Chapter Nine

May 17, 1818

Winteringham House

Grosvenor Square

Mayfair, London

"Lady Winteringham?"

Charity glanced up from the letter she'd been writing to her father's solicitor advising him of her change in address as well as status. The morning room was a cozy enough space, and she'd more or less taken it over as something different and smaller in which to read, write, or merely escape for a moment from her new and daunting responsibilities. She frowned at Mrs. Flanders, the housekeeper. "Yes?" She still couldn't believe she had a title.

"Your trunks have finally arrived. Mr. Neelson is arranging to have them brought up to your bedchamber as we speak."

"Oh, thank you so much!" She'd again donned the one dress she'd brought with her in the valise. Along with the gown she'd been married in yesterday, her clothing choices were limited, and she didn't want to continue to borrow Michael's dead wife's outfits. "I'll go directly up." Since today was Sunday, there would be no visiting or going about Town or even engaging a modiste, and that suited her just fine. She wanted a day to meet with the staff and introduce herself to them as a way to familiarize herself with the house.

When she stood up from the small secretary, the housekeeper cleared her throat. "Ah, I wanted to extend my welcome to you now that you are officially the viscountess." Speculation lurked in the other woman's eyes. "Though I have only heard bits and pieces of your history, I imagine you might feel as if this life isn't what you wanted."

A wad of emotion lodged in Charity's throat as she nodded. "It has been a whirlwind for the last several days, and I fear I will embarrass Lord Winteringham more sooner than later." To say nothing of putting him and Christopher in danger. It was only a matter of time for both.

"Please don't fret about any of that." Mrs. Flanders came near enough to pat Charity's hand. "We will all help when we can, but you have my word that the staff is very glad you have wed the viscount. He has long needed someone who needs him."

She blinked the tears from her eyes. "I hope I can be that for him. He seems a lovely person." But there was a sense of waiting for the next crisis.

"He has always been kind to us, and that's a fact." She winked. "And the boy has a mother again. Everyone is relieved about that. Things will turn out right as rain. You'll see, my lady." The housekeeper squeezed her fingers then released her. "Have you had your breakfast?"

"Yes." Charity nodded. "I took it in my room, for I just couldn't face going down to the breakfast room alone." She'd had six months of being alone, and while there was a certain peace and comfort in that, it was much different being married and still feeling alone.

"Very well. Ring if you have need of me."

"I will. Thank you." She truly appreciated the staff's willingness to welcome her and to help her feel at home. A few minutes later, Charity entered her bedchamber to find her two trunks will all her worldly possessions lined up neatly against one wall.

Immediately, she dropped to her knees in front of one then undid the buckles and straps. As soon as she opened it, there was the comforting scent of home as well as many places she'd travelled abroad, for she'd taken those trunks everywhere.

The usual and familiar clothing was there, crisply folded and packaged with care. A few of her father's belongings had been included, such as his favorite pipe, one of the hats he'd always worn on Egyptian digs, a couple of his cravats that still smelled of his shaving soap, and a small leatherbound coffin containing his favorite pieces of jewelry, which included a scratched and dented copper pocket watch and the modest golden band he'd given her mother when they'd married.

Tears prickled the backs of her eyelids, for a wave of grief hit her unexpectedly as she picked through the trunk's interior. I miss you so much, Papa. As she set aside a few more items of clothing as well as a couple pairs of slippers, her fingertips brushed over a flat wooden rectangular-shaped box.

"What's this, then?" After removing the box from the trunk, she frowned, for she certainly had never seen it before. It was rather plain and would be overlooked by everyone, but thinking it might contain handkerchiefs or the like, she opened it.

Inside rested the box from her memories, the one her father had stumbled across in the Cairo marketplace when he'd given her the Bastet pendant. Secured to the box was an envelope yellowed by time with her name scrawled across it in her father's bold handwriting.

Once she'd set down the box, Charity opened the envelope. Inside was a brief note, also written by her father .

