An Unpracticed Heart

Chapter Eight

Maggie was the first to move, the unfinished tablecloth sliding to the floor as she jumped to her feet and almost stumbled over the edge of her skirt in the process. Mrs. Faraday, however, didn't rise immediately. Still clutching her knitting, she took the time to finish a last row of stitches before returning her work to a basket beside the chair.

"My lord." The housekeeper stood up slowly. "I trust you're feeling better, if you've seen fit to make the journey all the way down here."

Charlotte stood still. The man who stood before her shared little resemblance with the figure she'd nearly mistaken for a soiled bundle of linens three days before. He was fully dressed now, his lean frame clad in a dark coat and breeches, well-tailored but fitting loosely on his undernourished body.

But it was the sight of his face that succeeded in pulling the air from her lungs. He was clean shaven, his cheeks and jaw clear of the blond and gold beard that had begun to overwhelm his slender face. His hair had also been trimmed, the ends of it curling just above his collar. He looked younger, more fragile, she thought. And then her eyes met his, and she found him gazing directly at her.

"I sent my valet to bed," he told Mrs. Faraday, while he continued to watch Charlotte from her place across the room from him. "And then I realized I needed to eat, and had no wish to trouble any of you with the burden of traipsing up and down the stairs at this time in the evening."

"How courteous of you." Her aunt sniffed. "I'll have Maggie fix a tray and bring it up—"

"There's no need to put forth so much effort," he interrupted. "I can eat here just as well as any other place. That is, if none of you are averse to my presence." Again, his gaze sought out Charlotte, but she said nothing. In fact, she wouldn't have been surprised to find that her tongue had gone and taken leave of her mouth entirely at the moment she saw him enter the kitchen.

"Maggie, fetch a few of the cold meats leftover from dinner," Mrs. Faraday ordered. "And Charlotte, something to drink for his lordship."

A sudden bustle of activity followed as they prepared the sparse wooden table for Lord Hartley's meal. He seated himself on a stool and waited in silence as each item was placed in front of him.

Charlotte set clean utensils and a mug of tea in front of him, her chin lowered so that she wouldn't catch his gaze. As she turned away, she heard him clear his throat.

"You've been avoiding me."

His words came out on a whisper, low enough that neither Maggie or her aunt could've overheard him.

She turned back to the table and wiped absently at nonexistent crumbs. "I've been busy, and you've been keeping to your room. There hasn't been any occasion for our paths to cross since I last saw you."

"Since you abandoned me," he countered.

She glanced at his face as he raised a forkful of potatoes to his mouth. There, just at the corners of his lips, she saw a hint of a smile before he began to chew.

"You seemed to be in capable hands," she told him, her own voice lowered. "And I had no wish to antagonize your Jenson. He seemed ready to toss me out on my ear if I refused to leave you to his care."

"Jenson is a fool," Lord Hartley said around a second mouthful of potatoes.

"Then why have him in your employ?"

"Because he is a loyal fool." He stabbed a piece of ham with the tines of his fork. "I haven't been the most tolerable company these last few months. Well, years, to be truthful. I wouldn't have blamed the man if he'd strangled me with my own neckcloth and tossed me into the Thames."