The Captivating Lady Charlotte

by Carolyn Miller

  There was another sound, and a tall form filled the doorway: the earl, with a pale face, unshaven jaw, and stricken eyes.

  “Nicholas? What is it?”

  He swallowed, his throat juddering in and out. “The … the baby died.”

  “Oh, Nicholas!” his mother cried.

  Charlotte’s breath caught on a sob.

  “What was—?”

  His shoulders slumped. “A boy.”

  “An heir,” his mother moaned.

  Charlotte bit her wobbling lip, the earl blurring as she blinked away tears. “I’m so sorry.”

  He nodded, turning, as if to leave.

  “How is Lavinia?”

  “Sleeping. The doctor gave her something to help her rest. He seems to think she will recover well enough.”

  “Too much gallivanting,” his mother said. “She was always out and about—”

  “Mother.” His voice, his look was glacial.

  She sniffed. “I know you will always prefer her to me, but the truth must be told. Lavinia did too much, and it is her fault you are without an heir—”

  “Mother!”

  “I never trusted that smiling facade. She is all that is wrong—”

  “Charlotte, would you excuse us, please?”

  Charlotte nodded, nearly running to escape the room, in which raised voices began as soon as the doors closed. Fighting to keep her expression calm, she hurried upstairs. Poor Lavinia. How could she live caught between her husband and a mother-in-law who despised her?

  THE NEXT DAY, having eaten both yesterday’s evening meal and then breakfast in her room after being informed the family would not be dining together, Charlotte found her courage and exited her bedchamber. She had no desire to meet the dowager, but her sleep had been broken with a multitude of prayers for her cousin and the earl, and when she heard his heavy tread go past her door, she judged now was as good a time as any to see how Lavinia fared.

  Charlotte crept along the corridor, met a red-eyed maid, whose sorrow seemed more genuine than that of the dowager countess. “How is she today?”

  “Poor thing.” She shook her head. “His lordship is most concerned. She was crying her eyes out a while back, but is now in there, singing.”

  Singing?

  Charlotte’s look must have conveyed astonishment, for the maid nodded. “Aye. I don’t think she’s quite well.”

  She hurried to Lavinia’s bedchamber. No wonder the earl had been concerned. If Lavinia was out of her mind …

  As she neared, she heard the sound of Lavinia’s beautiful singing voice from within. A sob filled her chest. Poor, poor thing. She tapped on the door. The singing ceased. “Lavinia?”

  “Charlotte? Is that you?”

  She gingerly turned the handle, only to have the door jerk open and be met by a visibly distraught Lily.

  “Thank you, that will be all.”

  “Are you sure, my lady?”

  “Quite sure.” Despite her red eyes and ashen cheeks, Lavinia managed a small smile, which emboldened the maid to nod and leave.

  Charlotte moved slowly toward the bedstead, where her cousin lay propped against a pile of pillows. “Lavinia, I … I cannot begin to express how sad I am.” Tears pricked, fell. “I’m so desperately sorry.”

  “Thank you.” Her cousin closed her eyes, bit her bottom lip.

  Of course. No doubt Lavinia shared some of Charlotte’s own sensibilities about sympathy. Sometimes sympathy did not soothe, but instead stirred grief. Charlotte sank onto the bed beside her, massaged a cold hand between both of hers. “How are you?”

  Lavinia opened her eyes, gray eyes circled with sorrow. “I’ve been better.”

  Words failed her. What could she say that would not sound trite? Words were so empty, so futile. “Can I do anything?”

  Lavinia shook her head. “Just be here.”

  Charlotte gently squeezed her hand and glanced around the room.

  In direct contrast to the heartache and heavy atmosphere, the bedchamber was large and airy, possessing a sunny prospect from the large windows that overlooked the formal rose gardens below. The dark and ponderous furniture so prevalent in the rest of the house was conspicuously absent, replaced with honey-colored light-framed furnishings, and pale blue and gold fabric for the curtains and flooring, that seemed more indicative of Lavinia’s usual ebullient nature. Doubtless the maids had cleared away all that remained of the miscarriage; there was no sign of anything to indicate the tragedy that had befallen the household. The only trace of dashed hopes was a tiny silver rattle on the dressing table.

