The Duke's Christmas Vow: Regency Romance Page 10

  A single tear escaped, leaving a trail down her cheek.

  “I am a fool, Your Grace. I know that making things, as I do, is something which most of the ton regard as utterly beyond the pale. They would not mind if I just collected the feathers, and displayed them somewhere, but the fact that I make them into something useful… that horrifies them. But I have learnt, since the terrible crops we have had in the last two years, that there is no dignity in being poor. I will admit to you my greatest sin – at least in the eyes of the ton – I do work – many of those brooches and hat pieces I make with the feathers that I find are then sold, in the milliner’s shop in the town nearest our estate. The milliner does not know that I am the one who makes them, but they are still sold. Without that money, we would have had to put off staff this year.”

  Rafe was, now, genuinely shocked – but not because what she had done was wrong – far from it – he found her even more admirable now. She had found a way to use the skills and resources she had, to improve a difficult situation, to take care of the staff of their estates, when otherwise those people would have suffered hardship. No one should be mocked or decried for taking care of those in their employ. He was shocked because he had never before met a woman of the ton who was so practical, and so selfless. That she should be treated like a pariah as a result was unconscionable!

  “Lady Charity…”

  “I know. I should not have done it, and I should certainly not have been such a goose as to allow myself to work on the pieces anywhere where someone else might come upon me. But now that Lady Anne knows, even part of it, there will be gossip, which will spread through the ton, and my reputation will be ruined as a result. I will understand if you should wish me to leave – I would not want my foolishness to tarnish anyone else’s reputation.”

  Rafe could not bear it – he reached out and folded his hand over hers where she held the reins lightly. Startled eyes met his. He tightened his fingers on her hand.

  “Lady Charity, I do not despise you for what you do – rather, I admire you. You have turned something useless into something useful, you have chosen to assist those less fortunate than you, and you have comported yourself with dignity and kindness, no matter how others have behaved towards you. I do not see any part of this which warrants anything other than admiration.”

  She turned her head away, but not before he had seen another tear trail down her cheek.

  Gently, he used the hand which held hers to encourage her to bring Sage to a halt, even as he stopped Valiant. They came to stillness beside each other, her head still turned away.

  He dropped his reins on Valiant’s neck, and reached to cup her cheek, turning her face back towards him. Tear drenched violet eyes met his. Drawn by an irresistible magnetism, he leaned across, and brought his lips to hers, even as his thumb gently brushed the tears from her face.

  She gave a little gasp, and he deepened the kiss, tracing her lips with his tongue. She did not pull away – in fact, after a moment of stillness, she moved her lips on his – a soft exploration which sent his heart racing.

  Perhaps, what he now most desperately wished was possible, after all.

  Chapter Twelve

  He was kissing her. She had just admitted her disgrace to him, and instead of turning away, he was kissing her.

  Charity was most glad of the solid form of the horse beneath her, for without it, she suspected that she would have fallen, her knees having gone unaccountably weak at the sensation of the Duke’s lips on hers. In that moment, as she tentatively returned his kiss, she realised how badly she had been deceiving herself these last few days. She had come to care for him, deeply, and had been determinedly telling herself that it was not so. Now, with his lips on hers, it was no longer something which she could deny.

  Did this… did this mean that he cared for her too? She did not know – the moment was confusing, and wonderful, all at once. Eventually, he drew back, and she met his eyes, uncertain. His gaze held only warmth, and she felt an echoing heat fill her body.

  She did not know what to do, or say.

  After a moment of silence, the Duke smiled.

  “Lady Charity, convention has it that I should not have done that, that I should apologise profusely for so accosting you – but… I cannot regret it, and in the light of our agreement to speak honestly to each other… I believe that I have wished to do that for some time now, but I have not been, at all, sure of how you felt about me.”

  “I… do not object, Your Grace. But… what you said… about admiring me for what I did. How can that be? The things that I have done are completely against what is expected of a Lady of quality.”

  “I have, over this past year, come to believe that what is expected of a Lady of quality has nothing to do with what I, personally, value in a woman. And if those expectations produce women like Lady Anne, then I find them sadly lacking.”

  “Oh… I… I don’t quite know what to say, except perhaps that I wish more gentlemen thought that way.”

  He smiled again, that smile which lit his face and made her heart beat even faster than it already was.

  “Shall we ride on? I do believe that Simms has just reached the point where he can see us again…”

  Charity blushed – when the Duke had kissed her, she had not, for one moment, thought of the groom who followed them… if he had seen such a thing… If he had, would he have told anyone? She did not know – and if he had, what would she have done? For such a situation would have called for the Duke to marry her – it was what they had come here, hoping for – but… if he was to marry her, she would have it be because he had made that choice himself, hopefully as a result of feeling something for her, not because of a compromise.

  She was not like Lady Anne!

  And he had said that he believed a marriage should be between people who actually at least liked each other…

  They rode on, and in one way, it felt as if that kiss had never happened – in another, everything had changed. That companionable feel which had been between them now felt somewhat more strained, with the spectre of the kiss, and what remained unsaid, hanging over them.

