The handsome, elegantly gowned woman waiting in an equally elegant drawing room extended a limp hand to her guest, saying languidly, "So nice to meet you, Miss Kinley. I trust you'll have a pleasant visit with us."
Manner and voice were transparent, telling Charlotte without words that Drucilla, Lady Sherborne, was not eager to welcome her son's future wife.
A servant came into the room with a whispered message for Jeffrey, who rose, saying vexedly, "Will you excuse me, Charlotte? My bailiff wishes to see me." He smiled. "Perhaps it's for the best. This will give you and Mama an opportunity to get acquainted."
"Do sit down, Miss Kinley," said the dowager when Jeffrey had left the room. "Will you have some tea? And then you must tell me about your journey from Derbyshire."
"Lancashire."
"Oh, yes. My memory, I fear, is not what it was." Handing Charlotte a cup of tea, Lady Sherborne said abruptly, "Far be it for me to interfere, Miss Kinley, but I feel I must give you my opinion. My son informs me that you and he plan to marry in the early spring. In view of your father's very recent death,
would it not be more seemly to postpone the wedding —and yes, the announcement of it, too —to a later date? One would not wish to offend public opinion, I'm sure you'll agree."
"I'd rather offend public opinion than go against my father's wishes," said Charlotte quietly. "Papa didn't want me to be alone in the world after his death. He wanted me to be married as soon as possible."
"Oh. I believe Jeffrey did say something of the sort . . ." Lady Sherborne's voice trailed away, leaving a distinct impression that, while she didn't agree with Phineas's position, she was too well-bred to say so. She noticed that Charlotte's eyes were fixed on a large portrait over the mantel. "That's Cicely," she said.
"Cicely?"
"Why, yes. Jeffrey's wife." The dowager sounded mildly surprised.
"Oh." Charlotte stared at the spun gold hair, the violet eyes, the soft rosy lips of the beautiful girl in the portrait, feeling a little stupid. Somehow, in the turmoil of the past few months, distracted by her grief for her father and the necessity to keep the mill running smoothly, she'd completely forgotten that Jeffrey was a widower. Oh, Phineas had informed her of it; Charlotte could even vaguely remember Papa saying that Jeffrey was the son-in-law of a duke. But certainly, on the few occasions they'd met during their brief courtship, Jeffrey had never spoken of his wife or even mentioned her name. Was there any significance to the omission? Well no, probably not. It would, she supposed, have been awkward for both her and Jeffrey if he'd talked at length about his wife to her successor.
"She was so lovely," sighed the dowager. "You know, I daresay, that she was Lady Cicely Layton, the daughter of the Duke of Sandridge. She and I were distant cousins. Our branches of the family have always been very close. Would you believe it, Cicely's mother and I schemed from our children's cradles that they should marry, and they did!" Lady Sherborne gave a tinkling little laugh. Then, sobering, she added, "Cicely and Jeffrey were married for such a short time. The wedding was four years ago at Christmastide. And then, little more
than two years later, she was gone. Congestion of the lungs. Jeffrey was so prostrated with grief, we feared he'd never get over his loss."
The dowager sighed again. "Last year, for example, he simply refused to come here for Christmas, even though his father hadn't been well for some time. I think now that my husband suspected he would die soon and wanted to have all his family around him for his last Christmas. As you probably know, he did die some six months later. Jeffrey must have regretted not coming here last year during the holidays, but I expect he simply didn't want to be reminded of past Christmases."
Lady Sherborne raised her eyes to the portrait again. "You see, dear Cicely had always taken such delight in the yuletide, as she liked to call it. She loved all the holiday customs, the yule log, the holly and the ivy and the mistletoe, the suckling pigs and the roasted chestnuts, the wassail bowl and the carolers. She especially loved our annual Christmas Eve party here at Cortona, when she could visit with all the friends and neighbors she hadn't been able to see while she and Jeffrey were living in London."
Charlotte set down her cup so suddenly that the cup rattled against the saucer. She didn't doubt that the mention of the annual Christmas Eve party had been deliberate. Lady Sherborne had meant to contrast the happiness of previous such celebrations with an unspoken disapproval of the announcement that would be made on this Christmas Eve. But, of course, Charlotte had already realized that the dowager's reminiscences had had a very unsubtle purpose, to convey to Charlotte how unfavorably she compared to the beautiful Cicely.