  Her heart panged. Had Charlotte done badly to insist on people seeing baby Rose? Had that evoked excessive dreams in Lavinia? Made things worse for her now? But surely Charlotte couldn’t be responsible for how others felt. At least, she felt sure that was something like Aunt Patience would say. She patted Lavinia’s hand and pushed to her feet, moving toward the window as if entranced by the view, but surreptitiously shifting the rattle to behind a vase of lilies, so it would not catch her cousin’s eye and reinforce her sadness.

  She met Lavinia’s gaze in the looking glass, and turned, forcing her lips up. “Did I hear singing before?”

  Her cousin nodded. Charlotte must have looked a question, for Lavinia murmured, “I … I am trying not to live in sorrow.”

  “But you can be sad.” Charlotte glanced at the Bible on the bed, its pages spotted with moisture. She remembered a ponderous sermon on the raising of Lazarus. “Even Jesus wept.”

  “He did, that is true. And I am sad, Charlotte, so desperately sad.”

  Lavinia’s voice shook, sending another wave of pain to Charlotte’s heart. If her faith-filled cousin could falter, what hope was there for the rest of them?

  “I wanted so much for Nicholas to have his son,” Lavinia’s voice cracked. “I hope he’s not too disappointed with me.”

  Charlotte moved to hug her tightly. “He doesn’t blame you.” Unlike his mother.

  “So he says.” After a long moment, Lavinia’s shudders eased. She pulled back, managed a watery smile. “I suppose I must believe him?”

  “He’s a good man who loves you.”

  “Then I cannot despair. He doesn’t need a wife who despairs. That’s too much of a burden for any man, even one as good as Nicholas.”

  Charlotte nodded. What could she say? No words seemed adequate for this strange conversation.

  “Besides, to despair is to forget God’s grace.” Lavinia drew in a shaky breath. “I find myself in sore need of remembering His love and mercy at this time.”

  “Of course.”

  Lavinia winced and rubbed her forehead before accepting Charlotte’s offer of a glass of water. “Thank you. I’m so weary.”

  “Of course you are. I should let you rest—”

  “No, please stay.” She clasped Charlotte’s hand. “I want you to understand.”

  “Understand?”

  “God’s love doesn’t change just because my circumstances do. While I know this, it is difficult to remember, so I … I am trying to sing to remind myself of God’s love and faithfulness. I always remember things better when I sing them.”

  Charlotte stared at her. Her cousin’s words made little sense. How could one expect singing to make any difference? She patted Lavinia’s restless hand. Poor Lavinia …

  Lavinia gave another half sob, before smearing away the trickling tears. “Have you ever noticed how so many of David’s psalms begin by him crying out to God in despair, then partway through his heart seems to change as he recalls God’s goodness?”

  No, she hadn’t. Although she would pay closer attention in future. “But this isn’t good.”

  “No. But do bad circumstances mean God is not good?”

  The question seemed to hover in the air. Did God promise a life of roses? Or was faith more about remembering His presence and strength in the midst of suffering?

  Charlotte tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Why did it fe
el as though Lavinia was the one offering comfort to her when it should be the other way around?

  “The Bible says that praise is like a garment we can put on. It is a choice I can make, just like I choose to love Nicholas when he’s being stubborn”—a wisp of a smile crossed Lavinia’s lips—“or he chooses to be patient with me when I’m being rather less than meek.”

  Something deep stirred within Charlotte’s heart. This love Lavinia spoke of seemed grounded in faith, not based on feelings. Lord, help me love like that.

  “Papa always says God’s nature does not change just because our situation alters. I’m trying to remember what the Bible says, that nothing can separate us from God’s love.” Lavinia’s smile faded as her voice shook on another muffled sob. “I am trying to sing, like David did, and declare God’s truths over my circumstances, even though I don’t feel like it.”

  Charlotte wrapped an arm around her, hugging her gently. “And is it working?”

  Lavinia nodded, drawing in a deep breath. “I think so. God is faithful. He reminds me of that daily, through His many blessings, like Nicholas, and Lily, and you.”

