Waltzing with the Earl

by Catherine Tinley

  The Captain seemed much more likeable. His open countenance and smiling blue eyes reminded her of many young officers she had met through her father’s career. Since her seventeenth birthday, when she had been home from school, she had acted as her father’s hostess at dinners, parties and even a grand ball. It felt strange to act the debutante again—although here in London that was exactly what she was.

  Lord Shalford addressed his hostess. ‘We have come today with a specific purpose in mind.’

  ‘Adam, must you be so formal?’ His brother laughed.

  ‘It seems I must, Harry,’ replied the Earl. ‘As you may know, Mrs Buxted, since my father’s death last year I have been busy with paperwork, death duties, and ensuring that my father’s—that is to say, my estate—is well-managed and that I understand its workings. As the eldest son I had naturally already had some dealings with my father’s steward, but I still have much to learn.’

  ‘Indeed—and I am sure the estate is safe in your more than capable hands.’ Mrs Buxted showed a smile which did not quite reach her eyes. A gleam of curiosity lit them, making her look strangely calculating for a second.

  ‘Well, only time will show. But to the purpose of my visit today—’

  ‘Yes, do get on with it, Adam.’

  The Captain made a childish face at Charlotte, whose eyes danced in mischievous response. Their exchange was noted, causing Charlotte a moment’s discomfort as the Earl’s grey eyes pierced her with a keen glance.

  She raised her eyebrows, undaunted, though she was assailed by the unexpected memory of old Lord Carmby, an arrogant diplomat who had crossed Charlotte’s path in Vienna. His caustic put-downs had alienated all who knew him there. He had once called Charlotte ‘a forward, opinionated brat’ when she had daringly questioned his views on a political matter. Luckily, Papa had not been within earshot. Hmmm... She hadn’t been made to feel like a child for a long time. Anger began to burn in her chest.

  ‘Now we are out of mourning, I think it is important for the family—indeed, for everyone at Chadcombe—that we resume normality. My father was ill for a long time, and as you may know my mother died three years before him. So I have decided to invite a small party of friends to Chadcombe after Parliament rises. My great-aunt—Miss Langley—has kindly agreed to act as hostess. I would be delighted if you and your family—and your guest, of course—’ he glanced at Charlotte ‘—would agree to visit.’

  ‘Visit Chadcombe?’ Henrietta came to life, an excited smile lighting her face.

  Mrs Buxted sent a quelling glance to her elder daughter. ‘Of course we should be delighted to visit Chadcombe. It is an age since we were in Surrey—almost a year ago, I believe. We have not visited Monkton Park since last summer. To stay in Chadcombe would be unusual, since our estates are so close together, but we are grateful for your invitation.’

  Henrietta explained to Charlotte. ‘My grandfather’s sister left Monkton Park to us two years ago. It adjoins Chadcombe’s lands to the east.’

  Mrs Buxted continued. ‘We inspected the place when my aunt died, and have visited occasionally.’ She turned to Lord Shalford. ‘We could not call on the third Earl—your father—because of his illness. Monkton Park is a pretty little estate, though we prefer our main home, near Melton Mowbray. Monkton Park has been left to whichever of our daughters is married first, although the old lady positively doted on dear Henrietta.’

  Henrietta smiled slightly.

  ‘Of course that question has never been in doubt, for Henrietta is the elder...and so pretty. My aunt clearly intended she should have the estate. And so she shall—just as soon as she is married!’

  The room was silent. Charlotte looked down at her own hands, which were clasped so tightly the knuckles were white.

  Aunt Buxted, oblivious, continued after a pause. ‘I shall of course check with Mr Buxted, but I am almost certain we have as yet no fixed engagements for July.’

  Henrietta said nothing, but Charlotte, glancing across, saw a triumphant gleam in her eyes. This, then, was what she wanted.

  ‘Excellent,’ said the Earl. Turning to Henrietta, who quickly adopted an innocent, guileless expression, he added, ‘And you, Miss Buxted? Will you be happy to visit my home?’

  ‘Indeed I shall, Lord Shalford.’ Her voice was quiet, well-modulated, gentle.

