When Mrs. Worthington left, Charlotte, in an attempt to clear her mind, began writing a letter to her family, however, a half an hour later and asleep at the writing table, she was awakened by the lady’s maid sent to see to her during her stay.
As the girl, who introduced herself as Ardelle, tidied her hair and helped her into her dress, Charlotte did her best to seem lively and alert, but not even returning to the parlor and seeing Gabriel himself standing before her caused her weariness to depart.
“I trust you were able to rest, my dear,” Mrs. Worthington said as dinner began, but Charlotte could only respond with a weak smile.
Over the next hour, she ate her meal in the most splendid dining room she had ever seen. The silver, recently polished, gleamed in the light of the many candles around the room, and the brightness revealed the steam that rose above the freshly-cooked food.
Though Charlotte was certain she had never tasted a more delicious meal in her life, she had never enjoyed a meal less, for her distress only increased as more often than not, her knife clinked too loudly against her plate and her food made it only so far as her lap or on the ground.
At the other end of the table, however, Gabriel sat calmly and assuredly, no anxious glances out of the window, no frowns sent in her direction, and his confident place at the head of his table caused Charlotte’s nerves to increase even further.
When the meal ended, she followed Mrs. Worthington out of the room in a sort of daze, glancing only once at Gabriel, who looked anywhere but at her, before making her way to the drawing room.
As Mrs. Worthington spoke with a footman across the room, Charlotte sat down upon the edge of her chair, her eyes roving across the carved-wood walls, floral drapes reaching from spotless floor to painted ceiling, and finally the marble hearth where a fire burned warmly.
She felt herself leaning back into the plush cushion behind her, the arms seeming to embrace her as her nerves and muscles relaxed until, at last, her eyelids drifted to a close, and all she could hear was the crackling of the fire before sleep overcame her.
Gabriel nearly smiled when he entered the drawing room to see Charlotte fast asleep across from his mother. He examined the peaceful expression upon her brow, so different from the anxious look she had worn earlier, and he could not help but feel relieved for her sake.
“She must have been tired,” Gabriel whispered after greeting his mother.
“Yes,” Mrs. Worthington said, standing to pour two cups of tea before smiling in Charlotte’s direction. “She fell asleep nearly the moment we entered the room. The poor dear looked so terribly overwhelmed today.”
Gabriel accepted the cup of tea his mother offered him as he struggled not to stare at the beauty sleeping before him.
“Indeed, she did.”
“You noticed?”
Charlotte’s eyelids nearly fluttered open as she awoke to the sound of voices nearby, but when she realized Gabriel’s was one of them, she kept her eyes closed, attempting to maintain her steady breathing so her sudden awareness would remain unnoticed, though her ears listened closely to the conversation.
“Of course I noticed, Mother,” Gabriel said, somewhat offended by the surprise in her voice. “I am capable of seeing another beyond myself.”
“Gabriel,” Mrs. Worthington began after taking a sip of her tea. “I was merely asking a question.”
Gabriel sighed. “Yes, I noticed how overwhelmed Miss Rosebury appeared today.”
“I do hope her fatigue was merely due to the journey, and not because she feels unwelcome here.”
Gabriel avoided his mother’s pointed gaze, instead glancing to Charlotte as she laid still fast asleep upon her chair.
“I hope she feels welcome here,” he began, “and might I assure you, Mother, my words and actions will no longer give her reason to feel otherwise.” He paused, his heartbeat quickening as he eyed Charlotte’s pretty face, her lips slightly parted and neck arched as her head rested against the side of her chair. “She is as amiable a woman as I have ever known, the kind of woman—”
Fear shot throughout his limbs as he ended his thoughtless words not a moment too early, and he tore his gaze from Charlotte as he stood.
“Gabriel?” his mother questioned, but he merely shook his head.
“Excuse me,” he said before leaving the room in an instant and praying his dangerous thoughts would be left behind with the beautiful woman who had caused them in the first place.
