Chapter 24

The old earl made a slow recovery from his near drowning. It was early March before he set foot outside the house to join his wife and daughter in the garden. Nan had spread a blanket for the baby on the new-green grass; Charity sat beside the child, tickling her with a sprig of clover.

The sound of infant laughter mingled with a mockingbird's bright solo. Kat's chubby hands reached for the clover, seized it, and popped it unerringly into her mouth.

"Has it come to this?" Lord Beauford chided. "That Lady Catherine must dine on grass? Is this a child or a goat?"

With a genuine cry of delight, Charity sprang from the blanket to catch his hand and helped the old man to the bench nearby. "The sun will do you good, my lord. Kat loves it! See how pink her cheeks are." She brought the baby to sit on her lap at his feet so that they could enjoy her antics together.

Kat patted Lord Beauford's silver shoe buckle and cooed loudly. He laid a hand on the cap of ringlets, silver-gold and soft as angel breath. "She is a fair child," he boasted, "and will be a great heiress."

"She has her first tooth, my lord," Charity said softly. Every movement, every expression of this child was a wonder. Surely there had never been another quite like Kat! The knowledge that she was Jamie's and that Charity would always have a part of him near her warmed her heart. Even the baby's smile, she suspected, was Jamie's—a smile that lit her eyes with mischief.

She had seen little of Jamie since Angus MacKenzie's funeral—a glimpse on the street of Oxford, a brief exchange of greeting at Widow's Endeavor. And each glimpse had given her treasure to carry home and savor.

"I want you to take Kat and go to Elizabeth's today," Harry said firmly. "The weather is warm enough and the child will be safe if you take the carriage. I have business to attend to, and I wish you out of the house."

Puzzled, Charity searched the lined face for some hint of his purpose. Why did he want her away from Avalon? "I can stay in my chambers, if it please you, my lord. I had planned on—"

The gray eyes bored into her green ones shrewdly. "Do not try to manage me, Caroline. The carriage will be at the door in an hour. Be ready. Elizabeth will be delighted to see you both."

Charity let her eyes drop and fluttered long lashes. "As you wish, my lord." The old fox! What did he have up his sleeve? She gathered up the child and called to Nan. "When are we to return, my lord?"

"At your usual time." He chuckled. "Do not look so vexed, my dear. An afternoon away from Avalon should be good for you."

"But it is my home," she said sincerely. "I love it here."

"Yes, yes, you love it. I'm glad you do. But it is very quiet for a young woman. Without you and Kat it would be a mausoleum. Off with you now! And give Elizabeth my best."

* * *

Jamie handed the reins to a servant, patted the black once on the neck, and approached the main entrance. The door swung open wide, and a solemn-faced John motioned him inside.

"Viscount Braemar." In his elegant livery, it was hard to imagine the smuggler up to his knees in seawater and untaxed trade goods. The smuggler winked.

Jamie swallowed a smile and followed the butler down the hall to the library. Three men were seated inside. Sheriff Bennett and the stranger stood.

"Braemar." Lord Beauford was seated at his desk. "Good of you to come. I believe you know the sheriff." Jamie nodded to Bennett. "This is my solicitor, Charles Walpole of Annapolis."

The stranger bowed. "Viscount Braemar. Pleased to meet you. I've heard of you."

Jamie grinned. "All bad, I'm sure." He turned his attention to the earl. "Why did you ask me here today, Lord Beauford?"

"Good. You come right to the point. I like that in a man." Beauford waved to a chair. "Sit down. John, brandy for Viscount Braemar."

Jamie shook his head. "No thank you, Lord Beauford. I don't really have much of a head for brandy." Or anything else in the spirit line, he thought wryly. What did Beauford want? Jamie settled into the high-backed leather chair. "You didn't ask me here to offer me brandy."

"No, I didn't." Lord Beauford turned his intense gaze on the solicitor. "Walpole."

"The Earl of Beauford has made some changes to his will." The man's voice was a rattle of dry leaves, his pockmarked face near emaciated. The face of a dying man.