  The Earl nodded approvingly—satisfied, it seemed, with her muted response.

  Charlotte suppressed a smile. If he had seen Henrietta earlier, shouting shrilly at Faith about a length of ribbon, he might not be so sanguine. Charlotte had been glad to go riding, simply to avoid the tantrum. Henrietta, she had realised, was much indulged by Mrs Buxted, and as the elder—and prettier—daughter, held prime importance in her mother’s mind.

  The pliant Faith was expected to sacrifice any treat or privilege if Miss Henrietta desired it strongly enough. Including, it seemed, the chance to marry an earl. Charlotte had gently suggested that Faith be stronger in standing up for herself. Faith, admitting she was easily crushed by unkindness, had vowed to try.

  The men took their leave a few moments later, as was correct. The Captain bowed to Charlotte, expressing the wish to see her again soon, while Lord Shalford nodded his head perfunctorily. Mrs Buxted watched closely, her eyes narrowed.

  When they had gone, she turned immediately to Henrietta in triumph. ‘My dear Henrietta, this is good news.’ She smiled sweetly at her elder daughter. ‘We are all included, but it is clear the invitation is especially for you. If you make the most of this opportunity, he will declare himself at Chadcombe.’

  ‘Oh, Mama. He did ask me particularly if I should enjoy visiting his home, did he not? Just think—Chadcombe. The Fanton estate. And I am to be mistress of it!’

  ‘Now, my dear, do not think you have already won him. You must secure him first. Though I dare say any man in England would be delighted to wed you—with your beauty, your pedigree, and your ladylike demeanour.’

  And your property! Charlotte thought, then chided herself for being uncharitable. Monkton Park was clearly part of the marriage deal. And with a handsome dowry as an added sweetener, Henrietta would be an attractive prospect to any suitor.

  Priddy had told Charlotte already that the Buxteds’ Melton Mowbray estate, as well as the townhouse, was entailed on Mr Buxted’s heir—a distant cousin living in Leicester with a wife and a brood of children—so there would be nothing for Faith apart from her dowry.

  Charlotte reflected that the Fantons did not look as if they were in need of rich wives—they behaved with the confidence of the wealthy, and their clothes were of the finest quality—but money was certainly a consideration for many men looking for a bride on the marriage mart.

  She did not know what her own dowry was to be. The question was not one which had much occupied her. But since arriving in London, and seeing the Buxteds’ preoccupation with weddings and dowries and money, she had abruptly realised she did not exactly know how wealthy her father was. Living in different places across the continent, they had always seemed to have enough money, and she had never wanted for anything.

  Her aunt, it seemed, knew more about it than she did herself.

  ‘I have asked my husband about your dowry, Charlotte,’ she had said bluntly after dinner last night. ‘He tells me that he imagines your fortune will be modest, due to debts from your grandfather. He believes Sir Edward will have put away a little money over the years, out of his soldier’s pay, but he is sure it is not a substantial amount.’

  Charlotte had been taken aback by her aunt’s frankness. Papa never talked about money, and it had never been clear to her how much independent wealth he had. There was the family home in Shawfield, which she had not seen since she was twelve, and which had been rented out for many years. She vaguely remembered talk of mortgages, and had formed the impression that her grandfather had not been prudent
with money—which fitted with the Buxteds’ conclusions.

  In Austria, Herr Lenz, Papa’s man of business, had certainly been exceptionally active on his behalf, but Charlotte simply did not know exactly how things stood. Nor had she thought about it until now. This was the effect of being in England and seeing Aunt Buxted’s blatant manoeuvrings on behalf of her daughters.

  Papa had made a banker’s draft over to Uncle Buxted for Charlotte’s pin money and expenses in London, and had offered to pay for the stabling of her horse, though this had been politely declined by Uncle Buxted. Her uncle had written to Papa just before Charlotte had left for England, to say he would not accept a penny for Charlotte’s keep, but would be happy to act as banker for her during her stay.

  Charlotte wondered now if her uncle had been trying to be kind, if he thought Papa could not afford to pay. Her back stiffened and she tightened her lips.

