The Duke, the Earl and the Captain Page 5

  Somehow, it was too difficult to explain all this at that moment. Charlotte relaxed and sipped gratefully at the water Ralph held to her lips.

  “How do you feel?” he asked. “Don’t talk, only nod or shake your head. Are you unwell?”

  She supposed she must be. How unlike her! She nodded.

  “Your throat?”

  Nod.

  “I’ll send for a doctor.”

  That brought on a firm shake. Imagine, calling out poor Dr Farrows on Boxing Day!

  Ralph pursed his lips. All Charlotte could do was hope that he trusted her enough to know her own state of health. Or, if not, her own unbreakable stubbornness. She simply refused to be ill enough to summon a doctor.

  “Very well,” he said wryly. “We’ll see if you’re better in the evening. If not – Dr Farrows. And no complaints.”

  “Complain?” Charlotte whispered. “Me?” Of all the cheek!

  Ralph tucked the sheets back in around her. She felt as well-trussed up as the Christmas goose. “Don’t speak. I’ll have a pen and paper sent up, and a bell to ring if you need anything. Now, there’s only one thing you have to do today, and then I’ll leave you to rest.”

  One thing? Charlotte’s heart sank. Hadn’t he paid any attention at all when she’d told him her plans for Boxing Day? The tradition of visiting the poor was a vital part of the Christmas season. What use was she as a duchess, after all, if she couldn’t use her position to do some good?

  Ralph saw the protest in her eyes and smiled. “You must give me the list of villagers you intended to visit this morning. Since you’re unwell, I will go for you. Don’t worry, I’ll bring Tilly along – I should think it would frighten most of my tenants to death to see their duke on the doorstep. And I…” He coughed, faintly embarrassed. “I’m not known for my charitable nature.”

  Charlotte could have kissed him, if it were not for the pain in her throat and the dizziness in her head. She pointed to her dressing table. “Top drawer,” she whispered. Ralph pressed a kiss to her forehead, spent a brief, tantalising second with his hand clasped in her hair, and went to find it.

  “I’ll be back…” He hesitated, perusing the list. It was a long one. “Ah. I hope to be back before sundown.”

  Charlotte closed her eyes and let sleep overwhelm her once more. It was so good to know that matters were taken in hand.

  11

  Ralph had set out that morning in a carriage laden down with parcels, baskets, and oddly-shaped gifts wrapped in brown paper and twine. He was now returning with an empty carriage and a heart that was painfully full.

  It had been an…unexpected day. Difficult at times, certainly. Far beyond his comfort zone. But not necessarily unpleasant, for all that.

  For the first time in years, the turrets of Langdon Manor filled him with excitement. He wanted nothing more than to run upstairs and tell Charlotte all about it.

  She’d been right. He was beginning to suspect that she was right about most things. The villagers had been happy and grateful to see him. Even the poorest were keen to show their duke the warmth of their hospitality. Ralph had felt gruff and unsuited to his task for much of the day, but no-one seemed to mind his awkwardness. He had to admit the Christmas spirit was a potent medicine for his seasonal ills.

  As he helped Tilly down from the carriage, he was surprised to find her slipping something into his hand. He stared down at the little bunch of greenery in confusion.

  “Just in case, Your Grace,” said Tilly, winking. Ralph was too astonished to chide her for her lack of propriety. “You never know when you might need it.”

  He found his wife propped up in bed, as snugly wrapped as he’d left her, sipping from a teacup and reading a novel. Her eyes lit up when she saw him. Ralph could certainly get used to coming home to that gaze of shining admiration, though he had no idea what he’d done to deserve it.

  “How was it?” asked Charlotte. Her voice still rasped painfully, but she seemed a little better than before. “Did you get along alright?”

  “Don’t speak unless it’s absolutely necessary,” said Ralph, taking a seat on the edge of her bed. “I mean it, Charlotte. If you don’t listen to me, perhaps you’ll listen to Dr Farrows –”

  Charlotte shook her head vigorously, sending her mess of dark ringlets bobbing. Ralph thought he liked looking at her now, bed-headed and half-dressed, even more than when she wore all her duchess’s finery. This was a more personal beauty. Something only he was allowed to appreciate.

