Once Again a Bride - By Jane Ashford Page 0,61

went up in smoke. “Nonsense.” He pushed past the girl, sending her running as if he were an invading army. After a quick look around the empty first floor, he marched upstairs. In what he remembered as the drawing room, he found a dining table and chairs. In the room opposite, he finally discovered Charlotte. She wore an apron over a shabby gown and held a filthy dust cloth. “Why are you doing the maid’s work?” he asked, then wished he’d held his tongue.

Charlotte threw down the cloth as if it were a dead rat. She clutched the apron, began pulling it off. “How dare you…?”

Heavy footsteps on the stair heralded a white-haired giant. “Everything all right, ma’am?” he said.

Alec was disoriented. He knew this man. Where had he…? “Trask? What are you doing here?”

“The missus and I work here.” He looked at Charlotte. “Ma’am? Is all well?”

Alec’s head spun. It appeared that his former head gardener stood ready to eject him from the house. “I thought you were retired,” was all he found to say.

“It’s fine, Trask, thank you,” said Charlotte. When he’d gone, she added. “What do you want?”

What did he not want, Alec wondered? Seeing her again, lovely even in such a homely setting, had scattered his wits. He found himself transfixed by her coppery eyes, her lips which had met his so fervently… He groped for his set speech. “I came to apologize, of course. I told Hanks that he is insane and dismissed him. He took me unawares with his ridiculous…”

“And what if other people think as he did?”

“No one would…”

“You believed it. For a moment.”

“I did not!”

“I saw it in your eyes.” Her voice wavered, and Alec felt it like a blow to his chest. She swallowed. “Get Hanks back. Let him watch this house, examine my background, follow me through the streets if he likes. He will find nothing wrong!”

“I know that. You have to understand; my first thought is always to protect my sisters…”

“From me?”

“No, no, of course not. I admit my mistake. I am very sorry for it.” Charlotte said nothing. “There are… elements of our family history that make me… overprotective, I suppose.” Charlotte tossed her apron over a chair. She was looking everywhere but at him. Increasingly uncomfortable, Alec continued, “My grandparents’ household, where we lived until I was six years old, was… a place of turmoil and acrimony. My sisters and brother, being younger, were spared much of the experience, and I vowed that their lives would be… peaceful.”

“Peaceful,” Charlotte repeated.

He could not read her tone. But… was she staring at his lips? Nonsense; she couldn’t be. “Of course my father had been even more… disturbed by the disaster of his parents’ ‘love match.’ His whole life was made a misery by them. I learned from his example. He strove always for the reasonable path. He chose a wife for her compatible background and equable disposition; they were quite contented…” He had completely lost the thread of this conversation, Alec thought. He was saying too much, and what had it to do with apologizing?

“So you don’t believe in love?” Charlotte asked. Her eyes were still focused on the floor.

“Of course I do. I love my brother and sisters. Frances. I have a very high regard for my aunt and uncle Earnton.”

“Ah, regard.” She made the word sound crass.

This exchange had gone wildly off track; he had to pull it back. He had come here with a specific purpose. “What you said about Hanks…”

“You may set him to watch me! I told you I don’t care.”

“I have no intention of doing so. But your point… your earlier point is a good one. I hadn’t considered it.”

Charlotte frowned at him.

“Many people are all too ready to believe… the worst. And there is no protection from slander but the truth.”

“Exactly. So you must set Hanks to work again.”

“But if he is not looking in the right direction—which he is not—then how can he find the truth? I think we must take a hand in the investigation.”

“We?”

She’d softened, just a little. Alec was aware of a huge relief. “You must know things about my uncle that outsiders could not…”

“There is only one thing I know about Henry. He cared for nothing but his collection. His life revolved around it—the people he knew, the subjects he thought and spoke of, everything.”

“Very well. This argues that what happened to him in life must be related to it. The attempted robbery points in that direction

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