  ‘Oh, Mama! Did you notice how he looked at me? And how he asked me particularly if I should be happy to visit? He had eyes for no one else.’

  Henrietta’s excited voice brought Charlotte back to the present. Her cousin was flushed with success, and Charlotte guessed there would be little else talked of today.

  Suddenly unable to stomach Henrietta’s glee, Charlotte excused herself, saying she needed to practise her music. Walking lightly down the stairs on her way to the morning room, which housed a fine pianoforte, she was surprised to see the two gentlemen only just leaving. They had clearly been waiting for their carriage to be brought round. The brothers did not see her, but she was able to hear a snatch of conversation between them as they left the house.

  ‘...guest is a charming girl.’

  ‘Perhaps—though she is a little impudent. Another silly girl, like all the rest.’

  ‘Really, Adam, at least she shows spirit. I cannot understand how you can prefer—’

  Impudent? Silly? Such was the Earl’s opinion of her? There could be no other possible interpretation.

  Oh, I hope he marries Henrietta! she thought, and images of marital disharmony momentarily soothed her wounded pride before she was struck by the ridiculousness of the situation and, laughing to herself, continued on her way.

  Chapter Three

  True to his word, Captain Fanton arrived at Buxted House the next morning on a well-balanced grey stallion. Unexpectedly, his older brother was with him, also mounted on an impressive thoroughbred—though his was all black, and sidling impatiently outside the house.

  Charlotte’s heart sank. The Arrogant Earl!

  ‘Hold, Velox,’ he said, turning the stallion in circles to quiet him.

  They had timed their call well, for Charlotte had just left the house for her morning ride with her groom. She was wearing a dashing riding habit in dark blue velvet, finished with fashionable military epaulettes and silver buttons. Her striking outfit was completed by a tall shako set at a rakish angle.

  ‘You look charming, Miss Wyncroft,’ said the Captain, his eyes full of admiration as she mounted Andalusia with Joseph’s assistance. ‘And your mare is a fine specimen. Do your cousins accompany us?’

  ‘Not today—though they did express a wish to ride on another morning. I am sorry to disappoint you. They have gone shopping.’

  Though if Henrietta had known the Earl would come...

  ‘Ah, the favourite pastime of females.’

  The Earl was all politeness but, remembering his opinion of her yesterday, Charlotte could not ignore the implied criticism.

  ‘Not me,’ she said, ‘I am most unnatural, I fear.’

  Joseph, now mounted, followed them as they moved slowly towards the park.

  ‘What? Do you not enjoy shopping at all?’ asked the Earl. ‘It seems to me that young women, when they are not flirting or gossiping, are talking about ribbons and hats and fashion plates.’

  Charlotte bit back the retort which was on the tip of her tongue, instead asking mildly, ‘And do you not take pleasure in seeing a well-dressed lady?’

  ‘Of course. A beautiful lady is an ornament to be admired!’

  An ornament! ‘And can we be more?’

  He looked confused.

  Amused, she gave him a sunny smile, and he blinked.

  ‘I enjoy dressing well, Lord Shalford—as I think you do, too.’ She swept her eyes over his tight-fitting buckskins, well-made coat and highly polished boots. ‘In order for we ladies to be well turned out, we do not rely on our tailor and our valet. We must consider, and design, and choose the best fabrics, dressmakers and milliners, and we also have to worry about how things will match. There is no little skill in it.’

  He considered this. ‘So the enjoyment of shopping is a necessity?’

  ‘In a way. Many ladies enjoy it, but it cannot be described as the favourite pastime of all females, for it is certainly not my favourite. I had much rather be out like this, riding, than stuck in a haberdashery.’

  He looked sceptical, but let it pass.

  Captain Fanton, as if surprised by his brother’s garrulity, intervened. ‘You are certainly unusual, Miss Wyncroft. Tell me, is it because of your upbringing in military circles?’

  Charlotte, pleased with her small victory over the Arrogant Earl, smiled at Harry. ‘I suppose so. I have been around military and diplomatic families my whole life. I was born in Portugal, and I have lived in many different places. It was, I think, a good childhood—though I don’t know anything else.’

