A Stranger's Promise (Lords of Chance Book 1) Page 9

  Charlotte smiled and watched the little girl skip alongside Meg as the two of them disappeared through the door before returning her attention to Oliver.

  “Will he beat me?” Oliver asked in a soft voice.

  Charlotte noticed his white knuckled grip on the quill.

  “I fear you might deserve it,” she replied. “Someone might have been killed.”

  He blanched. “I…didn’t think…”

  Her heart tugged and she smoothed his dark hair away from his forehead. “Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.” She opened the Latin grammar to the first page. “Your father only wishes you to become a fine, upstanding gentleman. Now, concentrate on your task.” She patted the paper. “Come, let’s start.”

  Oliver took a deep, quavering breath and nodded.

  By the end of the hour, over a dozen broken quills littered the table’s surface, but Charlotte was pleased with the boy’s perseverance. He licked his lips as he stubbornly scratched the unknown shapes. Very little was legible, but she didn’t think Alistair would mind.

  A smile played over her lips for a good five minutes before she realized she was behaving like a fool. Really, Charlotte! Alistair? Alistair? Since when had he become Alistair and not Lord Cassilis?

  She rose and busied herself with reorganizing the supplies in the cupboard. After a time, Meg and Charlotte returned with an early dinner of stewed fowl, barley-broth, and a cranberry-tart with a rich cream sauce. By the time they’d finished the meal, darkness had fallen and Oliver’s mood—as well as Charlotte’s—had lightened. The maid had just left with the dishes when a sudden keening wail in the castle below caused them all—with the exception of Meg—to jump.

  “Whatever is that sound?” Charlotte looked at Meg, who sat in her chair near the fire.

  “Och, it’s just the piper, lass,” the red-haired maid laughed. When they all looked confused, she rose from her chair near the fire and went to the door. “It’s Foster. He used to play the pipes every night afore the evening meal, but he’s been a wee tired of late. But tonight, with the guests…” She opened the door. “Come, come.” She waved them out of the nursery. “I’ll show you.”

  Fascinated, Charlotte took each child by the hand and followed her into the hall. Night had fallen and the dim light of the candles added mystery to the mournful lilt filtering up the stairs as they walked toward the grand staircase.

  “Losh, you should see his kilt,” Meg whispered when they reached the staircase. “‘Tis a sight to see. He is just down the next level. We can be down and back in a flash, before anyone knows. They are all in the dining room by now.”

  “Can we?” Oliver tugged Charlotte’s hand.

  Charlotte chimed in and Meg waggled pleading brows. Charlotte gave in. After all, it was their heritage. “Only for a minute,” she whispered back.

  She led the way, tiptoeing down the red-carpeted steps. They reached the second floor, which, thankfully, was empty, and Charlotte waved everyone forward. The pipe played on as they knelt and peered between the columns at Foster. He paced before the bottommost step, playing the pipes, magnificent in his green pleated kilt, broad leather belt and wool doublet jacket.

  As the children watched, mesmerized, Charlotte closed her eyes and let the lament, wild and plaintive, wash over her in gentle reminder that she no longer lived in England. The last notes of the song faded, she rose to her feet, and reached for the children’s hands.

  “What are you doing here?” Lady Cassilis’s voice broke the spell.

  Charlotte whirled. The woman stood two feet away, wearing a light green-striped evening dress with a wide, square neckline adorned with blue velvet ribbon. A beautiful young, honey-haired woman hovered by her side, her dress an elegant ivory color trimmed in pearls that perfectly complemented the silver and pearl tiara woven into her thick, lustrous hair. They both looked so elegant, so refined that Charlotte suddenly felt like a dowdy hen in the presence of two majestic swans.

  “I repeat, what are you doing here?” Lady Cassilis’s eyes flicked over her disdainfully. “Servants are not to be seen near the grand staircase. You have your own stairs.”

  “Pardon me, my lady,” Charlotte dropped a curtsey. “The children merely wished to hear the piper.”

  “Do we indulge a child’s every whim?” She snapped opened her fan. “Especially, the children of a beggar woman?”

  “My ma was a fine lady,” Oliver said in a fierce voice. “Not a shrew, like you.” Everyone, including Charlotte, gasped, and he quickly tacked on a “my lady” to lessen his sin.

