Chapter Seventeen
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHARLOTTE HAD TO know. She was Patience’s lady’s maid, and she would be attending her. She would come along to Kent, to visit her brother. But Patience didn’t want to tell her, because it was all very dreadful.
So, then, she didn’t.
She told Charlotte that they were going to visit her brother, and Charlotte didn’t seem to care much about that, only wishing to revisit the conversation they’d been having last night.
“I don’t want you to get some impression that I don’t trust you, my lady,” said Charlotte. “I was trying to say the exact opposite, in fact, that I do trust you. I don’t know if I made that plain.”
Patience could hardly even remember what they’d spoken of now. It seemed a thousand years ago. “I don’t worry about that, Charlotte.”
“Well, I thought you might counter that you have trusted me with all manner of your secrets, but I wish to point out that it is not the same, because we are not equal—”
“What do you mean by that?” said Patience, tilting her head to one side. “I don’t think of you as lesser than me, Charlotte.”
“I mean, our statuses, in society, they are different. By virtue of the fact that you are my employer, there is simply less risk in your confiding in me.”
“Now, that’s not true,” said Patience, shaking her head. “Servants’ gossip is quite a danger to me.”
“Danger to what?” said Charlotte.
“To everything,” said Patience.
“To your reputation, perhaps,” said Charlotte. “Which means that you would have no one to associate with, I suppose, but you’re already isolated, so I don’t see how it would matter. And if I told your secrets and you found out, you could destroy me. You could dismiss me without a reference. You could make it nearly impossible for me to get another job, and I might end up on the streets.”
“I would never do that,” said Patience.
“I know you wouldn’t,” said Charlotte. “I am only saying that you could. And this is why you don’t trust men, do you see? It’s similar. They have the capacity to rob you of your wealth and your means to survive. But I am telling you that I have trusted you, and that you might need to simply trust someone, even if he has that sort of power over you. I think you do wish to get married.”
Patience sputtered.
“Oh, this is not my place,” said Charlotte, sighing, touching her forehead. “I have become far too free with you—”
“I do not wish to get married, no matter what it is that you wish. I know that your marriage was different than my marriage, so perhaps you are hopeful about such things. However, I cannot be!”
“I am only thinking that it is no kind of life, running away from even the slightest hint of danger, that is all. You may end up perfectly safe, but you may not have anything to live for. You have never been in love, my lady. You can’t live a life without ever knowing what that is.”
Patience bowed her head.
“And I’m not saying that you should be in love with the Duke of Nothshire, of course. He sounds like a very bad choice. I don’t know. Perhaps it’s good if we are going to your brother’s house. We can get you away from that man. Absence is likely just the thing.”
Patience cringed inwardly. She should tell Charlotte that Nothshire would be there.
She didn’t.
“CHAMPERAIGNE,” SAID NOTHSHIRE , stepping into his sitting room. It was early morning still. He had just arrived back from sneaking out of the viscountess’s house. Upon entering his own house, he’d been informed that he had a visitor waiting for him.
If it had been anyone else, they’d have been turned away, but Nothshire had told his servants not to do that with Champeraigne. It didn’t do to insult the man who was blackmailing you, after all.
“Good morning,” said Champeraigne. “Have you come to your senses, then, and decided to do my little job?”
Nothshire groaned, sitting down. “I didn’t send you word,” he said, sighing. “That slipped my mind somehow. Have you already told anyone anything?”
“So, you have come to your senses?”
“It was decided last night,” said Nothshire. “I spoke to the others. We are already working on a plan. Penbrake is in Kent, at Lilsbil’s End, the Hawthorne estate. We are going to Dunrose’s nearby house, and I have someone who is within the house who will allow me to come and call upon her.”
“Oh, so resourceful,” said Champeraigne. “I should really delegate more to the four of you, shouldn’t I? What couldn’t the Lords of the Crossroads undertake?”
“We’re not the Lords of the Crossroads anymore,” he muttered.
“Lilsbil’s End,” said Champeraigne, nodding. “Hmm. That seems fortuitous. I could make arrangements to be there myself, I think. Then you can bring Penbrake to me.”
“Where will you be?”
“I don’t know yet. I have acquaintances, friends, the like, with whom I can stay. Let me find that myself. You’ll be at Dunrose’s, and I shall send word there. We shall determine our next move. Tell Arthford, if you please, that if he attempts to deal with Penbrake himself, I shan’t like it.”
“He thought you might want him to stand in for you in a duel.”
Champeraigne laughed. “A duel. Just like Arthford to think in that way. No. Do not assume that you know what I am after.”
