He was not unscrupulous. He was trying to save her from her own folly!
“Lady Charlotte, I think you are letting your emotions get the better of your sense,” he said.
“I’m done being sensible,” she said. “Ten years of it have brought me nothing but regret.”
He saw her slipping through his hands, after all these months of making her feel safe in his company, all this time getting her used to having him about.
This was not supposed to happen. She was supposed to see that he was the steady one, the man she could rely upon. He’d found out her secret and not breathed a hint of censure. He was prepared to do whatever was necessary to keep it, to protect her. He was her knight in shining armor. Why couldn’t she see that?
Because Carsington stood in the way.
“Lady Charlotte, I heard about the walk after church with Mr. Carsington,” he said. “You think his intentions are honorable. They may be. For the moment. But to some men, marriage means nothing.”
“I’ll take my chances,” she said.
“For God’s sake, don’t be a fool!” he said. “Don’t risk everything—your honor, your family’s honor—to throw your life away on a man who won’t stand by you. Don’t make the same mistake you made when you were sixteen.”
“It’s not the same mistake,” she said. “This is a completely different one.”
“Lady Charlotte.”
“Thank you for telling me about my son,” she said.
She rode away.
Darius had mounted his horse and was about to set out for Altrincham when two riders entered the stable yard, one male, one female.
One, Lady Charlotte. The other, Tom Jenkins.
She wore a blue habit, which Darius supposed was plain and practical compared to her other attire. Yet ribbons sprouted gaily from her hat, a lacy ruff encircled her throat, and puffs jutted out from the shoulders of the riding dress, whose absurdly long sleeves were festooned with braids. She was braided up the front, too, in a deranged imitation of a military fashion.
The attire was pure feminine froth. But as she neared, Darius saw nothing light or frivolous in the way she carried herself. Something was very, very wrong.
He looked into her taut, white face. “What is it?” he said. “What’s wrong?”
She glanced back at Tom Jenkins, who withdrew to another corner of the yard.
“It’s Pip,” she said.
“Yes, he’s gone missing,” Darius said. “But don’t worry. He can’t have gone far.”
“He’s mine,” she said. Her eyes filled. “He’s mine, and it is—” She broke off, swallowing hard.
“Well, yes, I surmised as much,” Darius said, wishing he could take her in his arms. At the moment, that was not only indiscreet but impractical. He ached for her, but emotion would not solve any problems. They needed to be rational. “He’s deuced expensive, too,” he said. “You would not believe the sum the Tylers want for him. But I’ll find the money. You needn’t worry about that.”
“The Tylers,” she repeated. “Good grief. The money. His articles. You said he’s gone missing. The colonel said—Oh, dear God, we must find him.”
“Charlotte, you must try to calm yourself,” he said, handing over a handkerchief. “What is this about the colonel?”
She wiped her eyes, her nose. “It was Colonel Morrell who told me about Pip,” she said. “He knew everything: the date my baby was born and where and the couple who adopted him. Everything. But I knew. Even before the colonel told me, I knew Pip was mine. But I wouldn’t let myself believe it. I wouldn’t let myself look for him or talk to him. I was afraid. A great coward, as I told you. My whole life has been a lie. A house of cards. If I faced the truth, told the truth, everything would fall to pieces.”
Darius saw it in an instant: the scandal, the end of respect for her…shame for her family…heartache for her father. Endless repercussions.
“You are not a coward,” he said firmly. “You were facing catastrophe.”
“I should have faced it,” she said. “Now I don’t know what Colonel Morrell will do. He may be angry enough to tell my father. I don’t know. I don’t know him at all, I realize. But I think—I’m afraid, truly afraid he’ll take Pip away. For all I know, he’s sent him away already. He said the articles were easy enough to buy.”
Darius swore, quietly but fervently. “No one will take Pip away,” he said.
“I knew you’d say that—or something like that,” she said. “He said I couldn’t count on you, but I knew I could.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I could have spared you this trouble if I had not been such an idiot yesterday. I had been wondering if you knew—or guessed,” he said. “I meant to ask you about it yesterday, but I’m not good at broaching delicate subjects delicately and then I was distracted by the drawers on your head and the fornication and such.”
