Change of Address (7 page)

Still ignoring his sister and addressing only Amanda,
Charlie started to rake his hand through his hair again but this time stopped
himself. “I do not remember, exactly. Some words to the effect that Papa had
called Puckett a liar and a disgrace.”

“Well,” Amanda explained, heat rising again to her cheeks,
“he may not have lied. Though he certainly is a disgrace. And why a man such as
him would have the audacity to challenge your father, I cannot fathom.”

“I believe Papa put the idea in his head. He said he would
demand satisfaction if Puckett didn’t take back his words.”

Amanda groaned. “You men and your words of honor. You’d
rather be honorably dead than alive with reason.”

“Dead?” Isabel stepped between them to force Charlie to look
at her. “Puckett has challenged Papa to a
duel
?”

“Yes,” Charlie and Amanda said together.

“That ruffian?” Isabel crossed her hands in front of her
chest. “He has no right.”

Charlie stepped around his sister to address Amanda. “Alive
with reason sounds cowardly. But I agree Papa should not have accepted his
challenge.”

“Whether we agree or not,” Amanda stepped back to admit
Isabel into the discussion, “the point is that he has accepted and we must do
something to prevent any harm from coming of it.”

“We pay the man off, of course,” Isabel suggested.

Charlie shook his head. “I offered Puckett money to forget
this scheme and leave the area, but he would have none of it. A misplaced sense
of pride, I suppose. And something about honor between the two families.”

Isabel rolled her eyes. “We could hide Papa’s powder and
shot.”

Again Charlie shook his head. “He could procure more
elsewhere. Or they might choose another weapon.”

Amanda considered for a moment. “You thought the effects of
port might be to blame. It is a pity we could not get your father to accept
more of it before he retired.”

Charlie’s brow furrowed in confusion. “So he could challenge
someone else?”

“So that he might sleep through the appointed hour.”

Isabel clapped her hands together. “Oh, an excellent idea,
Miss Castling.”

“Amanda,” Charlie and Amanda corrected at the same instant.
Charlie then looked apologetic. “You did suggest we take the liberty.”

“Yes, of course.” Flushing, and not quite certain why this
time, Amanda turned to Isabel. “But what was excellent about my idea? It will
not work because Mr. Hilliar is already asleep.”

“We encourage him to sleep past daybreak,” she explained.
“He will miss the appointment and that will be the end of it.”

“He will be furious.” Charlie objected. But just as Amanda
was about to point out how unimportant that was, he added, “but he will be
alive. So I agree, it is a good plan. Provided that we can ensure that the
villain does not accuse my father of cowardice.”

“What if
he
misses the appointed hour as well?”
Amanda suggested. “If they both sleep through the morning but neither knows the
other has missed, they will both be too embarrassed to do anything more about
it and they will let the matter drop.”

Charlie nodded. “Oh, yes!” Hope gleamed in his eyes.

Isabel smiled. “You’ve hit upon the ideal solution. We will
darken Papa’s windows and instruct his man not to light the fire or put out his
clothes or anything that might indicate that it is morning.” She stopped. “But
what about Puckett?”

“We can roll him in dark cloth,” Charlie suggested, “so that
it seems perpetually dark.”

“Yes,” Amanda observed, “but we’d have to find him, first.”

“We’ll send out the servants on a search.” Charlie stepped
over to the mantel and tugged on a well-worn cord. “Puckett might have returned
to his lodgings in the village, or moved on to sleep in the lower field, as
he’d said he would.”

“Or,” Amanda countered, “he might have simply stayed where
he was and crept into the stable. I know he went in at least once, so he would
know that it was warm inside.”

“Yes,” Isabel agreed with zeal, “he would want to be warm on
such a cold night. We will cover him with blankets.” She turned to Charlie.
“And I’m taking the blankets from your bed, since you allowed this to happen.
You shall have to delouse them yourself when this matter is concluded.”

They all smiled at this little joke. All of them could see
an end in sight, and the sense of relief was palpable.

