Ruined & Redeemed--The Earl's Fallen Wife (#5 Love's Second Chance Series) Page 5

  “So, it would seem,” the viscount mumbled as his glance shifted back and forth between Charlotte and his sister. Then he took a long breath, rolled his eyes in sheer annoyance of life and cleared his throat. “If I have your word that you’ll behave the way you were brought up,” he said, holding his sister’s gaze with a penetrating one of his own, “then I shall grant you your wish.”

  As Miss Davenport rejoiced, clapping her hands together before flinging her arms around her brother, who seemed most uncomfortable by such a display of emotions, Charlotte merely sighed as relief washed over her. Finally, she realised how afraid she had been of the future that lay ahead.

  “Only until next season,” Lord Ashwood insisted, disentangling himself from his sister’s embrace, “for then I shall do my utmost to find you a suitable husband and have him deal with your theatrics. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” Miss Davenport rejoiced, sinking onto the bed beside Charlotte. “Oh, I can’t wait for the next season.”

  Shaking his head at the dreamy look in his sister’s eyes, Lord Ashwood grumbled something under his breath, then turned on his heel and quit the room.

  “Don’t mind him,” Miss Davenport said, dismissing her brother with a wave of her dainty hand. “He doesn’t know the meaning of fun.” A deep smile came to her face. “But we shall enjoy ourselves.” Almost crushing Charlotte in a tight embrace, Miss Davenport sighed. “When I got up this morning, I wish I’d known this day would end on such a promising note. Isn’t life mysterious?”

  At a loss, Charlotte merely nodded.

  “I shall leave you to your rest,” Miss Davenport said, taking her leave. “Until tomorrow.”

  Sinking back into her pillows, Charlotte couldn’t help but wonder what would await her in Miss Davenport’s company. However, the young lady was definitely the lesser of two evils. After all, where else could Charlotte have gone?

  Chapter Seven – A Price to Pay

  Once Charlotte had sufficiently recovered to leave her room, she was moved upstairs to a somewhat finer bedchamber only for herself as her new status as Miss Davenport’s companion demanded.

  With her days now occupied, the weeks flew by in a blur of Miss Davenport’s monologues. For although the young lady had pronounced her desire to converse with another woman, mostly she needed someone to listen. Day in and day out, she complained about everything that came to mind: the food, the fact that her brother refused to employ a seamstress, the weather, the shrill singing of the birds in the gardens, the lack of company, her brother’s sullen face and watchful eyes … to name only a few.

  Charlotte, however, didn’t mind.

  Although the first few days sent her to bed with a drumming headache behind her temples, she soon found herself enduring Miss Davenport’s chatter with ease, like the sound of the wind rustling though the trees or a babbling brook in the distance.

  Her own thoughts kept her busy enough, and yet, even after a few weeks, she still did not know what to do, watching the end of the year approach with dread. Once the new season began, she would be on her own, and what then?

  One cloudy afternoon, Charlotte descended the large staircase upon retrieving Miss Davenport’s sketches from her chamber and found the viscount standing at the bottom of the stairs, his dark grey eyes fixed on her face. Was he waiting for her? Charlotte wondered, unable to hold his gaze.

  “A moment, please,” he demanded, then gestured to the drawing room. “I wish to speak with you.”

  Charlotte nodded. “Certainly, my lord.”

  Following her into the large room, Lord Ashwood closed the door, then turned to her. For a moment, he remained quiet, his eyes searching her face as though he was trying to solve a puzzle. “Were you able to recall anything about your past since you’ve come here?”

  Swallowing, Charlotte took a deep breath, forcing herself to hold his penetrating gaze. However, before she could answer, he opened his mouth once more.

  “Your presence in these parts is still a mystery,” Lord Ashwood continued, and his eyes seemed to narrow even more. “Although I’ve made enquiries, I have not heard of a young lady missing.”

  Again, Charlotte swallowed as her pulse thudded against her veins. “I’m no lady, merely a maid. No one would have noticed my disappearance.”

  Inhaling deeply, Lord Ashwood eyed her with a touch of dark humour in his gaze and the corners of his mouth twitched as he said, “For someone who claims not to remember who she is, you are fairly certain to be no more than a maid.”

