Chapter 11

CHAPTER

a

11

Y ou really know how to ride, so you've surprised me."

Charlotte grinned up at Win, having decided to use his Christian name, as he'd requested. Why not? They were definitely on familiar terms. In the manor, when other people were present, she'd maintain her distance and refer to him as Lord Dartmouth, but when they were alone, it would be Win from this point on.

"Of course I know how," she said. "When I agreed to accompany you, did you imagine I was joking?"

"I wasn't sure. I thought you might lie about it merely so I wouldn't think you were lacking in a vital feminine skill."

She clucked her tongue with offense. "I was raised appropriately until I was sixteen and finished school. Things fell apart after that."

"You had spells cast on you by your wicked stepmother."

"Yes. We were rich when I was a child, and until my father died, I was provided with all the training a girl is supposed to have." She batted her lashes. "I can embroider doilies and paint watercolors. I can tell you the exact number of guests to place around a large dining table. I can devise the perfect seating chart."

He smirked with amusement. "It's clear you learned the most important tasks."

"After my world collapsed though, none of those talents were very helpful. I began working as a teacher, but I couldn't even light a fire. I'd always had servants handle it for me, so I was a total incompetent."

They'd just completed her tour of the property, and she shouldn't have joined him, but she had and she wasn't sorry. She hadn't figured out how to alter any of her gowns into a riding habit. Instead, she'd worn one of her grey dresses, and with it having a loose skirt, it had been fine.

They'd dropped their horses at the stables and were walking, arm-in-arm, across the garden and headed for a rear door that led into the house. Neither of them was eager to have the interval conclude, so they were strolling slowly, making the moment last as long as possible.

They'd been gone for three splendid hours. It was one o'clock, but as they'd left, his mother had had a message delivered that their meeting would be pushed back to four, so Charlotte had time to wash and change before she conferred with the scary harridan.

She'd often dealt with women like the Dowager Countess. In fact, her stepmother, Georgina, was probably very much like her, so she was braced for a contentious conversation. Georgina assumed she was better and smarter than everyone else, so Charlotte had already guessed how the Dowager would strut and preen.

She'd be keen to intimidate Charlotte, so Charlotte recognized how lowly she was deemed to be. Unfortunately, Charlotte had never been adept at bowing down, and after she traipsed off to London, she'd never bump into the old bat again. She didn't care about the snooty shrew.

"When you were teaching," Win asked, "where did you live?"

"With the students, in the dormitory. I had my own room, but it was tiny as a monk's cell, so it was a huge shock. At least I had a small stove to heat the space in the winter."

"I bet you discovered how to light it in a quick hurry."

He glanced around, saw no one lurking, then he dipped down and kissed her on the cheek.

"Stop that," she scolded. "What if you were observed? You can't want that."

"Once we're inside, I'll have to behave myself, so I have to get my fill of you before then."

"You're mooning over me as if you're a green boy with his first crush."

"It's how I feel. You've wedged yourself into my life in a very unusual way, but I never allow myself to grow fond of any young lady. It sends the wrong signals."

His comment was a warning to her, that he hoped she wasn't receiving the wrong signals. To her great regret, that ship had sailed. She was absolutely bowled over by him and secretly praying they'd wed, but she'd keep that ridiculous fantasy to herself.

"I suppose you're accustomed to females drooling over you," she said. "Are you tired of it yet?"

"Not hardly."

"You're a nobleman and all of you are renowned for your peccadillos. Have you engaged in many of them?"

"If I had, I wouldn't tell you. I'd be too embarrassed to be candid."

She scoffed with derision. "You're thirty, so why aren't you married? Aren't you suffering from a terrible urge to pack your nursery with sons?"

"I'll proceed one of these days, but I'm having too much fun being a bachelor."

"I don't understand why any of you ever shackle yourselves."

"How about you?" he asked. "If you stumbled on a suitable fellow, would you glom onto him? You seem so modern and independent. I can't picture you attached to anybody."

"I don't have a dowry, remember? But I will admit, if some poor oaf ever wed me, I'd pity him. I'm very stubborn, so I could comply with the vows to love and honor, but the obey portion would constantly trip me up."

He chuckled, then they spun to face each other. He searched her eyes, his gaze affectionate and mesmerizing.

"I wish I was free," he murmured. "I wish I could pick you."

"I wish you could too," she brazenly declared.

"You would make me happy forever."