My Dearest Cherry,

I have kept this piece of jewelry secret, even from you, all these years, for it is quite valuable. This necklace once belonged to Queen Twosret. Nothing is known about the ancestry of the queen. She was thought to be the second royal wife of Seti II. There are no known children for her and Seti II, unless a recently found tomb in the King's Valley where this necklace came from represents the burial of their daughter. There is some evidence there about a female child of royal bearing, and more than enough inscribing of the queen's name. I haven't managed to get us on a dig there. Weather conditions and strife in the area have prevented progress. It is my hope the tomb isn't lost for decades again, but it is entirely possible.

Regardless, over the years I'd intended to sell this piece to a collector once we were back in London permanently, but I had a bad hunch regarding the man—he was a duke if I remember correctly—so I decided to cancel the meeting. As the years went on, I wanted to save it for your future, my dearest daughter. Keep it safe, for it's quite valuable. I might not have the funding for a dowry, but this will suffice, especially if you find a man who appreciates antiquities and loves you above all things.

There is some speculation that this necklace could have also served as a tiara, but I never had the time to puzzle out how that would work. If you are clever about it, you could sell one diamond a year and live in luxury, be an heiress in your own right, and I hope you are able to continue traveling the world. There is still much to see—and find—hidden through time.

Above all, Cherry, I know that wherever you go or whatever you do, I will be proud of you, because you are meant for incredible things.

With all my love,

Papa

"Oh, Papa…" With a cry of both sadness and excitement, Charity dropped the letter in favor of taking up the box once more. As she eased the top off, she was met with faded purple satin, but resting on top of that was quite an impressive silver necklace, exactly the one the ma n who'd burst into the shop that day had described. The many diamonds glittered and gleamed like mad in the spring sunshine that poured into the room. "Dear God, it's incredible."

The sound of boot steps running toward her location echoed in the corridor. Seconds later, the viscount arrived at her open door. "What is amiss? I heard your cry."

"Look." She held up the necklace so that it dripped silver and diamonds through her fingers. "My father had this the whole time."

"Fuck me," he said in a lowered voice. "Excuse my cursing." Quickly, he came into the bedchamber and closed the door behind him. "Is that…?" His eyes rounded and shock reflected in those green-brown depths. "Surely not."

"It is." Carefully, Charity handed the piece to him, watching as he examined some of the larger stones. "It was in a box, the same one I remember vividly from one time at a market in Cairo, where it was put into a very plain case, and both were tucked within my clothing and other things."

"I have never seen anything quite like it." Michael continued to examine the piece. There were markings on some of the silver consistent with that dynasty of Egypt, and some of the diamonds were roughhewn but still lovely. An asp made of diamonds with two tiny rubies for eyes was the middle focal point. "It's probably worth a king's ransom."

"Or two." After she accepted it back, Charity tucked the piece into its holder and then put the whole thing back into the nondescript box. "There is no doubt a trick of manipulating the necklace so it can be used as a tiara as well." Once the wearer did that, the asp would feature prominently in the middle of the tiara to hang over the forehead.

"But it was definitely mixed in with your father's possessions?"

"Yes." She gave him the note. "He'd had it, and I never knew." Then she gasped. "It has been with us all these years, has put us into potential danger, he never told me."

"Which means either the butler or the housekeeper knew of its existence and further, knew your father's wishes regarding it, and gave it to you." Once he'd scanned the letter, he gave it back to her. "I wonder which duke it was, though my own gut could probably guess."

Charity had no idea to whom he referred, but from the fierceness of his frown, the man wasn't a friend.

When she remained silent, he went ahead. "While I applaud your father for thinking of your future, this could have hastened both your demise and his."

Her hands trembled as she tucked the letter into the box. "Do you think the staff at my father's house are in danger now that the item is in my possession?"

"There is a good possibility." His eyes said it all and he slowly nodded.

Cold fear twisted down her spine. "We need to make certain they are all right."

"Agreed but first, hide the jewelry." There was no trace of humor or teasing in his expression. In fact, the determination in his eyes frightened her. "I don't care where you put it, but perhaps you shouldn't tell me at all. Just get it hidden and then meet me outside. I'm going to have my carriage readied."

