The Earl remained expressionless.
She took his hand. ‘Tell me, Adam, do you think of marriage?’
‘Yes—no! I don’t know.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘I had thought it sensible, but unfortunately I am having some difficulty in actually deciding to...well, to cross that particular Rubicon. I have had my fill of debutantes. They giggle and simper and talk too much—or not enough. Or they have no opinions. Or they have ill-informed opinions. Or they are...impudent.’
He rose, trying to shake away the memory of one particular young lady, and made an absent-minded study of Lady Annesley’s ormolu clock on the mantel.
‘I must at least consider it, Godmama. It is my duty to marry well. Grandfather almost ruined us, and Papa worried himself into an early grave trying to restore our fortunes. I have made a good start on the estate, but the house has lost some of its warmth since Mama died. It needs a mistress. And Olivia needs female company—someone other than Great-Aunt Clara. Olivia and I argue too much lately. I do not understand what goes on in the mind of a woman!’
‘What do you and Olivia argue about?’
‘She chafes against the restrictions of Chadcombe. She wishes to come out next season, now we are out of mourning, but in truth I cannot stomach the thought of squiring her to dozens of balls and routs. And as for Almack’s—with its orgeat and its gossips—’ He grimaced. ‘I have been trying hard this season to take my place in the Marriage Mart, but the whole game quite disgusts me!’
‘Adam, you have had it your own way for far too long. No, do not show me that face. I am not a debutante, to be slain by your wrathful looks. I am your aunt and your godmother and I shall tell you what I think.’
‘I am all attention, dear Aunt.’
‘You are a good boy, Adam. You work hard with the estate and your interest in politics does you credit. My brother—your poor father—would be proud of you. But you are accustomed to deference, and to having what you want. You have the freedom to go where you will, whenever you wish—to gambling dens, cockfights, boxing matches and other uncouth pursuits if you wish. You have independence. Try to remember Olivia does not.’
‘Olivia is well cared for. My great-aunt—’
‘Clara Langley is too old to be a fitting companion for a young lady. You know I love your mother’s elderly aunt, but she does not wish to go out in society and has no understanding of the needs of a young girl like Olivia.’
‘Which is why I must marry! My...my wife—’ he struggled with the word ‘—will look after Olivia, help her with her come-out and—’
‘But that is not a reason to marry. Why, I could take dear Olivia under my wing.’
‘Come, come, Aunt Sophia. You would hate it after a week. Like me, you are accustomed to independence. Since my uncle died—and I know you grieve deeply for him—you have built a good life as a widow, have you not?’
‘You know me too well. But, Adam, I will do it. If you do not find a lady you truly wish to marry—a lady you love and wish to share your life with—then I will bring Olivia out next season. There!’
He kissed her hand. ‘Best of aunts. I thank you—though I still believe you would detest it. How would you survive Almack’s every week?’
She struggled to answer.
‘Exactly!’
‘Wretch! Now, tell me—what of Harry? His name is being linked with the Buxted girls too, with speculation that he will also marry.’
The Earl considered this, his forehead creased. ‘I cannot say, for Harry no longer confides in me. He enjoys female company, and can flirt and make compliments much easier than I. But I do not know if he thinks of marriage... The wars have changed him, Godmama. Underneath the gaiety, he is still troubled, I think.’
‘He is young. Time will help him forget what he has seen. Now we have peace, and will not be murdered in our beds by Frenchmen, he can enjoy his duties without anxiety. You shake your head—do you disagree with me?’
‘I cannot be easy about Harry. He hides it well, but... I am being foolish, perhaps. Too much time to think and worry and ponder over things. And now this unfortunate mess. I am displeased that my attentions to the Buxted ladies have been noticed—and not just on my own behalf. I should not like to cause distress to any lady—and I should like the freedom to make my choice without an audience watching my every action.’
‘Tell me, have you invited them to Chadcombe? Just the mother and the daughters?’
‘I have—but not just Mrs Buxted and her daughters. The father too. And a relative who is staying with them.’
