Langley's Choice

by Kate Dolan

  His hostess took a bite and chewed, but Josiah thought it rude to eat when thinking of Charles’s memory. He put down his fork and turned to make polite conversation with Miss Bennett.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  "But I don’t understand. Why did she use a fan on a cold day in winter?”

  Georgiana smiled as she pulled the last pin from her hair. “Because, Johanna, that is how a lady speaks in a crowded assembly. She uses her fan to convey a message.”

  “Like a code,” Edwina interposed thoughtfully. “But there were few who could interpret this evening, I imagine.” She took a bite of an apple she had smuggled up from the kitchen.

  “Did you know what Lady Davenport was saying with her fan, Caroline?” Johanna asked.

  “No. I confess I did not even notice the fan. I was actually looking at the mark on her face.”

  “The mark on her face?” Margaret asked.

  “The mole. At least, I had thought it was a mole. But it was in a different place than it was when she dined with us at Hill Crest.”

  “Indeed, it was. How exceedingly odd,” Edwina mused as she took another bite.

  “I had not thought of it, but I believe you are right, Caroline.” Georgiana picked up her hairbrush and began painstakingly brushing out her long, copper-colored curls. “Do you suppose those marks are another fashion? I will have to ask Nell—she can find out these things from Lady Davenport’s maid. That’s how I learned about the fan.”

  “Did you understand what she was saying with her fan?” Johanna asked.

  “Not exactly.” Georgiana paused for a moment. “But often, the way she fanned slowly and seemed to flutter her eyelashes, it seemed like she was almost flirting. And one time I saw her close the fan and strike it against her hand—”

  “Against her hand?” Johanna looked at her own hand, trying to mimic the gesture.

  “Like this.” Georgiana demonstrated with her hairbrush.

  “Ouch. I see.”

  Georgiana resumed brushing methodically. “So, I assume that meant she was angry about something.”

  “Well,” Johanna said, wincing, “it was a good thing for whoever she was angry at that she struck it against her own hand.”

  “I saw that!” Edwina put down her apple. “I saw who she was angry at. She was furious at her brother, Mr. Throckmorton. I wonder why.”

  “Mr. Throckmorton was very kind to me at supper,” Margaret said shyly. “Though I do believe his sister looked at us with a rather fierce expression. I had supposed she disapproved of me.”

  “I am sure she was not thinking of you in that way at all,” Caroline interjected. “I am certain she was merely angry at her brother.”

  “Why would she not think of me that way? I am of age, and have fortune enough, at least as much as—” Margaret stopped, her cheeks growing more flushed with each second. “I am sorry, Caroline. But I must think of a husband, now, too.”

  “Yes, of course.” Caroline tried to make her smile reassuring but felt that it was not. “Lady Davenport may well have put the two of you together. Though I daresay she would have little enough to be angry about at the prospect.”

  She felt a huge lump in her throat that made it nearly impossible to swallow. It was true. Her cousin would make an excellent match. The only daughter of a wealthier family, her settlement would be much larger than Caroline’s would have been, and Mr. Throckmorton could not find a more respectable, steady young lady anywhere in the colonies. It would be a good match.

  And she reminded herself that he was not a good match for her. Though, frankly, it was getting harder to remember exactly why she had determined he would not have made a good husband. She now had to set her sights on a dashing, handsome man of action like—

  “I found him to be a rather elegant dancer,” Margaret continued, growing bolder. “Did you not, Caroline?”

  “Why, yes, I suppose so.” Then Caroline began to color, remembering not only Mr. Throckmorton’s skill at dance; but also that, had it not been for his approach, the company would have continued to snub her all evening. After that dance it was as if a spell had been broken; her neighbors spoke to her at supper, and afterwards other gentlemen had asked her dance. “Mr. Archer was perhaps the most elegant of the company, though.”

  “I agree, but he looked about as if for an audience, so that he scarce spoke a word to me throughout our dance. I would not care to dance with him again.”

  Caroline mumbled some sort of agreement. Mr. Archer had cut a fine figure as he moved across the floor. She had enjoyed the thought he had asked her to dance, but she had felt so large and clumsy next to him she had not actually enjoyed their time together at all.

  Her cousin sat back and hugged her knees to her chest. “I would dance with Mr. Throckmorton again. He put me at ease.”

  “Ooh, he is so serious. I cannot look at him but I start to laugh.” Georgiana giggled. “I am grateful he did not ask me to dance.”

  “I do not think him overly serious, do you, Caroline?” Margaret defended.

  Georgiana and Edwina looked at their older sister expectantly. “No, I…” Was he overly serious? That had once been her observation. “No, I do not think so,” she said at last.

  “In any case,” Margaret began to lecture, suddenly sounding very much like her mother, “a serious man will make the most considerate husband. Mother thanked Mr. Throckmorton for saving Samuel and all the men taken by that pirate. He remained modest, of course, but she said he had arranged for their return when the pirate only intended to return Caroline. So, dear cousin, he has saved you two times now. Are you not grateful for his serious nature?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Enough of this talk of serious gentlemen.” Georgiana thumped her hairbrush down on a small table “I want to know which young man you thought most handsome and which had the best manners. Caroline, will you take the first turn?”

