Chapter 26
26
“ A re you sure you do not want me to accompany you inside?” Harry asked, his breath warm on Charity’s ear.
She glanced back to her horse, who was following on a lead line. In truth, the swelling in her wrist had gone down and she felt as though she could have managed the reins well enough, but it was awfully fun to ride double with Harry for a time. “I think it is best that I go in and sort out the messes caused by Mrs. Fletcher, and I dunna want Willaby to fret when he sees you. We’ve already notified him to expect you to come to call about the household effects.” She kissed his cheek. “Besides, I do not want them discovering we have taken our marital vows before I can tell my family.”
“If that is what you wish. But we can only remain here for a few days. I’m quite certain that no one in England will honor a Highland marriage, and I need to face His Grace sooner rather than later.”
“Aye, Husband.” She pressed against him, reveling in the feel of his chest against her back. “Leave me at the front door and take my mount to Gerrard for stabling.”
“What should I tell him…about us?”
“If he dares to question an earl, you can say I have come to address some issues at the manor. He doesna need to know if we rode all the way or if we took a mail coach.” Right before they turned onto the drive, Charity reached in front of Harry’s hands and gave the reins a tug. “Whoa.”
“Why are we stop?—?”
Not giving him a chance to finish the word, Charity twisted around and kissed him, threading her fingers through the thick hair at his nape. “I couldna say farewell without stealing a wee kiss.”
He chuckled and nibbled her ear. “I am looking forward to a time when none of our kisses are stolen.”
“Soon, my love,” she said, as Harry cued the horse into a trot and hastened through the drive. The trees that had been rich with green leaves last summer now stood with their limbs bare.
After a quick goodbye, Charity waited until Harry disappeared into the stables before she gave the enormous lion’s-head knocker a rap.
The butler answered, his thick eyebrows arching while she tapped her finger to her lips. “I’d like a word with you before anyone else kens I’m here.”
“Yes, m’lady,” he whispered. “There’s no one in the parlor at the moment.”
“Where is Muffin?” she asked, surprised and relieved that the dog didn’t make a ruckus when she knocked.
“Most likely in the kitchens. He feels it is his bounden duty to keep the floor clean.”
“I’m certain he does.”
“He even likes carrots, I’m told.”
“Truly?” she asked, anxious to see the wee fellow, but not yet. “Is Martha still here?”
“Yes, she’s packing her effects under the watchful eye of Mrs. Fletcher.”
“Then I’ve little time to waste.” Charity said as they stepped into the parlor. “First of all, the new Earl of Brixham is in town, and?—”
Willaby turned from the doors, frowning and making his jowls sag ever so much. “Oh dear, I feared he would come whilst Parliament was in recess for Easter.”
“He has, but I wanted to let you know that he doesna intend to haul out all the furnishings and put them up for auction.”
“No, and whyever not?”
“Because I asked him not to.” She decided not to tell the butler that Harry might be interested in smaller items that he’d be able to sell in London. This wasn’t the time.
“It was as easy as that?”
One of the parlor doors slid open, followed by a gasp. “Oh, my goodness, my lady,” said Mrs. Fletcher, her face horrorstruck, the duster in her hands trembling a bit. “I had no idea that you were coming.”
Charity stood a little taller and faced the woman. She would have preferred to see Martha first, but a few moments wouldn’t matter. “Willaby, would you be so kind as to leave us and summon Dr. Miller?”
“Straightaway, my lady.”
The butler had a bit of a skip to his step as he left them, careful to close the double doors.
“I am ever so surprised to see you here. How are things progressing with the marriage mart?”
“My marriage prospects are none of your concern. However, I am very concerned with your blatant lack of regard for my wishes.”
“My lady, you cannot tell me that you want that Jezebel sleeping under this roof after she has demeaned herself.”
“You are quite mistaken, I do want to say that, and I do want to hear her story. That woman presently packing her things has nowhere to turn.”
Mrs. Fletcher sliced her duster through the air. “Well, she should have thought of that before she ended up in her condition.”
