by Sally James
Then more visitors were announced, and Charlotte found herself looking up into the smiling face of a handsome young man in hussar uniform.
“Jack!” she exclaimed. “I did not know you were in London! Are you on leave?”
He grinned down at her, an infectious grin. Jack Weare was tall, slim, and his dark hair, just as curly and unruly as Charlotte’s, made him appear younger than his twenty-two years. He was in a cavalry regiment, and from all Charlotte had heard, was doing well. Though now there was peace, she supposed, there would be fewer chances of promotion.
“Cousin Charlotte! You look well. Yes, I’m on leave, and heard you’d just arrived in town.”
“You remember Elizabeth Maine, our neighbor in Sussex?”
“Of course, though it is a couple of years since we met,” Jack responded, and smiled down at Elizabeth, drawing a flirtatious smile from her, and a fluttering of her lashes.
Soon, to Charlotte’s relief, Mrs Maine and Elizabeth departed, for she had found it hard to curb her tongue as she watched Elizabeth coquetting with Jack in such a shameless manner. She was able to demand of Jack all his news, for they had not met for over a year. He satisfied her and then, with a quizzical air, asked her what she had against Miss Maine.
“Oh, she is unbearable!” Charlotte burst out. “She is making Harry so unhappy, for she encourages him to believe she cares for him while making it plain she will marry the greatest fortune or most elevated title she can catch! And she flirts so outrageously! Why, did you not see how ready she was to flirt with you, and you’d not met for years?”
“I should not be concerned. Doubtless Harry does no more than flirt himself,” Jack said reassuringly.
“Oh no, it is serious, he has offered for her several times! But you must not let him know I told you that, for I—discovered it accidently, and he does not know I know.”
“How did this come about?” he asked, eyeing her suspiciously, and she related her escapade when Elizabeth had come to call on them and she had hidden in the other saloon.
“I did not mean to eavesdrop, truly I did not, but you must see that once he had started I could scarcely come out and embarrass him.”
“Little wretch,” he commented. “That’s the sort of trick you would have played years ago.”
“She said openly she would marry him if he were heir to Rowanlea. How can she be so mercenary?” Charlotte demanded. “It is so unfair! But he wants her, so what am I to do?”
“Don’t try to do anything,” he warned. “You’ll only get into a worse scrape, and annoy Harry. I’ve no doubt he’ll soon come about,” he added, and with an encouraging pat on the shoulder promised to take her for an airing in his phaeton the following day if she cared to drive with him, then strolled across to take his leave of Lady Weare.
Chapter 4
A few days later they went to dinner with Rosalie, Lady Brand, Harry’s younger sister who had married three years earlier and had invited them to her house in Brook Street.
It was a family dinner, but afterwards several friends had been invited for music and cards, and Charlotte found herself on friendly terms with most of them, having already met them at the various functions she had attended, or been introduced to them while driving or riding in the Park. After some time, however, she found herself sitting beside a small, vivacious French woman, who explained she was visiting her cousin, one of Rosalie’s friends, now hostilities between the two countries had ceased and travel was again possible.
“It seems so long since last I was in England! Sally, my cousin, was then a schoolgirl, and now she has a growing family herself. I wished to leave ten years ago when it was still possible, but my husband, he would not agree, and somehow he has contrived so that we have not lost all our estates.” She sighed. “It is hard to compromise with one’s ideals, but when it is a matter of preserving what one can of an inheritance, what else can one do? But tell me about yourself. Lady Brand is your cousin, no? And the man you were talking with earlier, who is so dark like you, he is your brother?”
“No, he is Rosalie’s brother, Harry Norville.”
“Norville? A French name. I once met a family of that name, or rather a widow, in Chartres. Such a pity that the little boy died.”
“Little boy?” Charlotte exclaimed. “Oh, Madame, when was this? What was his name? How old was he?”
“Oh, that I cannot recall. I am not even sure I have the name correctly, and yet—it seems familiar. Why are you so concerned?”
