Charlotte Read online

  Settling a forefinger under her chin, he stared into her eyes. She held his gaze, but her throat dried. Then he turned, poured himself a small amount of brandy, swilled the liquid around his mouth, and swallowed. With no particular expression, he stepped forward and pressed his mouth against hers. The pressure of his lips moved hers apart. His tongue tickled over her lips and insinuated inside. She tasted his liquor, fruity and shocking.

  She jerked back, inexplicably excited. “Why did you do that?”

  “Why not?” His eyes turned smoky as he stared into hers. His lips curled with weary amusement. He placed his glass on the table, and without another word, left.

  Her gold band slipped over her finger knuckle, dropped to the floor, and bounced under a side table. She snatched up the ring, resolving to keep the carelessly bought trinket safe until resized, and then marched into her bedroom, her heartbeat erratic.

  Two weeks married and she’d just been tested or teased, and she’d certainly been titillated. Her husband might not be as accepting of his marriage as she thought, but she couldn’t make their vows disappear. He could have refused her hand. She would never have revealed her knowledge, and she’d made quite clear she only meant to be his cover.

  She drew a deep breath. Somehow she would show him that she could be his perfect wife.

  * * * *

  Charlotte spent the next morning with Mr. Alden’s man of business, signing over the ownership of her tiny house to her new husband. After that, she added to the week’s menus, inspected the faulty stove in the kitchen, freshened the flowers, and skimmed the mail.

  Finally, the silver salver held visiting cards. Three. One took her breath. Eleanor Hawthorn, the wording said, with an address in Toorak Gardens. Charlotte’s heart raced. She changed into her riding habit and, with the card in her hand, sped to the library.

  Sarah stood on the top of the tall ladder.

  “I received a card from Mrs. Hawthorn today,” Charlotte said, holding aloft her reprieve.

  “So, someone knows you’re alive and well.”

  “It means she has forgiven me for the disturbance at her ball.”

  Sarah made a wry face. “The disturbance?”

  “It also means we can pay a morning call on her. We don’t have to leave a card and hope she doesn’t cut us.”

  “All these silly society rules. You visit her. I’m busy.”

  “We want to introduce you into society.” Charlotte clasped her hands in front.

  “I’ll never take. I’m plain and poor.”

  “You won’t say that when you’re dressed the way you ought to be.”

  Finally, Sarah turned around. “I promised to make order of these books. When I’ve finished, I might put my mind to looking at the fabrics you’ve saved for me.”

  “Therefore, you should let me help you.”

  “Right. Hand those books to me in alphabetical order.” Sarah pointed to the pile beneath the ladder. “Travels. So dull. They deserve a place out of reach.”

  Charlotte sat on the floor and found the order Sarah wanted. “Would you learn to ride, Sarah? Then you could come out with me.”

  “You know I’m not interested. You like riding, and I like reading.” Sarah accepted the first few books. “Which is strange, really, when you’re the one who had the expensive schooling. It only goes to prove that if you want a clever daughter, you shouldn’t waste your money. Home education, which your mama gave me, is far more efficient.”

  “Mama didn’t send me to Miss Main’s School for an education. She wanted me to have the right contacts, as you know. And it wasn’t her money she wasted.”

  “My mother was your mother’s sister. She must have had the same elderly relative who left your mother that trust fund. I’ve often wondered why she was so favored, other than that she was beautiful.”

  Charlotte made a face. “And you look so like my mother that people often mistook you for her daughter.”

  Sarah shrugged. “Similar coloring.”

  “I don’t know why you can’t see how lovely you are. As for the trust fund, we’ll never know why my mother was so lucky.” Charlotte’s cheeks warmed. Lying didn’t come naturally. She could hear the constriction of her tone. “And if I hadn’t had those social contacts from my expensive school, I wouldn’t have been in a position to see Nicholas or receive an invitation to the Hawthorns’ ball where he...um, proposed.”

  “I don’t think Mrs. Hawthorn is wonderful to have forgiven you. You’d done nothing. She forgave Nicholas instantly—mainly, I’m sure, because he was completely unrepentant.” Sarah laughed.

