Chapter 22
22
I f there was one thing Lady Charity MacGalloway could do, it was to make Harry feel guilty. Or was it that she could take every rational thought he had ever conjured and turn it into a mayhem of absurdity?
As he was introduced into the parlor of a wealthy American, he wondered what the devil he was doing there—in Mayfair of all places, and only a few streets away from the Dunscaby town house.
The room was overcrowded with liveried footmen carrying silver trays, offering glasses of ratafia along with plates of sweet cakes. It all seemed rather English—rather highbrow English, if you asked Harry.
“I understand you have recently ascended into the realm of the English nobility, my lord,” said Mrs. Collins who had a gratingly broad accent, and who had been introduced as one of the mothers of the performers.
“Indeed,” Harry admitted. “I was happy in the seaside village of Brixham, laboring as a butcher, afore I discovered I’d inherited an earldom and asked to take my seat in the House of Lords.”
“Imagine that, an earl,” she said, her eyes glazing a bit.
Harry took a glass of ratafia and sipped his first—and hopefully his last—sampling of this exceedingly sweet liquor. He gave Mrs. Collins a polite bow and went on to mingle, discovering nearly three-quarters of the people in attendance were either family or good friends of the young performers.
After three-quarters of an hour of chitchat, they were ushered up the stairs to a much larger drawing room, with a pianoforte at one end facing rows of chairs. Harry took a seat in the last row near the door in order to make a hasty exit.
He might need to marry an heiress, but he didn’t need to marry today. And dash Lord Andrew, he wasn’t the Lord High Mucky-muck over Harry’s potential nuptials. If he chose to fight to earn the coin he needed to keep his family afloat, it was none of His Lordship’s concern. Hell, when it came right down to it, Harry was a peer, and Dunscaby’s brother was not, and he ought to tell Andrew MacGalloway exactly what he thought of being thrown to the wolves, while said spoiled lordling went off to hunt with his mates from university.
Did Lord Andrew have any idea how fortunate he was to have gone to university? To have a brother who cared enough to establish a thriving industry for his siblings? And the financial prowess to do so? Good Lord, the Duke of Dunscaby had not only financed the mill run by Andrew and his twin brother, Philip, he had purchased a sea-going ship to captain for Lord Gibb, the second MacGalloway son. How nice to be so unimaginably wealthy.
As the matron of the house addressed the crowd and thanked them for their attendance, someone slid into the seat beside him, her scent entirely familiar, as it had been last evening—a bit of rose, a bit of lavender, and a bit of woman.
“Once again I did not finish what I had to say when you removed your person from my presence. I say, I’m beginning to think you do not like me, m’lord,” Lady Charity whispered behind her fan.
Though he would have preferred to keep his expression aloof, Harry couldn’t fight the grin spreading across his lips while one of the heiresses began to sing an aria. “My, you are unbelievably resourceful, my lady. I did not realize you had received an invitation to this little recital.”
“I may have not, but Andrew did. In giving his apologies, I came in his stead.”
Harry cringed at the dissonance from a sour note. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.”
“You are?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Shh,” shushed the lady sitting in front of them.
Her Ladyship nudged him with her elbow, mouthing, “ Why ?”
Harry held a finger to his lips, earning a huff from Lady Charity who crossed her arms and reverted her attention to the soloist, who managed the rest of the piece without another faux pas.
“Why?” Charity asked again during the applause.
“Where is your escort?” he asked, avoiding her query while glancing behind them.
“Lady Northampton opted to remain in her carriage—she had quite a late night, I’ll have you know. ’Tis a wonder she agreed to come at all.”
“I can only imagine the argument.”
“I’m not about to nip at your bait, sir. You havena answered my question.”
Before he could appease the woman, the next heiress stepped up to the pianoforte. She had been introduced as the second sister, but she sang with the bell-like quality of a lark. She was of average height with brown hair and a rosy complexion. True, her beauty could not hold a candle to the woman presently seated beside Harry, but if he had no choice but to settle, the second daughter might be an option, though the eldest daughter would need the first proposal.
