Charles Page 6

  A smile crept across Charles’s lips. “You almost kissed her? In Linton’s library? In the man’s own house?” That was rather daring. He rubbed at the corner of his bruised eye, which had taken to itching since yesterday. Linton was more than a little protective of his sister.

  “It was not intentionally done,” Henry said. “But, just the same, she did not doubt my intentions to become honourable.” He poured fresh tea first in his cup and then Charles’s. “But then, I had experienced the loss of one love, and I was not about to experience another just for a kiss.” He shook his head. “I may have loved Fanny, but it was not as I love Constance.” He smiled. “She became my reason to continue down my path of improvement when I thought that stumble in the library meant I would never succeed. I could not give her up as I had Fanny.”

  Charles’s head bobbed up and down as he grappled with what his friend was saying.

  Henry shook his head. “But we are not a pair of old matrons, so I suggest we change the topic.”

  Charles took a sip of the fresh hot tea in his cup. “When was the last time I did not kiss the hand of a pretty young lady when she placed it in my hand, and her guardian was not standing beside her?”

  Henry shrugged. “Never?”

  Charles pulled out his watch and opened the cover. “In two minutes, it will be one hour ago.” He snapped his watch closed and tucked it into his pocket. “I do not know what I was thinking.” He lifted a brow and gave Henry a pointed look that was diametrically opposed to the smirk he wore. “I blame you. You and your need to be honorable.” He sighed. “You may be becoming a bad influence.”

  Henry chuckled. “I believe I can accept that responsibility if it means seeing you at some point as happy as I am.”

  Charles shook his head. His friend was hopelessly happy and in love.

  “Has Miss Linton told you about Eiddwen House?” He picked up his cup and saucer and rose from the table.

  “Only that Miss Barrett helps match servants and positions.”

  Charles stood at the window which overlooked the street. “It is a remarkable place.” He turned and faced Henry. “She took me on a tour of it today. It is all very organized and efficient – not that I would expect less from a proper chit like Miss Barrett.” He tipped his head. “She is very demanding.”

  “Much like her mother?”

  “Precisely,” he punctuated the word with his lifted cup. “But far more kissable.”

  “Yet, you did not kiss her hand.”

  “Strange thing that.” He shook his head. He still was not entirely certain why he had foregone such an opportunity. He had never hesitated to press his admiration of a lady in such a way. He shook his head again. She was different. He did not know why or how, but Miss Barrett was different. The same scheme as he always played would not work with her, nor – his brows rose – did he wish it to.

  “As I was saying,” he began again, “I have promised to alert her if I hear of any quality positions for valets or groomsmen, and I am asking you to tell me if you hear of any. It is a good thing she is doing there at that house.” He turned back to the window. “Not a piece of money exchanges hands,” he added. “I am considering making a donation.”

  There was a spitting and sputtering behind him.

  “Yes, a donation,” he answered the shocked question that was drowning in Henry’s incorrectly swallowed tea. “I know I do not offer up my funds on anything easily, except a lark of a bet, but…” He turned toward Henry. “I believe I might actually be able to do some good. Me. How is that for a shocker? Charles Edwards, philanthropist.” He shrugged. “And it might well earn me that kiss I desire.”

  Henry sighed. “It is a dangerous game, my friend,” he cautioned. “I know full well just how dangerous.”

  Charles pushed the comment away mentally, attempting not to let it settle in his mind, but it was there, lounging at the edge of his consciousness. Why it should even remain for a moment in his thinking was odd. It was likely because it did not come unaccompanied. No, it brought with it the image of pursed lips and contained amusement in a pair of beautiful green eyes which had also shone with compassion and enthusiasm when Miss Barrett spoke of the work she was doing at Eiddwen House. And while he craved a taste of those lovely pursed lips more than he ever remembered craving anything else, there was a gnawing fear deep in his belly that such a taste would steal from her, and him, the animated beauty he had witnessed in her eyes.

