The Fairest of Them All (17 page)

“You lost the baby?”

“Unfortunately. The midwife said that I would never have children after that. I'd lost too much blood. It took quite some time for me to heal. It was a very lonely time for me.” She looked to Char. “Roland put me in an asylum.”

“Why?”

“I was suicidal, but I grew better. When I was released, Roland was gone and then later I heard he came to a bad end, which seems justice.”

“But you've always told me you married him for love.”

“And now you know how poor a judge of ­character love is, at least when it comes to men. But not when it comes to nieces. I have no regrets in taking you on. I love you as if you were my own child, the one I will never have. Remember that.”

Char nodded. “I love you as well, Sarah,” she said. “I hated lying to you.”

“You should. However, now you know more of my story, you can understand why I want you to marry a good man. And why I wouldn't want you to be so far away from me like in America where I couldn't help you if I was needed.”

“Jack Whitridge is a good man,” Char promised.

“I pray for your sake that is true.” Sarah left.

The remainder of the day passed slowly for Char. Her mind was never far from Jack's meeting. She did her tasks around the house and prayed it was going well, that his hopes would be met.

Finally, the hour arrived that she could ­prepare for the dinner party. She took extra care with her dressing because she wanted to look her best when she saw Jack.

Lady Baldwin arrived. “Don't you look lovely,” she said with approval.

“Thank you. I have something to tell you.” She drew her friend into the front room. “I told Sarah about the pickpocketing.”

“Oh dear.”

“No, you needn't be distressed. I took full responsibility. She is upset but at me. Not you.”

“That is what you believe. I will reserve judgment for when I see her.”

A knock on the door told them the duke had arrived. Char opened it. Baynton filled the doorway. He was remarkably handsome this evening, and yet her heart belonged to his twin. Jack could never match his brother in looks, but he made up for it in character.

“You are lovely,” the duke said. He seemed quiet, subdued.

She curtsied. “Thank you, Your Grace. You are very handsome as well. It is kind of you to come fetch us.”

He smiled a response to her pretty compliment but the expression was weak. He seemed pre­occupied.

“Well, shall we be on with it?” the duke said, and they went outside. “When is your aunt returning?” he asked, once they were settled in the coach.

“Soon,” Char answered.

Lady Baldwin just smiled.

“I am anxious to meet her,” the duke said. “I am certain you know that I am anxious to speak to a family member that you trust about a matter of some importance.”

He was obviously referring to a marriage offer.

“She cannot return fast enough for me,” he admitted, “as I believe you know.”

Char smiled her answer. She couldn't speak. The duke was a fine man. He would not be happy with her confession. She was anxious for the evening to be done. However, first, she must speak to Jack.

“How did the meeting go today?” she asked the duke.

His gaze slid away from her. “Not as any of us planned.”

Now she understood why he was so subdued. Char was even more anxious to see Jack.

The dowager received Char and Lady Baldwin in the family quarters. She was there with her great friend Fyclan Morris, who also acted quiet.

“You are looking well this evening, Your Grace,” Char said in greeting. The duchess ­appeared regal, poised, and a bit distant. Her smile did not reach her eyes . . . or Char could have been ­mistaking the matter.

“As are you,” she answered, nodding to Lady Baldwin, who had gone into a deep curtsy and always had difficulty rising when she did. ­Baynton held out a hand for her.

“Let me tell Henry we are all here,” the duke said and left the room.

“We are small party tonight,” the dowager said. “Elin is not feeling well so she and Ben have sent their apologies.”

“Where is Lord Jack?” Char asked. “I am anxious to hear the results of his meeting.”

For a second, the duchess's careful composure seemed in danger of cracking. Her mouth tried to smile and yet failed.

Alarmed, Char said, “I am sorry, Your Grace. Did I say something to upset you?”

“It is not you. I'm just weepy this evening. Jack is leaving for the United States on the morrow and I have no idea when I shall see him again. In fact, he has already left Menheim. He is staying at the Horse and Horn with his American friends. Here, don't let Baynton see me upset. It would make him angry.”

Char's mind reeled at the information. “Did he tell you he was leaving?”

“Yes.” The dowager smiled bravely. “I can't ­believe he would run off again but that is the way he is. We did have good conversations. I had thought there was an understanding between us, a ­forgiveness . . .” Her voice trailed off.

