Heart's Desire

Chapter Eleven

A footman opened the door, and Julian descended first. Turning, he reached up to help his wife down. Once on the ground, Charity shook out her skirts with her free hand. Straightening, she made to walk up the street, yet was stopped when he refused to release his grasp. Taking a step beside her, he tucked her palm into the crook of his arm, then placed his hand atop hers.

Wide, round, gold-green eyes met Julian's. Looking down at Charity, he silently dared her to protest. A small huff escaped after a few moments, then she faced forward. Hiding a smile, he led them to the side of the street.

He believed his lady wife's fantastical tale, Julian decided. It did explain some questions he'd had, one of them being Charles' disheveled appearance on the morning of their marriage. None of their friends had known who he'd fought, but it was clear he'd been in one.

Added to that, Julian sensed there'd been something off about Baron Chadwick upon their first meeting. The old man kept himself scarce most of that week, and he'd chalked it up to eccentricity. But to find he'd been violent, even murderous toward his daughter, was shocking.

Julian now understood the aversion his wife had to his drinking the other night. Cutting a glance down at Charity, he mulled over her misfortunes. It would seem he'd saved her life. Twice, but who was counting? With that thought, he felt much of the bottled-up anger he'd been nursing all these years dissipate.

"You are the local here. Where do you suggest we go first?" Julian asked. They were in Belford to shop for provisions as well as to pick up Charity's order of dresses. A second carriage, with her maid ensconced, was following behind.

"The grocer?" Lady Wrotham suggested. From the tone of her voice, Julian could tell she wasn't comfortable in his company. Not after all she'd shared. That she had told him about the events leading up to their marriage showed him that she might be coming around to trusting him.

"Very well, and where shall we find him?" Julian pressed.

Charity tipped her head toward the establishment. "At the end of the street. On the right."

"Shall we?" The look in Charity's husband's eye was almost kind. Confusion marred her mood. As Lord Wrotham led her to the shop, she noted that his demeanor had changed yet again. Instead of the cold silences she was treated to in the coach, she was now met with courteousness. He had many masks this husband of hers, and she found herself wondering which was a reflection of the real man.

The open stares of the locals as they passed were disconcerting. They were no doubt curious as to the identity of the man Charity strolled along the roadway with. The sight would no doubt cause more, unseemly rumors to stir.

"Hello there!" They were hailed from across the street. Lord Wrotham stopped and turned them in that direction. A gaggle of ladies, six in all, ranging in age from late teens to old dowager, crossed the thoroughfare. Only two showed any eagerness to do so, yet the others dutifully followed.

Julian felt his wife stiffen at their approach and it set him on high alert.

"Lady Wrotham," a dark-haired lady who was of an age with Charity said with a smile in greeting.

"But you told us to call her Mistress-" a young chit whispered loudly to a pretty blonde. Whatever the title, the fair beauty's sharp elbow silenced her.

Julian's wife ignored the whisper and spoke over the odd statement. After a polite curtsey, she said, "Mrs. Ryder," then turned to one of the older women who looked as if she'd sucked on a lemon, "Mrs. Ryder." Ah, so the elder must have been the younger's mother in law, Julian surmised. "Mrs. York," a polite nod was given to the other, older woman who was small and had kind blue eyes. "Miss Middleford," that was directed toward the pretty blonde, and he recognized the surname immediately. She held his attention as his wife continued greeting the other, young ladies. "Miss Abigail," was said to the young chit who'd hailed them and then, "Miss Charlotte." The last was the lady who'd made the odd statement. She was the youngest of the group and had similar coloring as Miss Middleford. He thought they might be sisters.