Page 9 of The Deceptive Earl

“What did he say?” her mother pressed. Her need for gossip was like the thirst of a desert flower.

“Nothing Mother,” Charity replied.

“Not then,” Lady Shalace persisted. “Now, in your most recent encounter.”

Charity thought a moment how to explain to her mother, but she could not. She ended, just shaking her head. “We exchanged only the most necessary words. I laughed once and then moved on without a backward glance.” Or rather he moved on without a backward glance, she corrected mentally. “There was nothing to recall, Mother. I certainly would not waste my effort on Neville Collington. Miss Macrum may have fallen under his spell, but certainly not I.”

“Ha!” Lady Shalace laughed. “It is a gentleman who will fall to your spell, not the other way.”

“Of course, Mother,” Charity intoned.

Lady Shalace patted her daughter’s hand as Charity glanced toward Lord Wentwell, and suppressed a sigh. “Do not worry, Charity,” she said in an unaccustomed moment of understanding. “All will be well.”

Lady Charity knew that it was not that the mother and daughter did not love each other. Charity and Lady Shalace were as fused as any maternal connection might be. However, the differences in their personalities made it difficult for the pair to relate to one another. Although Charity had her mother’s lush form, she had much of her father’s open and friendly attitude. She simply could not manage to do what her mother wished of her. No matter that they loved one another, neither could have what they wished without the other suffering for it.

Charity’s only hope was that she might find a suitable match as her mother wished. To do so she must find someone so endowed with rank and wealth, who somehow would also satisfy the yearnings of her own heart. The task seemed impossible, at best.

~.~

Chapter Five

Neville Collington had given his valet the morning off since the man had been awake so late dealing with his brother Edmund last night. After Neville had managed to calm his brother, and bring him back to the present, Neville and his mother had been too upset to sleep. They had a cup of tea together to settle their own nerves, after sending the servants away.

“Do you think he will ever be right again?” his mother asked tearfully. “Or will he forever fight phantoms in his head? What does he remember do you imagine?”

“You do not want to know, Mother,” Wentwell said. “Did you write to the physician in Austria? What does he say?” Wentwell sank into the chair exhausted. His brother’s episodes took the very life out of him.

“Of course I did, but the man did not offer much hope, a combination of chamomile and caring. We have been corresponding. I shall fetch his latest letter.” His mother started to rise, but Neville laid a hand on his mother’s arm. “Later, Mother.”

“Perhaps I shall write to him again of this latest incident,” his mother said. “You can post the letter on the morrow.”

“Very well.” Wentwell rubbed his face. “We should be abed. We will speak of it in the daylight.”

“It is day,” his mother said gesturing towards the window where the beginnings of dawn peeked in. “I hear the sound of the lark.”

“I do suppose it is,” Neville said with a yawn. “Nonetheless. I am for bed right now. Perhaps I should take a trip to Austria to see what might be done. It pains me to see him so.”

“I as well,” his mother said. “No matter that he is a man grown, Neville, he is still my son, my youngest and I would spare him this pain.”

“And he is my brother,” Neville had said. He wished he had an answer, but he did not and so he went to bed disgruntled and awoke mere hours later unrested.

Now, Neville stood in the blinding light of late morning, with the awful night behind him. He was trying without success to choose his clothing for the day. Neville wondered why he was not still abed himself, dreaming of Lady Charity, remembering what delight she had been, both last night and at the ball last year. Could it be that she was truly what she presented herself to be? While still half asleep, he reminisced about her while he dressed for the outing with his friend Lord Barton and his friend’s sister, Lady Beresford.

Neville had considered begging off, but he had promised to accompany Reginald this morning to attend his sister Patience. However, that was before his brother’s episode had kept the whole house awake until the wee hours of the morning. Reg was also a good friend and knew of his brother’s condition. He would understand if Wentwell chose to remain at home this morning. He was not fit company for any lady at the moment, but Lady Beresford was married and not one he had to impress, unlike Lady Charity who had kept him on his toes yesterday. He smiled as he thought of her.

He realized the cravat he had chosen did not match his waistcoat, and tossed it aside. He searched for another that would match the blue embroidery of the coat. The color, he thought as he selected it, was just the shade of Lady Charity’s eyes. He ruminated over the thought of her eyes, and her form, and her uncommonly sweet disposition for an overly long period of time before at last shaking himself out of his revelry and tying the tie.

He knew why he was unhappy with the gentler sex just now, and it had nothing to do with Lady Charity. He paused in the tying of his tie as he became again caught up in the thought of her. She was brilliant last evening, meeting every quip with one of her own, and laughing at all of his jokes. He almost forgot that she was one of the devious sex. And dear heaven, she was beautiful.

In fact, the two of them were getting on quite well until Miss Macrum arrived. At best, the ladybird was a busy body, at worst…well he had already thought the worst of Miss Macrum, her and Miss Danbury both. He could have possibly forgiven the pair for their meddling, and conniving. It was understandable that Macrum wanted a title, but the fact that Danbury had thrown his brother over with much the same callousness has Lady Katherine had done to him all those years ago, could not be forgiven, and if the Macrum puss thought she could wheedle a title from him she was dead wrong. He could forgive her for himself, but the fact that she, along with Danbury, had hurt his younger brother was more than he was willing to bear.

Wentwell heard his friend Reginald downstairs greeting his mother, The Dowager Countess Wentwell. He was actually surprised that his lady mother was awake and dressed before noon. After his brother Edmund’s episode last night, Wentwell expected his mother to be indisposed for most of the day. Apparently she was made of sterner stuff.

Wentwell was still tying his cravat when Reginald came up the stairs to his friend’s room. “There’s tea if you want some,” Neville said nodding towards the side table.

“No. Thanks. It’s good to see you smiling at least,” Reg commented. “Did you enjoy the concert last evening?”

“It was more enjoyable than I had expected, until that viper showed her face. It is a pity she was not remanded to the country with her vile friend.”