Stunned, Char murmured, “I am surprised as well. He spoke of enjoying the time he spent with you.”

“So the duke said. We are both rattled by the matter and yet, Jack has made up his mind.”

Dinner was announced then. Char was seated next to the duke. He was as attentive as he could be. Lady Baldwin carried most of the conversation at the table.

Char struggled to eat the carefully prepared dishes. Her appetite had deserted her. Jack had left. He'd abandoned without a farewell.

Or had that almost kiss on her step last night been his way of saying good-­bye? It would have been her first kiss. He had been the one to pull away. She had been eager and ready.

Perhaps she had misread everything. Perhaps he had not returned her regard? She tried her best to be present at the dinner table but she found it difficult to smile, to be polite . . . and to breathe.

This was what poets meant when they spoke of a heart breaking . . . she'd always thought it a figure of speech. Now she knew it was real.

And she was not the only one distraught. The dowager was very reserved. No one at the table appeared to notice, not even Mr. Morris. He and Baynton became quite involved in a conversation of differing political opinions.

This news also explained the air of distance around the duke. He was probably as sad as his mother was and Char couldn't help but feel some empathy for him. How tragic it must be to have a brother, a twin no less, reject the family twice.

In fact, the more she thought upon Jack's ­desertion, his selfishness in leaving—­her heartbreak evolved into anger.

She had not imagined there had been a connection between two such strong emotions. Between the soup course and the cheese, she found herself boiling with anger. She coped by being as attentive as she could be to the duke.

And he was pleased. He even, at one point, took her hand. It was an unusual gesture for him. He was always right and proper, but then, they were around family. Why should he not take her hand?

She just wished Jack were here to see it.

The evening came to an end at eleven.

The duke helped Char into her cloak. “Thank you, Gavin,” she said.

He squeezed her shoulders. “You finally said it.” His voice was close to her ear. “It was not that difficult, was it?”

She tilted her head to him. Their lips were inches apart. “No, it was not.”

“Good. I may not be able to wait for your aunt to return.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that he needn't wait. She could answer for herself, but she held back. She had done too many impulsive things over the past weeks. The time had come to be wise.

The ride back to Mulberry Street happened quickly enough. Lady Baldwin thanked His Grace for his hospitality. To Char, she said, “I'll step in and give the two of you a moment to say good night.”

So, here she was, once again on the step with a gentleman.

“That was kind of her,” Gavin said.

“She can be thoughtful,” Char agreed teasingly.

“It gives me a moment to do this.”

He was going to kiss her. She knew the thought had been on his mind ever since that moment with her cloak. He leaned toward her—­and Char found it took all her will to let him come closer and not turn away. It was the strangest emotion. He was handsome and honest and everything Jack wasn't.

His lips pressed against hers.

Her first kiss
.

Her back tightened. She held her breath, and fought the urge to jerk back. She wasn't ­repulsed. She had no feeling at all. It was as if she was ­kissing her aunt's cheek. She felt affection but didn't experience the overwhelming feelings lauded by poets.

What a disappointment.

Apparently, he'd liked it.

He took his time breaking the kiss. “Thank you for that.”

Char nodded. She opened the door. “Good night.”

She didn't want to give him the impression she was running but she did need to escape.

“Wait,” he said. “May I see you on the morrow?”

“Yes,” she answered, because she didn't know what else to say. She gave him a wave of her ­fingers and shut the door.

Lady Baldwin smiled sleepily at her. “Nice ­evening. I think you have him.”

“Possibly. I'm tired. Do you need anything? I'm ready for my bed.”

“I am as well. Sarah will be home late?”

“There was a rehearsal tonight. I don't know when she planned to return. She may already be in bed.”

“Then I shall be quiet upstairs.”

Char locked the door and lit candles for herself and Lady Baldwin.

Upstairs, in the sanctuary of her room, she threw off her cloak, tossing it on the edge of her bed. She then sank down on top of it, burying her face in her hands, and the anger she'd felt earlier returned full force.

Damn Jack Whitridge.

How dare he leave without saying a word to her? Or did he think those words they had shared the night before over Leo's hat ­constituted ­meaningful conversation? And what had gone wrong?

Here were questions she would never have an answer for because Jack was not here. Oh, what she would give to have him in front of her.

Or to be able to give him a shake and tell him how rotten she thought his treatment was of every­one who cared for him, most of all her.

