Читать книгу Waltzing With The Earl - Catherine Tinley, Catherine Tinley - Страница 11
ОглавлениеCharlotte spurred Andalusia to a canter. The breeze stung her cheeks and the afternoon sun sparkled on the Queen’s Basin as she cantered through the meadow, savouring the exhilaration in her veins. At the end of the open field she slowed the mare to a gentle trot, allowing Joseph to catch up.
‘I’ll say this, Miss Charlotte,’ said the groom who had taught her to ride amid Wellesley’s Portuguese campaign, ‘you know exactly how to handle her.’
‘Yes, you enjoyed that, didn’t you, Lusy? Just a pity we aren’t allowed a full gallop,’ said Charlotte, leaning forward to pat the mare’s neck. ‘I suppose we should be getting back, Joseph. We are to have visitors this afternoon and I am a little late.’
As they moved through the park towards Half-Moon Street Charlotte reflected on her first week in London. The Season was now in full swing, but Mrs Buxted disapproved of the ‘carousing’ involved. House parties, assemblies and balls were only to be tolerated, she had pronounced, in order to find suitable marriage partners for her daughters.
In her first two seasons Henrietta had been restricted to small gatherings and an occasional visit to Almack’s. Not this year. Faith had shyly confided to Charlotte that ‘Dear Mama’ disapproved of some large social occasions, but with Henrietta still unmarried—and yet so beautiful—Mrs Buxted had conceded she might have to relax her normal strict avoidance of parties, balls and routs.
Privately, Charlotte had wondered why Henrietta was still unwed, despite being so beautiful. Had she spurned offers of marriage? Surely she had had offers?
‘Mama wants only what is best for us,’ Faith had said, ‘which is why she wants us to beware of heedless pleasure. But I confess I am enjoying the silly vanities of ball-gowns and assemblies.’
‘And so you should,’ Charlotte had replied. ‘For it is wonderful to dress up and go to parties. I declare there is a certain excitement about knowing one is going out, in planning what to wear and getting ready. I think many men feel the same, for they spend a lot of time on their hair, and their neckcloths, and their boots. At least, Papa does.’
Charlotte had been excluded from all the evening outings so far. As Mrs Buxted—a stickler for propriety—had explained, dear Charlotte had not yet been presented at Court. She was therefore to be excluded from large balls and routs, though she might attend small, informal events. Charlotte had heard this with great disappointment. She had been looking forward to many things in London—including ton parties—and had certainly not expected her life to be quite so restricted.
On her first evening in Buxted House, it had been made clear that Charlotte was to adapt to the needs of the family.
‘Miss Charlotte,’ Mrs Buxted had said. ‘I am a straightforward person, and I pride myself on my honesty. We are well thought of in London. You are a Buxted by blood, although somewhat diluted by your father’s family, the Wyncrofts, who were of lesser birth. I cannot imagine what your childhood was like, being raised by a widower in the train of the Army!’
Charlotte had opened her mouth to defend her darling papa, but Mrs Buxted had been insistent.
‘No, I do not wish to hear what you have to say. You are in my charge now, and you will submit to me. I expect the highest standards of behaviour from you. I have spent many years preparing my girls for London society, and no one—least of all a nobody from Paris, or Vienna, or wherever you have been—will risk their future. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes, Aunt.’ Charlotte, chastened, had had no choice but to submit.
Her heart had sunk. Her time in London was to be a more rule-governed existence than the life she had lived abroad. This visit to London—that she had looked forward to with such excitement—would be more of a trial than an adventure, it seemed.
Her hopes of building friendships with her cousins also looked likely to be dashed—Faith was sweet, but slow-witted, and Henrietta seemed proud and vain. Their mother was probably well-meaning, but ruled the household with a will of iron.
Charlotte, unused to being disciplined quite so forcefully or bluntly, reminded herself that as a young person, and a guest in her aunt’s house, she must be ruled by her aunt, no matter how much she hated it. She’d had no idea this would be her life here when she had persuaded her father to let her come. Now all she wanted was for Papa to rescue her from Buxted House.
Her eyes misted as she thought of Papa. There had been many times when they had been apart, but never for three whole months, and never with the sea in between them. He felt much further away than he had ever been. She cried sometimes, when feeling low, but always tried to cheer herself up again.