“This isn’t justice for something that Penbrake did to your mistress, then?”
“The marchioness is quite capable of taking care of herself,” said Champeraigne.
“Yes, I should have realized you’d never be interested in justice.”
“The world is not just, Nothshire. Perhaps you hadn’t noticed.”
NOTHSHIRE STOOD IN the warm spring air outside the carriage, gazing off into the distance. This was the fourth time they’d stopped the carriage for Dunrose to vomit.
Arthford was puffing on his pipe and handing it off to Rutchester here and there as the three of them stood in companionable silence. The only sound was Dunrose’s retching. He was on all fours in a ditch, moaning here and there.
There would have been a time when one of them, maybe all of them, would have been more compassionate toward Dunrose, but they were all past that at this point. There was nothing to be done. They’d tried everything with him. They’d tried being nice. They’d tried being cruel. Dunrose was committed to destroying himself, however, and this was simply something they all accepted at this point.
Dunrose rocked back onto his knees, pumping a fist into the air. “Better!” he declared.
“When did he stop drinking, do you reckon?” said Arthford around his pipe.
“Two hours ago,” Dunrose returned, getting to his feet. He wiped at his mouth, giving them all a devilish grin. “And I wish I’d brought something for the road.”
“No,” they all said, more or less in unison.
Dunrose snickered. He half-walked, half-staggered back toward the carriage, feeling around inside his jacket until he came out with his snuff tin. He snorted a bit of that, wiped his nose, wiped his mouth again and then beckoned for Arthford’s pipe.
“I’m not letting you put your mouth on this,” said Arthford dryly.
Dunrose lifted a shoulder. “Oh, fine,” he said and got into the carriage.
Nothshire followed him, as did Rutchester.
Arthford stayed out there, puffing away.
“Oh, just bring it into the carriage,” muttered Nothshire.
“No, no,” said Arthford. “Dunrose says it turns his stomach.”
“My stomach’s fine now,” said Dunrose, yawning as he scrunched into the corner of the carriage.
Arthford dumped out the pipe anyway before climbing inside.
“At this rate, we’ll be getting there in three weeks,” said Nothshire, shutting the door. He called for the carriage to take off again.
“Is she there yet?” said Arthford.
“Who?” said Rutchester.
“Oh, you didn’t explain this?” said Arthford to Nothshire.
Nothshire had, in fact, told none of them anything. He wasn’t sure that Arthford was going to take well to the mysterious nature of Champeraigne’s interest in Penbrake. And he didn’t know how to talk about whatever had passed between himself and the Viscountess of Balley.
He didn’t know if he rightly should talk about it. It seemed very private and nearly sacred, something that belonged to only the two of them. Talking about it might cheapen it somehow, he thought.
It had never been like that with him and a woman.
Admittedly, he hadn’t had a lot of experiences, and most of them had been with women he’d either paid or had only been with him because they were getting something out of it. There had been nights wherein he was carousing and women were along because they wanted to partake in the drink or the celebratory atmosphere or even because they were looking for some roof over their head for the evening. He’d been younger, then.
All of the experiences had been sort of painfully awkward. He had the idea that he was supposed to take charge of it, so he had, as much as he’d been able. He’d almost always been drunk. But he couldn’t ever shake the idea that the woman in question didn’t really like it, that he’d been sort of imposing himself on her in some way, and that she was only doing it for him, that she would have been just as happy not to deal with his prodding prick under her skirts.
Generally, he sort of tried to get it over with as quickly as possible.
With the viscountess… Patience, he thought reverently. He could likely call her by her first name, couldn’t he? Now, that intimacy would be very appropriate. He thought of her calling him Benedict, and he got an embarrassing cockstand out of nowhere.
Hell and damnation, what was this woman doing to him?
With her, she’d wanted him to hold back, stave off his pleasure, because she was enjoying him that much. He’d never seen a woman have an orgasm until her. He’d thought he had, but he’d realized, when he felt her twitching against his leg that night in the inn, that every single one of them had been feigned by women who had likely simply been trying to speed him along, get the entire business over with.
Nothing in the world had ever compared to that sensation, riding the edge of his pleasure like a jagged thing, something that wanted to overwhelm him, something that he kept in just for her. Staring into her eyes, watching her own pleasure cloud her expression, knowing he was responsible for making her feel that way, it had been a heady thing, something too wondrous for words.
He could not wait to see her again. Not just because he wanted to be back between her thighs, either, because he did. But because he liked the feeling he’d had with her, the feeling of being wanted, of bringing pleasure to someone. He’d never felt it before. It was the best thing he’d ever felt.