“Mayhap she should have, but my instructions were to be compassionate and help her through this difficult time. Never once did I indicate that I supported callously throwing her out on her ear. You appointed yourself judge and jury, and acted against my wishes.”
Mrs. Fletcher spread her arms, her expression utterly incredulous. “I, for one, do not care to sleep under the same roof as a fallen woman.”
“Aye, and that’s why you will be leaving Huntly Manor. I will give you favorable references and two months’ wages, but I want you to leave this house at first light on the morrow.”
Mrs. Fletcher’s mouth dropped wide while her face grew apple red. “You are taking the side of a harlot! How can you do this to me?”
“To you? This is a safe haven where women can turn when they have no other place to go. As you did, Mrs. Fletcher,” Charity replied, gripping her hands in front of her midriff and standing ramrod straight. She still needed to speak to Martha, but she had made her decision as far as the housekeeper went, and she would not back down. “Before you can do any further damage here, I ask you to leave.”
“But—”
“You may go pack your things.”
“Well, I’ve never been so insulted in all my days!” The woman shook her finger. “I will write to your brother the duke this very day and tell him how deplorably I have been treated.”
After Agnes stormed out of the parlor, leaving the door ajar, Charity stood for a moment, wringing her hands while her entire body shook. There was no doubt that she had done the right thing, but this was the first time she’d ever given anyone the sack, and the act of it was truly awful.
Once her tremors had subsided, Charity took a few deep breaths and made her way upstairs and knocked on Martha’s door. “May I come in?”
As the door slowly opened, she beheld the woeful picture of a miserable woman whose eyes were puffy and red, her belly swollen beneath the ribbon tied just beneath her breasts. Behind her, a valise sat on the bed.
“My lady.” Martha curtsied. “I’m ever so surprised to see you here.”
“Come,” Charity said, taking Martha’s hand and leading her to the settee. “Let us sit down. Once and for all, you must tell me the truth about where you came from, and who fathered your child.”
“I have nowhere to turn,” cried the lass as she plopped onto the couch.
“No you havena,” Charity agreed. “I understand you were the lady’s maid to the Baroness of Abergavenny. Is that true?”
“Ayyyyyeeee,” Martha bawled, blowing her nose and wiping her eyes.
It took a great deal of time to wait for the lass to calm herself enough to explain, but it came as no surprise to discover that Martha had been wooed by the Baroness’s son. At first she’d been wildly in love, but when she refused to raise her skirts, the lout had forced her, only to be caught by Her Ladyship. Martha received no pay at all, and was cast out immediately. She hadn’t planned to take Muffin, but the dog followed her out the gates, barking and biting her skirts, tearing the hem as she walked. No matter how much she scolded the rascal and shooed him away, he continued to follow. In the end, since she was unable to return to the estate, she picked him up and tucked him under her arm.
Charity sat for a time after hearing Martha’s story, trying to imagine what her mother would have done in her stead. Many, many ladies would have sided with Mrs. Fletcher, but Charity could never agree with a one of them, and in her heart she knew her mother would feel the same. Martha had been a victim. She had been misled and then abused. And in truth, her situation wasn’t all that unusual.
Reaching over, Charity grasped the woman’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I am not certain how long I will be the lady of this house, but I will do everything in my power to see to it that you have a place to raise your bairn. Willaby has sent for Dr. Miller, and he will give you an examination to ensure you and your unborn child are in good health. And when the good doctor comes, please do tell him your husband has died and you had nowhere else to turn.”
A flicker of hope sparkled in Martha’s red eyes. “Do you mean I can stay?”
“I do.” Charity would have liked to promise more, but her own situation was precarious at best.
With one more chat to have, she left Martha’s chamber and started down the corridor, when the familiar sound of toenails clicking up the servants’ stairs stopped her.
“Arf!” Muffin barked as he saw her.
“There you are, my sweeting!” Charity clapped her hands and bent down, while the dog dashed over the carpet runner and leapt into her arms. She laughed and laughed, shifting her head from side to side, trying to avoid Muffin’s sloppy tongue. “I’ve missed you ever so much.”