To Jamie's surprise, he began to list the titles and properties claimed by the earl. It was very impressive; his holdings were many times those of Lord DunCannon.

"Lord Beauford has named you guardian to his minor child, Lady Catherine Eames, in case of his death before she reaches the age of marriage."

Jamie's head snapped up. "What?" Incredulously he stared at Beauford. "You want me to stand guardian for your heir? Why me?"

Harry chuckled. "It should be no surprise to anyone that I expect to die before Catherine can marry." He coughed. "I shall probably die before another birthday." He took a sip of his brandy, slowly savoring the heady taste. His tired gray eyes were amused. "When I die, my daughter will be very, very rich. I also have a young wife, inexperienced in financial affairs." Beauford leaned forward over the desk. "It is also no secret that I have had my differences with His Majesty, King George."

"But what has that to do with me?" Jamie demanded.

"It is not safe that Catherine or Lady Beauford return to England on my death. If anything should happen to them..." He paused meaningfully. "Well, let us say that I feel the Colonies to be better for their health. My title will be King George's to sell or give away as he sees fit." Beauford waved a parchment hand. "Good enough." His eyes narrowed, the dangerous glitter apparent to every man in the room. "But the money will go to Catherine. She and her mother will need a strong protector, someone not easily intimidated by the power of the throne. Someone honest... or reasonably so. In short, Drummond, I believe you to be that man."

"But surely you have friends, men better qualified..." Jamie hedged.

"No! I have no friends!" Beauford thundered. "None, at least, who would not trade the best interests of an infant for the pleasure of a king. If I do not choose a guardian for her, George will. And if she lives, she will be wed at ten to some court favorite. What say you, Braemar? Are you man enough for it?"

* * *

On April 14th, Harry Eames, the Earl of Beauford, was found dead in his bed when John came in the morning to bring his master's tea. A tearful Lady Beauford sent a rider for the physician, who declared the old lord legally dead in midafternoon. His funeral was held two days later; Lord Beauford was laid to rest in the family plot at Avalon overlooking the river.

Charity Brown had finally achieved her lifelong goal. Still young and beautiful, she had become a very rich woman.

Before the earth had settled on Lord Beauford's grave, shrewd men paid court to the wealthy widow. Thomas Harwood of Annapolis was the first to come, offering condolences and a broad shoulder to lean on. He was followed almost upon the hour by Cornelius Baker, Esquire, of Shadrowe on the Chester. Gentlemen came from Oxford and from all corners of the Tidewater, as well as one Christopher Holland from High Park along the James River in Virginia. It was a heady experience for the girl from London's docks.

Each and every visitor was received most graciously by Lady Beauford. Her message was gentle but firm. She was in mourning for her dear, departed husband and could accept no wooing until a proper period of grieving had passed.

The one man she would have welcomed was conspicuous by his absence.

On the morning she refused to see Captain Merriman of Oxford, Charity stormed up to her room and slammed the door. Were all men fools? Captain Merriman weighed twenty stone if he weighed an ounce, and he barely reached her nose. His eyes were beady like a pig's, and his nose was the size of a potato. To add grease to the wheel, the man didn't have the price of a decent coat; his was as patched as a beggar's! What made a man with the breath of a goat and the intelligence of a sheep think she would consider him as husband?

"The last time he came, he tried to kiss me!" Charity shrieked at Nan. "If that man sets foot on Avalon again, I'll have him beheaded!" she threatened.

Nan scooped up Kat and fled the room. When her lady was in such a mood, there were safer places to be.

Charity pulled off a slipper and flung it across the room. "Jamie Drummond, you bastard, where are you? How can you leave me to these wolves?" The second shoe followed the first, smacking a mirror with a satisfying thunk. She ran to the window, pushed it up, and shouted a warning to the departing captain. "If you come back, I'll have you shot!"

Safely out of earshot, the corpulent captain didn't even look back. His horse stumbled, and Charity voiced a wish that it would collapse and dump him into the dirt. Servants below in the yard turned to look up at the source of the uproar, and she slammed the window.

"Damn him!"