"My dear Miss Kinley, I'm keeping you here with my babbling," said the dowager with a totally unconvincing display of solicitude, "when you must be anxious to retire to your bedchamber and rest after your long journey."
Helping Charlotte dress for dinner several hours later, her abigail murmured in a voice filled with misgiving, "Oh,
ma'am, your gown does look so very plain."
Charlotte knew quite well why a dress that had seemed perfectly presentable to her abigail in Lancashire now appeared to be so inadequate. Since their arrival at Cortona, Sarah had grown steadily more impressed with the magnificence of Jeffrey's home. It wasn't hard to understand. The entire Kinley house in Bury could have fitted comfortably into two or three of the public rooms at Cortona.
"I'm in mourning, Sarah," Charlotte said shortly. "I'm not aspiring to be a fashion plate."
Nevertheless, she moved to the cheval glass to check her appearance. It was true. The gown was very plain, the handwork of a seamstress in Bury. Charlotte had stubbornly insisted on wearing mourning for Phineas for at least a few weeks until after her engagement was announced. Unfortunately, black didn't become her. It made her fresh complexion look sallow and dulled the blueness of her eyes. She studied herself critically. She had masses of curling brown hair, even features and good teeth, and a slender erect figure. She was far from being plain. She was also far from being a beauty like the golden-haired young girl in the portrait in the drawing room.
Absently Charlotte pulled on her gloves and picked up her reticule. Obviously Lady Sherborne had adored Cicely and would have preferred someone like her to be her next daughter-in-law, instead of a mill owner's daughter. Well, there was nothing Charlotte could do about the dowager's feelings. But Lady Sherborne had also indicated that Jeffrey had been very slow to recover from the loss of his wife. Charlotte paused on her way to the door of the bedchamber. Was it possible that Jeffrey still hadn't recovered from Cicely's death? Would he remember her and mourn for her this Christmas Eve while he announced his coming marriage to a woman who so little resembled her?
Straightening her shoulders, Charlotte left the bedchamber and started down the stairs. She was borrowing trouble. It was two years, after all, since Cicely's death. Time enough for Jeffrey's grief to fade. In any case, he'd never pretended that his marriage to Charlotte was a love match.
He came forward to meet her when she entered the drawing room, and her heart skipped a beat. He looked so handsome in his severely elegant evening clothes. With the slightly formal air that was beginning to be so familiar, he asked, "You're rested, I trust, from the effects of your journey?"
"Yes, thank you—" Charlotte broke off, staring in bewilderment over Jeffrey's shoulder at a young woman in a gown of lavender-colored gros de Naples. For a startled moment, Charlotte thought that the portrait over the mantel had suddenly come to life.
Jeffrey took her arm. "Charlotte, I'd like to make known to you my sister-in-law, Arabella Layton. Oh, and my brother-in-law also, Thomas Layton."
Charlotte mumbled something in answer to the introduction. Something she couldn't afterwards remember. Her mind was in a whirl. Arabella—no, it must be Lady Arabella Lay-ton. If she was Cicely's sister, she was the daughter of a duke. And her brother, a slender blond youth of about eighteen, must be Lord Thomas. Lady Arabella could almost have been the tw
in of her—older?—sister Cicely. The same spun gold hair, the same huge violet eyes, the same delicately perfect features. Lord Thomas resembled both his sisters.
Lady Arabella curtsied gracefully. "I'm happy to make your acquaintance, Miss Kinley," she said. Her brother ducked his head in a bow.
"Come now, Bella, you mustn't stand on ceremony with Charlotte," said Jeffrey firmly. "I've told you she'll soon be a member of the family."
With a sweet smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, Arabella said, "But of course. I'm so glad you've come, Charlotte."
Lady Sherborne motioned Charlotte to a seat beside her. "Such charming creatures, both of them, don't you think?" she murmured, gazing at Arabella and Thomas. "I'm delighted that their father allowed them to come to us this Christmas. As I was telling you, I've always felt so close to all of dear Cicely's family. Why, I vow I think of Arabella practically as my niece!"