“My aunt, Lady Norville, was French, and was widowed ten, no, nine years ago. She had a son, who would then have been twelve, and we have heard nought from them since my uncle died,” Charlotte explained. “Oh, I beg of you, may I call Harry and Rosalie, and will you tell them what you have told me?”
The lady willingly did so, though she repeated her warning that she might be wrong after so many years.
“It might not have been your poor cousin,” she said, shaking her head. “I did not live there, I was visiting my sister, and I met the poor mother only once, and do not think I met the little boy at all. It was knowing I had met her, my sister told me that the son had died. Her only child, I think. But was it a boy? I regret, I cannot remember with certainty! I certainly do not remember his given name, or any reference to England. And Norville could belong to a French family. I should not repine, no doubt your cousin is safe and well, and will soon be coming to England, as I have. It would be too great a coincidence, n’est pas, if it were to have been your cousin?”
“Can you recall nothing more, Madame?” Harry asked urgently. “We are most anxious to trace our cousin, and any hint, any possibility of finding the family, even if they prove to be dead, would be of great value to us. My father has sent an agent into France, but after the troubles, and the war, when no doubt many families have split up, or moved to different parts of the country, he may not be able to trace them, or discover their fate.”
“I am sorry. The more I try to think back to those times, the more confused and uncertain I grow.”
“Might we have your sister’s direction, and write to her? She would know more, doubtless,” Rosalie suggested.
“I fear not, for she died herself a few years later, in childbirth, and her husband is also dead.”
“Your husband?” Harry said, with faint hopes still, but she shook her head.
“He was not with me on that visit, and would know less than I. But you could make enquiries there, in Chartres. I can furnish you with the names of some people who knew my sister; some of them might still be there.”
“Thank you, Madame, we will be most grateful. How do you find England after so long an absence?”
They chatted politely about other things, but Charlotte could scarcely wait until they were back in Grosvenor Square to discuss it all with Harry. He was not very forthcoming, saying it was most likely a hum, the woman had been so uncertain she had most likely got half her facts wrong, it had been a long time ago, and it would prove to be a false trail.
“But you must send after the agent and tell him to make enquiries,” Charlotte persisted.
“There must be many families of the name in France, and we cannot investigate every one. Why are you so excited? Do you wish to prove Frederick dead?”
“I want to be certain!” she exclaimed. “Of course I do not wish for any such thing, but if he is dead, then surely the sooner we know the better.”
“If he were not, he would have been to see us by now, you’d have thought, taking the first package from Boulogne. That is, if he cared aught for Rowanlea,” Harry said gloomily.
“Oh, he did, even as a boy,” Charlotte exclaimed. “He loved it, and knew it so well. Even I can recall that.”
Seeing he was torn between hope that Elizabeth would accept him if he became the heir, and shame at hoping his cousin would prove to be dead, Charlotte attempted to divert him by telling him of James’ adventure, but his only response to her amusing account was to say James would get a thrashi
ng from him if he allowed the dog to excite his horses.
* * * *
Lady Weare and Charlotte received several morning callers the next day, including Jack, who had been driving in the Park when he met Harry exercising his greys, and accompanied him home. They were just bidding the last caller farewell when Mrs Maine and Elizabeth were announced. Charlotte cast a meaningful look at Jack, and he watched Harry with interest, for this was the first time he had been able to observe Harry and Elizabeth together.
After greeting her hostess, Elizabeth smiled at Jack, then seated herself beside Harry, looking so confidingly up into his face he was emboldened to ask her to drive with him that afternoon. Modestly veiling her eyes for an instant, she thanked him and asked him to call for her in Bruton Street. Then she chatted with him and Jack until, seeing her mother was about to leave, she rose. Mrs Maine smiled and nodded to Harry.
“Just been to call on Lady Brand,” she said affably. “Odd, that tale she was telling me about your cousin dying as a lad in Chartres. Good day to you, and Charlotte. Mr Weare, I am having a small dress party on the sixteenth, I’ll send you a card.”