***
Early the next morning, Charlotte awoke to rain tapping against the window next to her, and she rolled onto her back, stretching pleasantly under the softest covers she had ever felt before opening her eyes to realize she had no idea where she was.
However, one look at the purple canopy draped above the four poster bed she rested upon caused a flood of memories to overcome her, and her heart fluttered.
I am at Greyston Hall, she thought. I am in Mr. Worthington’s home.
In one movement, Charlotte flung the covers from her legs and jumped out of the bed, walking across the cold floor to peer outside the window.
“This is certainly not Brightwood,” she whispered aloud as she marveled at the view, the estate’s grounds stretching across vast, green fields before stopping near a thicket of trees, their red and orange leaves nearly all fallen to the ground.
Leaning forward, Charlotte peered down at the stables where grooms and coachmen ran to and fro in the rain, trailing horses quickly behind them, and she could not help but think how her father and sister would enjoy the sight.
At such a thought, Charlotte moved to the writing table to begin anew her letter to her family, and she smiled as she did so.
My dearest family,
I am pleased to inform you, we have, at last, reached Greyston Hall. I was hopelessly overwhelmed upon my arrival here, for the Worthington’s home is far grander than I ever could have imagined. As a result, I have slept very soundly for, I am certain, the whole morning long.
However, I am pleased to say, I feel far better and am quite looking forward to my stay.
Mrs. Worthington has been so very accommodating, and her son…
Charlotte paused, her heart fluttering as she thought of Gabriel and his words from the previous night, the smile growing upon her lips as she continued.
I look forward to my time with him. They are both so very kind to welcome me into their home.
I shall write more later, but for now, I must depart. Simply know how I love you all.
Your daughter and sister,
Charlotte
Within an hour from sealing her letter, Charlotte dressed, ate, and left her bedroom to marvel again at the grand house she walked through before finding Mrs. Worthington in the parlor.
“I did not expect to see you so early, Miss Rosebury,” she said with a warm smile. “Did you sleep well?”
“I did, thank you,” Charlotte answered. “I must apologize for my demeanor yesterday. I am afraid I was rather tired.”
“Not to worry, my dear,” Mrs. Worthington said. “Now, would you care to rest here for a moment, or would you like to have another look around the house?”
“Oh, I think I should enjoy seeing more of your beautiful home,” she responded, and Mrs. Worthington smiled.
The women spent the better part of an hour exploring more of Greyston Hall’s vast number of rooms, paintings, and furnishings, and Charlotte listened, enthralled with the grandeur, until they, at last, returned to the parlor.
“I do hope you will treat Greyston Hall as your home, Miss Rosebury,” Mrs. Worthington said as they seated themselves once again. “I have friends calling this morning I should like to introduce you to, but if our walk has been too tiring, I am more than willing to give them your excuses.”
“Oh, I feel quite lively still,” Charlotte said. “I should be glad to join you.”
“Wonderful! I am certain they will be pleased to see you. Now, I do believe my son has agreed to join with us this morn
ing, but I have not seen…Oh, here he is.”
As Gabriel walked into the parlor with his confident stride, Charlotte was again struck at the gentleman’s ease in his own home, and her heart fluttered when he met her gaze.
“Miss Rosebury, you are looking well today,” he said after greeting them both, and she blushed with pleasure.
Before she had the chance to respond, their visitors were announced, and soon, a mother and her beautiful daughter entered the room with sweeping grace.
“So good of you to call this morning, Mrs. Bosville, Miss Bosville,” Mrs. Worthington said after the women curtsied without a flaw.
“We were delighted to hear of your return, Mrs. Worthington,” Mrs. Bosville said as Charlotte stood by in silence, taking note of the daughter’s unabashed smile toward Gabriel, her face framed with black ringlets.
Introductions were made between Charlotte and the women before they moved to sit near the warm fire, Gabriel standing nearby.
“We were quite surprised to hear a visitor was to stay at Greyston Hall,” Mrs. Bosville said, staring at Charlotte with dark brown eyes. “After all, it so very rarely occurs.”