"Even if I'm stubborn and too independent?"

"Even then."

It was a dangerous topic for them to discuss. Her unruly yearnings were driving her mad, and she was alone in the world and had no parent to speak for her. She needed to have had a responsible father who could sit him down and explain how she would be a marvelous bride.

His idea was for her to be his mistress and it was galling and hurtful to realize his true opinion. In her earlier years, she'd held a very high position, so she deserved more consideration. She'd been a child when her calamities had transpired, and she'd staggered out of the aftermath as best she could. Shouldn't her pluck and endurance count for quite a lot?

Life was difficult and catastrophes could always arrive. Her tribulations had left her tough and shrewd. She'd learned how to persevere through the most grueling of circumstances. If he eventually chose a frivolous debutante, what good would she be if tragedy struck?

He was used to having plenty of money, so he believed his wealth would protect him, but Charlotte had once believed that too. Yet her family had lost everything and look at her now!

He was staring at her so intently, as if he was anxious to blurt out an important statement. He liked her much more than he should, and if she'd been brave enough, she'd have pointed out the obvious: He ought to choose her .

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

"You. I'm thinking about you."

She cocked her head. "Why? Am I vexing you?"

"Yes. We've been acquainted for such a short period, but it feels as if we've always been close."

"It does, doesn't it?"

He slipped his hand into hers and he squeezed her fingers. "I can't bear to ponder your return to London. Will you provide me with your address, so I can visit you occasionally?"

For a brief instant, she let a pretty vision flare: of their being cordial in town. It was a ludicrous proposition though. A man like him could never be friends with a woman like her. Society didn't allow it. They had to be betrothed and marching toward their wedding or they had to be nothing at all.

"You couldn't stop by," she ultimately said. "You're being silly."

"I could stop by. I'm an earl and I can act however I like."

"Maybe you can, but I can't."

"If I can't visit you, how about if we correspond? I'll worry about how you're faring, so we should keep in touch. Wouldn't you like that?"

She sighed with consternation. "No, I wouldn't like it and you have to quit tempting me. There's no path that would permit us to remain in contact."

"There's one path," he bluntly mentioned, "and I've told you what it is: You could be my mistress. Why won't you contemplate the notion? We'd be so happy."

She bristled. "No, you would be happy. I'd be miserable and I might wind up with a babe in my belly besides. What would I do then?"

"We could be careful. There are tricks to prevent a child from being sired. It's why I've had no mishaps in any of my prior relationships. Our amour wouldn't have to end in disaster."

"Please be silent. I can't have you nagging about this."

"How can we part? We've only been together for what? Two weeks? Three? But it seems as if an eternity has passed. We're that intimately connected."

"I admit that I will be bereft after I leave."

"Then don't leave! Be my mistress instead."

"I guess I'm a romantic at heart," she said. "If I ever break down and relent, it will be because I'm madly in love. And I'd have to have a ring on my finger."

He shrugged, as if she'd dumped a heavy weight on his shoulders. "I'm sorry that I can't be that man."

"You could be though. Don't pretend. Aren't you the fellow who repeatedly brags about carrying on as he likes? If your fondness for me is genuine, you can propose this very minute. Get down on one knee; ask me." He gaped at her as if she were deranged and she snickered with disgust. "The prospect has never occurred to you, has it? Your lack of sincerity indicates that your goal with me is too prurient to include matrimony."

"I'm free to behave in some ways, but not in others. I'm offering you what I can."

He was determined to coerce her into a carnal liaison, and if he continued his harangue, they'd argue. She had such a limited opportunity to be with him and she wouldn't waste any of it with bickering. She took his arm, so they were walking again.

"You are so spoiled," she said. "You can't stand that I've refused you, and you're hoping you can pressure me, so I'll yield to your cajoling and oblige you."

"I absolutely believe I can. It's why I'm pestering you."

"What would you do with me if you had me? What if I called your bluff and agreed? You'd probably faint."

"No, I wouldn't. If you agreed, I'd perform cartwheels across the lawn."

At the boast, she laughed. "You're persistent. I'll give you that much."

"I had a surprise prepared for you."

She glanced up at him and his eyes were alight with mischief. "What is it? From how you're grinning, I'm almost afraid to know."

"I had the maids alter a gown for you, so you can eat with the adults."

She snorted with exasperation. "Your mother will be delighted by that news."