I’m trying to enjoy this, Papa. And I am trying to behave. But I miss you.
So far, she had done quite well. She had submitted to having a maid accompany her each time she left the house—apart from her morning ride, when she was accompanied by Joseph. General manners and conversation seemed little different, so she had avoided her aunt’s criticism there. The toughest challenge so far had been a surprising one—she was expected to avoid seeming knowledgeable, and not to hold an opinion on anything of note.
‘For a lady,’ Aunt Buxted had advised, ‘must not set herself to be higher in knowledge or understanding than a gentleman. Our weak feminine brains cannot cope with the complexities of knowledge, and to pretend to be well-informed is an unfortunate and unnecessary affectation. There is nothing worse than to be thought a bluestocking!’
This Charlotte found difficult. She was accustomed to the company of political and military men and women and had a great interest in politics. She also enjoyed reading.
Still, to please my aunt, she thought, I can try to be dumb and stupid—at least while she is present. Papa would laugh if he saw me.
Entering the house, she mounted the stairs, intending to go straight to her room to change. On the way, she heard Mrs Buxted’s voice coming from the drawing room.
‘Oh, where is the wretched girl?’
Charlotte hurried inside, her heart suddenly pounding. Mrs Buxted and her daughters were seated in full splendour—the mother on a throne-like winged chair, the girls on matching French chaises. The room had been redecorated recently in the French style, with delicate-looking gilded furniture and in colours of yellow, straw and gold. Faith had an embroidery tambour in her hand, while Henrietta was reading a book of sermons. They looked extremely proper.
Three pairs of eyes turned to her.
‘Ah, there you are—and still in your riding habit. Go and change into something more appropriate. Quickly, girl! They will be here soon!’
‘Of course, Aunt. I am sorry for being late.’
As Priddy helped her don a pretty half-dress of pale blue muslin, with a fashionable hem-frill and satin ribbon, Charlotte wondered aloud why her aunt was so anxious today. ‘For we never had this much fuss for any of the other visitors I’ve met this week.’
‘I’m sure I couldn’t say.’ Priddy sniffed. ‘But some of the servants seem mightily interested in the young gentlemen visiting today.’
‘Two brothers, Faith said—Adam and Harry Fanton. I know little about them.’
Priddy began tidying Charlotte’s hair. ‘One should never listen to gossip, but they say Mrs Buxted has her sights set on these gentlemen for her daughters. The elder—called Adam—is for Miss Henrietta—him being the Earl of Shalford, with an estate bordering the Buxteds’. They say he is on the lookout for a rich wife.’
‘Oh! I am sure my aunt will be glad to see Miss Henrietta well settled.’
‘Hrmphh! Well, your hair will just have to do.’ Priddy stood back to admire her handiwork. ‘Why did you go riding just before meeting visitors? Your face is quite red, girl.’
‘Oh, do stop fussing, Priddy.’ She flashed her abigail a quick smile before hurrying downstairs.
Too late!
As she approached the room she heard male voices. Pausing in the doorway to take in the scene, she was completely unaware of how fetching she looked, with her cheeks flushed and eyes bright from exercise. The ladies were still sitting stiffly, and had been joined by two handsome men—one in a coat of black superfine that looked moulded to his body, the other in regimentals. They rose immediately, and Mrs Buxted made the introductions.
‘Miss Wyncroft, may I present the Earl of Shalford and his brother Captain Henry Fanton? This is Miss Charlotte Wyncroft. Her mother was Maria Buxted—my husband’s cousin. Miss Wyncroft has been living abroad with her father, Colonel Sir Edward Wyncroft.’
Both gentlemen were tall and broad-shouldered, and it was clear to see they were brothers. Both had thick dark hair and handsome, striking faces. The Earl looked slightly older—maybe approaching thirty. His eyes were a piercing grey, and he observed Charlotte coolly. The Captain, in contrast, was all smiles. He showed a marked resemblance to his brother, though his eyes were blue, not grey, and he was perhaps a little shorter.
They made their bows, the Earl formally and unsmilingly and the Captain with a decided twinkle in his eyes. He spoke first.
‘How long will you stay in London, Miss Wyncroft?’
‘I am not certain. My father, you see, is in Paris.’
