Over the past weeks she had become a regular member of his sister’s circle of friends and it disturbed him that he often found himself listening for her voice among the feminine chatter in the drawing room. He looked away and saw her elder sister held a musical score but no portable instrument, which must mean she would pound upon the pianoforte.
He took a fortifying breath before taking his seat beside his stepmother. Only for family would he suffer the exhibitions of non-talent and occasional, but rare, competence he would endure tonight.
CHAPTER 7
When Charlotte and her family entered Lady Winterstone’s drawing room, Charlotte’s trepidation mounted at the number of guests who stood in clusters and had already seated themselves for the coming entertainments. Though not so crowded as a ballroom, there were far more people than she was used to, and singing beloved songs at home with her sisters was a far cry from performing for people used to the stages of London.
Of course, she reminded herself, this gathering was meant to display the accomplishments of the newest members of society as much as to provide an evening's entertainment. The native talents of the performers would vary greatly, for everyone was expected to contribute. Elizabeth had practiced her piano selection with diligence all week, and Charlotte had chosen a song that complemented both her taste and contralto limits. Still, she found her nerves had left her mouth parched and she hoped Lady Winterstone had included a pitcher of plain water along with the lemonade and wine punch.
Charlotte spied Lady Anne surrounded by several gentlemen who vied for her attention. Excusing themselves from Aunt Poppy and Uncle Avery, Charlotte and Elizabeth crossed the room to join their friends.
“I do hope you don’t prove to be spectacularly talented,” Lady Anne greeted them with a broad smile. “For I’m not, and it’s difficult not to be jealous of those with superior skills.”
Lady Millicent agreed, and added, “A little talent is fine, so long as you don’t make us feel inferior. I’m scarcely able to carry a tune, though I haven’t yet set the dogs to howling.”
Charlotte laughed. “You have greatly eased my mind.”
Charlotte turned her attention from her companions when she heard their hostess greet the Daltons. Lady Dalton leaned carefully on her husband's arm and walked with a slight limp.
"Lady Dalton,” Lady Winterstone said, her voice reflecting her concern, "How have you hurt yourself? Are you in need of medical assistance?"
"My wife tripped over her own feet this morning and twisted her ankle." Lord Dalton told her with a rueful chuckle. "But we could not miss your gathering."
"I’d most certainly have understood had you sent your regrets,” Lady Winterstone assured them. "I wouldn’t want you to injure yourself more, simply to attend a musical evening."
"If we sent our regrets every time my wife had an accident," Lord Dalton spoke before Lady Dalton could answer, "We’d miss half the Season's entertainments. Why she’s hurt herself twice this past week alone." He patted his wife's forearm and gave her an indulgent smile. "I love my wife, but she’s a bit clumsy."
"He has the right of it,” Lady Dalton flushed and said quietly, “I have long gone through life somewhat out of balance. Please don’t concern yourself over a silly fall."
"Then I hope you enjoy yourself." Lady Winterstone said as she led them to a pair of vacant chairs. She excused herself and Lady Dalton took a seat when her husband told her he wished to speak to some gentlemen at the far side of the room before the performances began.
Charlotte realized Lord Dalton hadn’t recognized her at Anne's ball, but feared he would remember the Longborough name when she and Elizabeth performed. He’d undoubtedly recall the child who'd made a pest of herself before he locked her into that shed. Yet, if she were ever to appease her conscience, it must be now.
She slipped into the seat beside Lady Dalton and took a quick breath before saying in a low voice, "I beg you will pardon me for saying this, but I’m unconvinced that you’re accident prone."
Lady Dalton's startled gaze met her earnest one. "I beg your pardon?"
Charlotte reached out, placing her hand on the woman's arm in reassurance. "I mean..." She hesitated, knowing that she could be wrong, but unable to ignore her instincts. "I don't think your silly fall was an accident, nor do I believe you fell in the garden when I first saw you at the Wolverton ball."
The woman's eyes widened, and Charlotte saw she remembered the incident. "Of course, I fell." She glanced across the room to where Lord Dalton stood. When she answered, her voice shook. "I have... dizzy spells."