  Would he ask her to be his bride? Or was this just a moment where he had allowed friendship and concern for her distress to give the impression of more? The rest of the ride passed quietly, and they spoke of inconsequential things, both caught up in their own thoughts.

  Back at the stables, she spent a moment with Sage, then, thanking the Duke, slipped inside and up to her rooms, hoping that, this time, no one would see her.

  *****

  Rafe watched her walk away, going back to the house, back into the endless round of polite society conversation, and the hopes and expectations of Lady Anne and the like. He wanted to call her back, to kiss her again, to ask her… Was he really ready to take that step?

  He was not sure – the whole incident had left him shaken, and still very uncertain of her feelings – feelings which had come to be more important to him than his own. That uncertainty stayed with him, a deep-seated discomfort, throughout the morning.

  By early afternoon, when he went into the parlour, unable to avoid it any longer, he felt irritable and most unsociable – but also compelled to be there, to talk to them all, not just because of his vow to his mother, but because he wanted to be there, should Lady Charity need defending from the machinations of Lady Anne.

  As always, of late, he tucked the bundle of feathers into his waistcoat – perhaps he might have a chance to leave one for her. It was a strange whimsy, that he kept collecting them, kept leaving them – after the one he had dropped directly into her lap, she undoubtedly now knew that it was he who left them for her – yet she had not mentioned it – was that, he wondered, because of her terrible embarrassment and shame about making things with them?

  He stepped into the parlour, and automatically scanned the room. She wasn’t there. The disappointment was acute.

  He went to where his mother sat, even though she was in conversa
tion with Lady Chilwinth – for at least being with his mother made it a little harder for the young women to brazenly crowd him. The Duchess looked up as he approached, her expression a silent question. He shook his head slightly, and simply settled into a nearby chair and accepted a cup of tea from the maid. It was not long before Lady Anne found reason to come to her mother, and then, because he was close, of course she spoke to him.

  “Good day, Your Grace. The weather today is far better, don’t you think? If we are lucky, Christmas Day will be clear and bright.”

  He forced himself not to grimace. He hated social chatter about nothing. She fluttered her eyelashes at him, and gave him that false sweet smile.

  In his mind’s eye, he saw Lady Charity, as she had been out on the cliffs, that first morning they had ridden together, her smile wide and genuinely happy, her rich red hair a little disordered from the breeze. They had spoken of bluntness and honesty. The contrast to the woman before him was sharp, and further drove the resolve within him.

  Today, tomorrow at the latest, he must speak to Lady Charity, and tell her of his feelings, and ask her…

  He had a vow to fulfil, and the deadline was fast approaching. But, in most ways, that no longer mattered – what mattered was that he loved Lady Charity, that she was everything he wanted, and nothing that he had expected, nor that society suggested she should be. He did not care one whit about society – but did she?

  He pulled his thoughts back to the moment, and favoured Lady Anne with a stern glare – she recoiled a little.

  “I am sure that we will all have a pleasant Christmas Day, regardless of what the weather is like, Lady Anne.”

  At that moment, the Duchess took note of the conversation, and rescued him.

  “Lady Anne, I have activities planned which will be possible, regardless of how the weather turns out. I am quite certain that we will all enjoy ourselves.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.”

  Rafe finished the last of his tea, and stood.

  “If you will excuse me, I must speak to some of my other guests.”

  He rose, bowed, and left her there, going first to his gentlemen friends.

  Lord Petersham raised an eyebrow as Rafe stopped beside him.

  “Lady Anne seems determined to draw your attention, but could it be that you are intentionally avoiding her?”

  “Very astute of you, Petersham. I find the Lady rather… overblown for my tastes.”

  “Overblown? I appreciate a woman with some opulence to her – especially one who seems as willing to please as Lady Anne.”

  “If that is how you think, feel free to pursue her – she is on my ‘absolutely not’ list. In fact, if you feel inclined to distract her over the next few days, I will be eternally grateful.”

  “So – if she is off the list, does that mean that all of the others are still potentials? Or have you come to a decision…?”

  Rafe looked at him and laughed.

  “Even if I have, there is no possible way that I will tell you, or anyone else, until the Lady in question has accepted my offer.”

  Petersham shrugged.

  “A man has to ask.”

  “Indeed. But for now, that’s the only answer you’ll get. Shall we escape this, and have a game of billiards, once I have circulated a little? I find the company in this room rather stifling this afternoon.”

  “Billiards sounds like a capital idea, Oakmoor. I’ll slip along there now and set the table up.”

  Rafe nodded, and turned away from Petersham, steeling himself to deal with the other young women. Where was Lady Charity? Her absence worried him, greatly.

  *****

  The day was passing, and Charity knew that she should go downstairs. Her mother would worry, if she did not do so soon. But she could not. Not now.

  In her hand, she held the note – she had read it over and over, but the words stayed the same – words she could not escape. Words which would steal the hope from her, the hope which had only just burst into being, due to a kiss out on the fields this morning. The note had been slipped under her door, mid-morning, as she had sat working on the next feathered hat piece for her mother.

