But where was Charity, if not in the library? It was past lunch and she was always here by now. But she had not been here when they arrived, nor had she greeted them from any of the rooms they’d passed on returning home. A quick check of the house proved she was not writing letters in the morning room, nor in the kitchen pestering the cook for an early tea.
It was most curious. Perhaps she was ill and had decided to remain in bed for the day. Hope walked up the stairs and knocked softly on her sister’s door, calling her name. When there was no response, she knocked more loudly. When there was still no answer, she tested the handle and opened the unlocked door to find the room empty. A letter lay on the perfectly made bed, its edges aligned with the pillow in mathematical precision. Her name was printed across the top in Charity’s hand, perfectly legible and devoid of any feminine affectations or flourishes.
Before she unfolded it, Hope had a horrifying premonition of what she would find inside.
Dear Sister,
While I would not go as far as to call our stay in London delightful, it has at least been interesting. While the town-house library is small, it has given me a chance to explore several unexpected lines of enquiry that I will explain to you should they be productive.
But no further action can be taken here. Thus, I have decided to retire to the country until further notice. Thank Mr Leggett again for the money spent in trying to launch me. His heart is in the right place, as is yours. As I keep trying to explain to you, my time and my future should be my own. It is better spent in our own library in Berkshire.
Do not concern yourself with my safe travels, as the journey is not a long one. I am taking the mail coach and I will likely be home before you find this letter.
My regards to Grandmother and Mr Drake,
Charity
As usual when dealing with her youngest sister, Hope was torn between the desires to scream in panic or scream in frustration. Charity had many deficiencies of character, but the greatest was her overconfidence in her own abilities. She rarely bothered with protecting her reputation, declaring that no one would notice or care if she ruined herself. In choosing public conveyance over the Comstock carriage with a maid and livery, she was thumbing her nose at propriety and tweaking her sister’s nose as well.
Something had to be done. It was unlikely that Charity needed rescuing. She was correct in that it was a short trip. But if her luck had run out and she had embarrassed herself or the family, the damage would need to be repaired.
Even if she was lucky, she needed to be persuaded back to London as soon as possible. Someone had to explain to her that the manor was no longer her home. She could not simply retreat there whenever she had a mind to. While they had not spoken of it, the family plan had been to seek other lodgings once the Season was over.
Mr Drake had apologised for lying about their future, but there was a chance that he had guessed it correctly. There might be several young Stricklands on a ship right now who would be bringing maids or valets, clothing and furnishings, planning to occupy the bedrooms she and her sisters had been using. Even if the new Earl did not bar the door against their return, she and Charity might be expected to make way for the heir’s own family. Someone needed to tell her little sister the news in a calm and reasonable tone that she would understand and accept.
Hope did not feel up to the task. She did not want to lead her wayward sister back into the fold. She wanted to strangle her. Grandmama would be useless in any attempt to rein in Charity’s recklessness. She had declared years ago that there was no point in lecturing the girl since she was unlikely to listen and clever enough to evade any punishment that man could devise.
What was to be done? Hope tapped the folded letter against her leg in agitation, wishing she had any other answer than the first one that came to mind. Then, she went to the writing desk and composed a letter to Mr Drake that had nothing to do with missing vases.
* * *
‘I do not know what you expect me to do about this,’ Gregory said, staring down at the letter from her sister that Hope Strickland had handed him. It was easier to do that than to look at her. As always, she was beautiful. But today, there was a vulnerability in her huge dark eyes that made him long to kiss it away.
‘Bring her back,’ Hope replied.
He stared at her, waiting for her to elaborate. When she did not, he asked the reasonable question, ‘Why did you not go to the Dowager with this problem? It is her responsibility to chaperon your sister, not mine.’
‘She is not here, either,’ Hope said, her mouth set in a frown of disapproval. ‘When I went to search her out, the servants said she had gone out of the city to visit a sick cousin and would not be back for a day at least.’ She threw her hands up in exasperation. ‘She simply disappeared without saying a word to me on the subject.’
‘And what would you have done, had she told you?’ he asked, trying not to smile.
‘I’d have told her to stay right where she was, of course. Or she might have taken Charity with her. If my sister refuses to find a husband, she should be encouraged to do good works and to develop some sort of natural, feminine feeling towards the rest of the family.’
‘Like a proper spinster, you mean.’
‘It would not hurt my sister to read to an invalid, on occasion, instead of thinking only of herself.’
‘I see.’ He cleared his throat in what he hoped was a sombre manner. But he could feel his lips twitching in amusement at the sight of the left-hand curl bouncing furiously in time to her agitation.
‘But they do not give a fig for my opinions. They go off in opposite directions like hens in the garden and they leave me to decide what to do about it.’
He suspected they did not think she should be doing anything at all, other than waiting for their return. But clearly, Miss Hope Strickland felt that action was required. If Faith Strickland had been anything like her sister, he felt a deepening understanding of James Leggett.
‘Your letter said to come at once. That you needed me urgently,’ he reminded her. ‘You offered me no clue as to what this was about.’ And he had made an ass of himself. He had come running, foolish enough to think that she might be longing to repeat what they had done on the library sofa. As usual, it seemed his urgent need for her was quite different than what she felt when she thought of him.
‘I do need you, urgently,’ she said. And finally, she realised how she had sounded, for she stopped speaking and turned crimson with embarrassment. Her brown eyes seemed to grow even larger than usual, pleading as she stared back at him. ‘I know you are angry with me from before. And whatever I did to offend you, I am sorry for it. Really, I am. But Mr Leggett hired you to help our family and I do not know how to handle this on my own.’
So she had no idea what she had done to him, any more than she understood that she must phrase professional enquiries differently from love letters. And now, she had no right to look so soft, so vulnerable and so helpless that he wanted to scoop her into his arms and make love to her on the spot. Especially if she meant to stand up afterwards and look for another, better man.