“How strange Elizabeth did not mention calling on Rosalie,” Charlotte said after they had taken their leave. “Mrs Maine seems to have assumed it was Frederick in Chartres.”
“It most likely was not,” Harry said curtly and left the room.
Charlotte looked after him. It was obvious to her that, Mrs Maine having heard of the increased possibility of Harry’s inheriting Rowanlea, she had hastened round to encourage his interest in Elizabeth. This suspicion was sharpened when Elizabeth, explaining her mother had some shopping to do in Bond Street, and she did not wish to accompany her, called on Charlotte the following morning. Lady Weare was out, and Charlotte had been poring over some issues of fashion journals in the morning room when Elizabeth was announced. They chatted about the latest styles for a few minutes before Harry walked into the room, to receive a dazzling smile from Elizabeth.
“Is your race fixed?” she asked.
“What race is this?” Charlotte queried.
Harry glanced at her briefly.
“Oh, Jack,” he said, as though that were sufficient explanation. “Yes, we made the arrangements this morning,” he added, speaking to Elizabeth. She turned to Charlotte.
“When we were driving in the Park yesterday your cousin, Mr Weare, met us. He had just bought a pair of chestnuts, and he claimed they were faster than Harry’s greys, so Harry challenged him. When is it to be, and where?”
“A week today, on the Portsmouth road.”
“Oh, how I wish I could see it!” Elizabeth exclaimed.
Harry laughed suddenly.
“You would not see much, just a flash as we drove past any point you selected.”
“How disappointing.”
“We ought to wear favors! Will you permit me to wear yours?”
Elizabeth gazed at him, then bit her lip coquettishly.
“I ought to be unbiased,” she said, and laughingly shook her head when Harry began to point out the improbability of Jack’s winning the race.
“I’d rather drive in it with you,” Charlotte said. “Why do you not take Elizabeth and I can go with Jack? We can blow the horn to make them open the toll gates.”
Elizabeth shuddered.
She’s afraid when it’s a matter of her driving in a race, Charlotte thought scornfully.
“I’m not at all enamored of carriage races,” she said. “They can cause dreadful accidents.”
“No,” Harry said. “I am not taking anyone apart from Pritchard.”
Was he afraid Elizabeth might take a tumble, she wondered. But the notion of being involved in the race had taken hold of her and she determined to ask Jack to permit her to drive with him. If he agreed to take her then Elizabeth would probably be willing to drive with Harry.
He was still enumerating the good points of his pair when James came into the room, his dog at his heels. This animal, far whiter than when he had arrived, wagged an amiable tail at Charlotte and Harry, and seeing a stranger, bounded with friendly curiosity across the room to plant a large hairy paw on Elizabeth’s knee and rest his large head upon it, tongue hanging out, panting blissfully at her.
James and Charlotte laughed at the picture presented, and Harry was smiling, but the smile was wiped off his face when Elizabeth, uttering a startled whimper, shrank back in her chair and covered her face with her hands.
“Take him off! Take him off!” she implored, her voice rising to a scream, and began to scream in good earnest when the dog, feeling further advances were obviously called for, tried to lick her face.
“Wolf! Down boy! Come here!” James ordered, and then tried to reassure Elizabeth the dog would not hurt her, was the friendliest possible animal, and only wanted her to pat him.
Harry had meantime risen from his chair, and he strode across the room, seized the dog by the scruff of its neck, and dragged it away from Elizabeth.
“Out!” he ordered indiscriminately to James and the dog.
James looked at them in amazement.
“But he was only being friendly! You like him, Harry, you know he wouldn’t hurt her. I must say,” he continued, looking scornfully at Elizabeth who lay back shuddering in her chair, “I didn’t think you were so chicken-hearted. You’ve got dogs at home, surely? Can’t you recognize a friendly dog? You behave as though he really were a wolf. Alright, I’m going,” he added, retreating towards the door as Harry advanced purposefully on him. “Come on, Wolf, we’ll go somewhere you’re appreciated!”
