly geography; I love maps. Perhaps I could spend some time with Lizzy, tell her what I remember.”

“Would you do that?” exclaimed Frances.

“I’d be happy to.”

“But… why?” Frances could not seem to imagine anyone wishing to take charge of Lizzy.

“I would be glad to have something to do,” Charlotte told her. She had felt singularly useless over the last year. “To repay you for your kindness in taking me in.”

“But you are not obliged to…”

“I know. It would be a pleasure.”

“Then of course I accept.” Frances clutched her hand like a lifeline. Charlotte would have felt flattered if she hadn’t suspected that any offer to amuse Lizzy would have been met with equal gratitude. How had one young girl reduced this cultured woman to such a state?

And so, a short while later, Charlotte went in search of Lizzy. She found the schoolroom without difficulty, a large comfortable chamber at the top of the house with dormer windows looking out over London rooftops. The fire was burning low, however, and there was no Lizzy and no cat. A moment’s thought sent her back down to Anne’s room, where she was cheerfully admitted. Lizzy hunched in an armchair by the hearth; a soft growl came from under the bed. Charlotte also noticed a bottle of the herbal mixture on a small table at Anne’s bedside. The ransacking had yielded quick success.

“Alec is really angry,” Lizzy said. “I’ve never seen him so angry.” It had the sound of a much-repeated litany.

“He’ll get over it,” Anne replied, as if she had said this quite often as well.

“He’s going to put Callie back out in the street,” the younger girl said.

“I don’t think he will, Lizzy.” Anne looked at Charlotte, shook her head very slightly.

“He hates her!”

“He doesn’t. He just… You know you should not have put her in the drawing room. You promised…”

“It was only to chase off Aunt Bella! I thought Alec would be glad. He doesn’t like her.”

“That is not precisely true, Lizzy.” Anne glanced at Charlotte again. “They have had some disagreements, but that does not mean that he…”

“And she is always trying to get me sent away,” Lizzy muttered. “I won’t go. No one can make me.”

The girl looked so anxious that Charlotte decided just to plunge in. “I was thinking, Lizzy, my… a friend of mine used to tell me wonderful stories about all the countries on the globe. My father did, too. I thought you might like to hear some of them.”

Her attempt at subtlety failed. “Lessons?” Lizzy made the word sound dire.

“How interesting,” said Anne. “May I come and hear, when I am better?”

Lizzy sat up straighter, surprised. “You don’t have to do lessons anymore.” She turned to Charlotte. “Anne is almost seventeen. Our aunt is to bring her out next year.”

“Lady Isabella?”

“Oh no,” said Lizzy. “Aunt Amelia, our mama’s sister. She is married to an earl!” She waited for Charlotte to be impressed, and Charlotte tried to look duly awed. “Mama named us for queens, you know. She was descended from… some Tudor or other. Not the one with all the wives!”

“Lizzy demonstrates her deep knowledge of history,” teased Anne.

“Oh, bother history. It’s deadly dull.” Lizzy pretended to yawn.

“Even with all the wives?” Charlotte wondered, and got a small smile. “So Lady Isabella is your father’s sister?” She remembered this but couldn’t quite contain her curiosity about the tension in the drawing room.

Lizzy nodded. “Alec doesn’t like her. She did something bad about my grandfather’s will.”

“Lizzy,” said Anne.

“Well, she did. Though I don’t know precisely what.” Clearly, the girl would have liked to know. “There’s no reason not to tell Charlotte. She’s our aunt, too.” Her mood seemed to be recovering rapidly.

“Shall we go and look at the globe in the schoolroom?” Charlotte suggested. “It seemed a very fine one.”

Briefly, Lizzy pouted. “Oh, all right. But I’m bringing Callie!”

“I’m sure she is fascinated by geography. Cats are extremely territorial.”

Lizzy giggled.

***

Walking into the kitchen with some things for the laundress, Lucy Bowman was transfixed by the sight of Ethan applying a cloth to his bare ankle. His white stocking lay crumpled on the floor beside his chair, exposing his leg to the knee.

He grinned when he saw her. “Cat bite turned a bit nasty,” he said. “Cook made me a poultice.”

Lucy removed her gaze from his leg. Of course he could have applied the remedy in his own room, as was proper, but he had to draw attention to himself and show his fine limb to all the world. What sort of man got bitten by a cat anyhow? The sort who kicked cats. Lucy ignored him, left the laundry in its basket, and went over to the worktable by the hearth. Cook and Agnes were deep in luncheon preparations. “Is there an apothecary shop nearby?” she asked. “Miss Charlotte was wanting some rosewater.”

“You should ask Jennings,” said the cook. “She knows where to get the best of that sort of thing.”

Lucy had been introduced to Miss Cole’s very superior dresser at the servant’s dinner table, and was deeply in awe of her. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to bother her.”

“There’s one two streets over,” said Ethan. “I’ve fetched plenty of things from there for the family.”

Lucy didn’t look at him. “Thank you.”

