The Fletcher Family Legacy

Chapter 2

As her sister reached for a small valise that had been set by the carriage step, Charlotte rushed forward and picked it up. "I'll carry this," she said. "You are not to lift a finger. Let's go inside, and we'll find a place for you to rest."

"I'm perfectly well," Lily protested as they all went up the front stairs into the house.

The entrance hall was lined with paneling that had once been painted white but now was brown with age. The floor was scarred and filthy. A magnificent curved stone staircase occupied the back of the hall, its wrought-iron balustrade clotted with dust and spiderwebs. Charlotte noticed that an attempt had already been made to clean a section of the balustrade, but it was obvious the process would be painstaking.

Declan emerged from a hallway leading away from the entrance room. He was in his shirtsleeves with no collar or cravat, the neck of the garment hanging open to reveal tanned skin gleaming with perspiration. With his black hair falling over his forehead, and his dark eyes smiling at the sight of them, Declan cut a dashing figure. "You're three hours behind schedule," he said.

Laughing, Charlotte pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and gave it to him. "In a family of four sisters, there is no schedule."

Wiping at the dust and sweat on his face, Declan glanced at all the Fletchers. His gaze lingered on Lily for an extra moment.

Returning his attention to Charlotte, Declan gave her a concise report. He had found two women and a boy at the village to help clean the house. Three bedrooms had been made habitable so far. They had spent a great deal of time scrubbing the kitchen and stove, and the cook-maid was preparing a meal?Declan broke off as he glanced over Charlotte's shoulder. Unceremoniously he brushed by her and reached Lily in three strides.

Charlotte saw Lily's slight form swaying, her lashes lowering as she half collapsed against Declan. He caught her easily and lifted her in his arms, murmuring for her to put her head on his shoulder. Although his manner was as calm and unemotional as ever, Charlotte was struck by the possessive way he held her sister.

"The journey was too much for her," Charlotte said in concern. "She needs rest."

Declan's face was expressionless. "I'll take her upstairs."

Lily stirred and blinked. "Bother," she said breathlessly. "I was standing still, feeling fine, and then the floor seemed to rush up toward me. I'm sorry. I despise swooning."

"It's all right." Charlotte gave her a reassuring smile. "Declan will take you to bed. That is? She paused uncomfortably. "He will convey you to your bedroom."

"I can manage by myself," Lily said. "I was just dizzy for a moment. Declan, do put me down."

"You wouldn't make it past the first step," he said, ignoring her protests as he carried her to the stone staircase. And as he walked with her, Lily's pale hand lifted slowly around his neck.

"Dahlia, will you go with them?" Charlotte asked briskly, handing her the valise. "Lily's nightgown is in here—you can help her change clothes."

"Yes, of course." Dahlia scampered toward the stairs. Left in the entrance hall with Lucas and Luarel, Charlotte turned in a slow circle to view all of it. "The solicitor said the estate was in disrepair," she said. "I think a more accurate word would have been 'shambles.' Can it be restored, Lucas?" Not long ago—though it seemed a lifetime—Lucas had spent two years studying art and architecture at the Grand Ecole des Beaux-Arts in Paris. He had also worked as a draftsman and painter for the renowned London architect Rowland Temple. Lucas had been regarded as an exceptionally promising student, and had even considered setting up a practice. Now all that ambition had been extinguished.

Lucas glanced around the hall without interest. "Barring any structural repairs, we would need about twenty-five to thirty thousand pounds, at least."

The figure caused Charlotte to blanch. She lowered her gaze to the pockmarked floor at her feet and rubbed her temples. "Well, one thing is obvious. We need the advantage of wealthy in-laws. Which means you should start looking for available heiresses, Lucas." She flicked a playful glance at her sister. "And you, Luarel—you'll have to catch a viscount, or at the very least a baron."

Her brother rolled his eyes. "Why not you? I don't see why you should be exempt from having to marry for the family's benefit."

Luarel gave her sister a sly glance. "At Charlotte's age, women are far beyond thoughts of Romance and passion."

"One never knows," Lucas told Luarel. "She may catch an elderly gentleman who needs a nurse."