As the evening progressed, Charlotte began to wonder if
Arabella and Thomas had consciously decided to bombard Jeffrey with memories of Cicely. Even when a comment or a question was directed at Charlotte, the conversation seemed inevitably to turn back to Cicely.
"Do you ride, Miss Kinley —I mean, Charlotte?" asked Thomas.
"No, I never learned."
"Oh. Cicely was a bruising rider, you know. A pretty whip, too. Arabella also handles the ribbons very well, eh, Jeffrey?"
The marquess smiled at Arabella, saying teasingly, "Indeed, our Bella is on the way to being a first-rate fiddler."
She made a little face at him. "Oh, you, Jeffrey."
"It's getting much colder," Thomas remarked a little later at the dinner table. "Today one of the gamekeepers allowed as how he smelled snow in the air. By Jove, that would be capital, snow at Christmas."
"I love snow and the cold," said Arabella, her face lighting up. "Remember, Jeffrey, how you taught me to skate several winters ago when there was ice on the pond in the village? Oh, and the Frost Fair, the year the Thames froze over. That was so much fun. Ill never forget the skating, the swings, and the skittle alleys, and the oysters and the brandy-balls and the gingerbread! We literally had to drag Cicely away, she was enjoying herself so much." She stopped short, looking suddenly stricken.
"Yes, I remember," said Jeffrey briefly. He turned to Charlotte, saying, "Perhaps you'd like to have a tour of the estate tomorrow?"
"Thank you, I'd enjoy that."
Flushing a deep red, Arabella reached blindly for her wine glass and upset it. While the servants were rushing to mop up the spill, Lady Sherborne launched into a detailed account of the number of guests expected at the Christmas Eve party. Under the cover of the dowager's small talk, Arabella gradually recovered from her embarrassment, although, when the ladies retired to the drawing room a little later, leaving the gentlemen to their port, she still appeared somewhat subdued. She went to the
pianoforte, where she sat, playing softly to herself.
Gazing at Arabella, Lady Sherborne said to Charlotte in a low voice, "Poor darling Bella, I'm sure she never meant to remind Jeffrey of hurtful memories. She simply forgot for a moment that Cicely caught a chill at the Frost Fair. It eventually went to her lungs, and several weeks later she was dead."
Was it always going to be like this, Charlotte wondered? When she became mistress of Cortona, would she hear echoes of Cicely in every conversation?
Arabella left the pianoforte when Jeffrey and Thomas entered the drawing room. Her eyes sparkling, she said, "Dear Lady Sherborne, I've the greatest favor to ask of you."
"Why, of course, my dear."
"Will you play for us to dance? With Miss Kinley—I mean, Charlotte—we have two whole couples!"
The dowager smiled indulgently. "Well, why not? Jeffrey, Thomas, will you move those two settees? There, now you'll have enough room." She seated herself at the pianoforte. "What shall I play?"
"I don't remember the name of the piece, but it goes like this . . ." Arabella hummed several bars of a song.
Lady Sherborne looked dubious. "Yes, I know the tune, but, my dear Bella, isn't that song a—a waltz?"
Arabella smiled. "Oh, dear, have I shocked you? So many people think the waltz isn't quite the thing, because the patronesses at Almack's won't allow it to be performed there. But Maurice Ventnor—he's my great friend Susan's brother—was an aide to Lord Wellington at the Congress of Vienna, and Maurice swears that before long the waltz will be danced everywhere. In any case, we're quite private here. Nobody will see us."
"Minx," said Lady Sherborne fondly. "You could charm the birds from the trees." She made no further objection but began playing a lively waltz tune.
Making it quite clear, Charlotte thought, who would be dancing with whom, Arabella put her hand on the marquess's arm. She said roguishly, "Jeffrey, I won't believe you if you tell me you don't know how to dance the waltz."
The marquess's eyes crinkled with amusement. "Bella, you little wretch, are you insinuating I spend my leisure hours in questionable haunts? You'll have Charlotte thinking me a frippery fellow with no regard for the convenances!" But he put his arm around Arabella's slender waist and led her out into the cleared space in the middle of the floor. With a catch in her throat, Charlotte had to admit that they were as graceful as drifting thistledown as they moved through the patterns of the dance.
"Miss Kinley? I mean, Charlotte?" Thomas Layton stepped in front of Charlotte with a jerky bow.
