Perfectly Flawed

by Shirley Marks

  "Well said, sir," she agreed.

  "What other structures of note are there at Faraday Hall? Did we or did we not pass an orangery adjacent to the conservatory on our way here?"

  "We did."

  "Had you planned for us to inspect that as well?"

  "I was hoping you would insist."

  "I do. Now let us be on our way." Philip stepped to the ground and raised his hand to aid her descent.

  Muriel hesitated for a few moments but then accepted his gesture. Her refined conduct was a far cry from the country girl he had first thought her when they met earlier that day.

  "Do not think I have not noticed," he said, surreptitiously admiring her beneath his lowered lids. "You are quite the lady in that frock."

  "Is that an actual compliment? For me?" She glanced up to him when stepping upon the ground. "I'm afraid your pretty sentiments fall upon deaf ears."

  "That cannot be."

  "I'm afraid so. I am certain I would ruin your day by admitting that not everyone dresses at the height of fashion on a daily basis."

  "Are you referring to yourself? That would be a shame. When your time comes to marry, I daresay you shall be quite as breathtaking as your sister." His attention drifted into the distance, in the direction of the pond and Charlotte. He paid no mind to his companion's reaction.

  "I take it you would like to join our other guests?" Muriel studied him, gauging his interest.

  "For tea, yes. I'm afraid that I am not, as of yet, ready for a wife." Philip knew that someday he must do his duty-marry and provide for the future of his family line. It was a step he would not take lightly. "A lovely face is often enough found, but what I require is more. I must find a woman with whom I can share more than occasional polite words. Do not mistake me, young lady. I find your sister very lovely indeed."

  Muriel gazed heavenward; clearly she was tolerating his lengthy discourse.

  "It takes far more than mere beauty, I dare say. Your sister may be perfection itself in one respect, but I cannot vouch for her other qualities," he told her truthfully. "It has been my experience that young women who have the extreme beauty your sister possesses have characters that I consider somewhat ... lacking."

  Muriel might have been insulted on her sister's behalf if she were not so overjoyed at his declaration. She need not worry that he should try to infiltrate her family by marriage.

  "You do not wish to marry a beautiful lady?" Muriel found herself curious about his requirements for a wife. What did Sir Philip think important?

  "I shall not complain, mind you, but beauty is not everything, not even the most important quality. Those types of women rely primarily on their appearance instead of substance to achieve their goals. Thus, as they grow into mature womanhood, they become selfish, selfcentered, and vain."

  To lump any and all pretty girls into a single category and chastise them all? The man is too hateful!

  "I expect a wife to be not only accomplished in music and the arts but, above all, in possession of a large quantity of compassion."

  Muriel stared at him, thinking she had never come across this sort of man before. She thought him quite unusual, but still completely unlikable.

  "Will you take your place in Parliament when your time comes? You seem occupied with ... other interests." Should she have noted them by name? He was an out and-out dandified, pompous fop who thought himself better than he ought.

  "Most certainly. I shall not shirk my duty and the great responsibility that comes with inheriting my title." A pained expression crossed his normally placid visage. "Ah, it so happens, I am only a peer by chance of birth and an Exquisite by endeavor."

  And he brags about it!

  "Self-improvement is achievable by anyone," Sir Philip informed her, "no matter what social position, and appreciated by all."

  Coming to the corner of the conservatory, Muriel stopped. Thank goodness they'd arrived. Perhaps stepping inside the glass structure and gazing upon the various botanical specimens might distract him from the topic of himself. Muriel would not have been surprised to discover the baronet a self-proclaimed botany expert.

  "Look there." Sir Philip extended his walking stick in the direction of a small gathering, mainly of men, strolling toward the pond that lay at the far edge of the property. Easily identified even from this distance-Charlotte in her blue gown, Susan in her peach frock, and Aunt Penny in her lavender skirt the three women trailed across the green that lay on the far side of Faraday Hall.

