Page 70 of Affair

Her lack of conversation suited him perfectly, he thought. God knew he’d had more than enough of strong emotions today. He certainly did not want to discuss them.

He followed her up the steps of her little town house in silence. It was a relief to retreat into the deep, remote place where feeling was muted, distanced, and far easier to contain.

Mrs. Witty opened the door with alacrity. “About time you got home, Miss Charlotte. Miss Ariel and myself were starting to fret. Wondered if we ought to send word to Mr. St. Ives—” She broke off as she took in the sight of Baxter standing on the step behind Charlotte. Her face cleared. “Oh, I see you found her, sir. Well, that’s a fortunate turn of events.”

“That depends upon one’s point of view.” Baxter ignored Charlotte’s glowering, sidelong glance as he stepped into the hall.

He stopped short as the overpowering fragrance of a vast quantity of massed flowers hit him in a scented wave. “What the devil is this? Have you turned the house into a bloody conservatory?”

Mrs. Witty grimaced as she followed his gaze. “They started arriving this morning. Used every vase and bowl we had in the house. Quite a sight, eh?”

Rank upon rank of vases filled with innumerable blooms were clustered in the hall. Pots of marigolds marched up the staircase. Tulips framed the mirror. Roses and orchids and lilies were massed against the walls.

Baxter was abruptly incensed. “Who the devil thinks he has the right to send you all of these damned posies, Charlotte? The only man you danced with last night was old Lennox.”

“I sent some of them to myself.” Charlotte untied her bonnet strings. “I made a bargain with the young boy who drove the flower cart, you see. He only agreed to help me follow Miss Post after I said I would purchase all of his wares.”

“Ah, yes. The bloody flower cart boy.” Baxter scowled at Mrs. Witty. “Were you a party to that episode?”

“Don’t look at me, sir.” Mrs. Witty took his hat. “I’m entirely innocent. I suggested that chasing after Miss Post was not the wisest course of action, but who listens to the housekeeper? In any event, not all of these flowers are from the flower cart. A good many were sent around this morning by Miss Ariel’s admirers.”

Charlotte brightened. “Of course. Ariel was the toast of every young man in the ton last night. The gentlemen fell at her feet in droves.”

“Charlotte, you’re back.” Ariel’s voice sang out from the rear of the hall. Quick footsteps sounded on the tile as she hurried toward the front of the house. “I was starting to become concerned. Mrs. Witty said that you’d gone haring off after some woman who claimed that Mr. St. Ives had seduced and abandoned her—Oh, Mr. St. Ives.” Ariel blushed as she emerged from the corridor. “I did not see you, sir.”

“Think nothing of it.” Baxter folded his arms and propped one shoulder against the door frame. “I’m accustomed to being ignored.”

“Pay no attention to him.” Charlotte marched briskly toward the stairs. “Mr. St. Ives is in an ill temper. Show him into my study, Mrs. Witty. I shall be down in a minute. I want to freshen myself. It has been a somewhat hectic morning.”

“Hectic.” Baxter watched Charlotte hurry up the staircase. “Yes, indeed. Just another busy morning in the laboratory observing the results of one’s experiments, eh, Miss Arkendale?”

She paused on the landing to give him a brittle smile. “As you say, Mr. St. Ives.”

“Bear in mind that occasionally the results of certain experiments take some time to develop,” he said. “As long as nine months in some instances.”

He had the satisfaction of seeing her eyes widen in shock as his meaning sank home. Bleakly satisfied, he turned and walked into the study.

Another scented wave swept over him. This room, too, was filled with blooms. A particularly large bowl of pale pink roses dominated the scene.

Nine months. His own words struck him with the impact of a hammer blow. What if Charlotte was pregnant?

He made for the brandy table.

Charlotte’s outraged yell sounded from the floor above just as Baxter got the top off the brandy decanter.

“It’s gone.” Footsteps pounded overhead. “The bastard took it.”

Baxter put down the decanter with a long-suffering sigh. A man could not even take a medicinal draught in this household without being interrupted.

He made his way back to the doorway of the study. Ariel and Mrs. Witty were gazing up at the landing in openmouthed astonishment. Charlotte stood there looking as though she had just received a strong jolt from an electricity machine.

“What is it?” Ariel demanded. “What happened?”

Mrs. Witty stared at her. “What’s wrong?”

Charlotte flung her arms wide. “I just told you. Didn’t you hear me? He took it.”

“Calm yourself, Charlotte,” Baxter said. Everyone fell silent and turned to look at him. “Now, then, why don’t you tell us precisely who took what?”

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