Or did he think she preferred the duke? There was a thought she had not considered.

Char rose to her feet and paced the length of her room, practically distraught over the idea that perhaps Jack hadn't realized the depth of her ­affections for him. By the time she had reached the other side of the room, she'd discarded that worry.

Jack had known she cared. He. Knew. And there was no excuse to leave the country without telling her.

Her eye went to her open wardrobe door. The wardrobe where her breeches and boy's disguise were still hidden.

The house was quiet.

A daring plan took form in her mind. Jack owed her an explanation and there was only one way she could receive it. Furthermore, she owed him a good setdown.

Before she could question the wisdom of her actions, Char pulled her breeches from the wardrobe and began changing.

The Horse and Horn was not that far from Mulberry Street. She would say what she had to say and be back in an hour.

However, to give herself time in case Sarah decided to check on her, Char used her cloak to create the impression that there was a body in her bed under the sheets. She quickly braided her hair, wrapped the braid around her head, pinning it carefully in place, and pulled her wide-­brimmed felt hat low over her eyes.

She blew out the candle and tiptoed down the stairs. Cold air rushed through the house when she opened the door, but it did not deter her. She took off into the night with one thought in mind—­to find Jack Whitridge and let him know one didn't trifle with Charlene Blanchard and walk away.

Chapter Seventeen

J
ack could say that he had given Gavin's men a good fight. In the wee hours of Monday ­morning, when Henry and the footmen had escorted him to the inn, Jack had been compliant. Why should he not be?

However, when he saw Perkins and realized the intent was on keeping him prisoner in a locked storeroom in the basement, Jack's good humor ended. Then they had a fight on their hands, right there in the public room of the Horse and Horn.

Jack was proud that his first blow broke ­Perkins's nose. He might have broken a few more in the melee. In the end, they had overpowered him. It had taken six grown, strong men. They had ­accomplished what the Seven had been unable to do.

Of course, no one witnessing the fight offered to help Jack. Certainly not Silas or Matthew. Silas had actually watched the furor as if pleased. Jack didn't know where Matthew was. Probably playing with his knobby. That took up most of his brainpower as it was.

The footmen had bodily carried him down a set of stairs and had thrown him into a storage room full of odds and ends like brooms and buckets. There was a window, but it was close to the ceiling and too small for a grown man to climb out of. They hadn't been too nice about tossing him in, either.

Jack had landed heavily on his shoulder. He'd stayed where he was, bruised and humiliated.

Perkins had knelt over him, a kerchief held up to his bloody nose. “Rest easy. We'll come for you before your ship leaves Tuesday evening on the tide.”

“My meeting,” Jack had ground out.

“There is no meeting. His Grace canceled it.”

Perkins left the room. A key turned in the lock and Jack lost consciousness. When he came to his senses, the light from the window let him know that Monday was well advanced.

He had tried to escape but there was no way out that he could find. He'd banged on the door to make a disturbance that could have caused ­attention to his plight but no one came. He had tried to barge through it. He had then ­threatened and cajoled and prayed . . . and still he'd been trapped.

That Gavin had done this out of jealousy gnawed at Jack. His mother had been aware of the argument. Did she know about this as well?

Damn his family. Damn all of them.

Evening fell. Daylight through the window was replaced by pale winter moonlight.

Gavin would be dining with Charlene. He was probably telling her that Jack had left London without so much as a farewell. She would not understand. She believed the very best of Jack, but this could break the bond between them.

It was one thing to ruin his reputation with the powerbrokers of London, but destroying ­Charlene's opinion of him was a different thing. She'd trusted Jack. He knew without being told that trust was not something she bestowed on many, and he had no idea how to reach her before it was too late and the damage was done.

He cursed repeatedly for not having told her Sunday night that he loved her. He should never have returned to Menheim without saying those words to her. He should have gone to Mulberry Street and roused her out of her bed.

And then she would say she loved him, too, and Gavin would never be able to part them.

He had no doubt that Perkins and Baynton's footmen would physically carry him to the ship. He'd probably be placed in the brig for most of the ­journey.

Nor did he want to think of facing Governor Strong when he returned to Boston. They'd both had high expectations for this trip.