  “I am afraid I have a dreadful headache and will have to lie down.” She smiled deliberately. “Too much punch, I imagine. You will carry on without me, of course, and Georgiana, do take my turn.”

  “Very well. Goodnight, Caroline.”

  “Oh, my,” Eleanor sighed as she descended the stairs. When she reached the bottom she paused, then moved over to lean against a chair near the window.

  Josiah looked up from his book. “Too much wine last evening, Eleanor?”

  “Certainly not,” she huffed as she opened the window and rang the bell for Priscilla. “I was merely thinking of home, and the sad situation.”

  Josiah shivered at the blast of cold air that came through the window. “Why can you not send your own maid to the kitchen?”

  Eleanor looked surprised. “And why would I? Kate’s job is to see to my wardrobe and appearance.”

  “You are dressed. Your hair is…arranged, she should now have time to see to your breakfast.”

  “Kate is re-trimming a gown for me this morning. And then it will be time for her to begin packing. Surely, one of your servants is not too busy to bring me a piece of toast?”

  Josiah turned his attention back to his book.

  “As I said, I was thinking of the sad situation back at home.”

  He smiled wryly. “And that sad situation would be…a maid who breaks too many of your dishes, perhaps? A gardener who cannot make the roses bloom in February?”

  “It is most unseemly of you to jest, Josiah. I speak of our poor Uncle Robert.”

  “Uncle Robert? Has he taken a turn for the worse?”

  “There can certainly be no worse for him, poor man. He was at death’s very door when we left England. Were it not for James’s business in Maryland, we certainly would not have left him alone.”

  “You left him alone? What has become of Beech, and his other servants?”

  “Oh, the servants remain, of course, but they are nothing as compared to family. They do not signify, really; they are mere employees, household effects like the plate and glassware. One may become
attached to them, of course, but—”

  A knock sounded at the back door.

  “Do come in, Priscilla.”

  The girl entered and curtsied reverently.

  “Oh, you are such a dear, prompt little thing. Please bring me two slices of bread, toasted not too darkly and spread with butter, and have you any marmalade?”

  Priscilla looked aghast. “Marmalade?”

  “A sort of preserves, made of oranges,” Josiah said without looking up from his book. “And we haven’t any.” He paused and lifted his head momentarily. “But Priscilla makes a wonderful strawberry jam.”

  “Dear me, aren’t you a talented girl. Well, then, I must try some of your jam on my toast. Is there any coffee left?” Eleanor looked at her brother’s empty mug on the table.

  “A little, Lady Davenport.”

  “Bring me some, then, with plenty of milk and sugar.” Eleanor gave a complacent smile of dismissal.

  “Yes, milady.” Priscilla turned and skipped out the door.

  “I was speaking of poor Uncle Robert.”

  Josiah sighed and closed his book. “So you were. He has always been an outstanding model of respectability and an asset to the family. I am sorry to hear he has been suffering, and his death will be a great loss to the family.”

  “A great loss, indeed. He has managed the Hampshire estate for over thirty years, and the earnings from that property often exceeded those of the estate in Sussex.”

  “I was not aware of that. He must have been a most capable manager. An even more regrettable loss to the family, then.”

  “Of course,” Eleanor said as she walked over to retrieve her fan from a shelf, “Uncle Robert had never planned to manage that estate. And Mother told me once he had not really wanted to take on the task. He had built up quite a thriving law practice and had become rather attached to city life.” She began to fan her face languidly. “But, for the good of the family, he gave up his practice and moved to Hampshire. And we must all be eternally grateful.”

  “Yes, we must,” Josiah echoed absently. He picked up another book, Allestree’s The Whole Duty of Man, a handbook on moral guidance he had read in his youth and from which he remembered only one incongruous phrase about a man’s body rising in judgment against him for defrauding it of its due portion of refreshment. The book made for dry reading, best taken in small doses.

  He imagined Charles Carter had probably read Allestree’s book numerous times and absorbed its lessons well. He had tended to his spiritual life and showed admirable consideration for others, and had been well-regarded by them in return. If he had lived to assume control of the Carter estate, he would have worked hard, like the ancestor in the hazy portrait, to provide for his family and future generations.

  Perhaps his own duty lay along a similar path. It gave Josiah a strange sense of pride to look around Hanset and know that the fields and rude buildings were his own and would prosper or decline through his own efforts.

  But, no, his duty lay elsewhere. Surely, it must be his obligation to tend the larger estate in England on behalf of his family.

  A light knock sounded on the door, and he looked up to see Eleanor open it and put her finger to her lips to indicate Priscilla should make no sound as she entered. His sister obviously wanted to give him time to consider her words.

  “I’m going out,” he said as he stood and reached for his coat. He could not think in the closeness of the small house—his small house—filled to the brim with his sister and her belongings.

  “You will be back to dine with me, won’t you? Remember that Sir James does not return until tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Eleanor,” he said over his shoulder. “I shan’t be out long.” He could feel her confident smile boring into his back as he closed the door.

