Change of Address by Kate Dolan Page A

his sleeping beauty closer and
hoped whoever it was would go away.
    “Open up!” His father demanded from outside, shaking the
locked door. “Oliver? Robin told me you’d gone in to keep watch over our Mr.
Puckett.”
    Charlie gave a start as the evening’s events came back with
a full rush of horror. Somehow Isabel had failed in her mission to keep his father
asleep and he had come to meet his unworthy challenger.
    Carefully laying Miss Castling’s head on the cushion of the
settee, he stepped toward the door but then paused. If he refused to open the
door, would his father eventually give up?
    “Oliver!”
    This time the summons was loud enough to bring the footman
tumbling down the stairs at the back of the house. And though Charlie might
refuse to obey his father’s command, the servants in his employ would not dare
risk his wrath and he couldn’t say he blamed them. What could he do?
    There was no time to think. He cast a glance at Miss
Castling stirring into consciousness and hoped this was one of the times where
acting without thinking would prove the best course of action.
    Just before Oliver reached the door, Charlie cut in ahead of
him and turned the key they’d left in the lock.
    But he opened the door only the merest crack. “Papa,” he
called through the opening, “It’s Charlie. Before I let you in, you must
promise that you will listen to me.”
    “Damn your impudence, boy. Open up, this instant.”
    “I will not, unless you curb your tongue.” Again he glanced
at Miss Castling, who was now sitting upright and looking about as full of
panic as he felt. He tried to stay calm for her sake, if not for his own.
    “And,” his father roared, “ I will be obeyed in my own
house.”
    “It is not your house, sir, at present,” Charlie countered.
“The leasehold belongs to Mrs. Castling.” He curbed the urge to look at Amanda
a third time to see if she recognized the argument she had once used with him.
    His father started to pull the door open. “I will not be
kept outside like some scurrilous vagabond.”
    Charlie opened the door just enough to face his father. “Do
you mean kept outside like the scurrilous vagabond with whom we had words
during the course of the night?”
    “Bah!” his father growled as he pushed his way inside.
“Where is the blackguard? I will not have it said that James Hilliar is one to
avoid his engagements.”
    Charlie closed the door and stepped back into the room far
enough to put himself between his father and the staircase. “I do rather wish
you would avoid this particular engagement. And before you answer, please do
bid a good morning to our hostess, Miss Castling.” He nodded toward the settee.
    “Eh?” His father squinted into the dim parlor.
    Amanda picked up her cue with admirable swiftness, stepping
up to him and sinking into a graceful curtsy. “A very happy Christmas to you,
Mr. Hilliar.”
    “What? Er, yes, I suppose it is. A happy Christmas, then, to
you and,” he looked around “er, your family.”
    “We are so very grateful for your hospitality during the
course of the very trying episode. My mother will particularly wish to thank
you herself, when you return to the manor.”
    “Yes, er, must attend to some business first.” He looked
around as if expecting to find that she shielded Puckett behind her back.
    “No, Papa, you do not,” Charlie said gently but firmly. “The
business has been concluded.”
    “What? How?” he demanded.
    Amanda looked at him expectantly. Not doubtfully, but with
expectation, which meant that she assumed he had come up with a satisfactory
plan. That was indeed gratifying, even if he had no plan, since she must think
him clever enough to have devised one.
    So he had damned well better do so.
    “Let us sit down,” he suggested, more to buy himself time
than anything else. He waved to Oliver to resume his post on the landing
outside the bedchamber where Puckett was sleeping.
    “Oh, yes, do let us enjoy the