Now any talk of negotiations was doomed. Jack had no doubt that Lawrence would happily take this tale to Congress. Jack's treatment would be considered an affront to the United States. The war hawks would be stamping their feet for ­Madison to declare war—­and all because of Gavin's ­jealousy.

His twin's many machinations would have made their father proud.

Jack tried to keep his focus. He was hungry and thirsty. That worked against him, but this was not the first time he'd been a captive and he'd ­managed his way out of that one.

Sooner or later, they would come for him and when they did, Jack would have an opportunity to break free.

And then what? Would anyone in London care that the duke had locked up his turncoat brother? Most would cheer him on.

Jack sat on the floor, legs bent, his head resting on his knees. He kept his sanity by thinking of ways he could pay back his brother. The hour grew late. Past midnight by his calculations.

He might have dozed, but woke at a sound coming from the door. It wasn't that of a key ­turning in the lock but then he heard a click.

In the darkness, the door quietly swung open.

A shadow appeared in the door and a soft voice said, “Whitridge?” She stepped into the moonlight, a slender youth in breeches, shoes without their buckles, and an oversized hat that hid a wealth of glorious hair.

“God help me,” he said under his breath, un­certain if he could believe it was she, and then going into a panic, because it
was
she. Where were the guards? What if they discovered her?

He jumped to his feet, put his hand out in the dark, and felt her. He pulled her into the room, soundlessly shutting the door. He almost choked on his joy. She smelled of the fresh night air and her own sweetness.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I was wondering the same about you,” she whispered. “There are men sleeping in the hall wearing your brother's livery.”

“That is right. My brother put me here.”

“No,” she shot back. “He told me you left. What is this about? What of your meeting?”

“It is done, my lady. There will be no meeting. Gavin will have me taken to the ship in a few hours and see me gone to Boston. How did you come here?”

“I was angry,” she said. “I came to give you a very angry talking-­to.”

“Because?” he prompted.

“You were going to leave. You were going to leave
me
—­”

He broke off her words with a kiss. He must. Dear merciful Lord, he must.

And she kissed back. Her lips had been together, but at his insistence, they parted ever so slightly, just enough for the kiss to deepen.

Jack had kissed more than his share of the fairer sex but nothing was as pleasing as kissing Charlene Blanchard.

She must have liked it, too. Her body leaned against him. Her breasts flattened against his chest. His hand drifted to her waist and then lower. It couldn't help itself. From the moment he'd first seen her in breeches, he'd longed to caress the curve of her buttocks . . .

But, infuriatingly, there was something more important he needed to think about and that was escaping. He brought the kiss to a close. She tried to follow his lips, her body pliant.

He leaned back. “We must be out of here, my lady.”

“Oh. We must,” she agreed, sounding very much like someone returning to awareness. She stepped back. “You kiss much better than the duke.”

“He kissed you? No, wait, don't answer that. I'll be forced to tear the lips off of his face, and right now, we need to leave here.” He walked over to the door. “You said the guards were asleep?”

“Yes, I walked right by them.”

“How did you know I was here?”

“I overheard some men talk in the taproom. There are some broken tables. One man asked why and another said there was a huge fight early that morning. He said they had the man who had started it locked up in the storage room. Once I saw the duke's servants at the foot of the staircase, I guessed where you were.”

“Did you steal the key from them?”

She held up her hand and he saw the hairpin in the moonlight. “Another trick Lady Baldwin showed me.”

“Bless Lady Baldwin.”

He kissed her again, a hard, grateful buss on the mouth. She deserved it. “I have something to say to you, but let's leave first.” He would have opened the door but she pulled him back.

“No, wait, say it now.”

“Let us escape first.”

“What if we don't? I'll be returned to my aunt but who knows what will happen with you? I'll never hear what you have to say. I almost lost the chance to kiss you and I would never have wanted to miss that.”

Both touched and gladdened by her candor, he cupped her face with his hands, marveling at the smoothness of her skin. How could anyone have imagined her a boy?

“Very well. Here is what I have to tell you. I love you, Charlene. You are simply incredible. You're bold and brave and I can't imagine giving my heart to any other.”

“I am thankful that you said that,” she answered, leaning into him. “I would never have wanted to live another second without hearing those words.”

“If we make it out of here, I plan on telling you that every day.”

“I pray you do. Whatever happens, Whitridge, you are taking me with you. If you go to Boston, I go to Boston. If you go to the moon, I go to the moon.” And then she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him with all the passion in her being.