"Your husband indicated you were simply clumsy." Charlotte reminded her.
"The spells make me clumsy."
"I think your husband makes you clumsy."
Lady Dalton's eyes rounded in alarm and she made to pull away from Charlotte's grasp. "Whatever could you mean by that?"
"I mean I believe he mistreats you and that you’re in danger."
"You must not say such things about my husband," she whispered. "He’d never purposely hurt me. Both my wrist and ankle were my own fault. No one is more devastated when I am hurt than he."
Charlotte saw the defensive light in Lady Dalton's eyes and knew saying more would be pointless. "Very well," she said as she stood. "But if you ever need assistance, you have only to ask and I’ll do what I can to help. You see, I knew your husband when I was a child and know his true character."
Charlotte was grateful Anne and Elizabeth were engaged in conversation with Lady Winterstone about the order of their performances when she rejoined them and didn’t notice her unease. She had tried. She had offered to help. Though she didn’t know what she could do. But if ever Lady Dalton called on her, she’d find a way. She would not fail her.
She swallowed several times, fighting the memories, but they were as vivid as the morning she’d inadvertently witnessed the outgoing and handsome Albert Franklin backhand his wife for over-sweetening his tea. The force of his blow had sent Mrs. Franklin to the ground. She struggled up, her lip bleeding, and apologized before quickly pouring him a fresh cup. Charlotte’s throat had locked, and she’d frozen in place lest he see her in the shadow of the large oak bordering the back of their garden.
Such violence had been far beyond Charlotte’s experience, and she’d been fascinated despite her fear. She’d begun to watch them as often as she dared. It wasn’t the last time he hit his wife over the next year.
The one time he'd caught Charlotte spying, he'd locked her in the tool shed with the threat of drowning her in the river if she did it again. Terrified, she’d stayed away, never telling anyone what she'd seen for fear he would hear of it and follow through on his threat. She had never forgotten, however, that a handsome face could hide an ugly character.
Charlotte glanced over to where Lord Dalton was talking with Lord Winterstone and fought the urge to hide before Lord Dalton realized who she was. She was no longer a child. She was no longer in danger of being locked into a garden shed. She was no longer afraid—
Her throat locked, her breath caught as it had long ago, and her stomach flipped. She closed her eyes and admitted the truth. I’m still afraid.
She opened her eyes, clasped her hands together, and vowed she would not let fear keep her from helping Lady Dalton if she ever called on her for help.
Lady Winterstone stepped in front of the chairs and asked that everyone take their seats so the performances could begin. Charlotte sank onto a chair between Elizabeth and Lady Anne, grateful that no one had noticed her distress. She folded her hands in her lap and made herself breathe slowly until the trembling ceased and her pulse slowed to a steady pace once more.
When she calmed, Charlotte checked the program the footman had given her when they arrived. Hers would be the last performance before the intermission. First, however were the three ladies currently stepping up to the dais. Glancing at the program again, she read:
Spring’s Sweet Promise—an Original Composition by Lady Mo
ntfort
Performed by Lady Montfort, Misses Francis and Daphne Montfort
The matron and her two daughters took their places, violins in hand and she heard a faint groan from one of the gentlemen behind her. The ladies began to play, and Charlotte quickly understood why.
By the time she took her turn, Charlotte was no longer nervous about the quality of her voice. Certainly, she couldn't be any worse than any who had sung thus far. She, at least, could carry her tune accurately and, she believed, with clarity of tone.
Her awareness of Lord Dalton near the back of the room gave her more concern.
When Lady Winterstone introduced her, Charlotte steeled herself, and took note of his reaction. First puzzled, then assessing, she knew the moment he made the connection. His gaze hardened with clear intent when he saw she remembered his threats. She looked away first.
CHAPTER 8
The refreshment intermission was announced when she finished her song, and she quickly moved to join Elizabeth and Anne lest Lord Dalton approach her. Several gentlemen offered to supply them with lemonade or punch, but their offers were rendered unnecessary when the duke, Lord Ravencliffe and Lord Norcross approached carrying glasses of lemonade.
