Читать книгу Waltzing With The Earl - Catherine Tinley, Catherine Tinley - Страница 13

Chapter Four

Dinner on Friday—the evening of Lady Cowper’s ball—was a trial. Aunt Buxted had invited the Fanton brothers, as well as her godson, Mr Foxley, to dine with them, though Henrietta had complained at length about Mr Foxley’s presence.

‘I know he is your godson, Mama, and his mother was your old school friend, but he is dull and clumsy and cannot make interesting conversation. And besides, he is only a second son, with no great fortune.’

‘Captain Fanton is a second son, but you like him well enough.’ The quiet Faith, for once, was inspired to challenge her sister.

Bravissima! thought Charlotte. Good for you, Faith.

‘Yes, though not as well as his brother. The Captain will do well for you, Faith, if you can secure him. Besides, he is a Fanton. Mr Foxley is a—a nobody.’

Mrs Buxted intervened. ‘Yes, my love, but he is a well-mannered gentleman, and since we have Charlotte we will need another gentleman to make up the numbers.’

Henrietta threw Charlotte a resentful look. ‘Perhaps Charlotte would prefer to eat something in her room. After all, she is not even going to the ball.’

Into the silence that followed Charlotte said quietly, ‘I would be quite happy to have a meal alone on Friday, ma’am. I should not wish to cause inconvenience.’

Mrs Buxted turned a page in her fashion journal.

‘Mama—’ Faith spoke up, distressed. ‘You cannot send Charlotte to her room. Why, she is a guest!’

‘I shall do no such thing, Faith. I know my duty to my guest.’ She thought for a moment, then looked at her elder daughter. ‘Henrietta, when you are mistress of Chadcombe there will be times when you will be forced to entertain unwanted guests, or have people to stay or to dine against your wishes. You will at all times conduct yourself with dignity, and do your duty to your husband and your name.’

‘My husband!’ breathed Henrietta. She considered this. ‘As you say, Mama, I will have many such trials to endure when I am a married lady—a countess. Charlotte may come to dinner.’

Charlotte—with great difficulty—said nothing. It was becoming daily more challenging to survive the barbs thrown at her. She knew that Henrietta would like nothing more than for her to retaliate, as this would expose Charlotte to Aunt Buxted’s wrath.

Behind Henrietta, Faith held her face in her hands, shaking her head. Charlotte, remembering something she needed from her room, excused herself and left. Really, it was becoming harder and harder to bite her tongue.

The invitations were delivered, the acceptances received, and the menu planned. They were to have turtle—a rare delicacy—as well as white soup, partridges with leeks, turbot, a ragout of veal and a selection of blancmanges, fruits and ices. Mrs Buxted spent hours with Cook, planning and organising the finer points, and the housekeeper organised a major cleaning of the dining room. The butler ensured the silver was polished and shining, and the footmen were perfectly presented and well drilled. The staff were well aware that this was a special dinner.

Charlotte, on whom the lack of society was beginning to tell, enjoyed the preparations for the evening. She was not able to go to the ball, but at least she could have her hair dressed and wear one of her evening gowns. Priddy teased and styled her hair so that her Grecian topknot was perfect and her glossy brown curls were perfectly arranged to frame her face. She wore a cornflower-blue gauze dress over a delicate white silk underdress, made for her in Vienna.

She checked herself in the mirror, and was content. Priddy was more than content.

‘You’ll outshine your cousins tonight, Miss Charlotte, upon my word!’

‘Of course I won’t, Priddy. They are angels of the highest order, according to their many admirers. Well, so Henrietta tells me.’

‘And you are an angel too, Miss Charlotte.’

‘But one with dark hair, Priddy. I am banished to the lower order of angels, whatever that may be.’ She had always accepted that she was pretty, but that other girls could be prettier. She would not allow Henrietta’s poison to change that.

Mr Foxley was first to arrive. He was a soberly dressed young gentleman, with a pleasant, open face and a shy smile, and Charlotte warmed to him immediately. Faith, who was looking beautiful in a dress of pale lavender crêpe dotted with clusters of pearl beads blushed and stammered a little when greeting him.

Henrietta and Mrs Buxted acknowledged him politely, if briefly, as their attention was focused on waiting for their remaining guests, while Mr Buxted also seemed distracted, checking the wines Biddle was to serve. Food and drink was of the highest importance to him, and he could talk for extended periods on port, sauces, and the best accompaniments to a squab pie.

Mr Foxley sat with Charlotte and Faith, conversing quietly and sensibly. He showed great interest in Charlotte’s life abroad, the war and the diplomatic efforts to support the coalition. He also knew just how to put Faith at ease, with gentle comments and enquiries. He was, Charlotte discovered, a scholar at heart, and he told them he liked nothing more than reading a good book in his library—or outside, if the weather permitted it.

Charlotte agreed. ‘I think there is nothing better than to sit in a beautiful place reading. In Vienna, I frequently sat in our garden, among the rose bushes, but my father always knew where to find me. Where do you like to read?’