"Michael?" The fear she already carried intensified as she slowly rose to her feet. When he glanced back at her from the corridor, she asked, "Where?"

He shrugged. "Somewhere secret and safe. Tell no one, not even your maid. Once we return home, we will formally secure it, but that piece of jewelry is suddenly at play in London, and someone wants it exceedingly badly. To what end, I don't know, but I will find out." The viscount closed the door behind him.

With her heart feeling as if it pulsed in her throat, Charity cast her gaze around the room. She was supposed to hide a necklace worth a king's ransom somewhere here? Once more removing the necklace from the boxes, she went to the window seat, took up part of the cushion there, shoved the jewelry down the back as far as it would go, then replaced the cushion. For good measure, she tossed a shawl haphazardly over the pillow as if she'd carelessly discarded it one evening during undressing. Then she carefully put the boxes back the way they were and then buried them in a wardrobe drawer, hastily covering them with stockings and stays.

It was the best she could do on short notice.

During the quick trip through Mayfair in the viscount's carriage, she fretted and toyed with the strings of her reticule. Michael must have been worried as well, for he didn't say anything along the lines of comfort or support. She didn't blame him. When he'd married her, he took on much responsibility toward her after only knowing her for the hour after he'd rescued her. But the fact that he was there with her, steeling himself to face whatever they would find, gave her a feeling of security she hadn't had in far too long.

As soon as they stepped inside the townhouse, chaos consumed them. Seemingly every room had been searched and torn apart. The staff was frightened and scared.

"What the devil has happened here?" Of course, Michael jumped in and took command of the situation before Charity could even utter a word.

The housekeeper, Mrs. Whipple, scurried forward. Her lace-edged cap was askew on her graying brown hair and there was a bruise rapidly forming on one cheek. Tracks of tears were evident on her face. "A couple of men forced their way into the house. When Mr. Akers told them there was no one at home, they didn't care, said there was something in the house they wanted."

Charity cleared her throat even as the urge to retch climbed her throat. "Where is the butler?"

One of the maids stopped crying long enough to answer. "He tried to prevent the men from going abovestairs, and one of them… shot him!" Then she burst into tears.

"Dear Lord." Not knowing what to do, she frowned. "Where?"

"The second-floor landing," Mrs. Whipple said in a whisper. She winced as Michael examined the bruise on her cheek. "I was hit when I went after them. I fear he is nearly dead."

Michael frowned. "Where was he shot?"

"The chest," she managed to say before she, too, began to weep.

These poor people, who had been nothing but kind to her, were all hurt because of her and that dratted necklace. This, added to the wedding ceremony yesterday and the rather heated kiss that ended too soon last night, only made her more emotional. Tears welled quickly in her eyes. "This is all my fault."

To his credit, the viscount never faltered. If anything, he seemed to relax. "Charity, you must focus. I can't have you falling to pieces right now." His tone brooked no argument. "Please go tend to your butler."

"But—"

"Now. Take the maid with you."

She appreciated the leadership. "All right."

The housekeeper waved away his examination. "I will go with her. Neither he nor I gave away Mr. Maitland's secrets, miss. He trusted us, and we didn't let him down."

"You and Mr. Akers are lovely people," Charity managed to murmur as she listlessly made her way to the stairs and began to climb. At her side, the maid continued to sniffle. Mrs. Whipple's heavy breathing behind her served as a testament that she, did indeed, accompany the sad contingent.

At the landing, she received another shock, for the aged butler sat propped against the wall with his eyes closed and one hand pressed to his chest. Blood seeped through his fingers to stain his white gloves, and the poor man no longer drew breath .

"Mr. Akers!" Reeling from the shock, Charity threw herself to the stairs in front of him and felt quickly for a pulse. Of course, there was none; he had already died, probably moments before they'd arrived. "He's dead." So much had happened since that morning at her father's shop that she couldn't bear any more. Sobs racked her body; she cried over, mourned for so many things that required an outlet.