  Charlotte dropped her gaze. “And so we’re back to the beginning of the conversation. For you to take advantage of my marriage, we’ll need to go out into society.”

  Sarah stopped pushing books onto the shelf. She sighed. “Just you and I? It would be so much better if Nicholas joined us.”

  “I have no reason to suppose he won’t. As I said, he’s a gentleman.”

  “Not born, but bred,” Mr. Alden said from behind her.

  She turned. “Instinctively noble. I couldn’t want a finer husband.”

  Mr. Alden nodded. He looked like a rougher casting of Nicholas, with similar blue-gray eyes, a heavier nose, a bulkier chin, and slightly protruding ears. In all, he was a good-looking man, although over fifty. “I couldn’t want a finer son.”

  With nothing to add, she pretended an interest in the books she held. “I expect we’ll go to Stirling after Christmas.”

  “I do, but Nick doesn’t. You will have more influence on him than I. I’ll leave you to your work. You ladies are doing a first-rate job, first rate.” He backed out of the room.

  Sarah giggled. “He’s as intimidated by books as you are.”

  “No doubt.” Charlotte completed her task as fast as she could because she wanted, in the very least, to see her own horse.

  But by the time Sarah was satisfied with her placements, the sun was beginning to sink. Charlotte knew she would have to change for dinner. However, never one to let a plan go begging, she collected her crop and hastened to the hall. She just cleared the steps into the garden when Mr. Alden joined her. “Off for a stroll before dinner?”

  “I had planned to visit the stables.”

  “I’ve just come from there on an errand, but it seems Nick got there first.”

  Without knowing why, Charlotte experienced a wave of fear. “I hope... I do still own a horse?”

  Mr. Alden gave her a glance of astonishment. “Why in the world not? Quite the contrary. I thought I would check if we had a suitable hack for young Sarah so that she could accompany you. Nick already arranged for her to use his bay gelding—a steady enough ride for a lady.”

  “Oh, she’ll be…delighted.” Charlotte’s mood swung from apprehension to hilarity in a single breath. She wondered how Sarah would evade the generosity of the two gentlemen, but she suspected her cousin was up to the task.

  “I’m quite delighted, too, with you. When Nick first told me he planned to wed you, I was mightily surprised. I didn’t know he was acquainted with any young ladies. But then I heard about your friendship with Sir Patrick’s daughters, and that explained all.”

  “I met Nicholas while I was staying with the Graces in Stirling,” she said, not quite able to meet his gaze. “A cricket ball hit him on the side of his head, and he was quite stunned for a while. I tended to his wound.”

  While he’d been recovering consciousness, Nicholas had muttered the secret that had decided her to marry him.

  Mr. Alden nodded. “I remember the bruise. The hit put him off kilter for days, or maybe meeting a beautiful young lady did that. Seems to me, he should have courted you openly, though I suppose, with his reputation…” He cleared his throat. “Now, has Sarah decided to remain with us?”

  “I thought Nicholas had explained she has no one but me.” Charlotte’s heart thumped. “Neither of us have any other known relative
s.”

  He rubbed his hands together. “Which is very convenient. Sarah offered to catalogue my books, and I’m finding her to be great company. I only asked because, even now, I know very little about you other than you were brought up alone by your mother after she was widowed some weeks before you were born.”

  She adopted a tragic droop of her shoulders. “And she died last year. If I have any other family, none has come forward. Mama’s only sister was Sarah’s mother, and Sarah’s parents died of a fever eight years ago. We’re all the other has.”

  “Not so. You also have Nick and me, doubling each of our small families. On another matter.” He lifted onto the balls of his feet. “After you signed over your house this morning, I arranged with my man for you to have an allowance separate from Nick’s. He has his own budgeting system, one that doesn’t carry over from month to month. My money is his money, but it’s easier if I manage the incidentals.”

  She gave a small smile. “He said he didn’t know if he could afford me.”