  “I am going to visit Mrs. Verity’s tomorrow,” he said, crossing to the table and placing his cup on it. “I am given to understand that the lady might welcome my assistance in some fashion.”

  “An orphan house? You are going to an orphan house?”

  Charles’s lips pursed while his brow furrowed for a moment before he nodded. “I am. Do you think I am supposed to bring something with me when I go?”

  “I would not know.”

  “Thank you for the tea and conversation, Crawford. I will see you tonight, will I not?”

  “You are going to the musicale?”

  “I am. Miss Barrett will be there, and since you do not know what one brings when they visit an orphan house uninvited, I am hopeful she will know.”

  ~*~*~

  Later that evening, Charles scanned the music room for Evelyn. He had meant to arrive early, but he had gotten caught up in a discussion over dinner at his club, and before he knew it, he was running behind and unable to catch up.

  Ah! There was Linton. If Miss Barrett had not yet joined herself to Constance’s party, he knew she soon would. The two were nearly inseparable.

  As he made his way to where Linton sat, he silently cursed Henry as the thought of just what that close relationship between the two ladies might mean for him if he should not tread carefully where Miss Barrett was concerned. Knowing that he might once again run afoul of Linton was not a comforting thought, and if he were in his right mind, he would likely avoid such a possibility. However, Miss Barrett drew him to her like no one he had ever met before, and he was helpless to not pursue his scheme.

  “Ladies, Linton, Crawford,” he said as he reached where his friends were seated. He sighed inwardly. She was not alone. Marsh was at her side. “Would you have room for one more?” He nodded to the seat next to Marsh.

  “You wish to sit here?” Trefor Linton’s tone was one of disbelief.

  “I do. I am on a quest to demonstrate to Mrs. Barrett that I am capable of being a proper gentleman, and if I am seated with her party, then she will know that I have not absconded to some secluded corner with some pretty young lady.”

  “Can you not hide such intentions?” Linton asked as he motioned for Charles to take the seat.

  “You would not have me speak the truth?” Charles replied with a grin. “I am certain Mrs. Barrett would not approve of lying any more than she approves of dark corners.”

  “Indeed, I do not,” the lady replied. “However, I do not approve of indelicate comments either.”

  “I do apologize. Perhaps you could instruct me on how I should have stated my intentions.” He settled into the chair next to Mr. Marsh but leaned forward to look at Mrs. Barrett.

  “You could have simply said you wished for her to know of your whereabouts,” Evelyn answered instead of her mother.

  “Precisely,” Mrs. Barrett agreed.

  “I shall remember that the next time I must explain my actions,” he said with what he thought was an appropriately humble nod of his head. “Mr. Marsh, how are you this fine evening?” He lowered his voice to a whisper and added, “You must be doing very well to have such a lovely lady seated at your side.”

  The man next to him cleared his throat and flushed. “I am well,” he said, “just as you said.”

  “And is there a particular performance to which you are looking forward to with anticipation? Or is there a particular instrument to which you are partial?” Charles tossed one leg over the other and relaxed into his seat.

  “I do enjoy the harp, and
I hear Miss Crawford is to perform. She is quite good.”

  “Oh, indeed.” He leaned back and looked down the row to Henry. Catching his eye, Charles lifted a brow in question. Crawford had effectually cut his sister off after her part in the scheme to separate Henry from Constance. He was curious as to how his friend would respond to his sister’s presence and wondered if they had perhaps already encountered each other, but Henry shook his head and shrugged. Apparently, there would be no reconciliation tonight.

  “What about you, Mr. Edwards?” Evelyn asked. “What is your favourite part of a musicale?”

  He bit back a witty retort about dark corners, but she must have read his mind as her eyes narrowed and one eyebrow rose in an accusing fashion.

  “I enjoy the piano and some voice selections if the lady’s voice is not too sharp and piercing. But, I will admit, and I do it knowing full well it will not show me to the best advantage, that I enjoy observing how a young lady responds to a stumble.” He shrugged. “I think it says something about her character.”

  “What would such a thing demonstrate?” Marsh asked in surprise.