"Bloody, bloody hell." For the space of a few heartbeats, Michael frowned at the scene. Then he clapped his hands together. "We have arrived at the inevitable conclusion. Mrs. Whipple, you need to close the house. Send every member of the staff home."

"What?" Surprise wove through the housekeeper's voice. "We are needed here—"

"Not anymore. Things have grown out of hand, and it will stop now." If he was this forceful during his time in the military, he'd no doubt moved men over the fields of combat. "No one else will be hurt because of a piece of jewelry. I want everyone out of this house by teatime."

Finally, Mrs. Whipple nodded. "I will inform everyone myself."

"Good. I will have my own man-of-affairs write recommendation letters for you and the staff in the event you wish to seek employment elsewhere." When Charity raised her gaze, he held it for a long time and nodded. "I will also take care of the funeral arrangements for the butler. None of this was his fault or yours."

The housekeeper shook her head. "This is far too generous, my lord."

"Nonsense." He glanced at the maid. "Go fetch a footman for me. I'll need him to deliver a couple of messages for me."

"Of course, my lord." Then she scampered off with a limp handkerchief in hand.

Michael nodded. "In the meanwhile, I want everyone to go home. Only stay the night here if you are unable to secure travel arrangements this afternoon or evening. My man-of-affairs will send the letters out as soon as we can after we secure those records from Mr. Maitland's man."

The older woman frowned. "What of everything here? Those men could come back."

"They won't, and all of you are more valuable than any object. Until we can find the person's responsible for killing Mr. Akers, hurting you, and tearing this place apart, I need everyone to stay safe and away from here." He leveled the full force of his gaze on Mrs. Whipple. "You have had quite the shock today. I will dispatch the footman to my club with a note asking for help. Someone will take over the organization of the staff for you."

"I appreciate that," the housekeeper whispered with tears in her eyes. "We tried so hard to prevent this. "

Charity finally rose to her feet. If her husband could take care of this mess that should be laid at her feet without complaint, she could rise to the occasion as well. There was nothing she could do for Mr. Akers anyway. "You and everyone here did a marvelous job. My father would have been proud, as I am."

Then the maid returned with a harried-looking young footman she remembered as being named Jacob. Immediately, Michael led him away toward her father's study. She talked quietly with Mrs. Whipple and the maid until he returned. The footman immediately left the house with a few envelopes in his hand. The sound of shouting went up, and seconds later, another footman and a groomsman came into the entry hall.

Michael quietly met them and directed them to remove the butler to his room until further arrangements could be made.

"Do you want me to help you pack?" she asked of the housekeeper, trying to avert her eyes to the sight of Mr. Akers being bundled in a bedsheet.

"No, dear, it will go more quickly if I do it myself." Mrs. Whipple patted Charity's hand. "Go with your husband. This is no place for a lady."

She snorted, but that only prompted more tears. "I am only a lady by marriage."

"Hardly, my dear. Your mother was a lady; so are you in your blood." The older woman glanced at the viscount. "She is nearly overwrought, my lord. Take care of your wife."

"Of course." He reached out and squeezed her hand. "Send a note around should you need me immediately. You have my promise that all will be well."

"I believe you." Mrs. Whipple offered a tight smile. "Thank you."

"It is my privilege." Then he put a hand to the small of Charity's back and led her out of the house. "I am truly sorry you lost your butler."

"Thank you." So much did she appreciate his calming presence. How was she so fortunate to marry a man who was still much a stranger that he was willing to take up this mess on her behalf? "This is my fault, Michael. If I had known about the necklace, if I had only searched for it harder, given it to that man—"

"Stop." He assisted her into the carriage. Once he'd sat beside her, he told the driver to go home. "You couldn't have known. Such things are always a mystery, and until they come to a head, we can only speculate on what will happen next. Criminals are not logical, though. There is always a flaw in their plans, a contingency they haven't accounted for. "

Another round of tears spilled onto her cheeks. "Those men will come after me. Especially now that I have the necklace."

"I won't let that happen." As the carriage lurched into motion, he slipped an arm around her, and she more or less melted into that strong, protective hold. "We are in this together. For better or for worse."