Had he thought the earlier kiss special? He'd been wrong.

What her kiss lacked in experience, it made up for in enthusiasm. She kissed him long and hard and he was powerless to pull away. Gavin could have led a host of guards into the room, and Jack would not have moved.

Charlene finished this kiss. Her eyes had been closed, her lashes dark against her cheeks. She now opened them. Sounding as content as a cat, she said, “I love you, too. I came here to tell you how rotten you were. I'm glad I was wrong.”

“We shall finish this,” he said, more of a ­promise to himself than to her.

She nodded. He took her hand and slowly opened the door. There was one window at the end of the hall that led to a staircase. The light from the window rested on the sleeping figures of two Baynton footmen. Jack recognized them as lads who served in the dining room. They were really not meant to perform this sort of work.

He moved Charlene up in front of him. Leaning close to her ear, he said, “I want you to walk right by them. You go first. Leave the building and I will come second. If they wake, don't stop. Run.”

“What will happen to you?”

“Nothing as long as I know you are safe.”

“I want
you
safe,” she shot back.

“Then move.” He gave her a small shove. “I shall meet you on the street.”

She slipped into the hall, her movements noiseless. One of the guards gave out an abrupt snore, but neither woke. Jack saw her shadow turn the corner for the stairs.

He did not leave immediately. He wanted her to have a good chance to flee in case he was not as successful. He forced himself to be patient and when he was certain she'd had enough time to be outside the inn, then he moved.

In truth, Baynton's servants were apparently not afraid of him escaping. Babies slept lighter.

However, Jack was not sure whom he would meet at the top of the stairs. Perkins might have set a guard there as well. Now he was doubly glad he'd broken the man's nose. That had been a good moment.

He reached the stairs and climbed them two at a time.

All was quiet in the main part of the inn. Travelers who could not afford a room slept on benches in the taproom. No one was at the desk and there was certainly no sign of Baynton livery or the sort of man Perkins employed. Apparently, they thought they had Jack corralled.

Jack shoved his hair back from his face. He wondered where his hat had gone. He walked out of the inn as cool as he pleased. Moving out of the shadows, Charlene fell into step beside him. They did not speak for several minutes. Out on the streets, parties of men made their way about their business and Jack realized exactly what Charlene had risked coming for him.

She broke the silence first. “So, what do we do now? Are you going to confront your brother? Tell him how wrong he was for preventing your ­meeting?”

“No,” Jack answered. He paused on a corner. “The Coachman's Inn is down this way.” The Coachman's Inn was another posting inn.

“Why do you want to go there?”

“We need horses. How is your riding?”

Charlene hesitated. “I'm fair in the saddle.”

“No worry. I'm a ripping good rider. I'll see you through.” He started walking in the direction of the Coachman's.

She skipped to catch up. “The wharves are in the opposite direction.”

“We aren't going to the wharves. That is what they will expect and I'm not ready to leave Britain yet.” Jack stopped so quickly, she almost ran into him. He took her in his arms. “Were you truthful when you said you wanted to leave with me?”

“Were you truthful when you said you loved me?” she countered.

He laughed. “My Charlene, always hedging your wagers. Yes, I was honest. I love you, brat. I can't imagine not having you in my life. Although I prefer you in dresses.”

She laughed, the sound very feminine, and Jack had to glance up and down the street to ensure they were alone. He turned serious.

“My lady, will you marry me—­”

“
Yes
.” The word was out of her before he could finish his sentence. She would have leaped into his arms but Jack held her off.

“Careful,” he warned. They did not need to draw attention to themselves. Suitably chastised, she stayed where she was.

“My aunt will not be pleased. Sarah was trying to discourage me this morning. However, I like to think that once she realizes how happy you make me, then she will come round.”

“My family will probably never come around. When we marry, Charlene, it will be without their blessing. There will be those who will tell you that I married you out of spite, but that isn't true. I'm marrying you because you have made me believe in love again.” For a second, gratitude humbled him. “After Hope died, I vowed never to risk my heart on another. The pain of loss was too great. But, right now, I can't imagine my life without you.”

He reached for her hand and laced his fingers with hers. “We are going to Scotland, love. I want us married on British soil so that no one can ever claim that I kidnapped you or forced you against your will or that our marriage is not valid. Do you understand?”