about her except that they definitely verified John Marcle’s opinion. Charlotte was a very unique sort of female.
Not at all what one would expect in the way of a blackmailer and murderess, Baxter thought.
Two
“I do not know why you are fretting so, Charlotte.” Ariel paused to examine a tray of eggs arranged on the sideboard. “Mr. St. Ives appears to be just what you wanted. A man-of-affairs who will not draw attention to himself when he goes about his duties. He also seems to be in excellent physical condition. Not so tall as one might wish, but quite broad and solid looking about the shoulders. I think that he will serve nicely as a bodyguard should such a necessity arise.”
“I thought him sufficiently tall.” Charlotte wondered morosely why she felt compelled to defend Baxter’s stature. Why did she care if her sister thought him less than perfect in height? “I had to look up to meet his eyes.”
Ariel grinned. “That is because you are a trifle short. In a most attractive fashion, of course.”
Charlotte grimaced. “Of course.”
“In truth, Mr. St. Ives is not more than an inch above my own height.”
“You are very tall for a woman.”
And graceful and willowy and very, very lovely
, Charlotte thought with a rush of sisterly pride. Perhaps it was more in the nature of maternal pride. After all, she reminded herself, she had been responsible for Ariel since the death of their mother.
And Ariel had turned out wonderfully well, Charlotte decided. She was a beautiful young lady of nineteen. Fair haired, blue eyed, and blessed with classical features and, yes, striking stature, she was the living image of their mother.
Charlotte had had many regrets and doubts in the course of the past few years. She had been all too well aware that she could never make up for what had been lost. Ariel had been only eleven when their tall, handsome, affectionate father had died. She had been barely thirteen when they had lost their beautiful, vivacious mother. Then Winterbourne had destroyed the inheritance that would have allowed Ariel freedom of choice in so many things, including marriage.
One of Charlotte’s greatest regrets was that she had been unable to give her sister a Season. With her looks and poise and the education she had received first from their beautiful bluestocking mother and that Charlotte had continued, Ariel would have been a smashing success. What’s more, she thought, her sister would have thoroughly enjoyed the opera and the theater and the excitement of the balls and soirees. She had inherited their parents’ love of art and entertainment. She should have had a chance to meet the people who should have been her social equals. She should have had an opportunity to dance the waltz with a handsome young man.
So many things that should have been Ariel’s had been lost.
Charlotte pulled herself back to the problem at hand. She forced herself to do what she always did when thoughts of the past threatened to lower her spirits. She concentrated on the future. And right now that future included Baxter St. Ives.
“I wish I could feel as certain about Mr. St. Ives as you do.” Charlotte propped her elbow on the morning room table and rested her chin on the heel of one hand.
“He is a perfect man-of-affairs,” Ariel declared.
Charlotte sighed. It was now quite clear that she was the only one in the household who sensed that there was a great deal more to Baxter St. Ives than met the eye. Yesterday Ariel and Mrs. Witty, the housekeeper, had both pronounced themselves well satisfied with Marcle’s replacement. The two were so convinced of their impressions that Charlotte had almost begun to doubt her own instinctive wariness.
Almost, but not quite. She had had a great deal of experience assessing gentlemen, after all, and her intuition in such matters rarely failed her. She could not dismiss it out of hand.
But she was baffled by the fact that the others could not see past the lenses
Not at all what one would expect in the way of a blackmailer and murderess, Baxter thought.
Two
“I do not know why you are fretting so, Charlotte.” Ariel paused to examine a tray of eggs arranged on the sideboard. “Mr. St. Ives appears to be just what you wanted. A man-of-affairs who will not draw attention to himself when he goes about his duties. He also seems to be in excellent physical condition. Not so tall as one might wish, but quite broad and solid looking about the shoulders. I think that he will serve nicely as a bodyguard should such a necessity arise.”
“I thought him sufficiently tall.” Charlotte wondered morosely why she felt compelled to defend Baxter’s stature. Why did she care if her sister thought him less than perfect in height? “I had to look up to meet his eyes.”
Ariel grinned. “That is because you are a trifle short. In a most attractive fashion, of course.”
Charlotte grimaced. “Of course.”
“In truth, Mr. St. Ives is not more than an inch above my own height.”
“You are very tall for a woman.”
And graceful and willowy and very, very lovely
, Charlotte thought with a rush of sisterly pride. Perhaps it was more in the nature of maternal pride. After all, she reminded herself, she had been responsible for Ariel since the death of their mother.
And Ariel had turned out wonderfully well, Charlotte decided. She was a beautiful young lady of nineteen. Fair haired, blue eyed, and blessed with classical features and, yes, striking stature, she was the living image of their mother.
Charlotte had had many regrets and doubts in the course of the past few years. She had been all too well aware that she could never make up for what had been lost. Ariel had been only eleven when their tall, handsome, affectionate father had died. She had been barely thirteen when they had lost their beautiful, vivacious mother. Then Winterbourne had destroyed the inheritance that would have allowed Ariel freedom of choice in so many things, including marriage.
One of Charlotte’s greatest regrets was that she had been unable to give her sister a Season. With her looks and poise and the education she had received first from their beautiful bluestocking mother and that Charlotte had continued, Ariel would have been a smashing success. What’s more, she thought, her sister would have thoroughly enjoyed the opera and the theater and the excitement of the balls and soirees. She had inherited their parents’ love of art and entertainment. She should have had a chance to meet the people who should have been her social equals. She should have had an opportunity to dance the waltz with a handsome young man.
So many things that should have been Ariel’s had been lost.
Charlotte pulled herself back to the problem at hand. She forced herself to do what she always did when thoughts of the past threatened to lower her spirits. She concentrated on the future. And right now that future included Baxter St. Ives.
“I wish I could feel as certain about Mr. St. Ives as you do.” Charlotte propped her elbow on the morning room table and rested her chin on the heel of one hand.
“He is a perfect man-of-affairs,” Ariel declared.
Charlotte sighed. It was now quite clear that she was the only one in the household who sensed that there was a great deal more to Baxter St. Ives than met the eye. Yesterday Ariel and Mrs. Witty, the housekeeper, had both pronounced themselves well satisfied with Marcle’s replacement. The two were so convinced of their impressions that Charlotte had almost begun to doubt her own instinctive wariness.
Almost, but not quite. She had had a great deal of experience assessing gentlemen, after all, and her intuition in such matters rarely failed her. She could not dismiss it out of hand.
But she was baffled by the fact that the others could not see past the lenses
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