  Recovering first, Charlotte rounded on him. “Oliver! Apologize at once.”

  “Let me have a look at you.” Lady Cassilis stepped forward, then put a finger under his chin and tilted his head from side to side. “Cassilis eyes, but nothing else.”

  Oliver jerked his head out of her grasp and clenched his hands into fists. “I’ll not apologize. No one insults my mum.”

  Lady Cassilis reeled back in shock. “The uncouth urchin! Dare he speak to me so?” She whirled on Charlotte. “Is not a governess to teach manners? Or is that something—”

  “Manners?” a deep baritone voice cut in.

  Charlotte looked up. Alistair stood at the top of the stairs.

  Lady Cassilis began to fan her face. “It is the dinner hour, I see.” Looking at the young lady by her side, she added, “Shall we, my dear?”

  As she lifted her chin and headed for the descending stairs, Charlotte heaved a breath of relief and grasped Oliver by the arm, intending to make a run for the nursery.

  “Miss Atchenson,” Lord Cassilis called. “If you will join me in the library?”

  Charlotte glanced over to find his gaze already locked on her.

  Lady Cassilis paused and looked over her shoulder at him. “It is the dinner hour, Alistair. Polite society requires that one not keep guests waiting.”

  He lifted a cool brow. “I daresay you look well-fed enough to wait another quarter of an hour, Lady Cassilis. If ye feel faint, please have tea and biscuits served in the drawing room.”

  Her mouth dropped open.

  He nodded to Oliver. “And I’ll see you as well, lad. Come, the both of you.”

  He strode down the hall, leaving Charlotte and Oliver to hurry after him. A moment later, Charlotte stood with Oliver before the library fire. She laid a hand on the boy’s thin shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze as his father crossed to the sideboard. When he reached for the flask of whisky, she winced.

  She dropped a curtsey. “My lord, I fear I have offended Lady Cassilis—”

  “Don’t give the woman one scrap of attention, Charlotte,” he interjected quietly as he poured the whisky into a glass. “I would be far more concerned if she should like you.”

  Charlotte blinked.

  He turned, glass of whisky in hand, and extended it toward her. She frowned, then glimpsed the gleam of amusement lurking in his expressive eyes.

  “Care for a drink?” A trace of a smile edged his mouth.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Not tonight, my lord.”

  With a wink, he leaned a hip against the sideboard and looked at Oliver. “I was of a mind to thrash you soundly, lad,” he began in a deep, solemn tone, “for your mischief in the stables.”

  “I’m sorry,” Oliver squeaked.

  “Aye,” his father replied. “But being sorry doesn’t prevent someone from being hurt.”

  The boy ducked his head and nodded.

  “You must show respect,” Alistair continued in a firm voice. “You’ve no cause to insult a lady, even one as venomous as Lady Cassilis, and you ignored Miss Atchenson. Did she not ask you to apologize?”

  Oliver’s head bowed lower.

  “However, you stood up for your mother’s good name, and against an old harridan of a witch as well, lad. That takes courage.”

  Charlotte blinked. Oliver’s head snapped up.

  “A man must protect those in his care.” Alistair’s stern features relaxed. “As a man of the Cassilis clan, I’ll see you look after your mother’s good name and your governess as well. But if you get into such mischief again, I’ll thrash you soundly—then lock you in with Lady Cassilis for a week.”

  The boy turned white.

  Charlotte suppressed a smile. Perhaps the man wasn’t a bad father, after all. He sipped his whisky and her gaze snagged on the way his coat went taut across his shoulders. Her mouth went dry. How was it possible for a man to be so handsome?

  “How is your Latin?” he asked.

  Charlotte jarred.

  Oliver’s eyes widened and, when he didn’t reply, Charlotte said, “He is laboring faithfully, my lord.”

  His eyes slicked to the boy’s ink-stained cuffs. “I see. Then you may go, Oliver. Goodnight.”

  The boy bowed.

  The door to the library opened and Alistair’s raven-haired friend, Nicholas, entered. A broad grin lit his face. “Ah, Alistair, care to intro—”

  “You may leave, Miss Atchenson,” Alistair cut the man off. He strode to the door, held it wide and jerked his head at the hallway beyond.

