Page 42 of Charlotte's Kisses

Ravenforde gaped, chugged, and then held up his glass.

Neither spoke as Hugh moved about the chamber, refreshing their libations.

After a massive gulp, Ravenforde declared, “I will meet with him on one condition.”

“What is that?” Hugh asked.

“My dubious parentage remains a secret. I will not have my mother’s death on my head.”

Hugh nodded. “I will relay your terms to Chesterhill. If he is agreeable, will you call at the old gardener’s hut behind the Chesterhill estate two mornings hence at about eleven?”

Ravenforde nodded and then downed his port. “Now, send my girls back.”

Well, that went much easier than Hugh anticipated. He stood, placed his glass on the side table, and strolled to the door. “By the by, who is Pipsqueak?” he asked.

Ravenforde blinked, then, without warning, he flew from his chair.

Before Hugh could prepare for the blow, Ravenforde’s fist cracked Hugh’s jaw so forcefully that he flew backward, and his head hit the door with a resoundingthwap!

Chapter twenty

Charlotte had finished cryinghours ago. At first despondent, she eventually composed herself and was now thinking clearly. How could she have ever doubted Hugh? He was kind and gentle, while her stepmother and Leon had proven themselves to be dishonest beasts. Lady Chesterhill was simply attempting to unsettle her. She would face the woman at dinner with her head held high. After night fell, she would outsmart Leon and sneak back to the cottage. Once she told Hugh what the pair was up to, he would help her put a stop to it.

Lucy chatted away as she braided and twisted Charlotte’s hair into delicate loops.

Charlotte tried to pay attention to the anecdote. Truly, she did, but she was preoccupied with her dilemma. She nodded enthusiastically while listening to a story about Cook slapping one of the footmen with a spatula. On her life, she could notrecall why the incident had happened or why Lucy thought it humorous.

Lucy pushed the last pearl hairpin into place and met Charlotte’s gaze in the mirror. “You look beautiful, my lady.”

Her eyes were still red from blubbering, but her intricately coiffed hair and pearl jewelry suited her. Charlotte feigned a smile.

“What is wrong? Why do you look so crestfallen? I was able to fix two of your best dresses last night.” Lucy strode to the wardrobe to withdraw a cream gown adorned with delicate embroidered roses. She held it up for Charlotte’s inspection. “You cannot even tell that there was a rip in the skirt.”

“You are a masterful seamstress,” Charlotte said with sincerity.

Lucy hung the garment in its place and reached for a yellow satin dress. She paused, leaving the frock undisturbed, and then scampered back to Charlotte’s side.

“Something heavy weighs on your heart. Mayhap I can help.” Lucy grasped Charlotte’s hand and guided her to the bed.

The women sat side-by-side as if they were sisters instead of a lady and her maid. Since Charlotte craved a companion to talk to, she clasped Lucy’s hand affectionately.

“I know you, Charlotte Beckett. You may be smiling, but you are forlorn.”

While feeling sorry for herself, Charlotte had forgotten that she had a friend. Thank heavens for Lucy.

“Does this have anything to do with the gentleman staying in Reginald’s cottage?” Lucy asked.

Charlotte gasped. Reginald was the most discrete and loyal of her father’s staff. Had Lady Chesterhill somehow commandeered his loyalties?

“How do you know about the man staying at the gardener’s cottage?” she asked.

“Everyone is talking about him,” Lucy said. “They say is quite handsome.”

“He is,” Charlotte agreed much too readily. She must temper her enthusiasm lest she betray her feelings. “What else are they saying?”

“I do not want to be a gossip monger.”

What a silly declaration since Lucy had just spent an eternity repeating a story about Cook’s altercation with a footman.