The little dog gleefully yelped and squirmed until she put him down. Then he took off down the corridor, running back and forth until he collided into her skirts. Still laughing, she smoothed her hand over his thick coat. “Perhaps you missed me as much as I missed you.” She bent down and whispered, “And I hope we’ll be together again verra soon.”
Muffin remained at her side while she searched for Sara, eventually finding her in the library, curled in a chair and reading a book. “I’m surprised to see that you’re not in your chamber packing your things.”
The lass sniffed and wiped her eyes. “I haven’t much to pack.”
Charity slid into the adjacent seat while Muffin scooted against her leg. “Well, then, dunna bother.”
“I beg your pardon? I don’t understand.”
“Well, I, for one, see nothing wrong with a woman who wants to attend church three times per week.” Grinning Charity leaned in. “Especially if the vicar gives riveting sermons.”
Sara covered her snort with delicate fingers. “My heavens, I must admit his sermons are rather tedious, but his singing voice is quite pleasant.”
“And what about his intentions? Has he made any indication that he’s considering a proposal of marriage?”
“Not exactly. But…”
“Hmm?”
“We usually go for a stroll after services or he takes me for a ride in his curricle.”
“And your conversation? Is it engaging?”
“Yes, I believe so.” Sara smoothed her hand over the cover of her book. “He always asks me to join him. I would think if he didn’t enjoy my company, he would not extend an invitation.”
“Well then, with your permission, I’d like to have a wee word with the vicar on the morrow.”
“About me?”
“Aye. Since you havena father to speak on your behalf, given walks and curricle rides, I do believe it is time someone inquired as to his intentions.”
“Oh, no.” Shaking her head, Sara hid her face in her hands. “I’d be mortified. I’d never be able to look him in the eye.”
Charity placed a gentle hand on the lassie’s elbow. “I shall leave you with this thought. Our dear vicar can have but two responses. One, he is toying with you, and if that is the case, you most definitely should never look his way again. Otherwise, and the more likely, he is madly in love with you and hasna been able to work up the courage to ask for your hand.”
A not-so-terribly-shiny black carriage with the emblem of the Earl of Brixham on its door rolled to a stop outside the butcher shop.
“I thought you didn’t have a farthing to your name,” said Ricky stepping beside him.
“I don’t, though it appears one of my carriages is actually in working order.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “I hesitate to venture what the interior must look like.”
When the door opened and the footman assisted Charity to alight, Harry stood rooted to the floor—his heart taking to flight. He’d nearly convinced himself their last night at the inn had been a dream. “That woman is astounding.”
Ricky clapped him on the back. “Go on, ye big oaf. I’ll take care of things here.”
In a blink, Harry hastened outside, his grin stretching his face. “What is this?”
Charity gestured up to the driver. “After Gerrard heard there was a new Earl of Brixham, he set to repairing the nicest of the old carriages.” She nodded to the footman who opened the door. “And he started with the interior. New upholstery and curtains, as well as new brakes and wheels.”
Harry popped his head inside and ran his fingers over the ivory leather seat. “This is wonderful.”
“And it is yours to do with as you wish.” She held up a gold ring with the seal of the Earl of Brixham. “As is this.”
“My,” he said, taking the ring and sliding it onto his little finger, then holding his hand up and examining the Brixham crest. “Where did you find it?”
“In the earl’s bedchamber.”
“Former bedchamber.” He took her hand and kissed it. “How is your wrist, my dear?”
“A wee bit stiff, but not ailing me badly enough to complain.” She clenched the injured wrist to her midriff, and he reckoned she was in more pain than she had let on. “How are Kitty and your mother?”
“Well, I suppose. Unchanged mostly. Ricky has done a fine job with the shop, and he has brought in a few new accounts.” Harry chuckled. “He’d like to run a few head of sheep on his land and bring his family to town. The only problem is he wants to move into the rooms above the shop.”
Charity looked at him with a calculating glint in her eyes. “And why not?”
“Why not?” Harry glanced up to the second-story window. “Because Ma and Kitty live there, as do I when I’m not in London—and you along with me, if your brother doesn’t see fit to shoot me first.”
