1794_Charlotte

by Karen Hawkins

  “Oh dear. Such a pity, my lady. Has Miss Charlotte always been like that?”

  “It began when she was only ten and grew worse every year until she was fifteen, when it stopped. It was a great relief for us all, but especially to Charlotte, for it sent that wretched horde of doctors with their tortuous cures away once and for all.”

  “One of the must have worked.”

  “I doubt it. I think it stopped because she was no longer growing. If you knew what that child has been through – painful braces and weights and some contraption where she was suspended from her shoulders for hours— Oh dear! When I think about it now, it sickens me. It was quite unfair, although at the time, there seemed to be no choice. We all wanted her to heal. Thankfully, nothing worse seems to have come of it other than a slightly curved back and a small limp. A small price, considering everything.”

  Lucy tsked. “Poor Miss Charlotte. So pretty, and to be a crippl—”

  “What? You wretch!”

  Lucy fell back a step. “My lady?”

  “Don’t you ever say that word again! Do you hear me?”

  “I—I—I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean—"

  “Not another word! I’m leaving. I am going to visit my lovely and perfect niece.” Verity yanked her shawl from where she’d dropped it on a chair earlier, tossed it about her shoulders, and swept to the door. “You, meanwhile, will stay here and finish unpacking!”

  Without waiting for an answer, Verity slammed the door behind her. In stiff outrage, she marched down the hallway. When she reached the stairwell, she stopped and leaned against the wall, her heart thudding sickly. She shouldn’t have lost her temper, but oh, how she hated the heavy-handed term Lucy had flung about as if that cold and cruel word didn’t weigh a thing.

  Verity might not have children of her own, but her feelings for her nieces and nephew had made her all too aware of both the joys and the pains of being a parent. She’d witnessed Charlotte’s struggles far too long, and far too intimately, not to feel them herself.

  Unwilling to let her niece see her so upset, which would easily raise questions Verity had no intention of answering, she attempted to calm herself, pacing back and forth across the hallway, eventually recovering herself enough to admire the lovely new rugs and silk wallpaper.

  Calmed, Verity smoothed her hair, adjusted her shawl, and then continued downstairs where she found Charlotte in the great hall speaking with Simmons.

  “Aunt Verity!” Charlotte’s smile instantly banished Verity’s dark mood. “I was on my way to see you!” She left the butler and hurried forward, her riding boots muffled by the thick rugs.

  The last time Verity had seen her niece, she’d been dressed in a faded, worn riding habit, one cuff torn loose, her hair tangled with twigs, her cheeks flushed from a wild ride she’d just taken through the fields surrounding Nimway. It was hard to reconcile that image with the one Verity faced now. Gone was the woefully out of date riding habit. Now Charlotte was dressed in a fashionable brushed wool riding habit of sapphire blue, her hair coiffed in a current style, a beautiful fall of lace spilling from the neck. Except for her slightly sun-darkened skin, she could easily have been any of a number of young women of fashion.

  But as she drew closer, Verity realized that a few of Charlotte’s auburn curls had come loose from their pins and lay tangled on her shoulder, while grass clung to her skirt beside a stain near her knee.

  Verity breathed a sigh of relief. There’s still some of the old Charlotte left. Thank God for that. She held out her arms. “Charlotte, my dear, how are you?”

  Charlotte sank into her aunt’s perfumed hug with a laugh. Oh, how she loved her Aunt Verity; no one made Charlotte laugh more. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming. Mama was certain you’d arrive last Tuesday.”

  “Your Mama was ever the optimist, but even she must have known I could not miss the Duchess of Richmond’s ball. It was a costumed affair, and you know how I love those.”

  Charlotte smiled. When she was a child, one of her favorite past times had been going through her aunt’s closet, as it had been stuffed with glittering gowns and elaborate costumes. “Did you wear that lovely swan mask you showed me the last time I visited?”

  “Oh no. I wore the swan costume to a masquerade at a private dinner at Vauxhall for the Earl of Cragnair two seasons ago. When one is in society, one cannot wear the same costume twice. That would be gauche.”

  “So what did you wear to the Richmond ball?”