She tried to smile. Her mouth trembled with the effort and a teardrop made its way along the side of her nose. “I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I only knew I couldn’t agree to Colonel Morrell’s proposal. I want you. I want my son. I came to you because I didn’t know what else to do. I cannot think clearly. You are so—so logical. I knew you would sort it out.”
And he knew he would do anything for her. She was his to love, to protect. He’d never guessed how good it could make him feel, to be needed, and to know he was capable of doing what needed to be done.
“Of course I will,” he said. “Wipe your nose.”
They must first go to the Tylers’ place in Altrincham, Mr. Carsington told her. That was where he was already planning to go when Charlotte arrived, he said. He’d found it hard to believe Pip would run away for the reason given, and he suspected this was a ploy of some kind.
“I doubt Mrs. Tyler would give up Pip easily, in any event,” he said, as they rode out of the stable yard. “If she thinks she has two parties interested in him, she’s likely to play one against the other, hoping to raise the price. She seems to believe that all aristocrats have bottomless purses.”
But Mrs. Tyler wasn’t at home when Charlotte and Mr. Carsington arrived. The eldest daughter, Annie, said her mother had left for Manchester in the morning, leaving Annie in charge. Mrs. Tyler wasn’t expected back until tomorrow. In response to further questioning, the girl said, yes, a man had come about Pip this morning. Not a gentleman. A bald man who talked a long time with her mother. No, Pip hadn’t come home yet. Annie thought the bald man had gone looking for him, but she couldn’t say for certain.
“Do you recall the bald man’s name?” Charlotte asked. “Was it Kenning, by chance?”
Kenning had been with Colonel Morrell in the army, she knew. He was the one the colonel would trust with a secret, or something underhand.
The girl thought, then shrugged. “Might’ve been, your ladyship. I don’t remember. I’ve seen him before. Goes to the tavern regular. I don’t like him, always nosing about.”
Annie seemed genuinely baffled at the idea of Pip’s running away. “But he’d got nowhere to go to,” she said. “Anyway, Ma always screams like that. She don’t mean half what she says. She’s always saying she’s going back to Manchester and leaving us, as we’re so ungrateful and troublesome. She’s only cross, you know. Even when she does go, she always comes back. She didn’t want to leave there and come here, but Pa said we had to, for the work and because we can live cheaper here. Pip knows how she is. He’s very clever, is Pip.”
When they left the cottage, Mr. Carsington did not lead Charlotte back to Jenkins and the horses but in the other direction, not many steps away, to a quiet corner of the churchyard.
“I doubt Mrs. Tyler has take
n Pip to Manchester,” he said. “Annie would have said so. She did not seem concerned about keeping any secrets. She was more than happy to express her opinions. Now at least we understand why Mrs. Tyler is so short-tempered and greedy. She doesn’t want to live here. If foolish aristocrats are willing to pay a high price for Pip, she’ll take it—and move back to Manchester.”
“But if she hasn’t got Pip, what if Kenning has?” Charlotte said. “He might have offered more money than she could resist. And if Kenning has Pip, where would he take him? Colonel Morrell said he sent Fewkes abroad.” The nearest port was Liverpool, not forty miles away: a journey of a few hours. “What if Pip is on his way to Liverpool?”
“Wherever he is, we’ll find him,” he said. “We’ll need more resources than I have, though, if matters have gone as far as that.” He paused. “Whether they have or they haven’t, it’s long past time to speak to your father. The day is getting on, and he needs to know the truth. It would be better if he heard it from you than from Morrell.”
She looked away toward the church. “The colonel’s probably told him already.”
“Possibly. On the other hand, Morrell might be giving you a chance to have second thoughts, to come to your senses. He may be waiting, as men often do, for the woman to recover from the emotional storm and look at matters more practically.”
“That is possible,” she said. “He did seem thoroughly flummoxed when I said no. And it was clear he thought he was saving me from myself.”
“We’d better go to Lithby Hall now,” Mr. Carsington said. “The sooner you speak to your father, the better.”
“I know.” That’s what her brain told her. Meanwhile, her heart raced, and the inner cold came and went.
“He won’t reject you,” Mr. Carsington said. “He loves you too much.”
“I know!” she cried. “That’s the trouble. He’ll be hurt—for me. He’ll grieve—for me. So much love for his perfect daughter, the apple of his eye. I know he won’t love me any less, but it is so…hard, knowing I’m not what he believes me to be, knowing I’m unworthy of so much love.”