“Miss Rosebury is the daughter of one of my dearest friends,” Mrs. Worthington explained. “It is only natural I should wish for a continuation of her company.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Bosville said, her eyes glancing between Charlotte and Gabriel before continuing. “And what think you of Yorkshire thus far, Miss Rosebury?”
Charlotte forced herself to focus on the conversation at hand, rather than on Miss Bosville still batting her eyes at Gabriel.
“From what I observed on our carriage ride here, it is most beautiful,” she replied. “And though I am certain I was not witness to half its beauties, I do look forward to seeing what else the county has to offer.”
“And where is your home, Miss Rosebury?” Miss Bosville asked next, her dark eyes focusing so intently upon her, Charlotte could not help but wish for the woman’s attention to return to Gabriel.
“In Warwickshire. My family and I live very close to Stratford-upon-Avon.”
“I see,” Miss Bosville said, though her eyes had already returned to Gabriel. “And how was your stay, Mr. Worthington, in the small town? Was society sufficient?”
“Indeed,” Gabriel replied. “We had many a fine party with very pleasant company.”
“Oh, I find that difficult to believe,” Miss Bosville said, a smirk upon her red lips.
“Why is that, Miss Bosville?” asked Mrs. Worthington.
“A town as small as Stratford-upon-Avon cannot have anywhere near so fine a society as we do here, what with living so close to York,” the young woman replied. “I am certain the town is quite lacking in fine social gatherings.”
Charlotte moved to defend the town she so loved, but when Gabriel spoke first, she listened intently to his reply.
“Society is different,” he said, “but I must admit to favoring the smaller town over York.”
“However could you say such a thing, Mr. Worthington?” Miss Bosville asked her smile disappearing as Charlotte’s increased.
“Because it is the truth,” Gabriel replied simply. “York does have its merits, but the village of Stratford was quaint and refreshing compared to the busy streets of a larger city.”
“Stratford-upon-Avon is William Shakespeare’s birthplace, is it not?” Mrs. Bosville asked.
Charlotte smiled, her mood having brightened further with Gabriel’s defense of her town. “Indeed, it is. Do you take pleasure in his work?”
Before Mrs. Bosville could respond, her daughter sighed.
“Even if we considered reading to be a worthwhile pursuit,” she began, “I am certain I could never read the man’s work. I find his writing rather dull.”
“Dull?” Charlotte asked in surprise. “Do tell me how you came to such a conclusion, for I find his work quite compelling.”
Miss Bosville raised her brows, but she remained silent before her mother came to her rescue.
“I wonder, Miss Rosebury,” Mrs. Bosville began, “if your opinion of Shakespeare’s writing comes merely from living in the same area of his birthplace.”
She glanced sidelong at her daughter, but Miss Bosville seemed not to notice as she batted her eyes at Gabriel, who also appeared unaware of the attention he received.
“Oh, I have no doubt living in Stratford began my liking for his writing,” Charlotte said with a nod, “however, I have grown to discover for myself how very talented he was.”
“Well, then, Miss Rosebury,” Miss Bosville said with a forced smile, “why do you not try to convince us of how talented he was by telling us your favorite work of his?”
“To choose one favorite would be nearly impossible, however, I feel—”
“Yes, just as I thought,” Miss Bosville interrupted with an airy laugh. “You do not choose a favorite because you do not know his writings as well as you have suggested.”
The Bosvilles shared a knowing look, but Mrs. Worthington nodded in Charlotte’s direction with an encouraging smile.
“Though I would never consider myself an expert,” Charlotte said with a glance in Gabriel’s direction, her heartbeat quickening as his eyes focused upon her, “I am quite familiar with his work. I was expressing the difficulty in choosing simply one of his plays as a favorite. However, as he has written a great variety, I believe it impossible for one not to find interest in his work, whether it be a comedy, history, or tragedy, for who could not find humor in Falstaff, feel inspired by King Henry V’s impassioned battle speech, or shed tears after seeing King Macbeth’s life in ruins?