At this his brother, who had retaken his seat beside Henrietta, looked up. ‘He is with Castlereagh?’
The Captain laughed. ‘My brother knows them all, Miss Wyncroft. He has taken up his seat this year and finds he has a taste for politics.’
‘I too, have an interest in politics—though I know little about what goes on in the Palace of Westminster. My education has been on the continent—we lived in Austria most recently—and I am sadly lacking in knowledge of our own internal politics, save that which we poor émigrées must pick up from our visitors.’
She turned to the Earl, who was listening with attention.
‘I was with Papa—and Lord Castlereagh—until two weeks ago, when I left for England.’
‘My cousin has not lived much in England, Lord Shalford,’ said Henrietta. ‘She is quite the foreigner.’
‘You must excuse her tardiness,’ added Mrs Buxted. ‘She was out riding and has yet to learn the importance of being ready for expected guests.’
Charlotte, unusually, was for a moment lost for words.
The Captain came to her rescue. ‘Oh, a lady after my own heart, then. I know what it is to enjoy a good outing on a dry, clear day such as this.’
Charlotte smiled gratefully. ‘Indeed, I enjoy riding immensely, and I miss it when I have not been out for a few days. My Uncle Buxted has kindly stabled my mare.’
‘You have brought your own horse, then? From Austria?’ Captain Fanton gazed at her intently.
‘Yes, though we got her in Spain. Her name is Andalusia—and she is a darling.’
‘I should like to see her. My brother and I ride most days. Perhaps I—or we—could accompany you on one of your rides?’
‘You can—if you can keep up.’ She twinkled at him.
‘That sounds uncommonly like a challenge, does it not, Adam?
‘Indeed.’ The Earl removed a tiny speck of dust from his sleeve.
‘I admit I cannot resist a challenge. I shall call upon you tomorrow, Miss Wyncroft, if you are amenable.’
‘I don’t think I am amenable at all, but I shall ride with you tomorrow, Captain Fanton.’
Captain Fanton dipped his head in appreciation, while his brother crossed one muscular leg over the other and remained silent.
‘Faith enjoys riding—do you not, Faith?’ Mrs Buxted interjected loudly, drawing all eyes to her younger daughter.
Faith, unfortunately, had just taken a small bite of cake, and almost choked at her mother’s question. After some coughing, and sips of tea, she recovered enough to confirm that, yes, she enjoyed riding.
Charlotte refrained from raising a brow. The Buxted ladies’ idea of riding was no more than a sedate walk, from what she had seen. On two occasions, when the family had had no evening engagements, Charlotte and her cousins had gone for an early-evening ride to Rotten Row in Hyde Park.
The Buxted horses were staid and placid—Papa would have dismissed them immediately as packhorses—and they had not even broken into a trot. Both Henrietta and Faith seemed decidedly nervous around horses. Their ride had not been at all energetic, and Charlotte, who had a great deal of liveliness, had found it frustrating.
Their evening promenades were simply a chance to see and to be seen. Many members of the ton were usually there, and Charlotte had been introduced to some of the Buxteds’ acquaintances. Today, however, was her first encounter with the Earl of Shalford and his brother.
As Henrietta engaged the Earl in quiet conversation, and Mrs Buxted talked briskly to the Captain and Faith about mutual acquaintances, Charlotte took the opportunity to study the two men a little more closely.
Lord Shalford—the Earl—was tall, dark and distant. His demeanour was disengaged, verging on bored. His grey eyes had displayed complete indifference to Charlotte, which amused her. He was listening politely to Henrietta, though. Charlotte suppressed a smile. The Earl clearly preferred sedate, dutiful, blonde ladies, who arrived on time and were fashionably pale.
The Captain seemed much more likeable. His open countenance and smiling blue eyes reminded her of many young officers she had met through her father’s career. Since her seventeenth birthday, when she had been home from school, she had acted as her father’s hostess at dinners, parties and even a grand ball. It felt strange to act the debutante again—although here in London that was exactly what she was.
Lord Shalford addressed his hostess. ‘We have come today with a specific purpose in mind.’
‘Adam, must you be so formal?’ His brother laughed.