  Knowing that another lie would only make things worse, Charlotte decided to change the subject and hope he would not press the matter. “Is there anything I can help you with, my lord?” she asked, praying that he would never even guess at her secrets, much less unravel them.

  Lord Ashwood cleared his throat, then stepped toward her the curiosity in his eyes suddenly gone. “I am pleased to see that my sister has been rather docile these past few weeks,” he observed; however, the tone in his voice was far from complimenting. “As you might have noticed, she has always had a remarkable lack of self-control and consideration for others, always doing as she pleases.”

  “I think you misjudge her, my lord,” Charlotte objected, surprised at her own boldness.

  The viscount, too, seemed to be taken aback. At her words, his mouth closed and his eyes narrowed, and he looked at her as though she had just sprouted another head. “Do you?” he growled. “Would you care to elaborate?”

  Taking a deep breath, Charlotte raised her chin. These past few weeks had been a struggle for her. Brought up as a lady of the upper society, she had never bowed her head to anyone, at least not in the way it was expected of a servant. However, as Miss Davenport’s companion she had to adapt, forcing herself to be submissive when her own desires urged her to speak her mind.

  “I mean no offence, my lord;” she began, trying to be diplomatic, “however, I do not believe that your sister does what she does out of malice. She has a zest for life and dreams of adventure since her own life appears relatively uneventful to her, which is why she longs for the next season to begin. Quite frankly, she is bored.”

  “That I am aware of,” Lord Ashwood grumbled, inhaling deeply as he regarded her through narrowed eyes. “However, if my sister is bored, she ought to find something to entertain herself,” he held her gaze, then lowered his head a fraction, “but in an orderly, appropriate fashion for she is not a child any longer. She ought to know that actions have consequences. However, most days I fear that she does not, and that one day she will pay for her carelessness. Pay dearly, Miss Ferris.”

  Charlotte nodded, remembering the price she herself had to pay. Had she been careless? “You’re quite right, my lord. I admit I share your concerns, and I have often tried to counsel your sister regarding her impulsiveness.”

  Straightening his shoulders, Lord Ashwood nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate your support.”

  “I apologise for my outspokenness, my lord,” Charlotte said, seeing that he was merely driven by concern for his sister. “I only meant to point out that she does not have bad intentions. She does not set out to break the rules or go against your wishes.”

  Lord Ashwood swallowed, then shook his head. “Miss Ferris, good or bad intentions are ultimately irrelevant. If my sister finds herself compromised, if her reputation is ruined, it won’t matter why she did what she did. The price to pay will still be the same.”

  Charlotte nodded, knowing only too well that even the innocent sometimes had to pay.

  “Therefore, I ask you to keep a close eye on her,” Lord Ashwood continued. “Although her behaviour these past few weeks has surprised me, I live in constant fear of the moment when her impulsiveness, as you call it, will lead her astray once more.”

  “I promise to do whatever I can to protect her, my lord.”

  “I appreciate that,” Lord Ashwood said, then he turned on his heel and left.

  Chapter Eight – A Stranger at the Gate

  One a
fternoon, Charlotte sat in the parlour, reading yet another Gothic novel to Miss Davenport. During the past week, temperatures had dropped considerably, forcing them to spend most of their time in the house, which had not improved Miss Davenport’s mood.

  Quite the contrary.

  “Have you read this book to me before?” Miss Davenport asked, sighing rather theatrically. “I feel as though I’ve heard the story before.”

  “Not that I recall,” Charlotte answered, finding her own mood waning at the sight of such melancholy. “Do you wish to do something else? We could play cards or finish the embroidery on the cushions.”

  Again, Miss Davenport sighed, staring at the half-finished stitches. “I’d rather not.”

  Taking a deep breath, Charlotte put the book down, raking her mind for something to do, anything to lift Miss Davenport’s spirits as well as her own. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind that would find approval from the lady sitting across from her.

  Glancing out the window, Charlotte blinked. Had her eyes deceived her? Rising to her feet, she stepped closer to the glass, narrowing her eyes. “Miss Davenport, look,” she exclaimed, feeling her heart thudding in her chest. “It’s snowing.”