"I did warn you." Though she tried to giggle, it was a sad, tearful affair. "You are in danger too. And Christopher." More tears rose in her eyes. "If something were to happen to him because of me—"

"No." He took her hand, squeezed her fingers. "Don't worry about me. I will keep you and him safe."

"How can I not?" She turned toward him, and her knee crashed into his. Heated tingles moved up her leg. "You are my husband and don't deserve this. In some ways, I wish you had left me tied to that table in the Reading Room."

"And left you to certain death or worse?" Michael shook his head. His eyes darkened, but nothing in his expression gave away his thoughts. "Your problems are my problems. We are a united front. And we will get through this."

Was there any sweeter man? A shuddering sigh left her throat. "I am so grateful to have you by my side, in whatever capacity that is." Before her nerve gave out, she laid a palm against the side of his face and briefly pressed her lips to his. "If I had to navigate through this murk by myself…" She shook her head and let her words trail away.

A soft grunt was his only verbal answer. To perhaps emphasize his point, he gathered her into his arms and returned her kiss, only this time it was the perfect, proper kiss. He claimed her lips as if he were a man on a mission, moved over them with a banked hunger that only stoked her own. Never had she felt so connected to a man before, and now, each time he kissed her, tiny fires lit within her blood for something she'd never had before but desperately wanted to experience.

Needing that protection only he could give, wanting to feel the full strength of his arms around her, Charity scooted closer to him. Perhaps he wished that too, for he urged her backward so that she reclined upon the bench. He followed her down, still kissing her as if he were intent on discovering all her secrets. She looped her arms about the breadth of his shoulders, reveled in how his hard, lean body felt against her own, and concentrated on kissing him back as best she could. Oh, it was glorious, and she couldn't have enough.

"Damn it, Charity, what are you doing to me?" he whispered against the shell of her ear before sliding his lips beneath her jaw to pepper kisses there. One of his hands cradled the back of her head. The other he slipped down her side then back up to cup her breast. "None of this was supposed to happen."

"I quite agree." Her senses spun, for each kiss and caress made her feel drunk on him. "But these are trying circumstances." The gloves prevented her from feeling how soft the hair at his nape was, but it didn't matter. There was no scandal in this, for they were married.

When he kissed a path that followed the edge of her bodice, flutters danced through her lower belly. Every point of her body seemed to strain for every point of his, but she didn't know how to tell him that or even if she should. They hardly knew each other even if they were wed, and this was hardly the venue, but—

The second he worried a nipple into a hard bud, she gasped, and he took full advantage by touching his tongue to hers. Again, she tumbled into a void based purely in sensation that all began and ended with this man, and, dear heavens, she wanted to explore his body.

But that wasn't to be. A tap on the roof filtered into her desire-soaked brain.

"Approaching Winteringham House."

With a soft groan, Michael lifted himself off her body to sit upright on the bench. He glanced at her as she struggled into the same position and sighed. "It would seem we are not destined for more than this."

She didn't answer—couldn't. He'd introduced to her to things she'd assumed she would never know, and the sad reality was their marriage was never destined for anything beyond a comfortable companionship. "We were both caught in the moment. Think nothing of it."

"Right." The viscount nodded with a frown as the carriage rolled to a halt before his townhouse. "Take the rest of the day to compose yourself. I will check on you later this evening for dinner."

A wave of panic went through her chest. "You are leaving?"

"Yes, for a bit, but I will be back."

"Where are you going?" The fear in her voice was evident even to her own ears.

"To keep my promise to your father's staff, and that means I need to speak with some of the rogues." When he briefly cupped her cheek, her eyes fluttered closed for a few seconds. "You and I are going to need help. Now that the necklace or tiara has definitely been found, the people who want it won't stop until they have it. I intend to hand them that disappointment, but first I need to plan."

She captured his fingers and met his gaze. "Please don't be long, and keep your wits about you. I don't want you hurt because of me."

"I will return as soon as I can." Then he pushed open the door and put down the steps. "Stay inside and try not to worry."

As if she could do that. Every portion of her life just now was steeped in anxiety.