  The curt gesture made her wonder at his sudden change of mood. But grateful to escape without further recrimination, she caught Oliver’s hand and hurried with him out the door. Lord Cassilis clicked the door firmly shut behind her. She glanced back, then shook off her confusion and faced forward.

  Oliver’s fingers tightened around hers and she was startled to realize he hadn’t pulled free. “You’re a fortunate boy, Oliver. Let’s see you stay out of mischief, shall we?”

  To her surprise, he cracked a grin and nodded. Charlotte smiled back. Maybe the boy was starting to settle in.

  “Why don’t you run on ahead to the nursery?” she coaxed. She needed
a few minutes alone.

  “Should I start on my Latin?” he asked.

  “Exactly,” she said.

  Without another word, he scampered off toward the back stairs.

  Charlotte followed at a slower pace. She knew she shouldn’t dwell on Alistair, but how could she not? The more she grew to know him, the more she thought him an honorable man. The thought gave her pause. How strange that such a man would abandoned his children to begin with.

  “Charlotte?”

  Lord Cassilis was kind and he cared how the children were raised. Why—

  “Charlotte?” a male voice said again.

  She stopped.

  “Charlotte?” the voice repeated in wonder.

  Her heart began to pound. She knew that voice. Charlotte whirled. He stood at the end of the hallway. He looked the same, the reddish-brown beard, the chilling blue eyes. She even recognized the blue waistcoat with silver buttons.

  “Charlotte?” Captain Edwards started toward her. “Whatever are you doing here?”

  Chapter Eight

  Charlotte stared at Captain Edwards in complete shock. What was he doing here?

  “It really is you.” The Captain reached her, grabbed her arm, and yanked her aside. “How did you know to find me here? I’m not giving you a penny. We are finished.”

  Charlotte stared with her mouth flopped open like a fish. His hand tightened on her arm. She jerked her gaze onto his fingers, then yanked free.

  “Do not touch me. Devil knows I would never follow you. This is my place of employment.”

  “Employment?” He frowned. “You hold a position here?”

  “Do not pretend that hardened shell you call a heart cares what position I hold.” Charlotte lunged past him toward the servants’ stairs.

  Oliver met her at the bottom step. “Who’s that man?” He leaned to look behind her.

  She grasped his arm and pulled him up the stairs after her. “A bad man,” she replied. “The kind of man you should never be.”

  By the time they entered the nursery, she shook with anger. The arrogance of the man. What a small mind he had—that he should think she followed him. And for what? Ten more shillings?

  Charlotte ordered Oliver to remove his ink-stained shirt and went to fetch his bedclothes from his room. When she returned, she found him seated cross-legged before the fire, turning the pages of the Latin grammar book with decided interest.

  The sight calmed her raging thoughts and she knelt beside him. “Tomorrow, we will work on your letters,” she promised. “Soon, you’ll be able to copy both chapters.” He nodded and smiled back, a genuine smile that lit his small face. Not wanting to spoil the moment, she jostled his nightshirt over his head, saying, “Now, off to bed. We will begin your lessons tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Miss,” he muttered as his head emerged. He leapt to his feet and scampered toward his room. He paused at the door to say in a gruff voice, “Goodnight, Miss.”

  Charlotte nodded in reply and watched him disappear into his room, still hugging the book to his chest. After checking on Meg and Charlotte, she escaped to her own room and plopped down on the bed.

  Her thoughts returned at once to Captain Edwards. Had he been invited to Lord Cassilis’s party? It hadn’t occurred to her the two men might be friends. She drew a sharp breath. What if the Captain convinced Lord Cassilis that hiring Charlotte had been a mistake?

  * * *

  Charlotte spent the ensuing days behaving as a proper governess should. She found the guidance in The Fine Art of Deportment dull, and could scarcely finish a page without yawning.

  Mornings, she taught Oliver his letters and Charlotte how to draw. Afternoons, she took the children for walks about the estate, exploring the terraced gardens, orchards, the ice house and Swan Pond. Twice they explored the shore near the old sea caves, which were-carved into the face of the cliff upon which the castle perched.