  Gossip mentioned Nicholas’s as one of the wealthiest families in the colony. She’d heard his father had come to this utopia called South Australia with only enough money to buy a plot of land. As a tradesman, he had built a successful business making furniture and had expanded this into a series of factories while the population kept growing. Now he had orchards in the hills, even more employees, and an even larger income.

  His mouth relaxed. “You’ll have six hundred pounds a year.”

  She gasped. Her house had sold for half that amount. “That can’t be right. That’s far too generous.”

  His eyebrows met at the top of his nose. “Not at all. Being married has already changed my son. I couldn’t be happier, or more surprised that he thought of a hack for Sarah. I expect the next thing you’ll do is persuade him give up his shoddy companions.”

  Her gaze wavered. She wanted to please this admirable man, but she couldn’t make a promise that would counteract another promise. “If you’ll forgive me for saying so, I don’t think I have the right.”

  “Regardless, I’m sure any influence from you would be one for the better. Now, I have a gift for you in my study if you’ll follow me.” He made a sweeping gesture toward the front door.

  After a regretful glance in the direction of the stables, she followed him into the house. In his study, a paneled room crammed with dark, heavily carved furniture and curtained in red, he swung a large painting of ships at sea out from the wall and exposed a safe. After moving a few articles, he lifted out a flat velvet box, which he put into her hands.

  Her lips parted as she drew out an intricate necklace glittering with rose-cut diamonds. “How incredibly beautiful.”

  “It belonged to Nicholas’s mother. Let me fasten it for you.” He stood behind her, his fingers careful on her nape while he found the catch. When he had finished, she turned to face him, holding her pounding chest.

  “A beautiful necklace for a beautiful woman,” he said, his voice gruff. “Now, off you go. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  She placed her hands on his shoulders and a quick kiss on his cheek and headed for her shared suite of rooms, thrilled to her very core. She’d never owned a piece of jewelry other than the oversized ring Nicholas had offered her at their wedding ceremony and her mother’s gold cross. Her steps light, she moved to the gold-leafed mantelpiece mirror, shifting to reveal the glitter of the stones.

  Nicholas’s bedroom door opened, and he emerged wearing a red and black striped waistcoat beneath his black tails. “Is it the thing to wear diamonds with a riding jacket?”

  She laughed. “It ought to be, but I’m just looking at the necklace, not really wearing it. Your father gave it to me.”

  His mouth hardened. “There’s not a man you can’t twist around your finger, is there?” Straightening his evening jacket, he left the room.

  She turned back to the mirror. The necklace, a chain of smaller diamonds graduated from a large central diamond, was the most beautiful article she could imagine. The face above looked pinched and disappointed.

  There was a man she couldn’t twist around her finger. Her husband. He didn’t want to be in the same room with her, nor in the same house. She neither interested nor amused him. This hurt despite the fact that she deserved no better.

  Sighing, she turned from the mirror and concentrated on the six hundred pounds a year Mr. Alden had put aside for her. Quarterly, she would have one hundred and fifty pounds, of far more use than the regard of a husband who had no reason to like her. Yearly, she now had twice the worth of the house she’d had to sign over to Nicholas. She undid her necklace and slid the cool weight from hand to hand.

  Nicholas strode out of the house before dinner, as usual, and she wished he would take the time to get to know her. She might have pushed him into marrying her, but he would have had to marry someone eventually, either that or be known for what he was. A woman who knew what he was could never be disillusioned—and Charlotte was quite determined to be the best wife possible, ever supportive, and as present as she needed to be.

  She finished off the alterations to her morning gown, knowing that a visiting card from Mrs. Hawthorn sat on her dressing table. A push here and there, and smiles and deferments, and Charlotte would ease Sarah into the opportunities she had been denied all her life.

  She only needed to scrimp and save for another year, and the generous allowance from Mr. Alden could be used for a purpose far more worthy than finding a husband for her cousin.