  "So those men are Lady Charlotte's suitors?" Sir Philip mused. He tapped the handle of his cane against his chin in thought and chuckled softly.

  His pleased reaction was the single quality Muriel found pleasurable.

  "The notion that I should wish to marry her is folly."

  Muriel was more than delighted to hear she had overestimated his interest. Then again, he was not well acquainted with her sister. He had, without knowing, described the kindhearted Charlotte perfectly, down to her last compassionate attribute.

  She played the pianoforte and the harp with equal proficiency. Her voice was an instrument without compare, perfection itself, as was her skill in watercolor, sketching, drawing, embroidery, and sewing. She spoke French and Italian fluently. As for compassion, Charlotte possessed this quality, too much of it, some people would say-a detail Sir Philip must never discover.

  Sir Philip could not know Charlotte possessed everything he wished for in a wife. Muriel decided he may believe he was not interested in her sister, but if he were to learn of the real Charlotte, he might change his mind about competing for her hand.

  Muriel took it upon herself to ensure he would never be in a position to find out. She vowed she would do all she could to keep Sir Philip and her sister apart.

  Charlotte could not believe how Muriel stepped right in front of Lord Paul. The poor man lifted his hand, guarding his bruised face in case it should be accidentally harmed.

  "I beg that you excuse me, Lord Paul. I need a moment with Charlotte," Muriel interrupted, and whispered to her sister, "A word with you, Char-Char. It is most important."

  A quick glance at the other guests sitting in a comfortable circle told Charlotte they had not been alarmed by her sister's impertinent behavior.

  Muriel led her from the guests, rather forcefully, Charlotte thought.

  "I could not keep Sir Philip from wishing to join our party," Muriel said, sounding rather displeased.

  "That is understandable." Charlotte did not think the baronet would like to have been kept from the festivities. "He is our houseguest. Why should we not include him?"

  "There is no good reason, I suppose, but that is not why I wish to speak to you." There was a gleam in Muriel's eye, the sort of expression she acquired when she had a particularly brilliant and, sometimes, questionable idea.

  "What is it, Moo?" Charlotte was anxious to hear, not out of pure curiosity, but in the case it should prove particularly unpleasant, she might be able to discourage her sister.

  Muriel drew Charlotte from the lawn area and into the Oriental Room, closing the door firmly behind them. "I thought perhaps we could use this opportunity to your advantage, to further test the gentlemen's affection and devotion to you."

  "Do you not think they have been through enough, Moo? Only look at them-scraped and bruised." Charlotte did not wish to bring up their guests' self-inflicted injuries from the previous evening. "They need cold compresses, not a prodding to risk further injury."

  "Has it ever occurred to you that all those gentlemen desire you for your perfection? What if you were not as wonderful as they believe? What if you had something hideously wrong with you, an unseen abnormality perhaps. They would run from Faraday Hall, from Bloxwich, from Essex completely!"

  "I do not have such a thing." Charlotte did not think so, anyway.

  "It needn't be true. It would be something we would make up. I was thinking the winner of this new contest could learn a bit about you. Something personal, private, to b
etter know you. The gentlemen may think it would improve their standing."

  "Is that not too cruel?" Charlotte could never have come up with a ruse such as this, but her sister might prove correct, as she often had.

  "You could have something such as ..." Muriel paused for a few moments and glanced about the room as though searching for an answer. "Your eye."

  "Is there something wrong with my eyes?" Charlotte stared at her sister with the left orb and moved the right one, in a jiggling motion, toward the door, and then laughed at her trick. It never failed to disturb Augusta.

  "Yes, that's exactly it!" Muriel laughed, with Charlotte joining her. "You'll tell them it wanders!"

  "A wandering eye?" Charlotte squinted at her sister, not completely understanding. "That is not so very bad. An unpleasant trait in a wife, I would think."