‘It seems I must, Harry,’ replied the Earl. ‘As you may know, Mrs Buxted, since my father’s death last year I have been busy with paperwork, death duties, and ensuring that my father’s—that is to say, my estate—is well-managed and that I understand its workings. As the eldest son I had naturally already had some dealings with my father’s steward, but I still have much to learn.’
‘Indeed—and I am sure the estate is safe in your more than capable hands.’ Mrs Buxted showed a smile which did not quite reach her eyes. A gleam of curiosity lit them, making her look strangely calculating for a second.
‘Well, only time will show. But to the purpose of my visit today—’
‘Yes, do get on with it, Adam.’
The Captain made a childish face at Charlotte, whose eyes danced in mischievous response. Their exchange was noted, causing Charlotte a moment’s discomfort as the Earl’s grey eyes pierced her with a keen glance.
She raised her eyebrows, undaunted, though she was assailed by the unexpected memory of old Lord Carmby, an arrogant diplomat who had crossed Charlotte’s path in Vienna. His caustic put-downs had alienated all who knew him there. He had once called Charlotte ‘a forward, opinionated brat’ when she had daringly questioned his views on a political matter. Luckily, Papa had not been within earshot. Hmmm... She hadn’t been made to feel like a child for a long time. Anger began to burn in her chest.
‘Now we are out of mourning, I think it is important for the family—indeed, for everyone at Chadcombe—that we resume normality. My father was ill for a long time, and as you may know my mother died three years before him. So I have decided to invite a small party of friends to Chadcombe after Parliament rises. My great-aunt—Miss Langley—has kindly agreed to act as hostess. I would be delighted if you and your family—and your guest, of course—’ he glanced at Charlotte ‘—would agree to visit.’
‘Visit Chadcombe?’ Henrietta came to life, an excited smile lighting her face.
Mrs Buxted sent a quelling glance to her elder daughter. ‘Of course we should be delighted to visit Chadcombe. It is an age since we were in Surrey—almost a year ago, I believe. We have not visited Monkton Park since last summer. To stay in Chadcombe would be unusual, since our estates are so close together, but we are grateful for your invitation.’
Henrietta explained to Charlotte. ‘My grandfather’s sister left Monkton Park to us two years ago. It adjoins Chadcombe’s lands to the east.’
Mrs Buxted continued. ‘We inspected the place when my aunt died, and have visited occasionally.’ She turned to Lord Shalford. ‘We could not call on the third Earl—your father—because of his illness. Monkton Park is a pretty little estate, though we prefer our main home, near Melton Mowbray. Monkton Park has been left to whichever of our daughters is married first, although the old lady positively doted on dear Henrietta.’
Henrietta smiled slightly.
‘Of course that question has never been in doubt, for Henrietta is the elder...and so pretty. My aunt clearly intended she should have the estate. And so she shall—just as soon as she is married!’
The room was silent. Charlotte looked down at her own hands, which were clasped so tightly the knuckles were white.
Aunt Buxted, oblivious, continued after a pause. ‘I shall of course check with Mr Buxted, but I am almost certain we have as yet no fixed engagements for July.’
Henrietta said nothing, but Charlotte, glancing across, saw a triumphant gleam in her eyes. This, then, was what she wanted.
‘Excellent,’ said the Earl. Turning to Henrietta, who quickly adopted an innocent, guileless expression, he added, ‘And you, Miss Buxted? Will you be happy to visit my home?’
‘Indeed I shall, Lord Shalford.’ Her voice was quiet, well-modulated, gentle.
The Earl nodded approvingly—satisfied, it seemed, with her muted response.
Charlotte suppressed a smile. If he had seen Henrietta earlier, shouting shrilly at Faith about a length of ribbon, he might not be so sanguine. Charlotte had been glad to go riding, simply to avoid the tantrum. Henrietta, she had realised, was much indulged by Mrs Buxted, and as the elder—and prettier—daughter, held prime importance in her mother’s mind.
The pliant Faith was expected to sacrifice any treat or privilege if Miss Henrietta desired it strongly enough. Including, it seemed, the chance to marry an earl. Charlotte had gently suggested that Faith be stronger in standing up for herself. Faith, admitting she was easily crushed by unkindness, had vowed to try.
The men took their leave a few moments later, as was correct. The Captain bowed to Charlotte, expressing the wish to see her again soon, while Lord Shalford nodded his head perfunctorily. Mrs Buxted watched closely, her eyes narrowed.
