by Sandra Heath
It was the first time in more than a year that Charlotte had gone out in something other than black, and the experience was quite strange, as if she had forgotten something important. She wished that she were a little more fashionable, but she knew she looked well enough in her pale-green muslin dress, white cashmere shawl, and straw bonnet tied on with green-and-white-checkered ribbons. But glancing across at Sylvia, so very bang up to the mark again, she longed for a new gown so that she too could cut a dash among the elegant crowds who would be thronging the pleasure gardens.
Sylvia was in pink and white, a dainty, fringed parasol twirling prettily above her head as the open carriage drove through the warm June evening. Her spencer was unbuttoned to reveal the frilled square neckline of her white lawn gown, and her Leghorn bonnet was adorned with artificial rosebuds and shining satin ribbons. She looked almost ethereally beautiful, the paleness of the pink spencer setting off her dark coloring to absolute perfection.
At her side Richard could hardly keep his eyes off her. He was nervous, having decided to take Charlotte’s advice about not rushing Sylvia, but the only result was that he made himself edgy and uncomfortable, and far too aware of watching everything he said or did. He wore a dark-blue coat with a high standfall collar, and his starched muslin cravat sported an enviably complicated knot. He had taken a great deal of care with his dark-red hair, which was teased into fashionably disheveled curls, and he had spent an unconscionable length of time polishing his Hessian boots, which gleamed so much that Charlotte was sure she would be able to see her face in them. He crossed and uncrossed his beige corduroy legs, fidgeted with his ebony cane, adjusted the angle of his top hat, and continually flexed his fingers to tighten his already tight kid gloves. He had hardly uttered a word and looked quite wretched, and Charlotte felt desperately sorry for him.
Sylvia seemed almost oblivious to him as the carriage swept past the new villas of the Vauxhall Bridge Road, which, like the bridge itself, had only been completed the year before. To the south of them the land was laid out to market gardens and osier beds, with only a few scattered cottages dotted here and there. There were more houses the closer they came to the river, and now there were other carriages as society sallied forth to enjoy the famous pleasure gardens’ first grand display of the summer.
There was a toll to pay at the nine-arched iron bridge, and then they were crossing the glittering, broad expanse of the Thames. Downstream, beyond the span of Westminster Bridge, were the gleaming new arches of Waterloo Bridge, so soon to be opened with the great pomp and ceremony they were to witness at first hand.
Vauxhall Gardens stretched up from the riverbank, the trees, avenues, and glades illuminated by thousands of little colored lanterns, their light as yet barely discernible in the brilliance of the setting sun. There were fountains and cascades, and temples in the Baroque, Gothic, and Chinese styles. Statues in plenty adorned the paths and grottoes, with particular admiration being accorded to a fine likeness of Mr. Handel, whose music so often graced the proceedings. Elegantly dressed crowds strolled between the trees, while from the depths of the trellised, overhung path known as the Dark Walk, the squeals and giggles of young ladies could be heard as they ventured inside with their beaux.
Close to the main entrance was the magnificent Gothic rotunda, a huge building where an orchestra played on one of the balconies, and as the landau drew to a standstill, there was laughter and conversation mingling with the music in the warm evening air.
The shadows were lengthening by the minute as Richard escorted his two ladies toward the rotunda, where he had reserved a private supper box so that they could eat and enjoy the music while waiting for the fireworks to begin once darkness had fallen. It was very agreeable indeed to sit there taking iced champagne with a delicious roast-beef salad, followed by a particularly light ginger syllabub.
Richard was beginning to recover a little from his attack of nervousness, but he was still far from his usual witty, charming self, and he knew that his attempts at conversation were not having the desired effect upon the object of his love, Sylvia was attentive enough, laughing and smiling, but the reserve was there constantly. Time and time again Charlotte noticed him glance at the beautiful young woman in pink and white, and it was quite obvious that he was wondering if her heart was given elsewhere. Charlotte tried not to think about the one possibility that had so suddenly occurred to her.