  "Don't you see? You invent a flaw for yourself, and then you'll see how much those gentlemen truly care for you-wayward eye and all."

  "Moo, that is famous!" Charlotte leaped up and clapped her hands. Her excitement ebbed and she quieted. "What if it should frighten them all away?"

  "Then they do not truly care for you. Have no fear, Char-Char. I'm sure it will take more than a wandering eye to put them off. If you feel so guilty about it, you could offset the bad news with a bit of good."

  "In the same vein as gooseberries are my favorite berry ... I could tell them my favorite color, flower, or food?" It would be just like sweet Charlotte to focus on how this would benefit one lucky young man and not on how the news might disappoint the many who would find her seemingly less-than-perfect eye unacceptable.

  "That's right." Muriel knew differently. She did not expect the rumors they were about to start to have a positive effect.

  "Who shall I tell first?"

  "Well ... it is my opinion that free knowledge is worth little value. You must make them work for it."

  "Work? Another challenge, perhaps?"

  "Yes, exactly." Muriel stepped farther back into the room, away from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  "What do you think about a footrace?" Charlotte suggested.

  Muriel paused, rethinking her sister's idea. "Do you expect all those men to dash across the lawn?"

  "You must admit physical competition does have merit." But Charlotte considered what the gentlemen had already been through. "Is it too much to ask from them, do you think?"

  "The offer of an unappealing bit of information will test their commitment." Muriel clasped Charlotte's clenched hand, begging her to understand. "Just think how happy it will make whoever is left to learn your eye does not wander. That you are as perfect as he first imagined."

  "I would think it might anger him."

  "He won't be angry; he'll be grateful. All the others will have been driven away, and you will have managed to prove he is as devoted to you as one could be." Muriel blinked up at her sister. "What do you say, Char-Char? Is the contest on?"

  Charlotte wasn't sure what to do. But certainly something had to be done, for there were too many suitors and she had no idea how to lessen their number. Should she go along with Muriel's plan?

  "Very well, Moo," Charlotte replied. "Let's inform the men they should assemble at the starting line."

  It wasn't a surprise to Muriel that all six gentlemen were willing and anxious participants in the contest. As soon as Charlotte had put forth the idea, there was no stopping it from happening. The men shed their jackets and unbuttoned their waistcoats or removed them altogether, putting Charlotte and Susan to the blush.

  "You mean they are to run a common footrace?" Whether Aunt Penny was more outraged or shocked was difficult to tell. "I have never seen such a thing in my entire life. How has this simple tea party gotten out of hand? We've lost any amount of respectability it might have had."

  "Don't go on so, Auntie," Muriel said, trying to reassure her. "It's just a good bit of fun."

  Stepping away from her aunt, Muriel moved closer to Charlotte and Susan, who stood to one side of the starting line in front of the men.

  Their shirtsleeves had been ripped, torn by the gooseberry thorns, and were spotted with blood where they'd been deeply scratched. There was further embarrassment when they removed their gloves. Barely healed scratches crisscrossed the length of their hands and forearms. It must have been painful, but not a single man uttered a complaint.

  Standing off to the other side, Sir Nicholas was probably making a last-minute wager with Lord Paul and Mr. Atwater. If the Duke ever discovered this disgrace, there was no telling how long Sir Nicholas' exile would last this time.

  Finally, Sir Nicholas took his place, raised his arm, and held a small pistol in the air. "On your marks!" he shouted to the line of gentlemen in various states of undress. "Ready..."

  Muriel drew in a breath. Lord Stanton, Lord Irving, and Sir Hugh had removed their boots, having every intention of realizing victory in their stocking feet.

  "Steady ..."

  Muriel held her breath as Charlotte and Susan must have-not a sound came from them. Sir Albert, Mr. Atwater, and Lord Paul adjusted their foot positions in preparation of the start.