“Our way into the Hawthorne household is through the Viscountess Balley,” Nothshire told the carriage. “Penbrake is staying with her brother. She will be visiting her brother as well. I am going to call upon her. We can all go, I suppose, though why I’m bringing you courting with me, I don’t know.”
“You’re courting her,” said Rutchester, looking him over. “So, that is what you’re after, in the end. Are you going to marry her?”
Nothshire deflated, including his embarrassing cockstand. He wanted to marry her, but he didn’t suppose that was a good idea, considering that he would not be good for her, not in any way. Bringing her into the circle of his life was only endangering her, making her life worse. But perhaps it was inevitable at this point. He’d likely kill anyone else who came near her, his code be damned.
She was his.
That was all.
“He’s made some bargain with her because she wants a child,” said Arthford. “It’s convoluted, truly, but Nothshire is reliably making it extremely convoluted.”
“It’s not a bargain anymore,” said Nothshire hotly, because suddenly, he wanted it known that this woman just wanted him around, just liked his prick inside her, just gazed at him and accepted him in a way that made him feel more like a man than anything he’d ever done in his damned life. And then, of course, he knew he couldn’t say that out loud, because it made him sound pathetic and needy in some other way.
“What?” said Arthford, grinning at him. “What happened, Nothshire?”
“Never mind,” said Nothshire. “I don’t wish to talk about this. There are some things that are simply not the affairs of others.”
“But it’s us ,” said Dunrose, sitting up. “I would tell you anything about me, anything at all.”
“We know this, Dunrose,” said Arthford. He grinned at the others in the carriage slyly. “Well, when I left Nothshire, he was in the midst of making some plan to talk his way into her bed, and I assume he did exactly that and then… what?”
Nothshire decided to change the subject. “I spoke to Champeraigne, and he says he is going to come to Kent, and he will send word to Dunrose’s about where he is staying. He seems to think he’ll dictate to us what we are to do next.”
“I thought we were going to drag him out of there kicking and screaming,” said Rutchester.
“No need for an elaborate ruse to get into the house where he’s staying if so,” said Nothshire.
“But Champeraigne wishes to duel him or something, yes?” said Arthford.
“He said it definitely wasn’t a duel,” said Nothshire, remembering that he hadn’t wanted to bring this up. Damn everything to hell.
“No?” said Arthford.
Nothshire sighed. “Perhaps we might travel in silence.”
“What else did he say?” said Arthford.
“He said that you shouldn’t hurt Penbrake,” said Nothshire.
“But this is about Seraphine.”
“I don’t know if it is,” said Nothshire. “He says that the marchioness can take care of herself.”
Arthford said nothing. He didn’t outwardly react. He was quiet and still, and Nothshire wasn’t sure he liked that, necessarily.
“Go back to the part where you wormed your way into the viscountess’s bed,” said Dunrose, smiling lazily. “What did her bosom look like? Does she have very large nipples or those tiny, little pink ones?”
Nothshire reached across the carriage and hit him on the back of his head.
“Ouch,” said Dunrose, glaring at him.
“Oh, then,” said Arthford in a soft, assessing voice. “Our Nothshire is growing up, is he?”
“What do you mean?” said Rutchester, furrowing his brow.
Arthford gave him a look, and Nothshire looked away.
“Nothshire,” said Arthford, “if it was her, if it was your viscountess that had been ravaged—”
“We can’t cross Champeraigne,” said Nothshire.
“But if it were, you wouldn’t care, would you?” said Arthford.
“This isn’t the same thing,” said Nothshire. “Your marchioness is not even your marchioness. She is married to another man and it is his business to see to her protection, not yours.”
“Married to another man and fucking half of London,” said Rutchester pointedly.
Arthford looked sidelong at Rutchester. “I thought you would be on my side in this. I thought you’d be quite pleased to have a chance to cut him to ribbons.”
“If you all want all these people dead so badly, you might think about actually doing it yourselves,” said Rutchester. “I don’t actually enjoy murdering people.”
They all just looked at him.
“I don’t,” said Rutchester. He nodded at Arthford. “You always travel with a book, don’t you? Or five, since you can’t decide which one you might wish to read? Give me one of them.”
Arthford opened up his travel bag. “Help yourself.”
Dunrose shrugged. “I don’t see what the obsession is with having a woman all to yourself, anyway. Frightful amount of responsibility if you ask me.” He yawned again, and then shut his eyes. “I think I’d like a nap.”
Rutchester pointedly opened a book.
Arthford looked out the window.
The rest of the journey passed with little conversation.