Which gave Harry time…
At the end of the second daughter’s performance, Charity said not a word. Rather, she looked to him expectantly.
Careful not to smile, he regarded her out of the corner of his eye. “Tomorrow I shall be traveling to Brixham.”
Her Ladyship clapped her hands together and nearly sprang out of her chair. “ With me? ” she mouthed.
He gave a single nod and inclined his lips toward her ear, whispering, “Dawn, behind the Northampton mews. We’ll be riding with haste—changing horses, mind you. Now leave me to my heiresses,” he added for good measure. Her brother, the duke, had already ripped his heart out once. It was best not to set himself up for yet another disappointment.
She grasped his arm and squeezed, making tingles skitter across his skin, making him wish he could forget the damned crowd and pull her onto his lap and devour those pouty lips of hers.
But he had been warned. And she had been warned. And he wasn’t so daft as to think by some miracle they just might have a future together.
“I am only going along with this because I know how important it is for Huntly Manor to be a safe haven for ladies. Also, I am well aware that Her Grace, my dearest friend Julia, trusts you implicitly. But all that said, I must ask if you are certain that you want to go through with this?” Sophia Hastings, the Marchioness of Northampton fingered the rough weave of Charity’s old riding habit. “You might be dressed like a commoner but you have no idea what it is like to be one.”
Already sitting her mount at the rear of the mews, Charity looked to her clothes and then behind to the satchel tied to her saddle. Normally she travelled with at least two trunks full of clothing and necessities, but even a valise was too much when traveling on horseback. “How difficult can it be?”
“You’ll have to do without your lady’s maid.”
“I think I can manage that for a few days.”
“Very well, but you must promise me that you will exercise care at all times.”
“Of course, I will, I always do.”
“I understand. Keep at the forefront of your mind, however, that even though the Earl of Brixham may be the greatest hero England has ever seen, as you’ve so enthusiastically insisted, he is still a man. Regardless if you are traveling in disguise, you will be vulnerable—especially when the two of you are alone. You and only you can protect your virtue, as well as prevent a scandal.”
Charity combed her horse’s mane through her fingers. “I ken, and I promise to be careful. I certainly do not intend to force the man to the altar.”
“Very well. I will keep your secret, but you’ll only have a few days in Brixham before you must return. You cannot tarry, else Lord Andrew will return before you, and he’ll be livid if you are not here.”
“I promise. I’ll go down and sort out the problems at the manor, whilst doing my best to make His Lordship realize that he cannot marry an American heiress.”
Sophie patted the horse’s neck. “Absolutely not.”
Charity leaned down and lowered her voice. “I reckon a Scottish heiress is far more to his liking.”
“I do hope so. And by the way he searched for you at the masquerade, I believe it shan’t take long for him to realize what his heart is trying to tell him. Though men are awfully dim-witted when it comes to matters of the heart.”
“I’ll say! Marty was the same after he’d fallen in love with Julia. Everyone seemed to ken his heart except for him, the bear.”
Hoofbeats tapped the cobblestones, growing louder.
“Ah, my Lord Brixham,” said Sophia, giving Harry a regal smile as he reined his horse to a stop. “I understand you are to accompany my dear Lady Charity to Huntly Manor, so that she may address the concerns of her boarders whilst her brother remains in the north of Scotland.”
Harry’s gaze warily shifted between the two women as he gave a curt nod. “Agreed. I’ve a need to check into my shop as well as my family.”
“And I have your word that you will act as a gentleman at all times and respect Her Ladyship’s virtue?”
“His Lordship has always respected my virtue,” said Charity.
Sophia eyed her. “I was speaking to Brixham.”
“Yes, my lady,” replied Harry. “Lady Charity is as precious to me as my own sister.”
Good heavens. Sister? Did he truly look upon her as merely a sister?