It was while they were lingering over their supper that Charlotte saw Max Talgarth. He was strolling with Judith on his arm. He looked very handsome in formal evening wear, and he did not appear to be in a very good mood, for his face was dark and his eyes cold. Beside him, Judith was in an equally poor humor, her rosebud lips set in a thin line, her fan wafting busily to and fro in that angry way so eloquent of irritated ladies. She was wearing her usual yellow gold, her gown made of shining satin, and there were topazes at her throat and in her ears. A golden fillet rested across her forehead, and from it sprang tall ostrich plumes. Her costly, fringed cashmere shawl dragged carelessly along the ground behind her, and a shimmering, sequined reticule swung from her slender, white-gloved wrist. She looked very lovely, but her obviously sour temper detracted quite considerably from the otherwise impeccable effect of complete beauty.
Charlotte’s heart was beginning to rush as she watched them walk by. It was with only half an eye that she noticed how bad things seemed between them, she was too startled at seeing Max again after what seemed like an age; and she was too taken up with the realization that her dream had not lied to her, she did indeed feel more drawn to this man than to any other.
As she watched, they halted suddenly, Judith snatching her hand from his arm, two spots of high color leaping to her pale cheeks. She looked up at his impassive face and then gathered her skirts to hurry away, her plumes streaming and her shawl still dragging in the dust.
Max didn’t follow her; indeed, it was hard to tell what his reaction was. His eyes seemed almost veiled and his face was as inscrutable as it was possible to be. Knowing that he had no idea she was there, Charlotte could study him without fear of being caught. He looked manly and elegant in his charcoal velvet coat, which was so tight-fitting that it could not be buttoned and thus conceal the excellence of the tucked, frilled shirt beneath. He wore white knee breeches, silk stockings, and black, buckled shoes, and there was a chapeau bras tucked under his arm. Where was he going after this? The opera house perhaps. It had to be somewhere rather superior to warrant such formal clothes. He turned away then, walking slowly until he vanished from her sight among the crowds.
Charlotte lowered her gaze for a moment and then returned her attention to Richard and Sylvia, who had not noticed anything.
At last it was almost time for the fireworks display. They left their box to stroll with the waiting crowds on the lawns by the river. The shadows were so long and dark now that they had almost blended into one, and the lights among the trees were suddenly bright and clear, twinkling like fairyland. As the fireworks began, Charlotte found herself glancing around at the sea of illuminated faces for another glimpse of Max, but she could not see him anywhere. Perhaps he had already left because of his argument with Judith.
The fireworks were breathtaking, a dazzling extravagance of brilliant colors flashing in an indigo sky. There were girandoles and jerbs, Roman candles and Chinese fire, pots de brin and clusters of rockets, and with each successive wonder, the watching crowds gasped and clapped with delight.
Richard had gone to procure a glass of water for Sylvia when Charlotte knew instinctively that Max Talgarth was somewhere close by. She turned quickly to see him walking toward her, obviously quite intent upon speaking. Her heart thundered and she looked quickly at Sylvia, who was still engrossed in the fireworks. Should she say something to her? But even as the indecision seized her, he was there, bowing.
“Good evening, Miss Wyndham.”
“G-Good evening, Sir Maxim.”
Sylvia turned with a sharp gasp, her face g
rowing pale.
Max’s expression was impenetrable as he inclined his head to her as well. “Good evening, Miss Parkstone.”
She did not reply.
He feigned not to notice, addressing himself to Charlotte once more. “I’m glad to have seen you again, Miss Wyndham, for you’ve been on my mind a great deal of late.”
“I have?” She was taken aback.
“I intend making certain improvements at Kimber Park, and it occurred to me that before any such work commences, both you and Mrs. Wyndham might care to visit it once more.” He smiled a little, as if he were remembering the last time he had mentioned something similar to her, and the fireworks reflected in his eyes. “It so happens that I must go there myself in two days time, and I would be more than pleased to convey you there and back. That is, if you wish, of course.”