"My house, my rules," he arrogantly asserted. "I'm in charge, and when I've decided an issue, she can't dissuade me."

Charlotte was actually very excited to join him. It had been ages since she'd attended a fancy gathering and she said, "What time is the meal? When should I make my grand appearance?"

"Drinks at eight. Supper at nine."

They had reached the rear door. He opened it and they entered a dim foyer. He stole a quick, final kiss, then scooted off to his library to check the afternoon mail. She went to the stairs and headed up to her bedchamber. She had her appointment at four with the Dowager and she intended to look smart, competent, and organized.

On the first landing, Boggs was coming down and he said, "I heard the Earl gave you a tour of the estate. Did you enjoy yourself?"

"It was splendid. I was raised in the country. Were you aware of that? It was a beautiful spot, with a manor full of servants."

"It's been rumored that you suffered a hardship."

"Yes, after my father passed away. All of this"—she gestured to the ornate staircase, to the alcove and stained glass window behind them—"helps me to recollect that happier era."

"I'm glad you had the chance to tarry then." He scowled and said, "I don't mean to pry, but weren't you traveling on to London? Have your plans changed?"

"I'm meeting with the Earl's mother in a bit. To discuss Polly's future? Then I'll depart."

"I'm not trying to chase you away. Please don't think so."

"I don't." She smiled to ease his concern. "It's been whispered that the Dowager can be difficult on occasion. Have you any suggestions, so the conversation will go more smoothly?"

"No, none." He chuckled, then he said, "There's gossip being bandied that Polly has been enrolled at a school. Is that what's happening?"

"I have no idea if the story is true or not. It's the reason I'm conferring with the Dowager. Evidently, she's been Polly's anonymous benefactor and guardian, and Polly's mother was a maternal cousin. The woman died when Polly was a baby, and the Dowager was asked to step in and manage her situation."

"Oh, is that how it came about?" He mumbled the comment, as if he was cognizant of many Wainwright secrets that Charlotte would never learn.

She peeked around to be sure they were alone, then she dared to say, "Polly looks so much like the Earl. I suspect he's her father, but he insists he's not. He thought it might be his brother, Holden." She paused, expecting Boggs to respond, but he didn't, so she continued with, "I'm surprised that Polly is purportedly connected to them on his mother's side. She is so similar to him and she has his same regal air. I'd have bet ten pounds that she was his close kin and I don't even have ten pounds."

Boggs could be friendly, but he was very enigmatic too. He had to be fifty, or maybe even sixty, and he'd worked for the family his entire life. He would never land himself in trouble with any of them, so he simply said, "If the Dowager claims Polly is not a Wainwright, then she's not. It would be insane to question her on any topic and it would be hazardous for a common person to attempt it."

"I'm not afraid of her." Charlotte pressed him further. "Should I be dubious? Should I interrogate her? What is your opinion?"

He smirked. "I've found, in dealing with the Dowager, that it's best to stay out of her way. She'd never permit you to interrogate her, so you shouldn't consider it."

Clearly, he wouldn't provide any relevant information and she sighed with regret. "I'll keep that in mind. I have an awful habit of being impertinent and I've been living on my own for too long. It's left me cocky and I don't graciously back down when I ought."

She'd assumed their chat had ended, but he said, "You and the Earl seem to be very cordial. I wasn't spying on you, but a few minutes ago, I saw you out in the garden with him."

"He's been kind to me."

"Yes, he can be very kind—when the mood suits him." He hemmed and hawed, then asked, "Do you fancy him? Are you presuming he might fancy you in return?"

"He's helping me through a rough patch. That's it."

"Just be careful, Miss Cronenworth."

"I'm always careful, Boggs."

"Are you? He hasn't made any promises, has he? For instance, he hasn't hinted at a more permanent bond?"

"Gad, no. We wouldn't have talked about such an intimate subject."

"Good. He's rich and handsome, and no offense, but you've confessed to experiencing a significant decline in your circumstances. It would be easy to get stars in your eyes."

"I'm not na?ve, so that would never transpire."

"I'm older and wiser than you, and I've been acquainted with Lord Dartmouth since he was born, so I feel compelled to give you this advice: He might shower you with attention, but to him, it would be as if he's acting a part in a stage play. He would never be serious about you, so you should never start to count on him."

It was a very stern warning, and with their being practically strangers, it was outrageous of him to suppose he could lecture her, but she couldn't fault him for being candid. Every word he'd uttered had been correct, so it would be ridiculous to be angry.