  Several times, she caught sight of Lord Cassilis in the distance, mounted on a splendid bay as he escorted his guests around the estate. He sat with ease in the saddle. Despite the distance, he cut a dashing figure, and was far more handsome than the other men in his party. Which was probably why the beautiful young woman she’d seen hovering behind Lady Cassilis chose to ride alongside him. Charlotte tried to ignore the pangs of jealousy. Lady Cassilis was right. Charlotte was born to clean the Blue Drawing Room, not sit in it.

  Once or twice, she spied Captain Edwards galloping behind Alistair. So, he was Lord Cassilis’s guest for the duration of the party. Was the Captain’s presence why his lordship hadn’t spoken with her since his guests had arrived? That was as it should be, but the knowledge didn’t halt the fear.

  Two days after spotting Lord Cassilis riding with his guests, Charlotte and the children descended the cliff to explore the Dolphin House, the crowstepped, gabled laundry nestled on the shore. The children, with forlorn expressions, watched the women work, the tubs and atmosphere clearly reminding them of their mother. Noticing their wistful expressions, the laundresses invited them to help.

  “You can, too, Miss Atchenson,” a wizened laundress with a gap-toothed smile waved for her to join in while she filled a large, wooden tub. “What more fun can be had than to spend a day filling the tubs?” She followed the comment with a sarcastic eye roll, then cast a look of wonder at the children willingly lugging buckets of water from the shore.

  “I thank you for the offer, but no,” Charlotte declined with a laugh.

  She stayed for a time, but when the children asked to stay longer and the laundress waved her away, she wandered up the shore toward the old sea caves.

  Large boulders framed the path leading up to a ruined arched doorway chiseled into the bedrock, which marked the entrance to an ancient shelter hewn within the caverns. Moss-covered rocks dominated the landscape, and dry vines clawed up the cliff face and wove through abandoned windows. She picked her way over the boulders and peered into the main abandoned chamber. Wind whistled through the ruined windows above. Beach pebbles covered the damp floor, pools of water scattered here and there. Suddenly uneasy, she ducked out of the cave and stepped around a large boulder. At the sound of voices mingling in angry tones, she froze.

  “You promised delivery,” a woman railed. “All I ever get from you are demands for more coin."

  Charlotte knew that female voice. Cautiously, she peered around the boulder. Lady Cassilis stood a short distance away, wind whipping her skirts as she spoke to a thin, bulging-eyed man with a pockmarked face, thick eyebrows, and greasy hair. His stained shirt and worn breeches flapped against his tall, lanky frame.

  As Charlotte watched, Lady Cassilis withdrew a small leather bag from a pocket in her skirts and tossed it at the man. He caught it with a deft maneuver and hefted it in his hand. A smile split his lips. Suddenly, he glanced in Charlotte’s direction. His thick eyebrows arched as he blinked in surprise. Lady Cassilis whirled, following his line-of-sight.

  Charlotte gulped when Lady Cassilis’s face contorted into a mask of anger. Charlotte whirled. Yanking up her skirts, she raced down the path to the Dolphin House. What was going on? No lady conducted clandestine meetings with disreputable men. What would Lord Cassilis think of this? Charlotte’s side began to ache. She glanced back. No one chased her. She slowed, breathing hard, but kept at a fast walk.

  Should she tell Lord Cassilis what she’d seen? No. Lady Cassilis would deny it, and he would likely turn out Charlotte without a reference. By the time she pushed open the door to the castle laundry, the stitch in her side had disappeared, but her nerves were frazzled.

  Heart still pounding, she collected the children and hurried back to the castle with the promise of extra biscuits for their afternoon tea. They ran up the path, one dark head, one red, as Charlotte followed. They’d no sooner crossed the castle lawn and arrived at the kitchen door when a maid shaking a sheet from a window above called down, “Best hurry, Charlotte. The dressmaker’s been waiting, lass.”

  Charlotte frowned, puzzled, but nodded her thanks as she herded the children up the servant stairs and into the nursery. Dressmaker?

  They entered the nursery and Charlotte noted the three large, iron-banded trunks stacked next to a slight, middle-aged woman with prematurely white hair, a pointed chin, and warm brown eyes who perched on a three-legged stool. The children hurried to the trunks and began to examine them.