  “It is?” Instantly, Miss Davenport’s head snapped up, and a moment later, she stood beside Charlotte, gazing at the tiny snowflakes dancing through the cold winter’s air. “Isn’t it a bit early for snow?” she asked, open delight on her face.

  “I suppose,” Charlotte agreed, grateful for the distraction. “However, it has been unusually cold this past week.”

  “How beautiful!” Miss Davenport exclaimed, clapping her hands together in excitement. It had been a while since Charlotte had last seen it.

  “It is,” Charlotte agreed. “It’s a pity that it doesn’t settle on the ground. I suppose it’s still not cold enough.”

  Spinning around, Miss Davenport turned to her, eyes lit up with excitement. “Let’s ride out!”

  “What? In this weather?”

  “Yes! It’ll be wonderful, I promise. Let’s hurry!” After pulling Charlotte up the stairs, Miss Davenport vanished into her chamber.

  Resigned to her fate, Charlotte hurried to change into her riding habit and then rushed down the stairs lest Miss Davenport left without waiting for her. Charlotte wouldn’t put it past her. Caught in her excitement, Miss Davenport tended to overlook minor details.

  As they trotted through the soft snowfall less than half an hour later, Charlotte had to admit it had been a splendid idea. Although the cold had shocked her at first, biting her cheeks and pinching her nose, now she felt invigorated, refreshed and exhilarated.

  In a word: alive.

  “Isn’t this delightful?” Miss Davenport called out as she closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sky. Tiny snowflakes danced all around her. Some caught in her hair while others landed on her face, giving her cheeks a rosy glow.

  Charlotte smiled. There had been a time when she had been this carefree herself. Now, she barely remembered it.

  “I’ll race you to the gate,” Miss Davenport suddenly challenged, mischief sparkling in her eyes.

  Instantly, the smile vanished from Charlotte’s face. “I doubt your brother would approve of this. Especially in this weather.” Glancing around, Charlotte lifted her hand to shield her eyes. Was it snowing heavier than when they had set out? Turning her head to the ground, Charlotte noticed with some concern that here and there a few snowflakes remained visible upon touching the path and surrounding meadow.

  “Oh, he’ll never know!” Miss Davenport called, then spurred on her mare and they flew off.

  Not having a choice, Charlotte followed, squinting her eyes against the snow as it settled on her eyelashes, chilling her even more. “We should return to the house,” she called against the wind, doubting that Miss Davenport could hear her. Oh, she didn’t dare imagine Lord Ashwood’s reaction if anything happened to his sister on her watch!

  Racing down the winding path that led to the front gate of the estate, Miss Davenport threw all caution to the wind and urged her mare on to even greater speed.

  Charlotte’s stomach turned and twisted as she worried not only for her own well-being but also for that of Miss Davenport as well. It was reckless to be riding this fast with such low visibility!

  “Miss Ferris!” Miss Davenport called. “Are you still there?” As she turned her head for a moment to glance back at her companion, Charlotte saw the joy on her face, and her own anger receded.

  Maybe this was exactly what Miss Davenport needed to endure the coming weeks until the new season would finally begin.

  Just as they neared the short brick walls that held the entrance gate to Farnworth Manor, a looming shadow appeared out of nowhere, hidden by a thick curtain of snow.

  The breath caught in Charlotte’s throat, and she reined in her horse.

  At least two horse lengths ahead of her, Miss Davenport screamed in alarm and her mare reared.

  “Miss Davenport!” Charlotte called, watching in terror as the young woman clung to her mount’s back, struggling to keep from falling off. Again, and again, the mare reared, her ears flattened in panic.

  Then a dark figure appeared on the path, approaching the terrified horse cautiously. Lifting his hands, he reached for the reins, but the horse shied away. Nervously, it pranced backwards as the man kept advancing.

  Over the wind and snow, Charlotte could barely see him much less understand what he was saying. However, after a long while, Miss Davenport’s mare seemed to decide that no threat emanated from the stranger after all. She allowed him to take her by the reins and rub her nose.