"Message received, Boggs," she murmured.

"If you ever mention my remarks to the Earl, and he asks me about them, I'll deny them."

"I realize you will."

"Don't ever put me in that awkward position."

"I won't. I swear."

He tipped his cap and walked on and she let out a heavy breath. He'd just painfully reminded her that she was being an idiot about Win. When she socialized with him, she forgot her low place, and Boggs had noted the dangerous fondness that was brewing.

She'd been telling herself that the Dartmouth servants didn't matter, but it was never a prudent idea to carry on indecently. Bad behavior could attach itself to a person, and while England was a very large country, in certain circles, it was small as a rural village.

She had to control her teeming emotions. She wasn't a tart and she shouldn't ignore moral strictures because of Winston Wainwright. It could never be worth it in the end. Wouldn't it be better to head to London? She had to hurry and go.

v

Polly stood by the window in the nursery and stared down at the garden. The room was located in an isolated wing on the third floor so, when there were babies in the mansion, the parents wouldn't have to hear them fussing. They were treated like pet puppies. Nannies tended them and brought them out once per day so the adults could coo over them.

It was a sad way to be raised, and she'd decided—if she ever had children of her own—she wouldn't have a nanny. She'd raise them herself and she'd be a wonderful mother.

She didn't recall the first five years of her life. In her earliest recollections, she'd been at Mrs. Pemberton's Academy. Where had she been before then? Was there anyone who had information? Or would it always be a mystery?

With her spending the past week at Dartmouth, it seemed she must have previously been in the manor as a toddler. She'd round corners and have a flash of recognition and think, Oh, I remember that spot. But it wasn't possible that she'd ever have been on the premises. Was it?

She was bored and waiting for something to happen. At the same time, she wasn't eager for anything to happen. She couldn't predict what was approaching, and she didn't trust the Dowager to choose what it was to be. She wished she was older, so she could apply for teaching jobs with Miss Charlotte. Then they could stay together, but that was a juvenile fantasy, and it was absurd to wallow in fantasies.

She liked attending school and she was an excellent student. If the Dowager was willing to pay her tuition, then Polly needed to be grateful for it. After her education was completed, she could seek out Miss Charlotte then. Maybe they could live together.

As she continued to gaze down into the garden, she saw the sight she'd been hoping to see. Lord Dartmouth and Miss Charlotte had returned from their ride and they were strolling to the house.

They were such a beautiful couple and it was a joy to watch them. From how they were leaned toward one another, they were more affectionate than ever. When they'd still been at Fog Bay, she'd noticed a romance bubbling up, but now, it appeared they were madly in love.

They stopped and talked intently, and to her stunned surprise, the Earl dipped down and kissed her. Right on the cheek! It was the most shocking, most delightful spectacle she'd ever witnessed.

They talked a bit longer, then they kept on. Shortly, they vanished from view, and she went over to the rocker and eased down to reflect on the incident.

At school, Miss Charlotte had been her favorite teacher, and when she'd offered to escort Polly to Fog Bay, she'd been thrilled. Recently, they'd grown very close and it had started to feel as if they were sisters. She had a vested interest in Miss Charlotte's future, both because she was so fond of her, but also because her fate could ultimately affect Polly's in a positive manner.

Lord Dartmouth was a rich bachelor. If he married Miss Charlotte, she would be rich too, so her problems would be solved. She wouldn't have to reside with her wicked stepmother. She wouldn't have to allow the Dowager to send Polly away. Polly could remain with them—as their cherished daughter! She would be quiet and good and they'd love her forever. She'd finally have a family, with a father and mother she adored.

Why couldn't it occur? Why not? It was so obvious that the Earl was wild for Miss Charlotte and she was just as crazy for him.

Polly shut her eyes and prayed harder than she ever had. "Please let them wed! Give me this one little blessing and I'll never ask for another."

So far in her life, her prayers had never been answered, but since crossing paths with Lord Dartmouth, her luck was changing. She was sure she was about to receive what she was so desperately anxious to have.

v

Agatha paced in her boudoir. In three hours, she would meet with Charlotte Cronenworth in Winston's library. She was irked that she would have to bother with the annoying schoolteacher. How dare she drag the bastard girl into their midst?