  “Me?”

  “Oh, I could not have borne this without you, dear Charlotte. Your company on the journey here, your kindness and sweet thoughtfulness, you’ve cheered my heart no end.”

  Moisture clogged her throat, her eyes. “I’m glad.”

  Charlotte drew her cousin close for another strong and tender hug. A moment longer and they drew apart, exchanging shaky exhales followed by tiny smiles.

  “I must look a sight,” Charlotte said, wiping her cheeks again.

  “A sight for sore eyes. I’m certain I look far worse.” Lavinia’s smile peeped out again. “Thank goodness Nicholas doesn’t seem to notice.”

  “He is a good man.”

  Lavinia eased back on her pillows. “It is such a blessing to have a husband who shares one’s faith.”

  Charlotte dropped her gaze, working to ignore the niggle stirred by her cousin’s implied approbation. The duke’s faith was plain to see, evident in his words, his actions, his leading in prayers each day. He too was a good man …

  She blinked rapidly, shifted from the bed. Pasted on a smile. “Shall I ring for tea?”

  “Yes, please.” Lavinia’s eyes closed in weariness.

  Charlotte pulled the heavy rope near Lavinia’s bed, whose silent summons soon brought a maid, accompanied by the earl.

  He glanced at his wife, then at Charlotte, his expression one of relief, as he murmured, “Your presence has helped, I see.”

  Charlotte matched his whispered tone. “Rather, her presence has helped me.” At his raised brows she continued. “She chooses to remember God’s love and faithfulness even when her heart breaks.”

  Something like a wince crossed his features. “She is too good for me.”

  “She fears that she has disappointed you, my lord.”

  He shook his head and turned away, dashing a hand over his eyes.

  A maid appeared with a tea tray, releasing Charlotte from the need to stay longer. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some things to attend to.”

  “Of course.”

  Charlotte hurried downstairs, glad to not encounter the dowager. Gladder still when she followed the footman’s directions to the library to find it unoccupied. Searching through the shelves, she finally found what she required.

  A Bible.

  She flicked it open, and began to read.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHARLOTTE PEEKED ACROSS the room as the dowager continued muttering under her breath, slashing at the thread with a pair of scissors. Sympathy swirled, no doubt cultivated by the psalms she’d read yesterday, which encouraged grace to be extended to even the most ungracious.

  So she had tried to ignore her ladyship’s venom. Any complaint against Lavinia heard by the earl he dismissed immediately. Any complaint she uttered in Charlotte’s company and out of her son’s was twice as poisonous, and often followed by a “still nothing to say for yourself?” Her refusal to respond seemed to have convinced the dowager of Charlotte’s lack of wits, but that didn’t matter. She wanted to be here for Lavinia’s sake, even if the earl’s mother cast aspersions against Charlotte for the rest of her days.

  The lack of conversation provided plenty of time to think on the words spoken yesterday. Words about love. About good men. About faith.

  She bit her lip. Seeing Lord Hawkesbury yesterday, remembering Lavinia’s words about a husband who shared her faith, Charlotte couldn’t help but compare his patience and selflessness with those of the duke and Lord Markham. One man compared favorably, the other …

  Uneasiness stole through her. What she had thought love now seemed so superficial. Had Lord Markham ever acted selflessly? Had she? She winced.

  That thought was only compounded by other words she’d read last night. Even in her convalescence, Lavinia was thinking of others besides herself. She had sent Lily to Charlotte’s room with a journal which once belonged to Lavinia’s mother, Charlotte’s Aunt Grace whom she’d never met. “Her ladyship wants you to read this,” Lily had said, tapping a page.

  In it, Grandmama’s eldest daughter had written about her impossible dream: to marry David Ellison, the handsome son of a Gloucestershire rector, even in the teeth of her parents’ opposition.

  I spoke to my parents yesterday and their bitter words sent me to my knees once more. David encourages me to remember God’s grace, but at times I struggle to remain so sanguine. Yet he keeps gently reminding to keep seeking the One who is the Author of Life and of Love. And as I do, I sense His enabling in the kind of sacrificial love the apostle Paul writes about in First Corinthians. To be patient, to be kind, to keep no record of wrongs. To love the unlovely. I can love others truly, because my Heavenly Father loves me.