‘And who is your hostess? Clara?’
‘Yes, she has agreed to host. I know she struggles to manage the house at times, but she assures me she is happy to host this party.’
‘Good. May I advise you?’
‘Of course you may. You are, after all, my favourite aunt.’
‘I am your only aunt. Now, do listen, Adam. Mrs Buxted, from what I know of her, is a vain, silly woman who is ambitious for her daughters. She was Louisa Long before her marriage, and those Longs were always a little... Yes, well, she thinks she has triumphed because of the exclusivity of this invitation to Chadcombe. And, in truth, the exclusivity is what is stirring the gossips. If you have truly only invited them—’
‘Godmother, I thank you. I shall immediately invite a dozen eligible ladies and their families to divert suspicion.’
‘No, not a dozen. Poor Miss Langley—! Ah, you are jesting with me again, I see. Yes, do invite others to Chadcombe. And it would be wise to be seen escorting other young ladies as well—perhaps take one to the theatre with her family. That way, if you do choose to court one in particular, you can do so without giving ammunition to the gossips. But, Adam, listen to me now. Things have changed. In these modern times you do not have to marry out of duty. Better marry for love.’
‘Love?’ He laughed. ‘I have no desire to spout poetry and daydream of a lady’s fine eyes...’
He paused, then shook his head as if to rid himself of something.
‘I just want to find a sensible girl who won’t give me any trouble. I must think of the estate. We are in need of money, so I must marry well. The Buxted family owns Monkton Park, which would be a good addition to Chadcombe, and the mother rather clumsily informed me it is dowried on one of the daughters. On the other hand, Miss Etherington has a large dowry, which would boost our funds. And there is another lady—but I do not know what her fortune is.’
‘But, Adam, you have done well with the estate since your father died. Don’t forget that the woman you marry will be by your side till death parts you. You must think of that when you choose to marry.’
‘My problem, Godmama, is that I have never yet met a lady—apart from you, of course—who did not bore me or irritate me within a month of knowing her. And marrying to suit myself is not an option if it causes harm to my family.’
* * *
The Earl took his leave shortly afterwards, leaving his aunt in pensive mood. She lay down on her sofa again to think. Adam had had relationships with women of a certain class, she knew—for the ton knew everything—but she had never heard of him losing his heart.
He was popular with ladies—the older ones responded to his serious nature, the younger ones liked his handsome face and figure—but he always held a certain reserve. He was used to seeking the company of his friends, and had never, to Sophia’s knowledge, engaged in a true friendship with any lady. Adam, like many men, saw ladies as decorative irritations, to be tolerated and enjoyed.
Some young ladies, Sophia acknowledged, did not help matters with their behaviour. And the Marriage Mart itself encouraged young ladies to flirt and be silly to attract attention. She sighed. If Adam was to marry now, one of the simpering misses he so disdained, the marriage would be a disaster.
In this, his sense of duty would work
against him. He had been raised with a love of Chadcombe, and the knowledge that when his father was gone the responsibility for the people and the place would pass to him. It had always made him more cautious, more sober—older than his years.
He had not, until now, shown a particular interest in any young lady. That, she guessed, was why the gossips were so fascinated by his attentions towards the Buxteds.
She knew the Buxted family a little, but not well. The mother had managed to engineer a formal introduction last night, so Sophia could now acknowledge them, which would allow her to find out more. Adam had not denied being interested in Miss Buxted, so Sophia needed to meet her—and quickly. She was not at all convinced that the girl she had met last night would make a suitable countess, or that Adam should have Louisa Long for a mother-in-law.
To call on them would be too obvious, drawing exactly the sort of attention she had just warned Adam about. She would have to find another way...
She was still trying to think of how she would manage it when sleep again claimed her.
* * *
Charlotte returned to the house after her usual morning walk, wondering if the ladies were still abed.
‘Thank you, Sarah,’ she said to the housemaid who had accompanied her.