  "GO!" Sir Nicholas pulled the trigger, sending a shot into the air and signaling the beginning of the race. The six men sprinted across the great lawn, stretching from the parterre to the walkway of the conservatory where members of the household staff would witness the first to cross the imaginary finish line.

  "You cannot expect these men to dash about as if they were racehorses," said Aunt Penny, but her disapproval came far too late. The gentlemen thought the opportunity to learn something personal about Charlotte, or so it was announced, was well worth the effort.

  Lord Irving threw his fists into the air in victory, crossing the finish line first. Charlotte, Muriel, and Susan cheered.

  Sir Philip appeared next to the three after the thundering suitors had charged past him. He was immaculately dressed, looking so much more elegant compared to the coatless, gloveless, and bootless men.

  "I believe I have missed something rather important." Sir Philip came around from the far side of Aunt Penny, straining to see the once thundering herd.

  "I don't know if it was important, but it was all rather exciting, I must say," she confessed.

  "It was a fantastic display of physical exertion, Mrs. Parker!" Sir Philip replied. "Quite invigorating." He huffed and thumped his green paisley brocade-covered chest and then splayed his hand over the material. "Viscount Irving has dashed across the finish line, and I expect there is a worthwhile prize for his victory."

  "Yes, I believe there must be," she confirmed.

  The participants gathered, puffing hard with their recent exertion. Lord Irving laughed between labored gasps of air.

  Charlotte greeted her champion. "Lord Irving, when you are ready, I await your arm, if you please."

  Lord Irving retrieved his clothing. He unrolled his sleeves, pulled on his boots, and shrugged into his jacket, making himself presentable. Still breathing heavily from the exertion of the race, he accompanied Charlotte to the parterre to receive his well-earned prize.

  He smiled, eyes wide, anxious for his reward. Charlotte settled onto the stone bench and glanced up at him. "Lord Irving?"

  "Yes, Lady Charlotte?" He brushed the dust from his breeches and adjusted his gloves after slipping them on.

  "I have two bits of personal information for you." Charlotte felt her face warm and glanced away. Whether it was because she felt self-conscious about revealing something personal to a near stranger or because she was about to relay a bouncer, she could not be certain. "Lord Irving, I have something to tell you."

  "Yes, Lady Charlotte." Lord Irving smiled, leaning the slightest bit forward in anticipation.

  "A pleasant item." She smiled and tried to hold the expression steady. And one bit of unpleasant news. "Please, Lord Irving." Her throat tightened, making speech difficult. She felt certain her problem was due to the untruth that was about to pass through her trembling li
ps.

  "Lady Charlotte." He held her hand fast in a firm grip once again. "I beg of you, if such an admission causes you discomfort, I suggest you do not-"

  "No, no ... I must continue. I promised. Your victory has earned you the privilege."

  Lord Irving gazed at her expectantly, eager to have an advantage over the other gentlemen.

  "I do not believe the news will be agreeable to you." She then suspected that Muriel had intended that to be the outcome from the start. Still, it did not please Charlotte to disclose information that might be considered disturbing.

  "Lady Charlotte," he whispered, moving closer until he finally sat next to her on the stone bench. "I do not believe there is anything about you that one could possibly find disagreeable."

  The tension in her shoulders relaxed at his words, and she smiled. It was very kind of him to make her feel at ease.

  "Please, I beg that you continue. Nothing about you could ever displease me."

  "Very well." Charlotte cleared her throat. "Lord Irving, I have two items to divulge about myself. One, both, or neither may benefit you." He remained quiet and appeared eager to hear more. "Lord Irving, my right eye ... has a tendency to wander."

  "W-wander, you say?" He did not exactly back away from her at the discovery, but he did seem to stare at her more pointedly.

  Charlotte prepared to perform her eye trick as she had so many times for her siblings and stared at the yew over his shoulder, allowing her right eye to pull to the side.

  He jerked back from her with every twitch of her eye. "The eye is c-completely f-false, isn't it?"