"You have a pleasing voice, Miss Charlotte," The duke commented as he handed glasses to her and Lady Anne.
“You are being kind,” She took a grateful sip of lemonade. “I dared not attempt anything more taxing than a ballad.”
“If only more ladies knew their limitations and confined their efforts to their range.” He glanced across the room at a young lady who had attempted an aria earlier. “You did well.”
Lord Norcross chuckled as he agreed. “The old ballads soothe the soul while operatic arias generally dramatize chaos of feeling."
The duke muttered something about feelings of homicide or suicide and Charlotte had to swallow quickly to quell a sudden chuckle. His Grace’s comment came as a bit of a surprise. She had not guessed that beneath his sober exterior lurked a dry sense of humor.
In the short time she’d known him she’d seen he didn't compete for attention, but when he entered a room people noticed. She also acknowledged that it was more than his title that made people pay attention. When he spoke, people listened and when he showed displeasure, people moved out of his way. But, having met his family, she knew without a doubt that he would not raise a hand against a woman.
Lord Ravencliffe offered the glass he carried to Elizabeth. "I see you are to begin the second half of the evening with one of Herr Beethoven's sonatas. Some feel his music is rather controversial, though I must say I appreciate his ability to stir the soul. Do you enjoy music as well as woodworking?"
Charlotte noted that Elizabeth flushed at his directness, before she told him, "I find playing the pianoforte to be more interesting than plying a needle in the evenings.” With a smile she confessed, "I become a bit restless away from my tools, and the dexterity required for the pianoforte fills the need to do something with my hands. Herr Beethoven’s pieces challenge me."
"That is to be expected,” he replied. "The creative mind is always at work even when the body is at rest."
Charlotte eyed the man, looking for an undercurrent of derision or mockery, but he appeared genuinely curious. Perhaps he might do for Elizabeth after all. Perhaps the women who'd occupied his box at the opera were the guests of Lord Clarehaven and not of his choosing.
When Lady Winterstone called for her guests' attention a few minutes later, Elizabeth took her place at the pianoforte while the rest of the guests took their seats. Charlotte saw that the audience had diminished slightly in the interim, but whether from other obligations or consideration of their musical sensibilities was anyone's guess.
Thankfully, the Daltons were among those who’d left.
DAYS LATER WHEN THE duchess and Lady Anne called on Aunt Poppy and the Longboroughs, Anne fairly danced through the door with unsuppressed excitement. As soon as the three younger women excused themselves to walk in the park, Anne announced, "I have had my first offer and the Season is not yet half over."
"Who?" Both sisters spoke at once.
"The Marquess of Ailsbury. Can you imagine?" She chortled. "He told Lucien that I was a fine filly of a female who was sure to produce a sturdy heir and spare."
"Ailsbury?" Charlotte gasped, "But he is older than Uncle Aubrey. Surely Wolverton did not allow him to pay his addresses to you."
"Of course he didn't," Anne laughed again.
Not only was Lord Ailsbury close to sixty years old, but he was a thickset, loud, horse-mad widower whose wife had died giving birth to his eighth daughter. His only heir had been stillborn years earlier. Charlotte knew this because Aunt Poppy had told her he was just out of mourning when he arrived at the ball.
“How could he think your brother would approve such a match?” Elizabeth asked.
“I don’t know either,” Anne said, "But the point is, I have received my first offer of the Season." She giggled, obviously enjoying the situation. "An absurd one, to be sure, but an offer none the less." She raised her hand to her forehead in a parody of drama. "The greatest pressure is removed. No matter if I remain a spinster, no one can claim I never had an offer."
Charlotte burst into laughter. "You will never be a spinster."
"I know I won't," Anne assured them gleefully. "I just said that to make the point... and to make you laugh. Even Lucien laughed when he told me about Ailsbury's assessment of my finer qualities—apparently I show promise of being an excellent breeder—and my brother is always grim when he talks about whom I should and should not encourage."
"Who does he warn you to avoid?"