"I'm sorry. 1 don't know how to waltz. I fear we're much behind the times in Lancashire."
Thomas held out his hand. "I'll show you. The steps aren't difficult."
The steps were indeed simple enough, Charlotte thought after several agonizing minutes in Thomas's wooden embrace, during which he stomped on the toes of her delicate silken slippers, but Cicely's brother was no dabster on the dance floor. Heaven help the young ladies at Almack's when he was unleashed against them! "Could we stop, Thomas?" she said with a smile. "You're an excellent teacher, but I'm quite tired after my long journey."
She sat down to watch Jeffrey and Arabella, thinking how perfectly they moved together. At the end of the dance, they happened to pause beneath the cut-glass luster from which was suspended an arrangement of holly and mistletoe.
"Watch out, Bella, you're right under the kissing bush," Thomas chortled.
Her startled expression fading into a smile, Arabella looked up at Jeffrey. "My dear Bella, I'm not such a ninnyhammer that I'd neglect such a golden opportunity," he said with a laugh. He put his arms around her in an enveloping hug and kissed her on the lips. Then, still laughing, he walked over to Charlotte, extending his hand as Lady Sherborne began playing another waltz tune. "May I have the pleasure?"
He is so obviously being dutiful, making sure I don't feel left out, thought Charlotte with a pang. If I should dance with
him, right after he's danced with Arabella, he'll compare the two of us and come to the conclusion that I have two left feet. And I don't want to get too close to him. If we should stop anywhere near the kissing bush, with everyone looking at us . . . She suppressed her disjointed thoughts, saying coolly, "Thank you, but, as I was just telling Thomas, the waltz hasn't yet penetrated to the wilds of Lancashire. Another time, perhaps? After I've learned the steps? I collect you wouldn't wish me to make a cake of myself!"
Jeffrey raised an eyebrow. "You're being much too modest."
"No, not at all. Simply realistic. But do go on dancing with Arabella. It's a pleasure to watch you."
He gave her a long look. Did he suspect the welter of emotions behind her calm facade? Could he have any idea of the wave of jealousy that had swept over her when he embraced Arabella under the kissing bush?
"Oh, I think we've had enough of dancing for tonight," he said easily. "What about a game of whist? Or perhaps you'd prefer backgammon? But I must warn you, my mother is so devoted to her whist game that she might become violent if we thwart her!"
Fortunately for Charlotte's self-esteem, she was a very
fair whist player. At the end of the evening, the dowager bestowed on her new partner a few words of faintly grudging praise. "Very well done, my dear Charlotte. Of course, we must admit that we held excellent cards."
As the party was about to separate for the night, Jeffrey said casually, "If you're not too tired, Charlotte, may I suggest a stroll to the conservatory?"
Arabella opened her mouth and closed it again without speaking. Lady Sherborne said with an air of faint disapproval, "I would have thought the conservatory could wait until tomorrow. . . . But there, I'll say good night, my dear Charlotte. Don't let Jeffrey keep you from your bed too late."
Charlotte walked out of the great central hall with Jeffrey and down a long glass-enclosed corridor lit by hanging lamps. They were quite alone, but Charlotte had a sudden vision of hordes of servants lurking in all corners of the great house,
waiting to extinguish the lights after the family had retired for the night. She wanted to laugh at the contrast between her home in Bury—where, more often than not, she, not a servant, was the one who made the last rounds at night, snuffing out the candles and lamps—and this vast establishment. Then her amusement faded as she reflected that one day soon she'd be the mistress of Cortona, and the servants would be waiting for her to retire for the night.
The conservatory was very large, dimly lit by hanging lamps and pervaded by the moist earthy smell of growing things. There was a palm tree in the corner, and Charlotte could see slips of pineapple and ripening grapes on a trellis, but mainly the greenhouse seemed to be devoted to flowers and shrubs.
"My mother likes fresh flowers in the house all year around," Jeffrey observed. He motioned to some bright red, funnel-shaped flowers. "She's locally famous for her fuchsias."
"Lovely," murmured Charlotte. The sweet, beguiling scent of mignonette filled the air, making her feel lightheaded. Or was it Jeffrey? He was standing several feet away from her, and in the dim light she couldn't really see his face clearly, but she was so acutely aware of him physically that she might have been touching him.
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