Of course, considering her corrupt ancestry, Agatha couldn't have expected any better behavior. Her mother was a notorious harlot, her father a fool and a cuckold. His disaster had swept Agatha into the deluge.

Her husband, Reginald, had been ensnared financially and she never forgot a snub or a slight. She was still enraged over the money Reginald had squandered due to Mrs. Cronenworth's reckless amour. With Winston about to purchase Peachtree Haven, the prior Cronenworth estate—at an incredibly reduced price too—they would recoup much of what Reginald had lost, but the situation rankled.

It was ridiculous to blame Charlotte Cronenworth for her parents' troubles, but Agatha was a stern believer that the lower classes should stay where the Good Lord had put them. She was furious at having to deal with such a common person, but Winston had commanded it, so she had to oblige him. It would be a brief conversation though, and at the conclusion, Miss Cronenworth would recognize how idiotic it had been to show up at Dartmouth. She wouldn't ever return.

Agatha's maids had just been in to help her dress for the appointment. She'd had them lay out a gown that had been delivered from Madame LaFarge's shop in London. It was a concoction of silver-hued satin and lace that would underscore Agatha's wealth and station. She'd opened the jewel vault too and had retrieved numerous items, most particularly her favorite rubies. Her neck, ears, and fingers were covered with gems. She was even wearing a diamond tiara in her hair.

She looked like a queen and would act like one, and after she was finished speaking with Miss Cronenworth, the rash harpy would be awed and smacked down to size.

Her servants were too efficient, so she was prepared much too early. She was bored and eager to get it over with, and she wandered over to the window and stared down in the garden. Immediately, she wished she hadn't glanced down. The sight that greeted her was that galling.

Winston was there—with a gorgeous young lady who had to be Miss Cronenworth. They were strolling arm-in-arm, and even from Agatha's high perch, she could perceive that they were madly in love. As she spied on them, Winston kissed the pathetic ninny on the cheek. The tender gesture was so odd to witness from her son that she was alarmed. How attached was he?

From the minute she'd been apprised that he was tucked away at Fog Bay with a fetching female, she should have realized mischief was festering. Agatha had no illusions about him. He kept mistresses and regularly consorted with tarts. He was a member of England's most exclusive brothel, and whenever he traveled to the city—which was often—he availed himself of those vixens' services.

He was prone to satisfying his masculine impulses in every despicable way, but his dalliances were just that: dalliances. He didn't grow fond, didn't fall in love. Clearly, he'd established a relationship with Miss Cronenworth that was as improper as it was boneheaded.

For pity's sake, his wedding was in four weeks! Jasmine was in town and vigorously working to ensure the event was the grandest fête the kingdom had celebrated in decades. Would he march to the altar when he was intimately trifling with someone else? Would he promise himself to Jasmine, as he was pursuing a torrid affair with a trollop? A schoolteacher? One who had lunacy in her blood on her mother's side?

Would he produce another unwanted urchin right before the ceremony? He claimed he didn't have any children, and Boggs had reported that he suspected he couldn't sire a child, that there might be a problem with the strength of his seed.

His bastard daughter was proof of his potency, so Agatha's spurt of panic was fully justified. How advanced was their liaison? What if Miss Cronenworth was increasing already? What then? Would he start supporting a bastard at the same moment he started supporting his new bride?

It was deranged for him to suppose he could pull it off, and Jasmine would learn of the betrayal quickly enough. Wives always did and she would never forgive him.

Agatha would never expect him to practice monogamy in his marriage, but honestly! She'd like to imagine he'd commence his nuptial life free from romantic entanglements. Here at the outset, didn't Jasmine deserve that type of a husband? Passionate amours could flourish later on, but at the beginning? No!

Miss Cronenworth was prancing about the estate as if she belonged there. She probably assumed he was about to propose to her, but if that was her ploy, she was a fool. Agatha would bet a hundred pounds that Winston hadn't told her he was engaged, so it was a perfect time to have Jasmine visit.

If Miss Cronenworth was introduced to Jasmine, if she was confronted with the reality of him being a deceitful liar, what would her opinion be then?

Agatha whipped away from the window and she went over and rang the bell to summon her maid. She would confer with Miss Cronenworth in the library immediately, and the abrupt order would have the girl off-balance, would guarantee that she understood how Agatha was in charge at the manor.

While she waited for her maid to arrive, she sat at her desk and penned a note to Jasmine, asking her to come to Dartmouth, asking her to hurry.