"Let me see if I can remember them all." She gave an exasperated sigh. “He adds to the list daily." She checked around the park and nodded her head in the direction of each as she named them, “Mr. Theodore Hook because he is a nodcock who plays practical jokes and leads all his friends into trouble. Lord Jeremy Bascomb because he is a rake and a friend of Mr. Hook and is just as much trouble. She took an exaggerated breath. The Earl of Marley because he is following in his father's footsteps at the game tables...and with equally bad luck. The Earl of Grantley because he is likely to break his neck on some fool wager– Lucien's description, not mine. Lord Everham," She glanced at Charlotte with a quick grin, "For odiferous reasons over and above his inability to give attention to anyone or anything that does not have four legs or fur... and, of course, the Marquess of Clarehaven."
The Marquess currently cantered along Rotten Row, nodding to various gentlemen and stopping at the carriages of chaperoned young ladies along the way. Clarehaven saw them, tipped his hat, and directed his horse in their direction.
"According to Lucien he is a remorseless rake who will ruin me then quit the country leaving the family in scandal and me in disgrace, as he is reported to have done to an unnamed lady some years ago." She ceased ticking off names and huffed in frustration. "I vow it is a wonder Lucien has allowed me to ride out with anyone, for he gives every gentleman who calls a threatening stare before granting permission for the outing."
"He allowed you to ride with Lord Merton and Lord Swathmore." Charlotte reminded her.
"Only because Lord Merton is a pleasant, but most unimaginative, somewhat boring gentleman, and Lord Swathmore is a distant cousin who is hoping to convince my brother to buy him a commission in the horse guards. He wouldn't dare do anything to upset Lucien, so therefore I am safe with him." She sighed. "Lord help me, but if Lucien keeps vetting my beaux, Lord Ailsbury might well be the only offer I receive."
Lord Clarehaven reached the pedestrian path and dismounted with a flourished bow. "Good morning, ladies. How is it you are in the park alone together?" He gave them a knowing grin. "Are you planning scandalous adventures?"
"One does not court scandal, my Lord." Elizabeth told him. "It tends to find its victims without encouragement.”
“Nor are we alone, sir. We are properly escorted by both a footman and maid.” L
ady Anne declared as she directed his attention to the servants who followed before adding, “I do confess I hope for an innocent adventure or two,” She laughed. "Though poor Charlotte has already dealt with more than she expected."
He studied Charlotte a moment then smiled with devilish charm. "Perhaps I can offer you my assistance in adding to your tally. Planned adventures have the added appeal of anticipation." He lifted one eyebrow in an exaggerated leer that made them all laugh.
"I shall keep that in mind should the Season threaten to disappoint." Charlotte retorted. "Though the type of adventures that create anticipation may court the very scandal we wish to avoid."
That made him chuckle before he countered, "Scandals are only scandals if they become public."
Clarehaven's attention shifted behind them as another of Uncle Aubrey's footmen caught up with them. "Your uncle sent me for you," he panted. Clearly, he had rushed to find them, “You must return at once."
Icy fingers chilled Charlotte’s heart and dread settled like a stone in her belly. Only bad news would cause her uncle to send for them in such a manner. Their cousin Edward was fighting the French on the Peninsula. Had something happened to him? Please God, not Edward.
They hastily excused themselves and hurried back to the house and into the drawing room where the duchess sat beside Aunt Poppy on the settee. Sarah sat white faced in an armchair while Uncle Aubrey stood holding a letter as he paced the room in deep thought. All their expressions reflected distress and worry, but poor Sarah sat frozen in misery, her eyes red rimmed and heavy with unshed tears.
Uncle Aubrey stopped his pacing at their entrance and lifted the letter in his hand, “Edward has been injured." He announced without preliminary. "He is being sent to Portsmouth from Lisbon.”
"How bad is he hurt? Do you know?"
Though the eldest of the Elsworth sons, Edward had begged Uncle Avery to buy him a commission and allow him to defend England against Napoleon. It had taken months of arguing and cajoling, but Edward had finally convinced his parents that since his younger brother Charles, who was still at school, was too young, it was his duty, and they had finally let him go.
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