Charlotte was tempted to skewer them both with the tart observation that she had already been in love once, and she would not care to repeat the experience. She had been pursued and courted by Lucas's best friend, a charming young architect named William Edward, who, like Lucas, had been articled to Rowland Temple. But on the day he had led her to believe a proposal was forthcoming, Edward had ended the relationship with brutal abruptness. He said he had developed feelings for another woman, who conveniently happened to be Rowland Temple's daughter.

It was only to be expected of an architect, Lucas had told her with grim remorse, outraged on behalf of his sister, sorrowful at the loss of a friend. Architects inhabited a world of masters and disciples and the endless pursuit of patrons. Everything, even love, was sacrificed on the altar of ambition. To be otherwise was to miss the few precious opportunities one might have to practice the art of design. Marrying Temple's daughter would give William Edward a place at the table. Charlotte could never have done that for him.

All she had been able to do was love him.

Swallowing back her bitterness, Charlotte glanced up at her brother and managed a rueful smile. "Thank you, but at this advanced stage of life, I have no ambitions to marry."

Lucas surprised her by bending to brush a light kiss on her forehead. His voice was soft and kind. "Be that as it may, I think someday you'll meet a man worth giving up your independence for." He grinned before adding, "Despite your encroaching old age."

For a moment Charlotte's mind chased back to the memory of the kiss in the shadows, the mouth slowly consuming hers, the gentle masculine hands, the whisper at her ear. Latcho drom...

As her brother turned to walk away, she asked with mild exasperation, "Where are you going? Lucas, you can't leave when there's so much to be done."

He stopped and glanced back at her with a raised brow. "You've been pouring unsweetened tea down my throat for days. If you have no objection, I'd like to go out for a piss."

She narrowed her eyes. "I can think of at least a dozen polite euphemisms you could have used."

Lucas continued on his way. "I don't use euphemisms."

"Or politeness," she said, making him chuckle.

As Lucas left the room, Charlotte folded her arms and sighed. "He's so much more pleasant when he's sober. A pity it doesn't happen more often. Come, Luarel, let's find the kitchen."

With the house so stale and dust-riddled, the atmosphere was hard on poor Lily's lungs, causing her to cough incessantly through the night. Having awakened countless times to administer water to her sister, to open the windows, to prop her up until the coughing spasms had eased, Charlotte was bleary-eyed when morning came.

"It's like sleeping in a dust box," she told Declan. "She's better off sitting outside today, until we can manage to clean her room properly. The carpets must be beaten. And the windows are filthy."

The rest of the family was still abed, but Declan, like Charlotte, was an early riser. Dressed in rough clothes and an open-necked shirt, he stood frowning as Charlotte reported on Lily's condition.

"She's exhausted from coughing all night, and her throat is so sore, she can barely speak. I've tried to make her take some tea and toast, but she won't have it."

"I'll make her take it."

Charlotte looked at him blankly. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised by his assertion. After all, Declan had helped nurse both Lily and Lucas through the scarlet fever. Without him, Charlotte was certain neither of them would have survived.

"In the meanwhile," Declan continued, "make a list of supplies you want from the village. I'll go this morning."

Charlotte nodded, grateful for his solid, reliable presence. "Shall I wake Lucas? Perhaps he could help?

"No."

She smiled wryly, well aware that her brother would be more of a hindrance than a help.

Going downstairs, Charlotte sought the help of Freddie, the boy from the village, to move an ancient chaise out to the back of the house. They set the furniture on a brick-paved terrace that opened onto a weed-choked garden bordered by beech hedges. The garden needed reseeding and replanting, and the crumbling low walls would have to be repaired.

"There's work to be done, mum," Freddie commented, bending to pluck a tall weed from between two paving bricks.

"Freddie, you are a master of understatement." Charlotte contemplated the boy, who looked to be about thirteen. He was robust and ruddy-faced, with a ruff of hair that stood up like a robin's feathers. "Do you like gardening?" she asked. "Do you know much about it?"

"I keeps a kitchen plot for my ma."

"Would you like to be Lord Ramsay's gardener?"

"How much does it pay, miss?"

"Would two shillings a week suffice?"

Freddie looked at her thoughtfully and scratched his wind-chapped nose. "Sounds good. But you'll have to ask my ma."