  “I dressed in a silver gown and went as Venus. It was risqué but tasteful. My new maid Lucy put my hair up in such a way, what with silver ribbands and bows and little arrows and – well, it was perfection. No one could say enough about it.” Aunt Verity, who always looked as if she were half asleep, flashed her easy smile, although today her eyes seemed unusually bright.

  “I’ll wager you were the loveliest one there.”

  “I believe you’re right,” Aunt Verity agreed with a sweet smile. “I looked quite exceptional. After all, silver is my color.”

  Simmons, who’d been waiting a respectful distance away, now cleared his throat. “Forgive me for intruding, but although Lady Barton had tea when she first arrived, I wonder if she’d enjoy another cup? It is a bit damp today.”

  “Lud, yes,” Aunt Verity said fervently.

  The butler smiled. “I’ll make certain you have extra sugar for your tea, as well.”

  Aunt Verity couldn’t have looked more pleased. “Simmons, you must come and work for me at Chase Manor.”

  Charlotte gasped with laughter. “Aunt Verity! You shouldn’t attempt to steal Mama’s butler!”

  “All is fair in love and servants. Your Mama would be the first to agree.”

  The butler bowed, looking pleased. “I’m honored, but I cannot accept your kind offer. Mr. Harrington would never allow it.”

  Aunt Verity made a face. “My brother can be so infuriating. I suppose I shall have to make do with inept Rochester. He can barely hear, you know, and is cross as a bear.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “Rochester loves you and you would be sad if he were not there to greet you when you got home.”

  “He would be perfectly happy to retire, should I find a replacement of Simmons’ equal.”

  The butler almost preened. “I do what I can, my lady. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll fetch tea.” He bowed and left.

  Aunt Verity sighed. “Such a treasure.” Her gaze returned to Charlotte. “But look at you! You look radiant, my dear, although I do wish you’d stay out of the sun. You’re getting quite dark, and that will never do.”

  Charlotte chuckled. “Now you sound just like Mama.”

  “Your Mama is a woman of great sense and, I must say, has shown an exceptional talent for decorating.” Verity gestured around the great hall where two new chandeliers, freshly upholstered furniture, and numerous gold framed paintings were on display. “So many changes! I almost didn’t recognize it.”

  That was an exaggeration, Charlotte decided. Even with the new decorations, the great hall was a still very much a relic of time past. With its heavy dark mahogany paneling and the huge, medieval style fireplace in the far wall, accented by heavy oak beams that spanned the entire width of the room, the great hall still whispered of times gone by. In fact, if she closed her eyes, she could imagine kings and queens holding court before the fireplace, knights in shining armor eyeing a bevy of beautifully gowned ladies-in-waiting.

  Even with many changes Mama had wrought on the hall, there was no way to completely eradicate the historic feel of the room. I’m glad for that. This is the heart of the house and it shouldn’t be changed.

  “Shall we repair to the sitting room?” Charlotte asked.

  “Must you change out of your habit first?”

  “And have to wait for all of the latest news from London? Heavens, no! I shall change after tea.” She linked arms with her aunt and they walked to the sitting room.

  As soon as they entered th
e room, Aunt Verity made her way to the settee closest to the fire and collapsed upon it, looking around the room with approval. “Your mother has done wonders with this room.” She picked up a cream silk pillow and smoothed the blue tassel that hung from one corner. “I do love the neoclassical style.”

  “I warned you in my letter that Mama was redecorating the entire house.” Or rather, expelling everything that wasn’t nailed down. It wasn’t that Charlotte didn’t like the changes; they were beautiful and it was nice to see Nimway Hall get the love she deserved. It was more a feeling of being left behind, as if Mama was purging the house of everything Caroline had so much as looked at, including Charlotte.

  She pushed the uncomfortable thought away and sat beside her aunt. “I’m so glad you came.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, although I hope your mama’s desire to redecorate does not include loud men in dirty boots tromping in and out while hammering on things.”

  “Nothing so elaborate. Mainly new wallpaper, rugs, furniture, and curtains, although she has commissioned a new marble fireplace for the dining room. It’s to be installed in the next few weeks.” Charlotte tried to ignore an instant, heated memory of a pair of dark, chocolate-colored eyes, and a lop-sided smile that could charm a stone, and failed miserably.