  Of course, that led to another bout of Bible reading, where the verses on love challenged. Beyond a mere feeling, it seemed true love involved choices: to practice patience instead of anger, to be kind to the undeserving, to persevere when wishing to give up, to be faithful, even in contrary circumstances. What contradictions a life of faith seemed to demand …

  How could a person learn to love so deeply? Was it truly found—as Aunt Grace believed—in God?

  She swallowed a sigh—best to not provoke the dowager into further interrogations—and refocused on her embroidery.

  The door opened, admitting a footman, but before he spoke, in sailed another figure.

  “Aunt Patience!”

  “Why, Charlotte! I did not expect to see you here.”

  Charlotte hugged her, as the dowager muttered, “Patience. How unexpected.”

  Her aunt sniffed. “Hardly unexpected, I’d imagine, when both your son and my sister write to inform me about my poor niece. Where is she?”

  “Upstairs,” Charlotte said. “I’m sure she will be very pleased to see you.”

  “And the child?”

  “Dead,” the dowager said.

  Aunt Patience’s face seemed to age a dozen years. “No,” she whispered.

  “A son, an heir for Nicholas, gone.”

  Her aunt’s pained eyes slid back to Charlotte. “How is Lavinia?”

  “Weak, but surprisingly strong in spirit.”

  “That’s my girl.” Aunt Patience nodded, then said in a louder voice. “Excuse us, Margaret.”

  The dowager waved a hand. “Of course. My house is yours.”

  Aunt Patience’s eyes snapped, but she held her tongue until they headed up the stairs. “Her house? Her son’s more like it, which she lives in like a leech. I don’t know how Lavinia copes with her.”

  Probably with lots of singing, Charlotte thought with a wry smile.

  Hartwell Abbey

  The sun had gone.

  As Hapgood kept talking, William stared out the library window at the clouded skies mirroring the gloom in his heart since the news arrived yesterday. He grieved for the Hawkesburys, for their lost child. Concern for Ch
arlotte at this sorrowful time had him praying for her almost as frequently as for the earl and countess. Prayers for her health, for her faith, that she would not be overborne by sadness—nor by Hawkesbury’s overbearing mother.

  His estate manager coughed.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Hapgood shifted slightly. “It is the new road. It appears someone has deliberately loosened the stones partway through, which meant the draper’s cart wheels slid and broke.”

  His attention snapped back to Hapgood as a million questions raced through his mind. How could anyone do this? Why would anyone do such a thing? “How could this happen without anyone noticing?”

  “It required only a few rocks to be loosed, then it was a matter of waiting until enough vehicles had passed over.”

  William shoved a hand through his hair. “Thank God it hadn’t been a curricle going at speed. Someone might have died!”

  Hapgood eyed him. “Yes.”

  “Wait—surely you don’t think my life in danger?”

  “You are known to drive at speed along that stretch, sir.”

  Fear trembled up his spine. He shook it away. He could not afford to think such things. He cleared his throat. “Please ensure the draper is fully recompensed.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  He rubbed his forehead. Thank God Lavinia had got away safely. Thank God the departure of Charlotte’s family had not met with accident, either. Such a thing he could not have borne.

  William glanced out the window again. “Did the flowers get through?”

  “Yes, sir. They should arrive within the hour, barring any accidents.”

  “They were the best?”

  “Of course. Callinan saw to them himself.”

  William nodded, Hapgood left, and he turned back to his piles of paper. They held no interest. His heart was snared by people and events two hours north. Heavenly Father, please provide Your comfort, and Your healing …

  Emotion burned. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes and glanced out the window.

  A figure ran behind a tree.

  He blinked. Rubbed his eyes again. Had he just imagined that? He studied the space carefully, waiting for the person to reappear. Had Charlotte been right about seeing someone after all? Her mother might have scoffed, and truth be told, so had he, but was someone on the estate who had no right to be there? His heart thumped. His servants had no need to run and hide. Then who?