“You’ll only be a moment. It’s not as though I’ll be far away.” And without another word Miss Fairchild lifted her chin stubbornly and then stepped into the road. Lord Mapleton, appearing equally chagrined as Charlotte felt, dashed after Miss Fairchild leaving Charlotte to take in her surrounding alone.
The haberdasher, dressmaker and linen shop existed together as one storefront and exhibited some of its more fashionable items in the modern window displays. Blanchard’s Mercantile offered variety as well as convenience. In addition to ladies’ apparel and accessories, they boasted men’s apparel, small furnishings, candles, and scents.
But what could Charlotte do? If she were to follow Miss Fairchild to the pastry shop, she’d be defying her mistress’ wishes out right. And yet, if Lady Denton discovered she’d left Susan alone, even for just a few minutes… Charlotte did not wish to dwell upon such a scenario.
She bit her bottom lip and folded her arms in front of her as Lord Mapleton disappeared with Miss Fairchild into the pastry shop. After just a few moments he reappeared, dashed across the road once again, and offered Charlotte his arm.
She should not take it. She should follow behind him. Shouldn’t she?
But her hand felt safe and natural in the crook of his elbow. And this close she could inhale his scent deeply. The desire to swoon assaulted her again but she shook it off. He’s an earl, Charlotte. And you are a mere servant!
The two of them stepped into the store to the clanging of bells cleverly placed so that they would not fail to draw the shopkeeper’s attention.
“My dear Lord Mapleton!” An elderly man with rolled up shirtsleeves greeted her escort warmly. “Making purchases for this lovely lady today?”
“Oh but…” Her coat covered her drab gown, if not her unflattering mob cap. Of course, she would be mistaken for a lady, hanging upon the earl’s arm as she was.
“I am indeed, Mr. Blanchard. And a few other purchases I’ve put off too long.”
The owner smiled in Charlotte’s direction. “He does this every year. At least he’s brought help this time. Last Christmas he required the opinions of at least three of my other customers before settling upon gifts for his mother and sister. I’ve no doubt Lady Mapleton and Lady Daphne appreciate the effort His Lordship puts forth each year.”
Charlotte couldn’t help laughing at this. He’d not been lying then, when he admitted he had difficulty making such purchases. After exchanging a few vague pleasantries, Charlotte extracted herself from the earl’s side. She explored the aisles and eavesdropped, while he discussed the ongoing village reconstruction with the merchant.
Since no muffs appeared to be stocked, Charlotte settled upon a periwinkle-colored scarf made of the softest yarn she’d ever touched for Lady Daphne. His mother’s gift required a little more contemplation. The prints on hand were all wrong, and so she turned to a display of various fabrics. Someone had made an elegant shawl of a fine gossamer lace. The gold and ivory tones conjured a warmth Charlotte knew it would not provide, but any mother would treasure something so extravagantly beautiful from her son.
“You think Miss Fairchild would appreciate a shawl?” Her escort’s drawling voice surprised her from behind.
“For your mother.” She lifted the finely crafted wrap from the display and presented it to him with a flourish. “The prints here, though lovely, are not at all what I had in mind.” And then she handed him the scarf. “Mr. Blanchard seems to be out of muffs for the season.”
He examined the items, turning them over in his hands carefully before nodding his approval. She knew he would like them. Even though they’d barely met she’d known what his taste would be. He appreciated quality, she could tell by his clothing, but he was not interested in the latest fashions. Although, she amended her assessment, he also took enjoyment when it was in his grasp. Why else would he arrive in an open carriage for their short drive into Bridge’s End?
Charlotte wondered again at the odd sense that she’d known him much longer. Something in the manner he smiled at her. Or rather perhaps, that she could not help but to smile back.
When he finally glanced back up at her a spark of mischief lit his eyes. “But you have forgotten your task. Show me to the appropriate gift for Miss Fairchild.”
Charlotte bit her lip. She’d known precisely what she would have him purchase for her charge all along…
Without stopping to consider the wisdom of her actions, she padded toward the counter displaying scents. She required no time at all to locate the one she had in mind.
Roses. Even more cloying than the perfume her mistress normally wore.
As he opened the vial and sniffed, Lord Mapleton frowned. “I have to admit to being disappointed…”
“It’s strong.” She paused. “So strong that you’ll always know when she’s approaching.” And then she could not help but add, “As will her maid.”
He lifted the bottle to his face and inhaled with a grimace. She’d gone too far this time.
But then he nodded sagely. “The perfect gift.” And he caught her gaze with his.
And held it.
What did he see when he studied her so intently? What was he thinking? Was he imagining what it would feel like to press his lips against hers? Charlotte’s breath caught. Did he feel that same pull? The one that nearly caused her to sway into him and bury her face in his neckcloth?
Charlotte reached into her pocket. “You gave this to me by mistake.” It was the handkerchief with faded embroidery.
Staring at it silently, he reached out and placed his hand in hers. As his fingers curled around the fabric, they grazed her palm, in no hurry to break the momentary connection. “Thank you.” His voice sounded gruffer than normal.
But then he shook his head, as though shaking her out of his thoughts. “You’ll want to join Miss Fairchild now. She oughtn’t be alone so long.” A tight smile. “I wouldn’t want there to be any trouble.”
He understood her plight. Of course, he would.
Charlotte nodded and without so much as glancing at him, weaved her way out of the store and across the street.
And just in the nick of time.
Chapter 4
Turmoil
“Get off! Go away!” Miss Fairchild stood outside the pastry shop with her hands in the air, as a medium sized mutt jumped enthusiastically at her skirts. Her eyes pleaded for assistance when she caught sight of Charlotte, who made a mad dash across the road. “He’s going to bite me! Drake, get him off me!”
“Down boy!” Charlotte ordered the excited pup, who’s tail wagged exuberantly at such a fun game. “He only wants your meat pie.” She tried to reassure Miss Fairchild who was shaking and near tears.
Charlotte bent down and wrapped her arms around a scruffy and malodorous neck. “You need a bath, don’t you?” Fighting off a string of wet canine kisses, she dragged the dog away to where a curious passerby shooed him away from the shops. He wasn’t a bad dog, just a little unruly. If only Miss Fairchild hadn’t made such a fuss, she wouldn’t have gotten the pup so riled up.
“Th-th-thank you, Drake.”