When they had gone, she turned immediately to Henrietta in triumph. ‘My dear Henrietta, this is good news.’ She smiled sweetly at her elder daughter. ‘We are all included, but it is clear the invitation is especially for you. If you make the most of this opportunity, he will declare himself at Chadcombe.’
‘Oh, Mama. He did ask me particularly if I should enjoy visiting his home, did he not? Just think—Chadcombe. The Fanton estate. And I am to be mistress of it!’
‘Now, my dear, do not think you have already won him. You must secure him first. Though I dare say any man in England would be delighted to wed you—with your beauty, your pedigree, and your ladylike demeanour.’
And your property! Charlotte thought, then chided herself for being uncharitable. Monkton Park was clearly part of the marriage deal. And with a handsome dowry as an added sweetener, Henrietta would be an attractive prospect to any suitor.
Priddy had told Charlotte already that the Buxteds’ Melton Mowbray estate, as well as the townhouse, was entailed on Mr Buxted’s heir—a distant cousin living in Leicester with a wife and a brood of children—so there would be nothing for Faith apart from her dowry.
Charlotte reflected that the Fantons did not look as if they were in need of rich wives—they behaved with the confidence of the wealthy, and their clothes were of the finest quality—but money was certainly a consideration for many men looking for a bride on the marriage mart.
She did not know what her own dowry was to be. The question was not one which had much occupied her. But since arriving in London, and seeing the Buxteds’ preoccupation with weddings and dowries and money, she had abruptly realised she did not exactly know how wealthy her father was. Living in different places across the continent, they had always seemed to have enough money, and she had never wanted for anything.
Her aunt, it seemed, knew more about it than she did herself.
‘I have asked my husband about your dowry, Charlotte,’ she had said bluntly after dinner last night. ‘He tells me that he imagines your fortune will be modest, due to debts from your grandfather. He believes Sir Edward will have put away a little money over the years, out of his soldier’s pay, but he is sure it is not a substantial amount.’
Charlotte had been taken aback by her aunt’s frankness. Papa never talked about money, and it had never been clear to her how much independent wealth he had. There was the family home in Shawfield, which she had not seen since she was twelve, and which had been rented out for many years. She vaguely remembered talk of mortgages, and had formed the impression that her grandfather had not been prudent with money—which fitted with the Buxteds’ conclusions.
In Austria, Herr Lenz, Papa’s man of business, had certainly been exceptionally active on his behalf, but Charlotte simply did not know exactly how things stood. Nor had she thought about it until now. This was the effect of being in England and seeing Aunt Buxted’s blatant manoeuvrings on behalf of her daughters.
Papa had made a banker’s draft over to Uncle Buxted for Charlotte’s pin money and expenses in London, and had offered to pay for the stabling of her horse, though this had been politely declined by Uncle Buxted. Her uncle had written to Papa just before Charlotte had left for England, to say he would not accept a penny for Charlotte’s keep, but would be happy to act as banker for her during her stay.
Charlotte wondered now if her uncle had been trying to be kind, if he thought Papa could not afford to pay. Her back stiffened and she tightened her lips.
‘Oh, Mama! Did you notice how he looked at me? And how he asked me particularly if I should be happy to visit? He had eyes for no one else.’
Henrietta’s excited voice brought Charlotte back to the present. Her cousin was flushed with success, and Charlotte guessed there would be little else talked of today.
Suddenly unable to stomach Henrietta’s glee, Charlotte excused herself, saying she needed to practise her music. Walking lightly down the stairs on her way to the morning room, which housed a fine pianoforte, she was surprised to see the two gentlemen only just leaving. They had clearly been waiting for their carriage to be brought round. The brothers did not see her, but she was able to hear a snatch of conversation between them as they left the house.
‘...guest is a charming girl.’
‘Perhaps—though she is a little impudent. Another silly girl, like all the rest.’
‘Really, Adam, at least she shows spirit. I cannot understand how you can prefer—’
Impudent? Silly? Such was the Earl’s opinion of her? There could be no other possible interpretation.
Oh, I hope he marries Henrietta! she thought, and images of marital disharmony momentarily soothed her wounded pride before she was struck by the ridiculousness of the situation and, laughing to herself, continued on her way.