  There was no signature – but she did not need one to know who had sent it. It could only have come from Lady Anne. The words were stark on the page.

  ‘If you wish to retain your reputation, and that of your family, then you will not put yourself in the Duke’s path. If you attempt to engage his affections, I will ensure that all society knows of your disgrace, in a suitably dramatic manner, which will make you, and your parents, social outcasts. Do be sensible, and do not aspire to a station above that which you deserve.’

  She could not do that to her mother! Could not, after all of her mother’s work to scrimp and save enough for Charity to have decent gowns and a chance at a good match, throw all of that away, and leave her mother outcast from society.

  Which meant that, somehow, she had to avoid the Duke, even though all she wanted was to be with him, to be kissed by him.

  She would have to stay in her rooms, and, if her mother came to see why, she would claim a megrim again, and take to her bed, if necessary, to convince her mother that it was true. That might work for the rest of today, but what would she do on the morrow?

  For the first time in three years, she had no enthusiasm for creating. The feathers lay on the small desk in her room, silently accusing her – and reminding her of every moment when the Duke had left one for her, when he had aided and abetted her crimes, rather than mocking her. She wanted to cry. She had, finally, met a man who did not frighten her, who might understand her, who might allow her to do things that she liked, rather than expecting her to force herself to be someone she was not – and now, just when it seemed that she was lucky enough that he liked her, she would lose him. But it was a sacrifice she would make, for her family.

  The afternoon wore on, and eventually, Charity rang for her maid, and asked Maggie to inform Lady Warkworth that she had a megrim. Maggie eyed her miserable face for a moment, then simply nodded, and went to deliver the message. But, when she came back, she had questions for her mistress, as Charity had known she would. The maid slipped back into the room, and locked the door behind her.

  “I gather, my Lady, that you want to avoid everyone today? What has happened? For when you returned from your ride this morning, you looked quite happy. Can I help?”

  Charity pushed the feathers aside – there was no possible way that she would do any good work today – not when every moment of it was a reminder of how badly she had erred. Maggie raised an eyebrow, then walked across the room, and gently packed it all away in Charity’s basket.

  “Thank you, Maggie.”

  “Lady Charity – is your distress to do with what happened with Lady Anne, yesterday? For all of the servants are talking about it – Lady Anne’s maid is as much of a gossip as she is.”

  Charity felt positively ill at Maggie’s words. She had known that Lady Anne would spread the gossip, painting Charity in the worst possible light, but she had not, until now, considered the fact that the servants would spread it too. She was, truly, doomed already – whether Lady Anne carried out the threat embodied in the note, or not, if the servants were already discussing it, it would seep out into the ton, regardless. Nothing could save her, or her mother, now.

  Maggie waited, and Charity knew that she really should give her an answer. After a moment, she pulled the note from her pocket, and smoothed it out on the desk.

  “This happened. It was slipped under the door a few hours ago.”

  Maggie stepped forward, and lifted the note. She frowned as she read it, puzzling out the words – for Maggie had only learnt to read in the last few years, with Charity’s help. Her face paled as she read. Then she looked up and met Charity’s eyes.

  “That’s terrible, Lady Charity! Who do you think sent it?”

  “I cannot think that it was anyone other than Lady Anne. She… she has tried, at least once, to tra
p the Duke in a compromise – she appears quite thoroughly determined to be chosen as his bride. I cannot understand her thinking – for what man would choose a woman who has already tried to trap him?”

  “I do not understand that either. And, from what I have seen, whether you went near him or not, I do not think that the Duke would ever choose her.”

  “I agree. But still, I cannot risk her doing something terrible, out of spite – what happens to me would only be the result of my own foolishness in taking my work down to the conservatory – but for her to harm my mother’s reputation as a result is unforgiveable – I cannot allow it to happen! But… if the servants are already gossiping, I do not know how I might prevent it.”

  Maggie regarded her seriously, obviously thinking.

  “My Lady… the only thing that I can think of, which would prevent the gossip from doing dreadful harm, would be if you married the Duke. For, if you did, his influence would far outweigh that of Lady Anne’s family… and there would be no point in her doing something dreadful to you, to keep you away from him, if he had already chosen you, and married you.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lady Charity had not come down at all that afternoon, nor had she been at dinner. Rafe worried, wondering why, especially as Lady Anne seemed remarkably cheerful, and thrust herself in his direction at every slightest opportunity, despite Petersham’s attempts to distract her. By the end of the evening, he was glad to escape to his rooms, but Lady Charity’s absence still worried him – after her upset that morning, he was concerned that, somehow, he had made it worse by that kiss – that she might be avoiding him.

  It would break his heart if she was.

  His valet had assisted him with changing into loose comfortable clothing, then Rafe had sent the man off to bed. He intended to simply sit and read, with a brandy, and let himself actually relax. Hosting a house party, where every young woman present was hoping to become your bride was a most exhausting and stressful business. But he could not concentrate on the book – the feeling of Lady Charity’s lips beneath his kept replaying itself in his mind.