She had not seen Jamie since he had come with Harry's solicitor, shortly after the funeral. She had been shocked to learn that Lord Beauford had named Jamie Kat's guardian—shocked and relieved. The thought of trying to manage Kat's estates and wealth had been unnerving. She was no Lady Deale. It was far beyond her ability, and she knew it. She had realized that someone would be given the authority and had dreaded who that man might be and what restrictions he might place on their lives. Despite anything between them, Jamie would do only the best for Kat.

But why had Harry left Jamie in control of Kat's affairs? Surely he had known many men who could have been chosen, wealthier and more important men. He knew Jamie was Catherine's true father. Had he done it to let her know he'd forgiven her?

The Jamie who had come to attend to Kat's business was not the one she knew. He was cool and distant, allowing her only polite smiles, and precious few of those. He had departed with Solicitor Walpole, without allowing any private conversation between them at all.

It had been frustrating! Charity retrieved a slipper from the floor. "Why haven't you come?" The words sounded foolish in the empty room. Had he found another?

She knew how furious Jamie had been when he'd returned from England to find her wed to Harry. He had every right. For a year she had been the legal wife of Lord Beauford. But now she was widowed. Free. For three months, two weeks, and six days. Why hadn't he come? Why?

Charity threw herself onto the wide feather bed. For too long had she come to it alone. She sighed. Jamie would have made love to her in this room if she had permitted it. But she could not. While she was married to Lord Beauford, her body was not her own. But now... The trace of a smile played across her lips. Now she need answer only to God for her actions.

A familiar moistness at the core of her most private place brought a blush to her cheeks. She desired him. She could not deny it. But it was not a desire that could be quenched by lovemaking. It was Jamie she wanted. Not just for a night or a few hours of passion. She needed him as she needed the sun... as husband, as father to her child.

She scrunched the pillow into a knot and lay on top of it, chewing thoughtfully at her lower lip. She must make him understand that they could be happy together, that he must forgive her for the wrong she had done him. But how?

Obviously she could not convince him if she couldn't even talk to him face-to-face. But it was not so easy. A great lady had little freedom. She could not ride about the country unescorted.

A few minutes later she rose from the bed and pulled the bell cord. John was quite capable in all matters of management. Surely he could provide her with the items and the opportunity she needed.

* * *

The tall case clock on the hall landing struck ten as Charity slipped silently from her chambers. Nan snored on the narrow cot in the sitting room; the baby Kat slept in her own room down the hall with the nurse. It was a hot night, and all the windows were open. Sounds of crickets and the occasional chirp of a frog wafted through the airy house.

Charity paused at the foot of the stairs to gather up a black linen cape. Her fingers closed on a heavy object, and she smiled. Trust John to have his own way in the end. She pushed the little pistol into a wide pocket of her coarse apron.

"It isn't safe," he'd protested when she'd told him what she wanted. "Let me carry a message to him."

"No. It will be this way or not at all. I've waited long enough for him to come. We have... business to discuss." Neither had believed the lie.

She unlatched the back door and moved across the moonlit garden. Far off, an owl hooted. Charity shivered. Hadn't Nan said owls were bad luck? The pistol banged reassuringly against her hipbone. She was armed, and she could use the weapon if she had to. A tavern wench's education wasn't all that lacking, she decided with a grim smile.

The grass was soft beneath her feet, the boxwood living shadows. The air was so still she could hear breathing. Breathing? The hair rose in prickles on the back of her neck. Foolishly she realized it was the horse she'd asked for.

"Whoa, boy," she soothed, wishing the animal didn't look so big. John had refused to have Duchess brought about. With her coloring, she could be seen too easily.

"A black horse is what you want, my lady. I have just the one for you. His name is Devil."

"Whoa, Devil." She patted his neck, more to reassure herself than the animal. "Why couldn't you have been named Dobbin or Sugar?" Awkwardly she struggled up into the saddle, wondering all the while if Jamie were worth it. Bravely she gathered the reins in both hands and clicked to the horse. "Riding this devil black beast, in this black cape, anyone who does see me will think me a witch or a ghost," she muttered, and turned the animal's head in the direction of Bold Venture.