Sarah had informed her that the Buxted ladies had returned late into the night, and that the night footman had reported downstairs that the ladies had been in raptures over their success.
Hearing this, Charlotte had not known whether to be glad or sorry. Of course she wanted her cousins and her aunt to enjoy themselves—and she hoped Henrietta would be easier company today—but some selfish part of her had wanted to hear that the evening had been flat, or dull, or that nobody had danced.
Scolding herself for such uncharitable thoughts, she went to the breakfast parlour—a small, bright room where she found all three ladies indulging in a light nuncheon of rolls, fruit and cold meat.
‘Oh, Charlotte, there you are. Where have you been?’ Mrs Buxted looked her usual calm self, but she had a self-satisfied air, sitting upright and smiling benevolently on her daughters.
‘Walking, Aunt Buxted. You recall that I ride or walk every morning if I can—though today I was later than usual, as I was waiting for Sarah to accompany me and she was on an errand for Cook.’
Aunt Buxted was only half listening. ‘Yes, yes...do not ever go unaccompanied. You are living under my husband’s roof, and anything you do reflects on us. Sit here, girl, and pass me the beef.’
‘Yes, Aunt. How was your evening?’
‘A triumph! My girls were a great success. I declare they hardly sat down all night, for they danced almost every dance. And Lord Shalford and his brother were most attentive.’
‘Oh, Mama! Did you see Millicent Etherington looking at me when I was dancing with the Earl? She must be so jealous that he accompanied us and not her to the ball. And he only danced with her because he couldn’t dance with me all night.’
‘He danced with Beatrice Ross too.’
‘Yes, Faith—which proves what I just said. He danced with four different ladies, but he came here for dinner—and they all knew it.’
‘Did you dance, Faith?’
‘Yes, I danced with Mr Foxley, and the Captain, and the Earl.’ She smiled shyly. ‘I had a wonderful evening. I do feel tired today, though. I am not accustomed to so much dancing.’
Charlotte smiled back at her as she poured herself a cup of coffee.
‘Well, you should remember it, Faith,’ said her sister, ‘for it may not happen for you again. There will be nights when you may have to sit and watch. Of course I am rarely short of partners.’
‘I was also busy on your behalf, girls,’ said Mrs Buxted. ‘I was introduced to Lady Annesley last night.’
Her announcement did not have the desired effect. All three young ladies looked at her blankly.
‘Who is Lady Annesley, Mama?’ asked Henrietta.
‘If you had properly studied the copy of Mr Debrett’s book I gave you, you would know exactly who she is.’
Henrietta squirmed slightly, while Faith looked anxious.
Mrs Buxted tutted, then told them. ‘She is Shalford’s aunt—his father’s sister. He is, they say, extremely close to her.’
‘Yes...?’ Henrietta looked confused. ‘And why should we be interested in her?’
‘You are very stupid today, Henrietta. She will influence him.’ Mrs Buxted applied herself to her beef. ‘Why, in my day it was the families who decided who would marry whom. None of this nonsense of allowing young people to choose. I hardly knew Mr Buxted when we were wed, but I submitted, as a dutiful daughter must, to my parents’ wishes.’
Henrietta snorted. ‘But, Mama, we have no need for help from a silly old aunt. If he is in love with me then he will marry me, no matter what she says.’
Charlotte carefully set down her cup, having found herself gripping the delicate handle tightly. For some reason Henrietta’s words were particularly grating. The thought of the Earl falling in love with Henrietta shouldn’t bother her. But perhaps, now that she was beginning to see him in a better light, she did not want him to be chained to Henrietta for a lifetime.
‘Yes, well, that’s as may be—but until he approaches your father we can take nothing for granted. We will visit Lady Annesley today.’
‘Oh, no, Mama,’ wailed Henrietta. ‘Must we?’
* * *
Mrs Buxted would not be moved, despite Henrietta’s pleadings. And two hours later, feeling decidedly uncomfortable, Charlotte found herself in Lady Annesley’s hallway. Mrs Buxted, unaware or unconcerned that such a direct approach might be poorly thought of by Lady Annesley, had insisted on this visit to that lady’s home, accompanied by all three girls.