  “I ticked off everyone on your list,” he said. “The gifts were clearly labelled, it was no trouble at all.”

  Charlotte waggled her eyebrows at him, her eagerness to ask him all manner of questions nearly spilling out of her. Ralph did his best to fill her in on all the small domestic details he’d picked up on his round of the village poor.

  “I’m afraid I’ve left all the important parts out,” he said, seeing that Charlotte was still impatient to speak to him. “Or rather, I wasn’t told the important things in the first place. They don’t trust me as they trust you. Everyone asked after you. They were sorry to hear you’re unwell. It was all I could do to prevent old Mrs Jenkins mixing you up one of her famous herbal remedies.”

  “You have done a marvellous job,” Charlotte whispered. “I’m sure I couldn’t have done it better myself! Really, Ralph, I’m so pleased to hear it.”

  “Now, what did I tell you about talking?”

  Charlotte pressed a finger to her lips obediently. Even in her illness, she retained that sparkle of mischief which Ralph found equal parts frustrating and endearing.

  “I’m sorry about your Christmas,” he said. “I know you didn’t plan to spend it lying in bed, or getting lost in the snow. I think I’m beginning to understand what it all means to you now.”

  Charlotte touched his arm. “There’s always next year. That’s the delightful thing about Christmases, Ralph. They’ll always come around again.”

  “I owe you an apology all the same. My attitude when I came home was simply unforgivable.”

  “Not at all.” She could still manage nothing more than a whisper, but her voice still carried the warmth of her kindness. Ralph couldn’t bring himself to stop her saying her piece. “I have already forgotten it.” A shadow crossed her face. “I haven’t had time to miss Bessington at all.”

  “You didn’t hope for more from your first Christmas at Langdon Manor?”

  Charlotte smiled sadly. “Just one thing, perhaps. But it’ll have to wait now.”

  “I want to make you happy, Charlotte,” Ralph reminded her. She blushed and lowered her eyes.

  “It’s a silly notion, really. I thought, perhaps, the two of us…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Please, go on.”

  “Things are already almost exactly as I want them to be,” said Charlotte. “I feel that I know you now. I truly believe we can help each other be happy here, if we both try. And it seems so silly to ask for anything more than what’s already happened between us, but I just thought… You see, I hoped…”

  Ralph opened his hand to reveal the mistletoe Tilly had slipped him. Just in case. Impertinent wretch…but she was right. Struck by a sudden inspiration, he dangled the mistletoe above Charlotte’s head.

  “Don’t you dare!” she gasped. “You’ll catch my cold!”

  “As if a little cold could stop me now,” said Ralph, and kissed her.

  It was the most unexpected, wonderful feeling.

  Charlotte’s lips opened slowly under his. He could taste her surprise, her joy, and finally, the first gentle beginnings of desire.

  He had never kissed a woman like this before. There was something so tender in it, so sweet and private and personal to the two of them, that he lost all track of his sense of time. He might have been anywhere at all – at the top of a mountain, lost in the wilderness, spinning through the clouds in the sky – and he could not have cared less. There was only Charlotte for him now. There would always, only, eve
r be Charlotte.

  As they pulled apart, Ralph’s heart filled with the need to tell her all these wordless emotions, to explain those unexplainable needs and wants and dreams, but the words entirely failed him. All he could do was gaze at her, helpless to do more than acknowledge the shared feelings reflecting in her eyes with another loving kiss.

  “Merry Christmas, my wife,” he said softly. It was the first time he’d called her that and truly understood what it meant.

  Charlotte smiled. “Merry Christmas, my husband.”

  Epilogue

  One year later…

  “Tilly, get down from that chair! You shouldn’t be clambering over the furniture in your condition!”

  Charlotte rushed across the drawing room to lend her lady’s maid a hand as she wobbled back to earth. Tilly rolled her eyes, though no doubt she was secretly pleased by her mistress’s concern. Charlotte placed a hand on Tilly’s round belly – so big now that it was a wonder the tiny girl didn’t topple forward under the weight. “Imagine what Peter would say if he saw you taking such risks,” she said, taking the holly branch from Tilly’s hand.