“I also enjoy his plays because love is a common theme, whether it be romantic as in the case of Romeo and Juliet, between brother and sister, like Sebastian and Viola, or between friends, Hamlet and Horatio being the perfect example. And I must say, I agree with what he writes in one of his many sonnets, that love ‘looks on tempests and is never shaken.’ Do tell me, Miss Bosville, how is one to dislike such a beautiful and true sentiment?”
Silence filled the room when Charlotte ended her words, and suddenly, her face flushed red.
“Oh, dear,” she said, ducking her head with an embarrassed grin, “I am afraid I have spoken a little too enthusiastically, have I not? I tend to do so when speaking of the man and his work.”
“Yes, we noticed,” Miss Bosville said, and Charlotte looked up to see her annoyed gaze upon her. “Had I known you admired him so, I would not have asked.”
“Well, I for one am very glad you asked, Miss Bosville,” Mrs. Worthington piped in, filling the awkward silence following the young woman’s words. “I must say, I did enjoy Shakespeare before, but now I am certain Miss Rosebury has managed to convince me to like his work even further.”
Charlotte’s grateful smile disappeared when Miss Bosville sighed.
“I am afraid I cannot say the same for myself,” the young woman said with a glance in Gabriel’s direction. “I still find the man’s work dull, if not improper.”
When Gabriel’s gaze shifted toward miss Bosville, Charlotte’s eyebrows pulled together, and she looked at the woman with a sweet smile.
“Perhaps his writing is too complex for you then, Miss Bosville,” she began. “Might I suggest to you The Family Shakespeare by Thomas Bowdler? I hear he simplifies Shakespeare’s work so delicate minds will not take offense. Perhaps the alteration will lessen the complexity of his language to be better understood.”
Charlotte regretted her pointed words instantly, especially when she reminded herself that the Bosvilles were Mrs. Worthington’s friends, but before she could rectify the matter, the subject was changed, and Charlotte promised herself to say nothing more to upset their guests further.
Gabriel watched Charlotte as her fingers fidgeted in her lap, and he could not help but wish for the Bosvilles to depart so she might feel comfortable again.
His eyes flitted to Miss Bosville, who smiled instantly up at him, but he glanc
ed away with a frown, looking instead at the droplets of rain sliding down the nearby window, thinking of Charlotte’s words.
Gabriel had always respected women of intelligence and wit, but he had not noticed how admirable, how important those traits were to him, until he saw Charlotte speaking, defending her opinion with composed assertiveness.
Important traits? he thought as his heart dropped. Why would they be important for me?
He shook his head, avoiding the answer he already knew by staring at the rain more intently, and when he felt Miss Bosville’s eyes staring at the back of him, he could not help but wish, though foolishly, that Charlotte was the one who stared.
Chapter Ten
Not long after the Bosville’s visit, the fifth of November arrived, and Charlotte found herself standing near the Worthingtons as they welcomed the continual line of guests to that evening’s festivities and bonfire.
Each person she was introduced to, Charlotte greeted with a smile, but when Miss Bosville arrived with her lavish, fur-lined pelisse and her equally well-dressed parents, they avoided her gaze entirely.
As she watched the family walk past her without so much as a nod, Charlotte found it hard to feel badly about not having made friends with Miss Bosville, especially when Mrs. Worthington had assured her earlier she need not apologize for her words.
“The Bosvilles were not entirely polite while speaking with you either, my dear,” she had said, but Charlotte’s guilt alleviated only when she had decided to befriend as many of the Worthington’s acquaintances as possible.
After all were accounted for, Charlotte made her way with the Worthingtons to the area designated for the event, bright lanterns lining the pathway away from the house and toward a large area where a small fire glowed in the darkness.
The evening progressed, and with it, the bonfire’s flames grew, log after log being thrown onto the fire until it blazed before them with enough heat to warm each of their guests.
To Warm A Wintered Heart (Regency Romance) Page 10