The woman’s glint sparkled all the more. “Mayhap you ought to move them into Huntly.”
“I beg your pardon? Have you forgotten that Huntly no longer belongs to the Earl of Brixham?”
“Nay…” She swayed, twisting her shoulders a bit. “But what if we were to purchase it with my dower funds?”
Harry grasped those saucy shoulders and held her firm. They may have pledged marriage to each other in an ancient Highland ritual, but that didn’t mean her family would release her dower funds to him. “Are you not putting the cart before the horse?”
“Mayhap a little.” Charity giggled and twirled out from under his hands. “But at the moment I am feeling rather liberated after sending Mrs. Fletcher on her way, and confronting the vicar this morn—who, by the by, promised to propose marriage to Miss Jacoby this verra day. I truly love Huntly Manor, and I dunna reckon I want to leave the house in the hands of anyone else, and there’s plenty of room. We could still take in boarders, whilst reserving the earl’s wing for ourselves. Besides, the rooms above the butcher shop are nay suitable for the mother and sister of an earl.”
Harry eyed her—she was awfully optimistic, given her family was not yet aware of any of this. “What about the wife of an earl? What if above the shop is the only place we can live?”
She curtsied. “Then, m’lord, I would be content to live anywhere as long as I am with you.”
Harry liked the sound of that, but he still could think of dozens of reasons her plan mightn’t work. “Perhaps we can make plans after I ask your brother for your hand.”
“I figured you’d say that.” Charity twirled along the footpath. “Which is why I reckon we ought to take this carriage and hasten to Stack Castle.”
That was a wonderful idea, except for one problem. It took money to take carriages all the way to the north of Scotland. Even if the driver’s wages were paid, Harry still had to provide room and board for everyone, including the horses—and he’d already spent most of his coin on the journey to Brixham. “We cannot take the carriage to Scotland.”
“Whyever not?”
“Must I say it?’ He raked his fingers through his hair. “I am not a wealthy man. We’ll need to change, stable, and feed horses, stay in inns, feed ourselves…”
She opened her reticule and held it so that he could look inside—at more silver coins than he’d ever seen in one place. “I told you I’ve been saving my pin money for ages.”
“Yes, but?—”
“If you’ll recall, you married me last eve. And in England the law is that the woman’s property becomes her husband’s property when she marries. This coin is yours.”
“No.” Harry pulled the ties of her reticule closed. Taking her money wasn’t right, no matter if they were married or not. “It is yours and will always be yours. I will figure out a way to travel to Stack Castle and face your brother, I swear it. But I’ll not allow you to pay.”
Charity dropped her hands to her sides, her smile fading. “And what about Huntly Manor?”
“What about it?”
“Do you like the estate?”
“Of course, I like it. You’ve seen where I’ve lived my entire life. Huntly exceeds anything I’ve ever imagined. But I am not convinced that your family will allow us to live there.” He looked to the footman who stood by, pretending not to hang on their every word, as was the driver in his seat above. Groaning, Harry pulled her inside the shop and wrapped her in his arms. “Please try to understand, love. We must take things one step at a time. If I were to move my mother and Kitty into the house now, before we have your brother’s blessing, they would be devastated if things didn’t turn out as rosy as you’ve painted them.”
Rather than argue, she smiled and cupped his cheek. “You make verra good points. I just want everything to turn out rosy, and I hate waiting. But you are right, it wouldna be fair to Kitty and your mother to move them into the manor before Marty agrees.” She rose on her toes and gave him a kiss. “Have you told them that we’ve taken the Highland vows?”
Before replying, Harry captured her mouth and showed her exactly how committed he was to this woman. She sighed as he whispered a trail of kisses along her jaw and to her ear. “I’ve told me Ma and Kitty that I’ve asked you to marry me and aim to seek His Grace’s approval, lest the news find its way to Stack Castle afore we arrive. Besides, I didn’t feel it appropriate to announce that I’ve bedded you in a barbaric ritual and that you are now mine.”
“I beg your pardon?” She giggled. “I quite enjoyed the barbaric ritual, mind you.”