Heart's Desire

Chapter Six

Charity breakfasted in her room the next morning. After their disastrous luncheon, she had no wish to see Lord Wrotham again. Ever.

Perhaps Charles' reply would arrive today. Charity was sorely in need of her older brother's guidance on how to deal with her current situation. If he helped her to leave, then she would take Rogers, Mrs. Rogers, and Cook to the continent with her.

An early morning thunderstorm had awoken Charity before dawn. No matter how she tried to regain her sleep, she could not. Her mind was as tumultuous as the storm outside. Scenes from the previous evening replayed themselves in an incessant loop.

Anger at Lord Wrotham's callous remarks regarding Rogers came to the fore once more. What Charity should have said or done plagued her as it had late into the night while she lay awake. In the end, she gave in to the inevitable and rang for Wilcott.

By the time Charity was dressed, the storm had moved on to distant climes. A glance out her window showed a damp landscape. Above, patches of blue sky peeked out between heavy, grey clouds. Perhaps by afternoon, it would be dry enough for the twins to play out-of-doors. They'd have to remain close to the house, however as the poacher had yet to be found. Until that time, all those within Shepridge End remained understandably on edge.

A discreet inquiry of a new footman revealed that Lord Wrotham was in the library. For the past week, he'd used it as a makeshift study. There, he conducted his affairs until the actual one was cleaned and furnished to his tastes.

All but tip-toeing past the library, Charity made her way to the front hall. It was empty save for the morning post stacked neatly on a salver. With a frown, she read the name atop the three letters that had been delivered. All were all addressed to Lord Wrotham. He'd taken over her home as if he belonged there. True, it was technically his property. But after ten years of living there alone, she'd come to think of it as hers.

With a glare at the offensive proof of Lord Wrotham's further encroachment, Charity placed the letters back on the salver. With renewed resolve, she vowed he wouldn't find it as easy to take over her life. One day, she'd be free of Julian Lyons, Viscount Wrotham. That would be a glorious day indeed.

A commotion in the morning room caused Charity to stiffen. Heartbeat picking up, she waited for the telltale crack of a gun. It was unnerving to find she was still skittish since having been shot. Waking to thunder had not been a good start to her day. Insomnia likely also played a role in her current state of frazzled nerves.

Cautiously walking to the entryway of the morning room, Charity peered around the doorjamb. Hand to her pounding heart, she swallowed as she looked inside. The breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding escaped her when she spied Ant near the fireplace. His dark head was bowed as he looked at something on the floor beneath his feet.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes!" Charity called out far more jubilantly than was her norm. Grabbing the skirt of her pale blue day gown, she made her way into the room. A smile was quickly hidden as, startled by her unexpected entry, the large, dark-haired man spun to face her.

"There you are!" Ant hid a broken toy behind his back with one hand. Using the other, he brought Charity close to his side for a one-armed hug.

"I see there have been many changes since last I was here," Ant observed after the embrace. He wouldn't look at Charity and moved to stand with his back to the fireplace. "Even the front door seems to have been replaced." His eyes darted toward its direction as if he could view it through the walls. "All due to the arrival of the wayward Lord Wrotham, no doubt."

Charity took pity on the man's discomfort and gave a light laugh she wasn't feeling. Anthony MacGregor, Sixth Earl of Blakemoor and "Ant" to those close to him was her neighbor to the north. More importantly, he was a good friend and one of her few allies in the district.