  “How lovely that will be.” Aunt Verity propped her feet on a small stool, her skirts rustling in the quiet. “So tell me, my child, what tiresome tasks are we to oversee while I’m here? Your mother said something about a dressmaker?”

  “I have fittings for my trousseau. Mama is worried it won’t be ready in time.”

  “Ah yes. Your wedding.” Aunt Verity’s sleepy gaze rested on Charlotte’s face. “It is soon, isn’t it?”

  “In a month.” One month . . . Goodness, that is so close. Charlotte’s heart sank and it took all of her efforts to keep her smile in place. “Mama is an uproar over the decorations for the chapel, the invitations for the wedding breakfast, the flowers for service, and – oh so many things.”

  “Which is good since Caroline—” Aunt Verity’s lips quivered, her soft face folding as emotion overtook her.

  “Aunt Verity, please don’t cry!” Charlotte dug her kerchief out of her pocket, and handed it to her aunt. When Charlotte had been growing up, she’d refused to keep a handkerchief in her pocket. Mama had scolded, saying all ladies carried them, but Charlotte had resisted. Or she had until things had changed and tears had become as common place as the sun rising. Now Charlotte never left her room without her handkerchief.

  Aunt Verity dabbed at her eyes. “I’m so sorry! I vowed not to mention her, and yet here I am. ‘Tis sad, but I cannot be trusted with a delicate situation. It’s against my nature.”

  “You are too much like me, saying what you think.”

  Aunt Verity placed her hand on her niece’s knee. “It’s a curse, isn’t it?”

  “A horrid one.” Charlotte mustered a smile, even though her chest ached as if someone sat on it. She was getting quite good at that, at smiling when she didn’t feel like it, and she wondered if she was now more mask than face.

  Aware that her aunt watched, Charlotte added, “I worry about Mama. She misses Caroline dreadfully.”

  “I know,” Aunt Verity said with a sigh. “How’s my dear brother doing?”

  “Papa’s been busy cheering up Mama, which has helped him more than anything. They are getting better slowly. I don’t know what they’d do without one another.” Charlotte shook her head ruefully. “After all this time, they are still madly in love. They’ve set a bar none of us will ever rise to.”

  “I’m certain you’ll attain their level of marital bliss. Or you will if you marry the right man.” Aunt Verity gave Charlotte a direct look. “You are marrying the right man, aren’t you?”

  Goodness, why would Aunt Verity say such a thing? “Of course I am. I’ve known Viscount Ashbrook since I was a child. Why, John, Caroline, and I were practically raised with Robert here at Nimway and Mama believes he will be a calm, steady husband.”

  “I know Ashbrook, for he was always underfoot when you were growing up. I must say, though, I cringe at the concept of a calm, steady husband for someone with your spirit. You don’t have the Harrington auburn hair because you’re ‘calm’ and ‘steady.’ We suffer from wild passions that complicate our lives and can lead us to do thoughtless and at times reprehensible things. How would your calm, steady Robert handle that, I wonder?”

  “Things have changed in the last year. I’ve changed. I’m not the scofflaw you think me. I’m a Harrington, true, and I have the auburn hair of one, and the temper, but I’m not the same as I once was.”

  Aunt Verity reached out to pluck a blade of grass that had tangled with the lace on Charlotte’s skirt. “Really?”

  “I was walking in the garden earlier,” Charlotte lied as she tucked her feet under her skirts. She could only hope she’d gotten all the mud from her boots. It was possible that before her intriguing encounter in the woods with a lost sculptor, she’d visited her favorite spot beside the stream that cut through Balesboro Wood. There, away from the watchful eyes of the servants, she’d stripped off her boots and stockings, sat on a sun-warmed rock, and trailed her bare feet in the cool water. So far, it’s been a lovely day.

  Aunt Verity rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes, you’re an angel of goodness.”

  Charlotte grinned. “At times.”

  “Ha! Stubborn, that’s what you are. I vow, but you are so much like my brother that I could scream. Where is Ashbrook now?”