  ‘And you speak Portuguese?’

  ‘Yes. I’m afraid I can speak French, German, Italian, Spanish and Portuguese. It is a terrible thing, I know, to be thought a bluestocking, when in reality I never learned any of them, I just...knew them.’

  ‘Perfectly understandable,’ said the Captain. ‘Fear not, I should not take you for a bluestocking. Why, bluestockings are dowdy!’

  Charlotte laughed. ‘I must thank you both for including me in your invitation to Chadcombe—even if I may be seen as a bluestocking. I am looking forward to it. It is in Surrey, I believe?

  ‘Yes,’ said the Earl, ‘between Godalming and Guildford. There have been Fantons there for nearly four hundred years.’

  ‘Godalming—I stayed at a posting inn there on my way to London. I thought it a most pretty town. They are building a new town hall with a pepperpot roof.’

  ‘That’s it. It replaces the old market house, which has stood there since the Middle Ages.’

  ‘And is your house—er—medieval?’

  The Earl’s eyes narrowed. ‘Now, Miss Wyncroft, I think you are trying to fence with me. Are you asking me the age of the house, or whether it is ancient, decrepit and devoid of modern conveniences?’

  She laughed lightly. ‘Is it not the same thing?’

  ‘No, it is not—and you know it! To answer both your questions...the original medieval house is now used for stabling. My grandfather built the present house—and nearly went bankrupt doing so. It was his obsession.’ His eyes fired a challenge to hers. ‘It has modern water closets and a new closed oven.’

  ‘I shall simply die from excitement! A closed oven! Why, I have never seen such a thing!’

  The Captain, observing their repartee with some amazement, said, ‘Miss Wyncroft, if I had known you were so interested in domestic devices I should have invited you to tour an oven-maker’s or some such thing.’

  ‘Oh, please don’t. I much prefer this ride in Green Park. Tell me, Captain, do you spend much time at Chadcombe?’

  ‘I am there when I can be. These few years, since our mother died and our father became ill, have been difficult. I have been away with my regiment for most of the past two years. Much of the burden has rested on Adam’s shoulders.’

  His brother nodded, acknowledging the truth of the Captain’s words. ‘My father worked hard to restore our fortunes, and the sta
bility of the estate, but was ill for the last years of his life and unable to give the necessary attention to the estate. My task is to make sure the place can thrive once again. There are many families—not just ours—who rely on it.’

  ‘I just wish you could relax and enjoy life once in a while, Adam.’

  ‘I am content, Harry. I do not need to.’

  ‘Agreed. But you might enjoy it.’

  Charlotte felt a twinge of unexpected sympathy. Lord Shalford had put duty first. This she understood. Even if the man was horribly proud and judgemental. And arrogant.

  The Captain turned to Charlotte again. ‘Miss Wyncroft, tell me—when you were with the Army, did you perhaps meet my friend Captain Jack Harris? We served with the Thirtieth, in the Peninsula.’

  ‘You mean Parson Jack?’

  ‘Lord, that soubriquet followed him everywhere! Such a prosy fellow, but with a good heart.’

  ‘In the Peninsula he was always in the company of Captain Burnett.’

  ‘Yes. We three were best friends at school. Did you also meet Major Cooke?’

  ‘I did—many times. He is a particular friend of my father.’

  She and Captain Fanton continued to converse easily as they progressed to Green Park, while Lord Shalford remained silent, watching them.

  The Captain was keen to establish who Charlotte knew of his military friends, and to share impressions of places they had both visited. Charlotte laughingly fended off his questions, enjoying his relaxed manner and humorous tales. He reminded her so much of the young soldiers she had known in Vienna—they had been like younger brothers to her.

  ‘I remember one time, near Ciudad Rodrigo, when some of my men dressed a pig in full regimentals. Lord, such a to-do! But many are gone now.’ He fell momentarily silent.

  ‘Were you at Badajoz, then?’ she asked softly, remembering the difficult time during and after the siege.