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“You tease me…” Charity added, suspicious of his all too appealing approach. Flirtation she could handle because she was prepared for it. His kindness caught her off guard.
“You may not believe me, but I do understand. No matter what you think of me… I am not without loved ones of my own.”
He was right, it was hard to believe. It was difficult to imagine that Neville Collington cared for anyone other than himself.
The topic of her beloved father’s degeneration was a sensitive one, and Charity could not believe that Lord Wentwell had any idea what kind of hurt she felt in her heart. She could not of course, unburden herself to one such as him. He who left ruined ladies in his path would only hurt her, and her father if he knew the extent of her father’s illness.
“My father seems to do better after taking the waters,” she explained with a level of candor that she had with few people, let alone this stranger. “I thought that a small vial might rejuvenate him so that he might finish the concert. He does not get out as often as I would like.”
“It is very kind of you to look after him,” Lord Wentwell offered. Charity turned her face to look up at him, expecting a grin that revealed that he was mocking her in some way. Instead, she found only open approval and something else that she did not wish to name for it might easily be mistaken for admiration.
“Thank you,” she whispered, overcome with feeling at the compliment. She could not say why his approval mattered, but it had, greatly.
“Many would have hired a companion.”
Charity nodded absently, thinking Mother had considered a companion, but that would only leave another knowledgeable about the Earl’s condition, and both she and Charity decided that was an unnecessary risk. Only a few trusted servants understood the state of affairs, and it was best that way.
Charity chose her vial, a small bottle that hung from a strip of leather. She thought that her father might like to carry it round his neck so that he might always have the drink available.
Lord Wentwell paid for the drink before Charity had the chance to count the coin from her father’s purse, as she was unused to such financial matters. She looked up at him baffled. She wondered why he was being so kind. As Charity prepared to say her farewell, determined to return to her father as soon as possible, she scanned the crowd for her father’s form spread upon their blanket.
Except… the blanket was empty.
There, in the middle of the crowd sat the empty length of cloth. In the few moments that it had taken her to make her purchase, her father had disappeared. She scanned the crowd with panicked eyes. He was nowhere to be seen.
“Lady Charity, are you quite alright?” Lord Wentwell asked when he observed the fear that was written upon her features and she clutched his arm.
“My… my father!” she cried. Without another word Charity took off at a run to reach her blanket. She cared not what anyone might think of her race through the crowd. He father was missing and the world was spinning around her in chaos as she began to understand the dire situation. This was the opera all over again, and this was worse. This time she did not even have her mother at her side.
Lord Wentwell was hot on her heels as he skidded to a stop at the edge of the blanket.
“Perhaps a servant has taken him for relief,” he offered.
Charity shook her head. “We were here alone. It was meant to be our special day.”
“Whose foolish idea was that?” Lord Wentwell snapped as he scanned the crowd. The benefit of his height allowed him a better view of the occupants of the park.
“Do you see him?” she asked. Charity wanted to grab Lord Wentwell by the front of his coat and shake him until he found the direction of her father. Her fear was overwhelming, and she had no one else to turn to save this man at her side.
With pursed lips, Lord Wentwell shook his head. “No, but he would not have gone home and left you.”
Charity thought he might have tried to. He had done so in the past. She thought of the opera, and her mind refused to focus in its panicked state. She could not make herself think, but think she must.
“I cannot imagine what disaster would have enticed him to leave you unescorted, but I shall help you find Lady Beresford. I believe she is here. I saw her earlier…”
“No,” Charity blurted. “You do not understand.”
“Enlighten me,” Lord Wentwell said crossing his arms over his broad chest.
She paused. Dare she confide in Lord Wentwell, of all people? What choice did she have? “My Father has moments. He wanders off. He has a…” she groped for a word.
“As he did at Covent Garden several months ago,” Lord Wentwell said.
Charity’s mouth went dry. Sweet heavens, he knew. Her mind went completely blank. She did not know what to do.
Lord Wentwell raised an eyebrow. “Do you think he would have called for a carriage?”
Charity held up her father’s purse in explanation.