  Chapter 3

  Slashes of red and gold lit the blue of the dawning day. The heady stench of ammonia wafted from the steaming piles of manure that stood outside each stable. Charlotte strolled to the first stall and saw only clean straw spread across the floor. She finished the last bite of the toast she had appropriated from the servants’ breakfast table and walked to the next stall, similarly empty. She breathed in the more pleasing aroma of fresh grain.

  “Mornin’, mistress,” a male voice behind her said.

  She turned and saw the coachman, Harvey, chewing a strand of straw. She gave him a smile, which he returned.

  “Have you finished your breakfast already, coachman?”

  “Didn’t have no breakfast. Like to save meself for later. You must be lookin’ for that new mare of yours?”

  “Could you direct me?” She wore her old riding outfit—a tailored black skirt and jacket of emerald green. Three lush green feathers, salvaged from a fan of her mother’s, refurbished her flat black hat.

  “They leaves the livestock in the yard while they cleans out the stables. She’s a testy creature. Are you thinkin’ of takin’ her out?”

  Charlotte turned in a half circle, spotting a small, bare, fenced area. Eight or more horses stood flicking their tails or nuzzling into various buckets. “I want to see how she does in Victoria Park.”

  “She’d be too much for a lady to handle.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “I have wrists of iron. Unless the mare has a mean streak, I’ll manage.”

  “Mr. Nicholas won’t thank me if you get hurt.” He glanced toward the house. “Hey, Makepeace!”

  Makepeace, the tall thin groom, approached with the stable boy, having apparently finished breakfast with the Alden servants. He lifted a hand in acknowledgement of Harvey without a change in his perpetually glum expression.

  “Mistress wants her mare.” The coachman used a voice of authority.

  “Mornin’, mistress.” Makepeace turned to the stable boy. “Rob. Bring over the new chestnut.”

  Rob was a lad of about sixteen with a gapped-tooth grin. “Right, you are.” He removed his hands from his tatty trouser pockets. Most of the dirty work would be his. “Likely she’ll be thrown, though.” His smile broadened.

  For the next five minutes, under the eagle eye of the coachman and the groom, Charlotte put the mare through her paces, letting the strong-willed chestnut show off her training. After Charlotte finally
agreed to be accompanied, Rob saddled a stocky dun-colored gelding and rode behind her to Victoria Park, a short distance away in the reserved lands surrounding the rising city of Adelaide.

  As soon as they reached the riding path, she pushed her hatpin firmly into her hair and urged the mare into a canter. The fresh morning air streamed past her face, and she deliberately emptied her mind.

  Galloping hooves thundered behind her. She would have enjoyed a race with Rob, but she doubted the placid gelding could gain on her spirited mare. Not easing off, she let the animal have her head. The pounding came closer and closer. Astonished, she turned and saw Antony Hawthorn’s big black thoroughbred ranging near. She forced a courteous smile as the lean dark-haired rider touched the brim of his hat. He reined in. Manners compelled her to do the same.

  “I thought she’d be right for you.” Mr. Hawthorn’s white teeth flashed as his horse sidled impatiently. “She deserved a fitting owner.”

  “I’m glad you see me as one.” Gathering a wary breath, she patted the neck of the sweating mare. “But you couldn’t know that Red Robin and I suited. I decided to call her Red Robin. I hope you don’t mind. No one told me if she had a name. Actually,” she said, firming her jaw, “I didn’t ask.”

  “No, I don’t mind.” Mr. Hawthorn was as tall as Nick, but his hair was darker and his eyes bluer. Although as striking as Nick, instead of perfectly chiseled features, he had a large and straight nose, a dented, squared-off chin and an inflexible mouth.

  “She is yours to name as you wish. But I did know you suited. I saw you ride Daphne Grace’s horse in that challenge after the cricket match in Stirling. You and the other young ladies proved very successful in winning.”

  She glanced at him. That day when she had first met Nick, four months ago, Mr. Hawthorn had thoroughly scrutinized her. With hard eyes, he had looked from her to his younger brother, who had introduced them. He had asked her surname, not once, but twice, causing her insides to quake.

  “We were given little competition. The gentlemen had no intention of beating us, even if they had to rein in their horses.”