  “He’s in London at his cousin’s house taking care of some business before the wedding.” I think. To be honest, Charlotte only knew Robert was in London because she’d noted the postmark on the hasty note she’d received from him a month ago. The note had been no more than a two-line scrawl informing her that, once again, he was postponing his return to Nimway and how he knew she would understand and wouldn’t mind. This time, he hadn’t even bothered giving a reason.

  She supposed that if she’d been doing the same thing as he (writing to tell someone for the fifth time in a row that she wasn’t appearing as she’d promised) she wouldn’t have bothered to give an excuse, either. She was disappointed and yet also strangely relieved, and it was that last feeling that bothered her the most. Shouldn’t she want him to visit? They weren’t in love, of course, and were too mature to pretend otherwise, but still they were engaged and that should have accorded her some sort of attention.

  A soft knock heralded the arrival of Simmons and the tea tray. While he fixed two cups, Charlotte wondered if she should write Robert again and instead of asking when he might return, demand it.

  She took a tea cup from Simmons and hid her sigh behind it. Why should she have to demand Robert’s return? He should want to be here, with her. Still, as irked and uncertain as his continuing absence made her, she couldn’t accept that he didn’t have a perfectly good reason. Robert had been a significant part of her life for years. As a child, and then later as a young man, he’d visited his grandmother nigh every summer, riding to nearby Nimway where he’d quickly become her brother John’s best friend, the two inseparable. He’d visited so often, that Mama and Papa had eventually assigned him his own bedchamber.

  When John left to fulfil his commission in the Navy, Charlotte and Caroline had expected to see less of Robert, but to their surprise he’d visited just as often. Those four summers had been glorious, filled with picnics, laughter-filled evenings playing cards or re-enacting scenes from the newest novels, and – for her, at least, as Caroline didn’t enjoy riding the way Charlotte and Robert did – enthusiastic rides across the lands and fields of Nimway. Last year, when Charlotte and Caroline had been presented at court and had their short, rather calamitous season, Robert had been there, too, always ready to escort them and Mama to whatever amusement called.

  Charlotte considered him a dear friend, but during the dark months after Caroline’s death, he’d become more than that. It had been
his gentleness and care during that horrible time that had led Charlotte to accept his sudden, unexpected proposal.

  And now, they were to be married.

  She couldn’t quite get her mind around that fact. He’d left the second she’d said yes, claiming he had to “set things to rights” before they married. At the time, she’d applauded his common sense, but when he’d left nothing behind but a weak breadcrumb trail of sparse notes that were anything but reassuring, her doubts had grown. Now the uncertainty pressed upon her, a heavy boulder balanced on an already unsteady stack.

  Something had changed, only she wasn’t sure what. She hoped that once she and Robert spent some time together, that they’d return to their previous easy, comfortable relationship and her doubts would be banished.

  However Charlotte felt, it wouldn’t do to let Aunt Verity know. As much as Charlotte loved her aunt, everyone knew Verity couldn’t keep a secret to save her life, and would immediately spill everything to Mama.

  Simmons handed Aunt Verity her cup of tea, and then he picked up the empty tray and bowed his way from the room.

  She sighed happily. “No one knows how I like my tea better than Simmons.”

  “He’s quite good,” Charlotte agreed.

  Aunt Verity’s sleepy gaze rested back on Charlotte. “I’m rather surprised the household isn’t in more of a tizzy, what with a wedding in the offing.”

  “We’re all in a tizzy, especially Mama. The wedding has kept her mind off other things. She’s been despondent since Caroline—" The word stuck in Charlotte’s throat and, just like that, deep soul-shattering sadness roared over her.

  She’d discovered over the last year that grief wasn’t a constant. It didn’t reside within one’s mind every minute, but was instead a stealthy thief, sneaking up from behind when one least expected it, and snatching away one’s happiness in the blink of an eye. Then it would slip away again, hiding in wait, ready to return as soon as one’s guard was down.

  “Oh child!” Aunt Verity set down her cup and patted Charlotte’s hand where it was balled on her knee in a fist. “Don’t look like that. I’m so sorry for mentioning it – Lud, I’m ruining everything!”