Sylvia’s angry silence was almost tangible, and Charlotte simply didn’t know what to say. She was torn, part of her desperately wishing to accept and part of her knowing that to refuse would be by far the wiser decision.
At that moment Richard returned with the glass of water for Sylvia, and it fell to Charlotte to introduce him to Max. “Richard, allow me to present Sir Maxim Talgarth. Sir Maxim, my uncle, Mr. Richard Pagett.”
Richard bowed. “Your servant, sir.”
“And yours, sir.”
“Your name is familiar to me. Are you not the new owner of Kimber Park?”
“I have that honor. As a matter of fact, it was about Kimber Park that I was speaking to Miss Wyndham.”
“Indeed?”
“I plan some improvements there and I thought that maybe she and her mother would like to see the house again before any work begins. Maybe you would like to see it as well, since you are a member of the family?”
“You’re very kind, sir,” replied Richard, smiling, “but Kimber Park did not mean so very much to me, and I know that my sister would prefer to remember it as it was. However, I know that Charlotte would love to see it again. Is that not so, Charlotte?”
“Oh. Well, I….”
Richard looked at her in surprise. “You surely do not hesitate? Come now, you know you’re always saying how much you’d like to go there again.”
She could feel embarrassed color creeping into her cheeks, and she was increasingly aware of Sylvia’s stony face and angry silence.
Richard looked reprovingly at her. “Charlotte, I’m surprised at you. Of course you must accept, especially since Sir Maxim has put himself out on your behalf.”
She felt quite dreadful, but really she had no choice now but to accept. “Forgive me if I seemed less than enthusiastic, Sir Maxim, it’s just that the generosity of your offer took me by surprise. Of course I would like to accept. Thank you.” She could feel Sylvia’s disbelieving eyes upon her and steadfastly kept her own gaze upon Max, whose thinly veiled amusement at her predicament was plain enough to her, if not to anyone else present. He must have realized that Sylvia would have regaled her with the full list of his misdemeanors, both great and small, and as on occasions in the past when her manner toward him had provoked him into toying with her, so it happened again on this occasion.
“I’m so pleased you accept, Miss Wyndham, for I’m sure you will find the visit most agreeable.”
“Yes. I’m sure.” She could feel the color deepening on her cheeks.
“As I said earlier, I will be setting off the day after tomorrow, and it my intention to leave at about eleven in the morning. Will that be convenient?”
“Perfectly.” She met his mocking eyes again.
“Excellent. Until that time, then.”
“Until then.”
“Au revoir, Miss Wyndham.” He bowed.
“Good-bye, Sir Maxim.”
He inclined his head to Richard and Sylvia and then turned to walk away.
Richard looked at Charlotte then. “You would seem to have an admirer.”
She gave a brief, embarrassed laugh. “That I doubt very much.” No, he had just been amusing himself at her expense….
“Why are you so certain I’m wrong?” Richard studied her for a moment. “Are you convinced someone like Sir Maxim would not glance at you because you aren’t attractive enough? If that is the case, then you are definitely wrong.”
“Richard, apart from many other considerations, I’m hardly the fashionable sort of young lady gentlemen like Sir Maxim seek out. Nor am I….”
“Yes?”
“Meek and mild enough.”
“Ah, well there you might have a point,” he replied, grinning. “But as to the matter of fashion, well, something can be done about that, can’t it?” He gave Sylvia the glass of water, glanced once more at his niece, and then returned his attention to the fireworks display.
Sylvia immediately took Charlotte’s arm, drawing her aside a little. “You mustn’t go to Kimber Park, Charlotte. Please change your mind.”
“But, Sylvia, it would look so very obvious if I did that.”
“Cry off. Plead illness.”
“No, Sylvia, I must go.”
“You mustn’t become involved with him.” Sylvia’s dark eyes were anxious and pleading.
“Involved?” Charlotte hoped that her voice sounded as light and unconcerned as she wanted it to. “Sylvia, I’m only going so that I can see Kimber Park again.”