  The colorless winter sky mirrored the vague bleakness he felt in his soul. He should feel relieved, even joyful, at having finally reached his decision. He would, with one simple move, fulfill his duty and recapture the comforts he had so sorely missed. Moreover, it was the only practical course of action. Here, debts and fluctuating markets threatened to ruin his plantation.

  Josiah turned off the kitchen path and strolled among the dead stalks of the kitchen gardens. A poor choice for contemplative walking, as his route revealed not merely a dormant garden but a disorganized, weedy chaos of lifeless foliage.

  Back in England, managing a well-established and diversified estate, his position would be secure. Moreover, his family name alone would be enough to obtain a most suitable wife of good breeding and respectable temperament. But his background and titled family connections would be enough to obtain a respectable wife here, too.

  He kicked aside a plant that careened over from its raised bed. A resourceful, hard-working wife would be far more useful here than a well-bred hothouse flower like Miss Bennett. To make his struggling plantation a success, he would need a true partner, willing to invest time and energy into all facets of the venture. They could try different crops, perhaps train the servants and slaves to make more of the items that were too expensive or difficult to import, maybe expand in trade—

  Who could be the wife who made up the other half of this “they?” He could scarcely recognize himself as half of this theoretical industrious partnership. It was inconceivable, really. His place was with his family in England.

  Miss Carter would make an admirable partner at Hanset. He had seen her work, and experiment.

  Josiah kicked at another errant stalk in his path. Now, after demonstrating she would be unacceptable as a wife, Miss Carter had proven she would actually make a most appropriate one. And her company was rather enjoyable.

  But, the question of respectability aside, she did not care for him. They were no longer engaged, and it was only by some misguided chance she had ever accepted him in the first place. The look in her eyes when he had tried to speak to her in Charles Town, that look of horror and despair, could never be forgotten. She would never marry him.

  It was time to start packing.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  "Caroline, Father says he wishes to speak with you in the front room,” Edwina announced as she took off her hat and hung it up.

  “Oh, dear. Did you tell him about the kitchen order?”

  “No. Why would I?”

  “Do you think Georgiana may have? Or Johanna?”

  “Perhaps, but I do not believe so. No one but yourself will care about what you’ve ordered for the kitchen.”

  Caroline smoothed her gown as she walked toward the door. The other items she had ordered should really not raise his concern, so she had no reason to be nervous. And yet…

  “Ah, Caroline, please, sit yourself down.” John Carter smiled as he waved his hand toward the leather chair opposite him.

  “Thank you, Father.” She perched on the edge of the seat.

  “I have wonderful news.”

  He paused for so long Caroline began to wonder if he wanted her to guess what it was. Perhaps he had obtained a good price on some finery and wished to surprise her?

  “Mr. Archer has asked permission to wait on you.”

  “When? How?” She had seen no one arrive yesterday or this morning.

  Her father waved aside her questions. “A servant brought a letter early this morning. Are you not pleased, my girl? He is a most elegant gentlemen, and the oldest son of a fine family. I believe you’ll not do better for a husband in these environs.”

  “But Father, I still don’t see…our affairs, my dowry?”

  “You may thank Mr. Cheesewringer for making you marriageable, my dear. With our estate less encumbered, I may offer land or goods for your dowry.” He grinned. “You are fortunate, dear girl, in being the eldest. I may not be able to be so generous when it comes time for Edwina and Johanna.”

  “I would not want you to take—”

  “Now, now, you must not fret over these arrangements. As oldest daughter, you are entitled to a greater share, and you will not contradict me
when I say that you have done the greatest share of the work around here these last few months. We will be able to make suitable matches for your sisters when their times come. But first they must see their oldest sister well married. There. I thought that news would please you.”

  “It does, indeed, sir. I am…exceptionally pleased. May I be excused, Father?”

  “Certainly, my girl. Are you not well?”

  “Just a touch under the weather, I suppose.”

  “You had better take some rest, then.”

  “I shall, Father. Thank you.”

  Caroline felt as if she were moving in someone else’s body as she pulled the door closed behind her.

  “Caroline! Whatever is the matter?”

  “Come upstairs with me, Edwina. I don’t know what to think.”

  When she reached the safe solitude of her tiny bedchamber, Caroline fell onto the bed, and her sister did likewise.

  “Brr, it is cold in here, may we not move—” Edwina stopped as she noticed tears streaming down her sister’s face. “Do tell me what is wrong, Caroline.”

  “I do not know that anything is wrong.” Two fresh tears welled over onto her cheeks.

  “Then why do you cry?”

  “I’m not crying.” Caroline dabbed at her eyes with a corner of a blanket. “Very well, I–I do not know what makes me cry. I should be happy. Father has just shared most wondrous news.”

  Edwina leaned closer. “What is it?”

  “Mr. Archer has asked to court me.”

  “Mr. Archer?” Edwina pursed her lips in thought for a moment. “He is rather short, is he not? But you all judged him an excellent dancer, and I daresay his family has money enough, at least as much money as one of us is likely to marry into.”

  “Edwina!” Caroline sat up and moved away from her sister uneasily.

  “It is true. We are not likely to attract husbands from one of the truly wealthy families.”

  “Perhaps not, but what does that matter?”