When Jameson arrived, Charlie instructed him to assign
servants to accompany him to the field where the duel would not be fought,
servants to find Puckett’s lodgings in town, and additional servants to take
Amanda back to the dower house. Isabel would stay and supervise the
preparations necessary to keep her father asleep.

“I think,” Isabel said with deliberation, “I will open the
windows in his bedchamber and make it too cold for him to sleep comfortably.
You know how he complains of the slightest chill. Then when he is thoroughly
exhausted from lack of sleep, we will heap extra blankets on him as well so
that he will sleep deeply at last.”

Charlie shook his head in mock disapproval. “I believe I saw
a gleam in your eyes when you suggested making Papa uncomfortable.”

“Well, he has inconvenienced us mightily.”

“Nonsense.” He grinned. “We spend every Christmas eve
conspiring with servants and hunting scoundrels.”

The sun would rise just before 8 a.m., so they agreed that
if they could keep the purported combatants abed until 9:30, sufficient time
would have passed. They would wake Mr. Hilliar with only enough time remaining
to prepare for morning worship, and Puckett they would leave to his own devices
with perhaps a bottle of gin to help sleep the day away.

For the second time that night, Amanda stepped into the
Hilliar coach for the short trip between the two houses. She hoped Charlie
would not run into any danger as he tried to find the incorrigible Puckett in
the dark.

And why did she care? Only yesterday—only this morning,
really—she had considered him a bit of a fool, a man to be avoided. But he’d
shown himself to be more. He’d been willing to fight for her honor. Perhaps
that made him no less of a fool. But somehow the foolishness had become
endearing.

She yawned. Or perhaps she was just very tired.

She woke when the carriage bumped to a stop in front of her
house. The footmen would not let her leave the confines of the vehicle until
they had carried lanterns throughout the yard and ascertained that Puckett was
not skulking about.

When they finally let her out, she directed them to the
stable, where she was certain they would find Puckett sleeping in a pile of
straw.

But they did not. They explored every nook and cranny of the
tiny building and even moved a good bit of the hay and straw to be certain he
had not burrowed under it. There was no sign of the man.

Perhaps Charlie had been right and he had gone to sleep in
the lower fields.

She would go to sleep in her own bed, at last, while the
Hilliar footmen kept watch outside to guard against Puckett’s return.

The archaic iron lock gave a satisfying heavy click as she
turned the key to open the front door. Strange that now, in the dark cold
moonlight, this house should seem less foreign and more like a home. They had
already amassed memories here. Not the most pleasant, to be sure, but since all
would turn out well, there was a certain sense of accomplishment. They had
saved a girl from being beaten by her father. They had prevented a duel. All
before hiring a single member of household staff.

She closed the door and set down her lantern while she
removed her cloak and peeled off her gloves. Lantern light shown unevenly in a
jagged line across the floor. So the floors were cracked. Rotten. They would
have to be fixed and she would speak to Charlie about it tomorrow even if it
was Christmas day.

With another yawn, she scooped up the lantern by the handle
and carried it and herself up the stairs, lantern light swaying with every
step. She was unbearably tired. Just a few more steps. Another yawn.

And then she was in her bedchamber. It wasn’t until she was
only a few steps away from the bed that she realized the bedcurtains were drawn
closed. In their haste to leave earlier, she knew she had not made the bed nor
closed the curtains.

Had Honoria?

Or had someone else? But she had the only key, other than
the copy kept by the Hilliar family.

Surely she was alone. The door had been locked and all the
windows and shutters closed.

But locks could be picked.

Windows could be broken.

In fact, Puckett had broken one earlier. They’d latched the
shutters closed from inside and braced them so he could not get in. But what if
he’d come back, broken out the rest of the glass, pushed his way between the
shutters and then closed them again once inside? In the dark, she would not
have noticed the damage.

Slowly, she began to back out of the room. The floorboards
creaked after only a few footsteps and she froze.

Behind the bedcurtains, there was a sound of rustling and a
groan.

Amanda turned and ran for the door. Pulling up her skirts in
big handfuls, she dashed down the spiral stairs, across the parlor to the front
door, grabbed the door latch and pulled.

