Heart's Desire

Chapter Two

"No mama! Want cake!" Phoebe exclaimed. All the babe did, was done with great enthusiasm. Although it was exhausting being around so much high energy, Charity wouldn't trade a minute of it for anything.

"You cannot have cake for dinner. You may have some of this lovely chicken, green beans and toast."

"Cake!" Phoebe shouted and toddled off her stool.

Rogers appeared at that moment, opening the door that led into the hall. Briefly distracted as her butler announced a visitor, Charity gave him her full attention. While her mother replied, Phoebe took advantage of the opportunity and made good her escape.

Motioning Nurse Hollings to remain seated, Charity rose to give chase. Her old coachman cum butler was never any help. It seemed he only encouraged her daughter's bad behavior. Were he not like family, she would have asked to pension him off long ago.

Barely giving the gentleman in the hall any notice, Charity raced past him to try and catch the fast toddler. Tall and blonde were all that registered as she caught up with Phoebe. Immediate recognition didn't blossom, but her focus was solely on the escaping babe.

"Caught you." Charity scooped Phoebe up and held her squirming daughter close. Looking over the wispy blonde, wriggling head, she noted the front door was open. A large trunk was about to take up residence in her foyer. Curiosity was piqued, she turned back to the gentleman. Eyes narrowing, she found she was more than a little annoyed by his audacity.

The stranger was likely no gentleman, no matter if he dressed and spoke as one. He was probably one of Charity's husband's acquaintances from London. For years she'd been well and truly forgotten at Shepridge End. Then, Lord Wrotham returned from the war. Less than a year later, her peace was shattered as curious and lecherous swells came up from town. They'd heard of her existence. The rakes promised to relieve her of the boredom she was likely feeling.

Charity was forced to fend off four such unwanted advances in a single year. After the shock of that first, unwelcome visit wore off, she decided to overturn the tables on the rakes. Instead, it was she who made sport of them.

It had been just this Easter past that the last "gentleman" came to Charity's door. Since he'd left only a few hours later with a sprained ankle, a bloody nose and no real understanding as to how he'd received them, she doubted he told the tale to many upon his return to London. Lord Trevene, claiming to be her long-lost grandfather-by-marriage had arrived on the man's heels. He'd raised his bushy, white eyebrows at the fleeing lord and let out a guffaw as he watched the man scramble onto his horse.

Once his mirth wound down, Lord Trevene laid out a plan for Charity to come back to London and take her place by her husband's side. He told her he approved of her spirit and wit. Insulted by the mere suggestion that she should come begging Lord Wrotham to take note of her, she'd flatly refused.

"Lady Wrotham, I presume?" the gentleman intoned.

Charity didn't miss the sneer in the stranger's words. The gentleman's overbearing manner was setting her teeth on edge. When she said she supposed she was, it was apparent in his frown that he didn't like her answer. To be fair, she rarely thought of herself as such. She was never made to feel a viscountess, not by Lord Wrotham nor their local society.

"In that case madam, we have much to discuss," the unknown swell continued, his expression clearing. That said, he started down the hall toward her.

"It'll have to wait until after my daughter has finished eating." Charity's words stopped the rake's progress short. She was not about to disrupt their schedule for some rude, obnoxious gentleman who'd decided to bless them with his presence.