  “Oh, he knows well enough to let me do as I please,” laughed Tilly. “I’m giving him a baby for Christmas, after all!”

  “Oh, Tilly,” said Charlotte, stepping up onto the chair to hang the holly herself. “I do wish you’d taken up my offer to go back to your family in Bessington. Wouldn’t you feel more comfortable back home?”

  “Home?” Tilly wrinkled her nose. “And be away from you and His Grace at Christmastime? Not likely.” She nodded upwards, as though she could see through the ceiling into the nursery. “To say nothing of his little lordship’s first Christmas. I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Your Grace.”

  Charlotte pulled the ribbon tight around the holly branch. “Well, we’re very glad to have you. And it will be nice to see your mother again, if the weather lets her make the journey.”

  “What’s that?” asked Tilly, cocking her head. Charlotte listened. A familiar wail was making its way through the house towards them, growing louder with every moment. “Ah. Speak of his lordship and he appears…”

  “I wonder if the new nanny really knows how to manage him,” Charlotte fretted. Her son was not noted for his tranquil temperament, after all. He’d inherited that much from Ralph.

  “After all the trouble His Grace went to, interviewing every qualified woman in England?” asked Tilly, raising an eyebrow. “Begging your pardon, but I’d keep that to yourself.”

  “I do envy you, Tilly,” sighed Charlotte. It wasn’t the done thing for a duchess to spend every hour of the day in the nursery. The nanny, well-qualified as she was, still felt like a necessary evil. “Imagine being able to stay at home with baby for as long as you like…”

  “We can always swap, Your Grace,” said Tilly, rubbing her back. “I’ll be duchess for a day, and you can have the cottage.”

  “I wonder what Ralph would make of that?” Charlotte wondered. Both women dissolved into a fit of giggles.

  “Perhaps not such a fine idea, after all,” said Tilly, wiping her eyes. The baby’s wailing grew louder, and the flustered-looking nanny appeared in the doorway.

  “I’m terribly sorry, Your Grace. I wondered if you could give it a try? Nothing I do will soothe him at all.”

  “Give him to me!” There was no mistaking the ring of authority in those tones. Ralph appeared behind the nanny, summoned as rapidly by his son’s tears as the Prince Regent’s order used to summon him to London. “I know how to manage him.”

  Judging by the nanny’s expression, she didn’t set much stock by the baby-calming talents of aristocratic man. But it was a direct order, and she complied without a fuss.

  “There, there, little man.” Ralph pressed a kiss to the tiny Marquess of Ashby’s head, taking a moment to breathe in the scent of his fuzzy black curls. “These womenfolk don’t know how to talk to a fellow, that’s the problem.”

  Sometimes, Charlotte still wanted to pinch her husband for his unfailing arrogance, but in this instance it was well warranted. The little Marquess’s cries faded to a sob, then a murmur, then sleepy contentment.

  Who could ever have guessed that the cold and fearsome Duke of Langdon would be so good with babies?

  “Charlotte!” came a screech of delight, followed by the thunder of two pairs of feet running down the stairs. Ralph frowned and cupped his hand against his son’s ear protectively.

  “Charlotte, please take charge of your sisters.”

  Charlotte laughed. “You’ll get used to them, Ralph. They’re just so excited to be visiting.”

  Right on cue, Harriet and Frederica burst into the room, jumping up and down for joy as if they were all children again. “The wassailers are on their way!” shouted Frederica. “I saw the lanterns from my bedroom window! Oh, it’s so charming – just the way things are at home!”

  “Go along and wait for them at the door,” said Charlotte, shooing them both away. It had not escaped her that Ralph had tensed at the mention of carol singers. She put an arm around his waist. “Are you well, my love?” she murmured.

  “Ashby and I will retire to the library,” he said. “But I’ll be back out once the singing has stopped. I’m sure he’ll be asleep by then,” he added, louder, for the sake of the servants.

  “A wonderful idea,” said Charlotte. She tiptoed up and kissed him, a real kiss, full on the mouth in front of everyone. Tilly whistled.