She had forgotten she’d locked the door behind herself. It
shook in her hand, just hinting at the possibility that it might open, but
refusing to do so. She rattled it once more in frustration. “Not again!”

A hand pounded on the door from outside. “Amanda? Is that
you?” It was Charlie’s voice.

“Yes,” she called back softly. “But keep your voice down.”

“What?” he hollered.

“Keep your—never mind. I need to find the key.”

“What kind of tea?”

“Hush.” She fumbled on the mantel until she found the set of
keys, then felt each of them to find the largest. “This should do it.” She
jammed the key into the lock and turned.

The door flew inward before she had a chance to pull on it.

“At first I thought Puckett could not possibly be here, or I
never would have allowed you to return,” Charlie said in a rush as he stepped
into the room, “but as we were riding to the field I decided you might be correct,
although the men outside said—”

“Whst!” She put her hand over his mouth. “I think he might
be upstairs!” she whispered.

“Wha?” he mumbled through her fingers.

She pointed to the stairs. “There is someone in my
bedchamber upstairs,” she hissed, “and it is very likely him.”

“Well, we cannot allow that.” He lunged for the stairs.

“Wait!” She put a hand on his arm. “We should leave him be,
if indeed it is him. We make him comfortable just as we’d planned. Then once he
wakes and realizes he can be accused of burglary, we allow him to disappear.”

“I do not care for the thought of a strange man in your
bed.”

“And I am not certain you stand in the proper relationship
to complain.” She felt herself flush and was glad it was too dark for him to
see. There was a possessiveness to his words that both offended and flattered
all at once.

“It serves our purpose to allow him to stay,” she continued,
pushing aside for now the thoughts of what her relationship with Charlie might
be either sooner or later. She started toward the stairs. “We first have to be
certain it is indeed him. I never actually saw anyone.”

He tried to push past her. “It is improper for you to look.”

“I don’t care if it is improper.” Nevertheless, she stepped
aside for him. “But I don’t think it would be pleasant. While you go up I will
collect the extra blankets from your men.”

“Do you not have blankets here?”

“The landlord provided very meager furnishings and
threadbare goods.”

“He really should be punished.”

“I am certain to find a way.” She smiled, even though it was
probably too dark for him to see.

By the time she returned with her arms loaded with wool and
a footman at her heels, Charlie was back downstairs building a fire in the
fireplace. He instructed the footman to go up and keep watch outside the door
of the bedchamber.

“It was Puckett, then?” she asked. In a strange way she was
relieved that she had not imagined the noises.

“It was. Took every ounce of restraint not to flail him with
the fireplace poker.” He sat back on his heels to watch the kindling as it
caught from the burning tinder.

She considered him for a moment. “You have a decided
tendency toward violence.”

“Toward protection, Miss Castling, only for your
protection.” He stood. “If you will tend the fire for a moment, I will bury our
Mr. Puckett in blankets.”

“I don’t like you to use the word ‘bury’. A most morbid
word.”

“I am sorry.”

“It is Christmas, after all.”

“So it is.” He reached out for the blankets. As she released
the wool into his arms, they came together in the manner of an embrace, albeit
a large one stuffed with fabric. Still, she blushed at the thought.

But as he started toward the stairs, she called him back.
“Wait, please. I’d like to keep one for myself. The house is cold and I will
need to wait and watch to ensure the man does not come down for his
appointment.”

“You surely do not believe that I will allow you to do such
a thing.”

“To stay in my own house?”

“To keep watch over a violent, disreputable man.”

“Then leave behind
two
blankets and you may keep
watch with me.” Heat crept into her cheeks yet again. Had she really just said
such a thing? Even at this late hour he must find her suggestion indelicate.

Or perhaps not, because he was smiling when he stepped back
to her. “Oh, I will keep watch with you, you can be sure,” he said as he nudged
the top blanket into her arms, “but I will not take any chance of our Mr.
Puckett awakening on account of the cold. We will share the one blanket so that
I may deposit the remainder on our sleeping Caliban.”