  Urging her horse closer, Charlotte looked at Miss Davenport’s ash-white face. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine.” After taking a couple of deep breaths, Miss Davenport quickly regained her composure, turning to the stranger still holding her horse’s reins. “Thank you, kind sir. I owe you my life.”

  Although the situation was far from amusing, Charlotte was stunned to see an overjoyed smile on Miss Davenport’s face. How could she be smiling in a moment like this? Shaking her head, Charlotte realised that this was likely the very adventure Miss Davenport had dreamed of all her life.

  Patting the mare’s neck, the stranger lifted his head, his face still hidden under the cloak he wore. “Such reckless behaviour is not advisable and certainly not suitable for a young lady,” he observed in a stern voice.

  Instantly, the smile slid off Miss Davenport’s face.

  “I’m fairly certain your brother would not approve,” the stranger continued. “He will be very displeased.”

  Miss Davenport snorted. “I care very little for my brother’s opinion as I am certain he does for mine.” Her eyes narrowed as she regarded the stranger with suspicion. “Are you acquainted with my brother?”

  “I am indeed,” he answered, a sudden hint of humour in this voice. Then he threw back his head and the hood slid off, revealing a smiling face with strikingly blue eyes that sparkled with mischief.

  “Sebastian!” Miss Davenport exclaimed, joy chasing away the suspicion that had been there a moment before. “How wonderful to see you! What are you doing here?” Suddenly, her eyes narrowed just a little. “Surely you do not plan on speaking of this to my brother, do you? That would be most ungallant, and I refuse to believe that of you. After all, we’ve known each other these past two decades and I would hate to have been so mistaken about your true character.”

  “Has it been that long, Miss Davenport?” the young man asked, glancing at Charlotte for a split second, a question in his eyes. “I scarcely believe it.”

  “Indeed, it has,” Miss Davenport insisted. “Well, almost two decades for my birthday will not be for another six months. What brings you here? I was surprised not to see you at your sister’s wedding. Oh, how beautiful Victoria looked in that dress. However, from the expression on her face, one would have thought she was not at all delighted with it.”

  Lis
tening intently, Charlotte watched the conversation between Miss Davenport and Sebastian with curiosity. He seemed to be an old family friend, well acquainted with Miss Davenport’s endeavours, and yet, delighted to see her. However, upon her mentioning his sister, his face changed, became solemn, with a hint of guilt edged in his eyes.

  Charlotte’s heart skipped a beat as she recognised the familiar emotion.

  Swallowing, the young man forced a smile back on his face. “May I ask what you’re doing out here in this weather?”

  “We needed some fresh air,” Miss Davenport defended herself, her eyes instantly narrowing at the implied accusation. “Forced to spend your days indoors, even you would go raging mad, dear Sebastian.”

  “We?” He asked, once more glancing behind Miss Davenport at Charlotte.

  “Oh, I forgot my manners,” Miss Davenport exclaimed, turning in her saddle and gesturing at Charlotte. “This is my companion, Miss Lotte Ferris. Lotte, this is Sebastian Campbell, Viscount Huntly. Although his character is far more amiable than my brother’s, he is a good friend of his. For what reason, I do not know.”

  Lord Huntly laughed, “Do not be so harsh, Miss Davenport. Your brother does have good qualities,” he grinned, “although I have to admit he hides them well.” Then he took a step forward, and his eyes shifted to Charlotte. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Ferris.”

  “As am I, Lord Huntly,” Charlotte said as his sparkling blue eyes slid over her in a way that reminded her too much of her past. Turning away, she urged her horse forward, keeping Miss Davenport and her mare as a buffer between them.

  With a hint of confusion in his eyes, Lord Huntly turned back to Miss Davenport. “Allow me to escort you back to the house.” He whistled, and his horse came running, waiting patiently as he got into the saddle.

  “If you insist,” Miss Davenport relented, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

  “I’m afraid I must,” Lord Huntly replied, a good-natured smile on his face. As he met Charlotte’s eyes once more before turning his mount toward the house, whatever she had seen before had vanished. Maybe it had just been her imagination. Ever since that fateful night years ago, she’d felt rather skittish around men who’d shown even the mildest interest in her.