Page 10 of Too Wylde To Tame
In the two weeks since that night, he had not called on them, he had not written. He had simply vanished without a word, leaving her to wonder if it had all ben some sort of terrible jest. Was she the butt of a joke? Had he met some other young lady that night whom he fancied more? Did it honestly matter? He was clearly not a man of his word and that should be more than enough reason to put him from her mind forever.
“Hello? Charity? Charity?”
Realizing that her cousin had been waiting far too long for her reply, Charity shook her head. “Because I am running out of time, Delia. Mother and Father will not let me stay with Aunt Marguerite indefinitely. And with Felicity now married… well, I’ve always been the problematic one, haven’t I? No doubt my lack of serious suitors will somehow be seen as entirely my fault and my parents will insist on bringing me back to Bath where I can collect dust as I sit on the periphery of the dance floor at every ball I attend.As everyone else passes me by.”
Cordelia’s expression was not just sympathetic. She could truly commiserate with Charity on that misery. In that regard, they were very much birds of a feather. The only difference being that her parents, unlike Charity’s own, were overly critical of her and did not presume that her failure to find a husband was a deliberate attempt to make their lives more difficult. And they no doubt believed that the longer she was in London, the more likely it was that she would do something foolish and have all their names dragged through the mud. Though it wasn’t as if girls didn’t get their reputations ruined in Bath. It happened all the time.
“My last letter from mother indicated that your father is… well, irritated by the duration of your absence,” Cordelia replied. “But I can write to mother and have her talk to him. Or talk to your mother and insure that you aren’t summoned home. Do not rush to a decision as important as taking a husband. And, for heaven’s sake, do not accept the first man who offersjust becausehe offers.”
Charity made no promises. It seemed a moot point, at any rate, as she strongly suspected that there would be no offers forthcoming. Even if there had been a gentleman interested, then Lord Jameson Dartwell’s very public devotion to her would surely have dissuaded them. Drat the man. And try as she might, she could not convince herself that his interest was truly in earnest.
“How much longer till we reach Randford Hall?” Cordelia asked after the silence had stretched on uncomfortably.
“Not very long, I think. Our last stop was in Saffron Walden nearly an hour ago. We have that to go or perhaps less,” Charity offered up her assessment.
“I think I shall try to rest and hope that we do not look an utter mess when we arrive.”
Charity smiled. They would look a mess. There was no avoiding it. The road had been muddy and despite best efforts, getting in and out of the coach had left the hems of their skirts caked in the substance. “Sleep well, Delia. I’ll wake you when we are close so that you may prepare.”
* * *
Frederick enteredthe game room at Randford House and immediately stopped short. Jameson was leaning nonchalantly against the mantel above the cold fireplace. The windows had been opened in deference to the warmth of the day and most of the men present had discarded their coats, including his younger brother.
“We didn’t invite him.”
Randford had approached so silently that Frederick hadn’t even heard him. Or perhaps he’d been so focused on his brother’s presence that a herd of cattle might have snuck up on him.
“And yet here he is,” Frederick noted grimly.
“He came with Lord Beechum and there was no polite way to turn him from our door,” Randford continued. “Also, it would have looked very bad had we denied admittance to a man who has been publicly courting Charity, quite intensely for that matter, for several weeks now. There are already whispers of an understanding.”
“And Lady Marguerite has allowed this? Surely she could not really think him a viable suitor for her niece,” Frederick said, shaking his head in confusion.
“Oh, she does not. But Marguerite fancies herself quite the strategist. She’s permitted his courtship because she insists that having one man angling for Charity’s affections will automatically make her more appealing to others.” Randford sounded less than convinced of her plan.
“Or it could make other men feel her affections are engaged elsewhere and give up any notion of pursuit,” Frederick suggested.
“Have you given up then?”
“No. If anything, I am more determined than ever. Whatever my brother is up to, I can assure you it is nothing so straightforward or honorable as simple courtship. There is some sort of scheme afoot, though I’ve no notion what it may be.”
Frederick had been beset with one disaster after another since he’d left London the morning after the ball, when fire had destroyed part of his home. Those consecutive problems had kept him from returning to the city prior to receiving the invitation to the party at Randford Hall. Now he regretted his decision. Some of those events could surely have been handled by Fincastle. If he’d returned to town, he might have intervened already and made certain that Miss Wylde was safe from his brother’s machinations.
“If you intend to do something about it, I’d advise you to do so quickly. Charity and Cordelia are expected to arrive within the hour.” With that parting word of advice, Randford sauntered off, pausing to greet each of the gentleman gathered in turn.
With dread, Frederick approached Jameson. “Brother.”
“Keeper,” Jameson replied. “Or are you my jailer? Have you come to drag me back to Hamden Court and put me in one of the dungeon cells?”
Frederick felt his temper rising, but he managed, just, to keep it in check. “That will depend on whether or not you have done anything to warrant such an action. Have you, Jameson?”
A smirk twisted his normally petulant mouth as Jameson replied, “I suppose that depends on who you ask. A more pressing question is what exactly brings you here? Frivolity of any sort is an anathema to you.”
“We have very different notions of what constitutes frivolity. Losing copious amounts at the gaming tables, despoiling innocent young women who have the misfortune of possessing a trusting nature, and generally causing wreck and ruin for anyone crossing my path has never offered me the sort of enjoyment you seem to glean from it… What are your intentions toward Miss Charity Wylde?”
Jameson raised an eyebrow. “I cannot see that it should be any concern of yours, Frederick. But I shall tell you, regardless. I mean to ask for her hand.”
“Why?” He ground out the question between clenched teeth. He knew it wasn’t truly marriage that Jameson wanted. What then? What sort of confidence game was his younger brother playing at?