He dragged the dog out just in time to escape Harry’s vengeance, and Harry turned back into the room to find Charlotte dissolved into giggles while Elizabeth, emitting low moans, lay with her eyes closed.
“Charlotte! How can you be so heartless? Get some smelling salts, or hartshorn, or something,” he said distractedly. “It’s safe now, Elizabeth, they’ve gone,” he went on, moving towards Elizabeth.
“But it was funny!” Charlotte gasped. “And I must say James was right, it was hen-hearted of Elizabeth to behave in so craven a fashion. Oh, she’ll recover soon enough. Don’t fret so.”
Frowning, Harry knelt beside Elizabeth’s chair and began gently to chafe her hands. She gave a shuddering sob, and clasped his hands convulsively. Charlotte surveyed the scene in disgust.
“Your eyes will be red and puffy soon if you don’t stop,” she informed Elizabeth coolly, at which remark Elizabeth sniffed and sat up straight. She glared across at Charlotte.
“It’s all very well for you, you have no sensibility, and in any event, you knew the wretched beast! He—he seemed like some monster, hurling himself at me! Oh, you are odious. Harry, please take me home.”
“Yes, yes, of course I will, when you have calmed yourself. Charlotte, I must say you are behaving with a total lack of regard for your guest’s comfort. You might pour some wine. Would you care for some hartshorn and water?” he asked Elizabeth solicitously. “I believe that is what Aunt Sophia uses when she has the headache. Charlotte, do you know where she keeps it?”
Charlotte, realizing her remiss behaviour, had poured a glass of wine and she now brought it across.
“I think this will be enough,” she said. “I do apologize for laughing, Elizabeth, for I see you were truly frightened. But Wolf meant no harm, you know. I hope you will not blame James, for he was not to know you were here, or that you would be so terrified.”
Elizabeth smiled wanly and sipped at the wine.
“My nerves are shattered,” she said in a low voice. “I—I have never been overfond of dogs, especially large ones,” she attempted to explain.
“Harry usually has several dogs about him all the time in the country,” Charlotte said casually.
“We have them too, but not in the house. What a horrid name,” she added, smiling tremulously at Harry. “Wolf. It is frightening!”
“We think his type is used for wolf hunting in Russia,” Charlot
te explained, and told Elizabeth how James had acquired the dog.
Elizabeth made polite rejoinders, then a tart comment that she was surprised James was permitted to wander in all the nastiest parts of the town. She turned to Harry and said she was calm enough now to be taken home, and he sent for his curricle, promising that when her mother’s maid called for her she would be given a message. Charlotte watched them go, thinking how odd it was that Harry, who normally had no patience with people who were afraid of dogs, seemed to have had his protective instincts aroused by Elizabeth’s feeble behavior.
* * * *
Two days later there was an important ball, and Charlotte wore her first really grand ball dress of pale silver gauze, with an underdress of white silk embroidered with pale blue. Her mother, surveying her proudly, thought there could not have been another girl so fresh and attractive, for although Charlotte lacked classical beauty, her sparkling eyes and the red lips that curved into the most enchanting smile gave her a most pleasing vivacity, and her ready appreciation of everything humorous, coupled with instant sympathy for real distress, made her a charming companion.
Many of the men at the ball seemed to share that opinion, for she was besieged by would-be partners, and several men previously strangers contrived to win introductions to her. Charlotte herself was unconcerned, and bestowed her hand for the first dance on Jack. During it, in between the movements of the country dance which frequently separated them, she gave him a graphic but disjointed account of the disastrous meeting between Elizabeth and Wolf.
“Harry escorted her home and has said nought about it since. I think he took her driving again yesterday, but he does not say where he has been.”
“No, he did not, for I did,” Jack replied. “He saw us and looked daggers, but I pretended not to have seen him and did not stop.”
“Don’t make him jealous of you!” Charlotte said in alarm. “Oh, look, there she is, just come in. Where is Harry?”