Chapter 27
27
W hen Charity heard the knocker sound on the front door, she hastened down from the library, ready to greet Harry’s mother and sister for their luncheon. But as soon as she rounded the landing, she froze in place.
“I demand to see my sister immediately!” Andrew bellowed, shoving Willaby aside and storming into the entry.
She stepped into the light. “Calm yourself, Brother. I am here.”
“Calm?” Andrew demanded, his face growing beet red. “You ask me to calm myself after you not only lied to me—you lied to our mother!”
Charity motioned for Willaby to fetch her cloak while she descended the remaining stairs. “Since you are unable to control the volume of your voice, I suggest we step outside.”
Andrew glared, his nostrils flaring while the butler draped the cloak over her shoulders and offered her a parasol, which she took.
She gave her brother an evil-eye of her own and led the way out the door. “I did not willfully deceive you.”
“Not willfully? Someone forced you to lie?”
“Bless it, Andrew, neither you nor Mama would listen to me. Mrs. Fletcher had decided to cast out Martha Hatch, who is in the family way and has nowhere else to turn.” Andrew opened his mouth to speak, but Charity shook her umbrella under his nose, demanding silence. “She was the victim of a forceful man, and I’ll not have you pass judgment as to her character. The lass needs compassion. Furthermore, Mrs. Fletcher had decided Miss Jacoby was attending church too frequently and had started taking steps to cast her out as well.”
Andrew batted the parasol aside. “But I told you Martin’s steward would address the issues here.”
“Och, that makes all the sense in the world. The duchy has a brand-new steward and he has nearly a dozen properties to manage, not to mention the cotton mill you’re establishing with Philip! I tell you now, the issues with the housekeeper at Huntly isna at the top of his list.” Charity marched off along the front pathway. “And Martha’s circumstances are dire.”
Andrew remained at her elbow. “Leave it to Lady Charity MacGalloway. The only time in your life you act a wee bit deceitful and it is for the benefit of others.”
She gulped, turning her face away and taking a particular interest in the tight buds on the azaleas. True, she did have the lassies’ welfare in mind, but she also had another motive for coming to Brixham, and she needed to tell him. “I was planning to return to London before you ever kent I was gone. How did you find out I was here?” she asked, purchasing time while her heart raced. Andrew was already angry; he would split his seams when she told him she was married—in a barbaric ritual.
“Due to inclement weather in the north, my hunting expedition was cut short.”
“And then you paid a visit to the Marchioness of Northumberland?”
“Aye, except it was the marquis who divulged your whereabouts.”
Charity squeezed her fingers around her parasol’s handle. Sophie may have given her word not to tell a soul, but her husband was another matter.
“Bless it, Charity, our brother entrusted you and Mama into my care. This Season I am responsible for you, and no matter what the circumstances, you have a duty to behave like a proper lady.”
She walked on, keeping her gaze lowered. “I am aware of that.”
“Then why did you rush off to Brixham without even bringing along your lady’s maid? And how did you travel? Did you take one of those awful mail coaches?”
Heaven help her, this was the end. She could put off the inevitable no longer. Sighing and effecting the must unflappable expression she could muster, Charity stopped and faced her brother. “I actually rode a horse and happened to marry the Earl of Brixham along the way.” Oh, how quickly the words flowed from her mouth as if she’d opened a spigot.
Andrew’s mouth fell open, his eyes all but popping out of his head. “You did what ?” he bellowed, loudly enough to make every bird within three miles take to flight.
Unfortunately, just as Charity was about to answer the question, Brixham turned his horse and cart onto the drive. To her chagrin, his mother and Kitty were sitting beside him on the wagon’s bench, rather than inside the coach Gerrard had refurbished, mostly because said coach had ferried Charity home the day prior.
“Wait!” she shouted as her brother took off, sprinting across the lawn, darting straight toward Harry.
With no option but to follow, Charity lifted her skirts and dashed after him. “You dunna understand!”
Before Andrew reached the wagon, Harry stopped the horse and engaged the brake.
“You bloody bastard!” bellowed her brother, launching himself at the boxer, grabbing him by the lapels and yanking him to the ground. Andrew pounced just like he would have done with his elder brothers, swinging his fists and not giving a fig what he hit, as long as he was winning against his larger foe.
And bless it, all Harry did was parry away each and every strike as if he were swatting flies.
“I told you my sister was not for you, ye wretched, dung-eating swine!”
“Stop it this instant!” Charity shouted, to the gasps and cries of Mrs. Mansfield and Kitty. With all her strength, she pulled her brother by the collar of his great coat, receiving a backhand for her efforts and doing nothing to drag him off her husband.
Holy hellfire, rage shot through her blood with the velocity of a musket ball through a flintlock’s barrel.