‘My parents’ house in Kent has a small park—and a walled garden which is wonderful for trapping the sun’s rays even in springtime. They have had seats placed there, amid the greenery, and I confess I like nothing better than to sit there with a good text.’

‘It sounds pleasant,’ said Faith. ‘I love to sit in comfort in a beautiful setting, too.’

He smiled warmly at her. ‘I do admire beauty.’

Faith smiled shyly and looked down in some confusion, a hint of pink in her cheeks.

Biddle entered, announcing the arrival of the Earl and the Captain. Both were attired in full evening dress, and with their good looks and imposing figures presented an admirable picture. They were both in formal knee breeches, waistcoats and coats of dark superfine. The Earl, who nodded briefly to Charlotte as his eyes swept the room, wore a black coat over a snowy-white silk waistcoat, and his neckcloth was intricately tied in the style known as the Waterfall.

He clearly had an eye for fashion, thought Charlotte, despite his disdain for female shopping. His tailor, though, had the benefit of the Earl’s fine muscular figure to work with. No stays, laces or shoulder padding were needed for this gentleman. There would no doubt be a great deal of excitement at the ball later, when the two brothers made their entrance. She glanced at Henrietta, whose eyes were fixed with a cool hunger on Lord Shalford. Charlotte looked away. Her spoiled cousin and the Arrogant Earl deserved each other!

The gentlemen bowed and greeted their host and hostess, before acknowledging Mr Foxley and the young ladies. Charlotte curtseyed correctly, and murmured a polite greeting. Henrietta—looking ravishing in a white silk gown trimmed with ruffles and flounces—immediately claimed Lord Shalford, asking him about the ball, exclaiming about how much she was looking forward to it, and hoping it wouldn’t be too much of a squeeze.

The Earl, unperturbed, responded calmly, and requested her hand for the first dance—at which she simpered, giggled and accepted.

Mrs Buxted was all graciousness, welcoming them to what she described as ‘a little informal dinner’. She patted the Captain’s arm. ‘For we are all friends now, and you should feel at ease in our humble home.’

The seating arrangements had been carefully worked out. Henrietta was seated between Lord Shalford and Mr Foxley while, opposite, the Captain had Faith on one hand and Charlotte on the other.

‘It is important that you have the chance to talk to them during dinner, girls,’ Mrs Buxted had pronounced. ‘Faith, I have been focusing on Henrietta and the Earl, but I have noticed you are not trying hard enough to fix the Captain. You are a pretty girl, though not as beautiful as Henrietta, and with a little effort I am sure you can secure him. I will be most displeased if I see you sitting silently.’

‘Yes, Mama,’ Faith had replied, trembling and twisting her handkerchief between her hands.

Conscious of her mother’s instructions, Faith was now making careful conversation with the Captain, who was seated on Charlotte’s left. Mr Buxted, on Charlotte’s right, was focused on his turbot and partridges.

‘Delightful! Wonderful seasoning!’ he muttered to himself, immersed in the enjoyment of his dinner.

This gave Charlotte the opportunity to observe her fellow diners. The Captain seemed relaxed and comfortable, but he was not having much success in drawing Faith out. She answered his queries politely enough, but there was no animation. If the Captain was bored, he hid it well. Faith, anxious to avoid her mother’s displeasure, was tongue-tied, so the conversation remained stilted. It was difficult to watch.

Mr Foxley, who was opposite Charlotte, was also suffering from a lack of conversation. He had the felicity of being seated between Mr Buxted and Henrietta, neither of whom were offering him attention. He ate sparingly and, though he tried to disguise it, his focus kept being drawn to Faith and Captain Fanton.

Mrs Buxted was smiling approvingly as her two daughters held the attention of the Fantons. Charlotte shamelessly listened in on each exchange. Nothing of note was being discussed. Nothing interesting, nothing meaningful. Nothing.

She had sat through enough society dinners to know this was usual—even commonplace. Even by those standards, however, the lack of insight and intelligence being displayed by the two Buxted ladies was positively shocking. Perhaps, she thought, girls in England were brought up to be so sheltered and protected it meant they had no opinions to offer—at least in public.

The Captain seemed perfectly comfortable to continue to extract some little conversation from the shy Faith—currently on the topic of how best to get through a long coach journey. On the far side of the table Henrietta was prosing on about correct behaviour for young ladies, and how grateful she was to have a dear mother who had taught her exactly how to go on.

The Earl’s eyes were positively glazing over, Charlotte thought, trying to hide her amusement. Her eyes danced with mischief—just as he looked up and caught her gaze. Although discovered, she would not hide, and instead continued to twinkle at him impishly. Surprisingly, he responded with an unthinking, companionable smile of his own before checking himself.

Too late! Henrietta had caught the spontaneous interaction between them. Her eyes blazed.

‘For an English upbringing,’ she said loudly, drawing all eyes to her, ‘is infinitely better than a savage youth spent among soldiers and foreigners. Don’t you agree, Lord Shalford?’