  “Charlotte!” Ralph gasped, pleased and aghast at the same time. Charlotte winked and pointed upwards. He groaned. “That mistletoe will be the death of me.”

  “Be careful as you make your way through the house,” Charlotte teased him. “You never know where I’ve hung it, and if you’re not careful Mrs Henson may claim her Christmas gift a day early…”

  Ralph shrugged off the women’s laughter and made his way out towards the library, Ashby dozing happily in his arms. As Charlotte watched them go, her heart swelled with happiness.

  It was Christmas Eve, the air was full of sweet carol-singing, and she had a husband who loved her and a son they both adored.

  It was going to be a very merry Christmas indeed.

  Grace Captures the Captain

  1

  “Blast that scoundrel’s eyes!” cried Captain Charles Everly, rising to his feet. “I’ll call him out this instant!”

  “Now, Charlie,” said his sister, in the most soothing tone she could manage. “That is uncalled-for, and you know it.”

  Mrs Alison Henshaw, born Alison Everly, had only had a matter of hours to grow accustomed to the change in her brother. He had joined the army a big-hearted boy of twenty-one. This grown man just returned from the war was bearded, rash, and angry. He was no longer the sweet Charlie she thought she knew.

  “Henshaw will agree with me,” said Charlie, undeterred, clenching his fists where they lay on the whitework tablecloth. “Speak up, Henshaw! The way Mr Rivers has acted is unthinkable by any decent man.”

  Alison had been fortunate enough to marry her childhood sweetheart, a circumstance which she had more cause to be thankful for than usual, for Mr Henshaw was an even-tempered fellow who had known Charlie in his boyhood and was not liable to be shocked by his rough talk now.

  “It seems a murky affair,” Henshaw allowed, carving the side of roast beef as though no-one were talking of duels at all. “I can’t say that I like it, but, on the other hand, I can’t see where exactly Rivers is in the wrong. Recall that the sale of Greenfields settled your father’s debts in an instant.”

  “And the loss of it drove him to an early grave!”

  Alison met her husband’s eyes across the dinner table and fixed him with one of those stern, wifely looks that forbade him from saying anything further. They all knew that Mr Everly’s own vices had been more than enough to curtail his life before its natural span was ended.

  “Besides, Charlie, as father’s heir you had to agree to end the entail,” Alison pointed ou
t reasonably. “Without your agreement, Greenfields could not have been sold. It would look very strange now if you were to take Mr Rivers to task over something you yourself agreed to.”

  “What choice did I have?” Charlie demanded bitterly. “Father was dying – I was at war – you, Alison, were left alone to deal with the whole sorry business. If only I had been given leave to come home –”

  “You would have behaved in exactly the same way,” said Alison. “There was no money, Charlie. Worse than that, there were debts. And such debts! You really can’t imagine how frightening it was. But Mr Rivers bought Greenfields and put an end to all our troubles. Only think – you have inherited a very reasonable fortune, where you might have had nothing! Now, be a lamb and pass me the peas.”

  “I would rather have no money at all, and keep Greenfields,” said Charlie. “Besides, as you well know, the chief debts were to Rivers himself. Tell me how that looks!”

  “It does not matter how it looks,” sighed Alison. “Greenfields is gone, but you and I – and all our happy memories – remain. Believe me, I cried many tears over it. But the time for tears is past now. We must look to the future.”

  Charlie was quiet for a moment, and settled down to eat in a silence which only unnerved his sister more. Mr Henshaw tried to lighten the mood with some casual talk about the new curricle he had recently purchased, but Charlie would not be moved to speech.

  Only when the dishes had been cleared away did he open his mouth again, erupting in a fresh outburst of grief and anger. “To think that it was my commission which first sent father into debt! If I had only known the lengths he would go – I should never have asked it of him!”

  “I will not hear of you blaming yourself,” said Alison, reaching across the table to clasp his arm. “For all you knew, father still had money to spare. We had neither of us any notion of how badly he had managed it. And only think, Charlie, how proud he was to see you with your captain’s insignia!”