Sylvia searched her face and then nodded. “Then go, if that is what you really want, but beware of him, Charlotte. He doesn’t do anything without good reason. He can be the personification of charm, as my sister found out to her cost. I couldn’t bear it if you fell under his spell as she did.”
Fell under his spell? Charlotte looked away. She was already under his spell…. But she would steel herself against it. She gazed up at the brilliant colors bursting in the velvet sky above. How much of Sylvia’s concern was the result of true friendship? And how much the result of her own love for Max Talgarth?
Chapter Ten
The following morning Charlotte awoke wishing that she hadn’t accepted the invitation to Kimber Park, especially as her mother was quite adamant about not going herself. After breakfast Richard suddenly announced that he had an appointment at the new house in Hanover Square with the admiral’s fashionable decorator friend, and to Charlotte’s astonishment he virtually insisted that she accompanied him to offer her advice. Her advice? To a gentleman as famous as Mr. Algernon Green? But Richard simply wouldn’t take no for an answer, in fact he was mysteriously determined that she went with him, and so at half-past ten they set off in the same hired landau of the evening before.
Hanover Square was very quiet and gracious, much more exclusive and elegant than Cavendish Square. Built on gently sloping land, it had a central garden containing trees and bushes, and an equestrian statue of George I. The house that had so entranced her mother occupied a site close to the northeastern corner, and was built of mellow red brick. It was a beautiful building, almost one hundred years old, its main entrance approached up a shallow flight of steps and sheltered by a magnificent columned stone porch.
Mr. Green’s carriage was already waiting as they arrived, and he was in the oval entrance hall with several builders and an architect. Sheaves of papers and plans lay on the black-and-white-tiled floor, and the men’s voices echoed around the blue walls, black marble double staircase, and the soaring columns lining the balcony of the floor above. After the little house in Henrietta Street it was palatial, the splendor of the entrance hall being worthy of Kimber Park itself.
The sought-after decorator was a round little man, evidently enjoying to the full the fruits of his popularity. He was rosy-faced and beaming, and his portly figure was tightly laced to give him a semblance of a waist, which effect he promptly ruined by wearing a quilted waistcoat of such sumptuousness and of such a bright crimson brocade that he appeared as spherical as a ball on legs. His dark-blue coat was quite obviously the work of one of London’s. finest tailors, but even the genius of a Weston could not make him elegant. He was fu
ll of ideas for the refurbishing of the house, and as Charlotte trailed around from room to room in his and Richard’s wake, she wondered why on earth Richard had been so insistent that she was there to offer her opinion. It was quite obvious that Mr. Green was not the sort of gentleman to heed the advice of amateurs, and it was equally obvious that Richard and her mother had already made the necessary basic decisions upon which the decorator would base his plans.
As she followed them through the property from cellars to attic, she had to admit that it was a very beautiful house, and she could quite understand why her mother had so swiftly become set upon having it. The reception rooms were very spacious and magnificently proportioned, offering the approving Mr. Green a great deal of scope for some very grandiose plans; and since Richard asserted that money was indeed no object, the little man was busily making notes all the time, measuring this corner, then that, and exclaiming that he had the very Chinese silk, the very shade of lavender, the most skilled plasterer to achieve this and that effect.
After a while Charlotte became quite overwhelmed by it all, paying less and less attention to what they were saying and thinking instead about her forthcoming visit to Kimber Park. She was alternately thrilled and uneasy, literally torn about how she felt. One-half of her wanted so very much to spend what amounted to a day alone with Max Talgarth; the other half was only too aware of what he might have been guilty.
“Charlotte?”
Richard’s voice at last aroused her from her thoughts. “Yes?”
He grinned. “We’ve reduced you to ennui, have we not?”
She colored a little. “No, of course not.”
Mr. Green was very gallant, drawing her hand to his lips. “Forgive us, dear lady, for we’ve been less than considerate, dragging you around without any thought. I trust only that my sins will be forgiven when you see the result of my work.”