  Charles drew a breath and released it. “I think it can show her adaptability. Will she put on a good front but then dissolve into tears or wear a scowl for the remainder of the evening? Or will she merely step over the error and continue on as if nothing has happened? I would prefer the latter quality in a wife, for I do not need a lady who is given to fits of passion and nerves. I find such things beyond the pale. A lady should have more substance than that.”

  “More substance?” Mr. Marsh was obviously still confused.

  Charles nodded. “If her whole evening is ruined by the thought of how a roomful of people will speak of her error, then she has very little confidence in herself. Is this the only skill she possesses? And…” he held up a finger, “there are so many who will perform, of which a good number will stumble. It is rather arrogant to think that the whole assembly will only remember her mistake – unless, of course, it is a spectacular error such as forgetting the entire song or knocking over her harp or missing the bench at the piano and ending up on the floor. It would be acceptable for mishaps such as those to colour a young ladies world for some time since such a spectacular display would indeed be remembered and the topic of conversation in many drawing rooms until the next person knocks that memory away by committing some equally as embarrassing faux pas.”

  “There was some wisdom in there somewhere, I think,” Evelyn replied.

  “I would agree,” Mrs. Barrett said with a smile.

  A smile! He had earned a smile from Mrs. Barrett.

  “A young lady should have a happy balance of pride in herself that is neither too lofty nor so low that a small mistake shatters it,” Mrs. Barrett said. “My daughter possesses such.”

  “She does indeed. She is perfection herself.”

  Charles smiled instead of allowing his lips to curl in disgust at Marsh’s croaked agreement. The man had never been a particular favourite of Charles, and now, as Mr. Marsh sat between him and Evelyn, Charles was finding him increasingly unsavoury with each passing minute.

  As the music began and there were small whispers between Evelyn and Mr. Marsh, with their heads bent toward each other while doing so, Charles placated himself by imagining his being able to pick the toad up, stuff him in his pocket, and then, upon reaching a scum-laden pond in some far-off country, tossing the toad into the water with some force. If he were lucky, there would be a hungry bird nearby, and the toad would be a bother no longer. No more croaking of agreements. No more smiles at Miss Barrett. No more whispered comments.

  “That was an exceptional performance, was it not?”

  Charles blinked and turned his attention to the man he had been imagining being eaten by a bird.

  “I said was that not an exceptional performance?” Mr. Marsh repeated.

  “Oh, I could not say,” Charles answered honestly. “I fear I was lost in thought, but then I suppose if it had been a horrendous screeching affair, I would not have been able to lose myself in contemplation. Therefore, it appears I must agree with you.”

  “You were not paying attention at all?” Evelyn asked.

  How could a beautiful angel such as Evelyn look so content next to a toad like Marsh?

  “No,” Charles replied before looking away.

  “And pray tell what is so important that you cannot pay attention to the performer? A musicale is for listening to music.”

  Was she put out with him for woolgathering? He smiled. She would be much more put out if she knew the subject of his thoughts. “I would rather not say,” he replied.

  Her brows rose, and her eyes widened.

  “It was not that,” he answered, causing her to blush. “It is just neither flattering to me nor the subject of my contemplation. However, there is one thing about which I have been thinking for most of the day, and I believe you might be able to help me come to a conclusion.”

  “Me?” She pointed to herself.

  He nodded. “I am uncertain if I should take anything with me when I go to visit Mrs. Verity tomorrow.”

  “You are going to visit Mrs. Verity?” Her look of reproof from a moment ago slid into one of happy approval.

  If he never got another thing out of going to that orphan house, that smile which she bestowed on him would be enough. No, no, it would not. He wished for a kiss, did he not? He blew out a breath. He was excessively confused at the moment, for it truly did not feel as if he wished for that kiss more than her approval. But whether he was confused or not, she deserved a reply, so he nodded. “I am. Linton’s idea of taking on a few noble deeds might indeed be to my liking.”

