Rescued by the Viscount. Anne HerriesЧитать онлайн книгу.
Mama answered for her. ‘It is kind of you, sir—and your cousin. We are not yet acquainted with Lady Harrison.’
‘Then I shall remedy that this evening,’ he promised, bowed deeply to her and sent Charlotte a knowing smile before leaving.
‘Well, what a charming young man,’ Lady Stevens said as she followed her daughter to the landing above. ‘I hardly dared to hope that he would call on us. I expected we might meet in company, but to call on your father shows true consideration, my dear.’
‘So you approve of him now, Mama,’ Charlotte said, struggling not to laugh. ‘Why, only the other day you called him a hardened rake—I’m sure you did.’
‘I did not think then that he would pay you the least attention,’ her mother said sharply. ‘You are a pretty girl, Charlotte. No one could deny that, but you have little fortune to recommend you and I do not expect every gentleman we meet to fall at your feet. That is why you must make the most of your chances...not that I am suggesting the viscount is a chance for you. Charming as he may be, I do not expect an offer from him.’
Charlotte turned away without answering. She suspected that Captain Viscount Delsey had called this morning to discover whether his suspicions concerning her were correct. Had he seen her prior to that escapade last night? Or had he somehow seen her return to her home in the early hours of the morning?
She had not dared to hire a cab, walking swiftly through the streets and keeping to the shadows as much as possible. However, if he had done so, he might have arrived at the same time as she did, if perhaps he’d delayed his return for some minutes before taking the cab. Charlotte was almost sure he knew the young urchin he’d rescued had been her in disguise, but she would deny it if he asked. It would be too risky to admit where she’d been and what she’d done that evening.
He had seemed to be amused. She could only hope that he would not betray her secret, as it could ruin her family.
Alone in her room, Charlotte glanced in the mirror. There was a sparkle in her eyes that she did not think had been there earlier. She sensed a challenge ahead and a hint of danger, for the viscount was a flirt and a rake and she had done something that might make him think she was careless of her reputation.
Supposing he tried to take advantage of his knowledge? Her stomach clenched with nerves, because she knew that one hint of what she’d done the previous night would ruin her.
Surely, Captain Delsey was too much the man of honour to tell anyone else what he knew?
Perhaps if she had a chance that evening, she could appeal to his sense of chivalry. But what excuse could she give? To tell him that she’d stolen back a necklace given by her brother in payment of a debt was shameful and would destroy any lingering good opinion he had of her and her dearest Matt. Yet what else could she tell him?
Try as she might, Charlotte could not think of an excuse that would not make her seem either wanton or dishonest. All she could do was to hope that he would keep her secret without being asked.
* * *
It was a long afternoon for Charlotte. Mama insisted that she spend most of it resting, and, though she had taken a book to her room, for some reason her mind would not follow the story of romance and adventure in pages of Fanny Burney’s novel. Instead, she found herself reliving the moment when Captain Delsey had saved her from the drunken gentlemen. His quick action had been decisive and she would have liked to thank him at once, but had felt the best course for her to follow was to disappear as swiftly as she could. Thankfully, the remainder of her journey home had been uneventful. She’d hoped it could all be forgotten, but now the hideous thought that one careless word from Delsey could destroy her chances of a good marriage lay heavy on her conscience.
Mama was relying on Charlotte to ease her father’s burden of debt. For that she must marry a man of consequence and wealth, but most of the aristocracy were rather starchy as regards reputation and behaviour; the merest hint of scandal attached to a young lady’s name would ruin her chances of a good marriage. What Charlotte had done was so outrageous that, if it were discovered, she would be an outcast from society.
Matt had warned her against her mad escapade, but nothing would have persuaded her. It was not her brother’s fault, though if he had not confessed to her she might not have discovered the necklace had gone for weeks. He had not been able to live with the guilt of stealing from his own sister, and, when told that the necklace was fake, confessed the whole. Charlotte had been determined to save her family from the scandal that would have resulted from such a fraud and her headstrong courage had led her to act without truly thinking of the consequences.
As a tiny child she’d followed wherever her brother led, climbing trees, swimming in the shallows of the river near their home wearing only her drawers and petticoat, and being beaten for her wickedness more than once. She’d ridden well from the age of three, joining the hunt when she was thirteen, and successfully ridden any horse her brother could master, throwing her heart over as she cleared fences three times her height. Matt told everyone she was fearless and their wild pranks were often at her instigation as they grew into their teenage years. Mama had taken her in hand when she was sixteen, insisting that she must behave like a lady if she wanted a Season in town, and so she had given up her tomboy behaviour—until the previous night when she’d climbed into a man’s bedchamber and retrieved the fake necklace.
Only now did Charlotte understand that this was not one of the childish pranks she’d shared with her brother. She was a thief. Even though the necklace was her own, Matt had pledged it in settlement of a debt. A gambling debt, and one that might have been incurred as a result of her brother being cheated, was not like a proper debt to a tradesman, Charlotte told herself, to ease her guilt. Lord Harding was known to be a hard gambler; some whispered he fleeced young gentlemen who were not up to all the tricks played on them by card sharps who treated them as plump pigeons, ripe for the plucking.
If Matt was right and he’d been cheated the night he fell so deeply in debt that he’d been driven to take her necklace, then Lord Harding deserved to be robbed of his ill-gotten gains. And yet she could not help feeling that she had done something shameful.
There was no point in thinking about it, she could not give the necklace back, but must be careful never to wear it anywhere it might be seen by a man who might recognise it as his property.
Charlotte pushed the worrying thoughts out of her mind. She’d been seen climbing from the window after retrieving that necklace, but only by a couple of very inebriated gentlemen—and one possibly sober one who had looked into her face for the merest second. She could only hope that Delsey would not put two and two together and make five.
So what had Miss Charlotte Stevens been up to the previous night? Had she been trying to pull the wool over his eyes by telling him she was more than nineteen years of age? Her manner had been demure enough, but something in the lift of her head told him that she was full of spirit and very likely to have been out late at night on some mad prank dressed in her brother’s outgrown clothes. If indeed it had been she, he was inclined to be amused and to like her for it. Jack was wary of the kind of female that swooned at every convenient moment and tried to trap a man into marriage, as he had reason enough to be. He had been relentlessly pursued since his first appearance on the town.
Jack pondered the puzzle as he dressed for the evening in a coat of blue superfine made by Weston that fitted his shoulders like a second skin. For riding Jack liked a little more room in his coats, but for evening it was imperative that the cut should be superb and his valet must naturally help him into it. His pantaloons of cream fitted perfectly, his cravat was expertly tied by his own hand, though it would not rival the intricacy of those who had mastered Mr Brummell’s excellence in the art, but the pin was a diamond of the first water. On the little finger of his right hand he wore a magnificent diamond set in heavy gold.
Satisfied with his appearance, Jack thanked his valet, advised him not to sit up, knowing full well that Cummings would