“Enough!” she roared, whacking him over the back of the head with her parasol. As Andrew dropped forward, she swung the weapon upward, catching him in the nose. “You will calm your ire now, or I will thrash you to within an inch of your life!” she shouted, shaking her weapon, making the lace jiggle about.
As her brother fell to the side of Harry with blood streaming from his nostrils, she stood over him brandishing her parasol. “I mean it.”
Harry pushed himself up and moved beside her. “And if you ever strike my wife again, I’ll make you wish you’d never been born. Now, shall we move inside and discuss this like adults?” The boxer raised his fists. “Or would you care to go a round with me right now?”
Harry couldn’t help but feel sorry for Lord Andrew, who was now sitting in the great chair by the fire in the library, holding a white handkerchief to his nose. Fortunately, Miss Jacoby met them at the door and invited Kitty and Mama into the parlor for tea, whilst Harry and Charity faced her brother. This was in no way what he’d planned. At the shop, he had dipped into the jar he used for his mother’s treatments and had come up with enough coin to pay for Charity and him to travel to John O’Groats, the small seaside village near Stack Castle on the very northeast point of Scotland’s mainland.
Harry and Charity had opted to sit together on the settee across from His Lordship. But when she started to speak, Harry held up a palm. “Allow me.”
“When your sister first came to me and asked if I would accompany her to Brixham, I initially refused?—”
“You bloody bastard,” Andrew seethed.
Charity squirmed. “He did refuse. It was I who insisted.”
Harry again held up his palm. He didn’t want Charity to take the blame, not this time. “But it was I who agreed to accompany her?—”
“And it wasna until a herd of deer ran in front of us and I was thrown from my mount, that I convinced him that he loved me.” Beaming like a lady who’d just won a ribbon at the fair for making a superb rhubarb tart, Charity patted Harry’s hand. “But I have been in love with this man since the day I stepped into his shop?—”
“And I reckon you won my heart that very day as well, my dear.” Spurred by Charity’s bubbly nature, Harry grinned at the miserable lordling across the carpet. “We pledged our love to each other?—”
“And married in the Highland way,” Charity continued, her usual sultry voice quite high-pitched.
“I’ll bloody kill you myself,” said Andrew, pushing himself up and opening the drawers to the writing table. “Where the devil did the former earl keep his dueling pistols?”
“You will not kill anyone.” Charity smashed her parasol on the table. “Keep in mind, Brother, this time I am well and truly ruined, and the family cannot cover it up. Moreover, if you or Mama or Marty tries, I shall tell everyone in London that Harry is my husband by Highland rites.”
Andrew slammed the drawer closed. “You conniving imp! I never in all my days thought you capable of such cunning. I ought to lock you in your chamber and hold you there until Mama and Martin can be summoned, and given Martin’s heir is about to come into this world, I reckon they willna arrive for a very long time.”
Harry moved in front of Charity and glared at the damned lordling. “Except you will have to go through me afore you place a finger on my wife. Furthermore, the Countess of Brixham and I will be leaving for Scotland on the morrow, and once I have either been shot through the heart or I have earned the Duke of Dunscaby’s approval, we will be properly married in a Scottish church.”
Charity looped her arm through his and squeezed. “Quite right, dearest. I want a quiet family wedding where everyone is happy. I am happy, and if my family truly loves me, they ought to share in my happiness.”
Andrew tossed his kerchief onto the table and raked his fingers through his hair. “Good God, Martin will disown me.”
“I think not.” Charity opened the bottom drawer to the desk, where Harry truly hoped the dueling pistols were not hidden —if they existed. He’d need to consult with the manifest to be certain. But rather than pull out a heavy box, she retrieved a bottle of sherry and three long-stemmed glasses, and eyed her brother. “You had best write to Marty and let him know we are on our way.”
Andrew scowled. “I’ll tell you here and now, we will not be riding all that way cramped in some musty mail coach.”
“Nay, we will be riding in the earl’s recently refurbished carriage, if that meets with your approval, dearest.”
Harry glanced to Andrew and then back to Charity. He had already planned how he’d manage the journey. “We shall travel via mail coach.”
“The hell we will,” Andrew leaned forward on his knuckles. “I ken you’ve nary a farthing to your name. We shall travel under the Dunscaby name, but it will be the last time.”
“It damned well had better be.” Harry crossed his arms and glared. “I take care of my own. I may not have been born with the backing of a duke’s fortune, like you, but I have always taken care of my own.”
“Is that so? By fighting?” The corner of Andrew’s mouth ticked up as he slammed his fist into his palm. “You’d better be on your best behavior. No fights—at least none until we reach Stack Castle. Furthermore, throughout the duration of the journey, you will not lay a finger on my sister.”