  Her smile grew, causing her to pull in her bottom lip and hold it between her teeth to keep her smile from growing too large, and he knew, that as ridiculous and unnatural as it sounded even to him, he craved that smile – perhaps not more than he craved a kiss but, he suspected, just as much.

  Chapter 8

  Evelyn attempted to sit still while waiting for Constance to get her coat and hat.

  “You look very impatient,” Mrs. Kendrick said with an amused smile. “I do not think I have ever met any young woman as eager to be going to an orphan house as she is about purchasing a new gown save for you.” She took a sip of sherry from a small crystal glass. A decanter, cut in the same pattern, sat on the table to her left. “It speaks highly of your kind heart,” she added as she returned her glass to the table.

  “Thank you. I do enjoy seeing the effect even small actions can have on the lives of those in need.” And today, she wished to see the effects of a visit to Mrs. Verity’s on a gentleman in need of rescuing from his wandering, haphazard existence.

  “And your excitement has nothing to do with a young scoundrel?”

  The shock of being asked such a question was not something Evelyn could catch and school into mild surprise.

  Mrs. Kendrick chuckled. “I see it does.” She lowered her voice. “Do not worry. I shall not breathe a word of it to your mother unless or until it becomes necessary.”

  “Thank you,” Evelyn muttered once again. “He is so…” How did one describe a gentleman like Charles Edwards?

  “Handsome?” Mrs. Kendrick supplied while Evelyn pondered how to best present her interest in Mr. Edwards to her mother’s particular friend.

  “No! I mean he is, but that is not why I wish to help him. He lacks…something.” It was not a heart capable of being touched. She had witnessed that yesterday at Eiddwen House. Direction. He lacked direction in how best to guide his heart. But how did a lady explain such without sounding as if she were hoping to claim that heart? Which Evelyn most definitely was not! Mr. Edwards was not the sort of gentleman she wished to take on as a life-long project. She only wanted to help him for a time. Her plan was just to give him a nudge in a proper direction.

  “Mother says he is like a ship without a sail.” That was perhaps the safest thing to say. Mrs. Kendrick could not misconstr
ue Evelyn’s mother’s words into Evelyn wishing to provide more than just a friendly bit of guidance.

  Mrs. Kendrick tipped her head in acknowledgment of the statement. “Purpose,” she said after a moment of contemplation. “Mr. Edwards lacks purpose, and every gentleman needs a goal, a reason to be who he is. My husband was lost before I found him.”

  The smile she wore as she spoke of her late husband warmed Evelyn’s heart. Constance had always told her that her aunt was one of the most fortunate women for she had found a gentleman to love her with all that he was and whom she loved in return with just as much fervour. Mr. Kendrick had been an exemplary gentleman but not at all stodgy. He was as ready with a quip or a game as he was with a lesson on propriety.

  Mrs. Kendrick sighed. “I have a soft spot in my heart for scoundrels,” she said very quietly, “for my husband was one for a time.” She shook her head. “A fair number of ladies mourned the day he took up his mantle of responsibility, for it left them without a charmer who liked nothing better than to cause a young lady to blush and duck her head. But, when a gentleman finds his reason – ladies such as you and me,” she clarified, “he turns about as quickly as a horse when one gently tugs the reins.”

  “Oh, I do not intend to pursue Mr. Edwards,” Evelyn said quickly. “I am quite content with Mr. Marsh.”

  The lady across from her tipped her head. “Are you?” she asked as she looked at Evelyn with such intensity that Evelyn thought she might be reading her innermost thoughts.

  “I am.” Was she not? Should she not be?

  “Then why are you toying with Mr. Edwards?”

  “I am not! Am I? Is it wrong to wish to see him be more than he is? Must I love him to wish for such?” Oh, dear! Perhaps she should not be so concerned for the welfare of Mr. Edwards. What did it matter to her if he were to continue to charm young ladies out of kisses, her cheeks flushed, or more?

  “It is not wrong,” Mrs. Kendrick began, “but it might demonstrate that your affections are not as engaged with Mr. Marsh as you declare them to be.”