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so well. And it would be so simple, you know, since we’re already friends and—and you told him you’re living here with us. That’s what you said downstairs, too, isn’t it?”
Charlotte’s stomach dropped to her toes. “Oh, Lord, I did, didn’t I? How could I have forgotten that lie?”
Nicole shook her finger at Charlotte. “And I suppose you thought it was easy, juggling stories, remembering every innocent little fib? I happen to look upon lying as a talent, one you clearly haven’t mastered. So now what, Charlotte? Do we ask Grayson to send someone to fetch clothing for you? Dinner’s in an hour, and you can’t possibly go down in that frowsy gown.”
“What’s wrong with my gown?” Charlotte asked, looking down at her plain gray round gown of several seasons past.
“Well, my good friend, if you don’t know that, then I agree with you. You cannot be put even nominally in charge of Lydia’s and my new wardrobes when we go to London.”
“I still don’t understand why you think your brother would even consider taking you to London with him.”
“You don’t? We’ll forgo a Season for now, because I am capable of listening to reason. But we must at least travel to the city in the spring with Rafe. Surely you see that? We’ve been locked up here or at Willowbrook for all of our lives. We’ll be seventeen in a few weeks, much too old to be consigned back to the nursery for another year now that we know what it’s like to be set free these past six months or more. Imagine the mischief I will get into if left here to my own devices while Rafe goes to London in the spring.”
Charlotte sighed. “I’d rather contemplate being run down by a speeding mail coach.”
“Exactly! A compromise, Charlotte. You can come along as our friend and very nearly a member of our family. See? I’m more than willing to compromise.”
“You’re walking a very fine line, Nicole,” Charlotte warned her, wearying of the game. “I still could go tell Rafe the truth, and you and Lydia would never get out of this bedchamber, let alone to London.”
Nicole gave her a quick hug. “Please forgive me, I’m so sorry. We shouldn’t argue, not when we’re both determined not to be found out.”
“You’re right, sadly. Which means we have to bribe Grayson if he’s to send someone along to Rose Cottage with me for my belongings so that we can pretend I’ve been living here with you these past weeks. How much do you have in the way of pin money?”
“Me? I spent it all in the village last week. Don’t you remember seeing my new pelisse? But Lydia hoards her allowance like a miser. She must have at least eight pounds in the reticule she has stuffed in her bottom drawer. She had ten, but the pelisse wasn’t the only thing I purchased. There were these lovely yellow kid slippers Mrs. Halbrook assured me came straight from London, and I just had to have them.”
“You borrowed money from your sister? Or did you simply take it?”
“Oh, don’t go all prudish on me.” Nicole smiled. “I’ll return it next quarter and she’ll never know. She’d only waste it all on books anyway.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I know,” Nicole said, hanging her head. “Lydia would have loaned me the two pounds, but somehow it was more delicious to sneak into her room and—well, I’ll never do that again to my own dear twin sister, I promise. I think I got all of the evil and Lydia all of the good. If I’m going to make my debut in Mayfair I must strive to improve myself.”
“Yes, you must,” Charlotte agreed, not holding out much hope for that eventuality. “Beginning bright and early first thing tomorrow morning, I’d say. After you bring me that eight pounds and I go have a quiet chat with Grayson.”
She stepped into the hall five minutes later, the eight pounds in her pocket, and leaned back against the closed door. Was she out of her mind? Only a fool would think she could get away with this charade.
In fact, she had only one thing on her side: Grayson’s disdainful certainty that Rafe was an unacceptable duke. If she approached the butler correctly, let him believe he was pulling one over on his new master? Yes, then Grayson might cooperate.
She’d feel terribly about not going to Rafe with the truth about what his sisters had done, but in aid of what? The man seemed truly out of his depth at the moment, although she was certain he’d grow into his new boots in time. There seemed no good reason to upset him; after all, the twins were fine, their reputations intact, and the house hadn’t burned down around all their ears, or anything.
And telling Rafe meant telling Emmaline, which Charlotte completely refused to do, not with the woman newly married and now expecting a baby.
“Have you convinced yourself?” Charlotte muttered quietly. She decided that she had, and that her greatest motivation wasn’t really the idea that Rafe wouldn’t learn the truth and thereby think her not only a liar but also the biggest imbecile in nature not to have seen through Nicole and Lydia’s lies. Intent on locating Grayson, she headed for the staircase.
She stopped at the head of the stairs, realizing that, below her, the entrance hall was clogged with maids and footmen and cooks and tweenies…and Rafe.
Sinking to her knees so as not to be easily seen, she watched through the balustrades as, accompanied by a starchy Grayson, the new duke—his hands held clasped behind his back, she noticed—walked along the curving line of Ashurst servants, nodding his acceptance of each introduction, each bow, every curtsy.
He looked wonderful in his fine London clothes. His dark hair glistened in the light from the large chandelier, still slightly damp, telling Charlotte that he’d bathed away his travel dust in the time she’d been closeted with Nicole.
She blinked back tears yet again as Rafe came to the end of the line, where the six children of the head cook stood in a descending row. He then accepted a pastry from the youngest, ruffling the lad’s hair before Grayson clapped his hands three times in quick succession, dismissing everyone.
“Thank you, Grayson,” she heard Rafe say once the entrance hall was clear except for two of the footmen who took up their posts at the front door once more, as if expecting the Prince Regent’s coach to come roaring up the drive at any moment.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Grayson said, holding out one white-gloved hand for the small silver plate. “I’ll take that for you, sir.”
“The devil you will. The lad gave it to me, the only person to offer me a morsel of food since I arrived. I’ve allowed you to exercise your spleen, Grayson, as I know how loyal you were to the late duke. But be warned. I will suffer no more insolence from you, or from anyone connected with Ashurst Hall. The staff follows your lead, Grayson, and you are not as irreplaceable as you might believe. I doubt any of them will wish to follow you out the door, if you take my meaning.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Grayson said, bowing. Then he turned on his heel and fairly marched out of the entrance hall, his chin high, his back ramrod straight.
Rafe turned about and looked up at Charlotte, his young, unaffected smile dazzling her. He broke off a bit of the pastry as he said, “That went well, Charlie, don’t you think? I didn’t even need to use the pin.”
Before she could get to her feet, or form an answer, he’d popped the bit of pastry into his mouth and headed for the main saloon.
Charlotte stayed where she was, not yet trusting her legs to hold her if she attempted to stand. What was it Nicole had said to her?
Oh, yes. What about you? Would you consider marrying Rafe? He isn’t ugly, and he’s very rich. And he seems to like you.
“I like him, too,” Charlotte whispered as she cooled one hot cheek against the wrought iron of the staircase. “Very much.”
Chapter Four
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