Cook scooped up a dollop of icing and began to frost the cake before her. Lucy’s mouth watered at the look of it. “So she went right up the curtain?” It sounded like a question the cook had asked before, and enjoyed hearing the answer.

“Dangling there like a Christmas ornament,” Ethan replied. “Hissing and spitting over everyone’s head.”

“The cat?” Lucy couldn’t help asking. Tales of Callie’s adventures had become a staple of the servants’ hall. “Was that the shouting earlier?”

“Sir Alexander was that angry,” Agnes answered. She seemed to relish the thought. “Now Susan says Miss Lizzy’s afraid he’ll throw the cat out of the house. And so he should. She’s like a wild beast, she is.”

“Ah, now, she’s mostly afraid, I expect,” said Ethan. “Likely people haven’t given her much reason to trust them, out there in the street.”

Surprised at this level of understanding, Lucy turned to him. He was putting his stocking back on. She blushed and turned away again. “I’ll just run over to the apothecary then. Won’t be a minute, if anybody’s looking for me.”

“I’ll go with you.” Ethan stood. He was so tall.

“There’s no need for you to…”

“You shouldn’t be out all alone in a strange part of town,” the cook declared. And that was that.

Once they’d fetched coats and hats and set off, Lucy had to admit it was nice to have an escort. On previous errands in the city, she had sometimes attracted unwanted attention; once, she’d been quite frightened. And no one to tell about it, of course; only Miss Charlotte, who had far too many worries already. Now she could observe the bustle of the street with interest instead of wariness.

“From the country, are you?” asked Ethan.

Lucy’s gaze fell to her feet. He might as well just say that she was gaping like a hayseed. “What if I am?”

“Ah, good for you. I’m country bred myself.”

“You are?” He looked so at home, walking along the city street, fine in his rich livery. But his nod seemed heartfelt. “I grew up in Hampshire. We lived there until last year when Miss Charlotte got married.”

“To Mr. Henry Wylde. Seems that was a bit odd, eh?”

Lucy put up her chin. She wouldn’t be gossiping about Miss Charlotte to anybody.

“I’m a Derbyshire man, myself. It’s my first time in London, as well. ’Course I’d heard a good deal about it from my family.”

“They’d been before?”

“Aye, with the old master as died a few years back. My dad’s head of the stables up at the estate. Ma was a nursery maid there before they married. Granddad used to be head gardener, before his joints got so bad.”

Lucy had heard of these families with generations of service. They were a kind of gentry below stairs. She was just a farm laborer’s daughter. The contrast kept her silent until they reached the shop.

Her business was quickly managed. Ethan joked with the apothecary’s assistant like an old friend, somehow bringing her into it until she felt like she knew him, too. When the parcel was made up, Ethan took it; then he opened the door for her. Lucy reminded herself to think nothing of it. She had no doubt he treated every female to his easy charm.

As they left the shop a heavy cart trundled by, barely missing their toes, the driver cursing at the top of his lungs. Ethan pulled her back into the doorway, holding on just a bit longer than strictly necessary. Before Lucy could object, a loud thump suggested the reason for the driver’s rage, and when they edged around the cart, they saw that it had collided with a sweeper’s barrow. Manure lay scattered over the cobblestones and the pavement opposite like a smelly carpet. The boy clutched his broom and cowered under the driver’s tongue-lashing. “Give over,” shouted Ethan in a voice that easily carried over the din.

The burly driver turned to glare at him. Standing in the cart, he towered over them.

“You hit him,” Ethan said.

“He was right in the bleedin’ way, warn’t he? Halfwit!”

The sweeper sniveled and wiped his nose with a dirty sleeve.

“And now he has all his work to do over again. Let him be.” Ethan showed no sign of fear under the driver’s scowl. He met it steadily, and after a moment the man growled another curse and slapped the reins of his huge team. The horses leaned in, and the cart slowly moved off. Ethan stepped over to the sweeper, nimbly avoiding the clumps of manure.

The boy ducked his head as if he expected a blow. Ethan pulled a small coin from his pocket and held it out. Wide-eyed, hardly daring to believe, the young sweeper took it and made it disappear into his ragged coat. “The big wagons can’t turn easily, you know,” Ethan told him. “You should take care when you see one of them coming.” Mouth hanging open, the boy nodded.

Ethan picked his way back to Lucy and led her around the mess as they headed toward the house. “I hate this great dirty place!” he exclaimed.

Lucy had a lump in her throat, moved by what he’d done. Nobody paid any attention to the boys who swept the streets. “All the noise and shoving,” she agreed.

“What sort of job is that for a lad?” he continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “Mucking out a stable is one thing. Doesn’t take you all day. And afterward, you can go out into the air. Maybe exercise the horses.” He was moving so fast that Lucy had to trot to keep up. “I can’t wait to be home again,” Ethan declared fiercely.

Lucy would have agreed with this, too, and just as fervently, if she’d had a country home to return to. Reminded that London was likely her fate, she said only, “Slow down, can’t you?”