Lady Annesley’s butler, who was eying them all assessingly, held Mrs Buxted’s card by one corner as she spoke to him.
‘Do tell dear Lady Annesley that Mrs Buxted is here to see her. We had the pleasure of welcoming her two charming nephews to our humble home for dinner last night.’
The butler showed them into an empty drawing room, bowed, and left.
Waiting, the young ladies sat stiffly, listening to Mrs Buxted’s last-minute instructions.
‘And you, Faith, should not speak much. It is Henrietta who must have priority.’
‘But, Mama, what if she should speak to me directly, or ask me a question?’
‘Then you should answer, but keep it brief. Foolish girl. Do not try my patience!’
‘Lady Sophia Annesley,’ intoned the butler.
Lady Annesley swept into the room. If she had heard the conversation between Faith and her mother she affected not to have done so. Charlotte’s discomfort increased. They should not be here.
‘Mrs Buxted. What an unexpected pleasure. Yes, of course I remember you. We met last night, did we not? A most pleasant evening, though the prawns were a little... Yes, well, it was a crush as always. Emily Cowper will be pleased. May I offer you some ratafia? Tea?’
She waved to the butler, who left to secure the refreshments.
‘And these are your daughters?’
Mrs Buxted, all smiles, made the introductions.
Lady Annesley surveyed the Buxted girls critically. ‘Yes, both good-looking girls, Mrs Buxted. Accomplished dancers, too—I saw them dance the quadrille last night with my nephews.’
Mrs Buxted looked pleased.
Henrietta fluttered her lashes and tilted her head to one side, saying, ‘Thank you, Lady Annesley.’
Lord, thought Charlotte, she flirts with everyone. But Henrietta, she noted, had not seen Lady Annesley’s wry smile.
‘And who is this young lady?’ Lady Annesley turned her intelligent gaze to Charlotte.
‘This is Miss Charlotte Wyncroft. Her mother was my h
usband’s cousin.’
Lady Annesley started, then smiled broadly. ‘Then you are Sir Edward’s daughter! I did not know you were in England. Is your father with you? How is the old rogue? Is he still breaking hearts in Vienna?’
‘He is now breaking hearts in Paris, if I am not mistaken.’ Charlotte smiled.
Lady Annesley laughed. ‘I do not doubt it. So you are Maria’s little daughter, who was born in Portugal. Well, a fine young lady you have become. What an elegant dress. Never say this was made by a London modiste.’ She studied Charlotte’s stylish walking dress—a figured muslin with embroidered trim, complete with matching spencer.
‘No, indeed. It was made by Madame Diebolt, an émigrée in Vienna. All the ladies compete for her best work—I do declare she has us all under her control.’
‘She is clearly a genius. Such stitch-work. Such a cut. And you wear it with style, Miss Wyncroft. How long do you stay in London?’
Mrs Buxted interjected. ‘Sir Edward hopes to return for his dear daughter in the next few weeks. We shall miss her.’
Not to be outdone, Henrietta said, ‘And we shall all visit Chadcombe before that.’
‘Indeed? Chadcombe is a wonderful place. I love to stay there when London becomes too much.’ Lady Annesley turned back to Charlotte. ‘Tell me more of Sir Edward. Does he think of retirement?’
‘He does, now that we have peace. Diplomacy must have its day—and rightly so, for every effort must be made to ensure the peace will endure.’
Lady Annesley concurred. ‘We need a better way to solve our differences than on the battlefield. Now, if women could talk sense into our hot-headed generals and politicians, we would—I am sure—find improvements.’
‘I agree,’ said Charlotte. ‘Though when war is upon us our soldiers—including the generals—do what they must.’
Mrs Buxted spoke again. ‘I do not think women should talk of war, or diplomacy, or of any such things. Our role is that of helpmate to our troubled husbands, no more.’
‘I believe we can support our husbands and yet still have an opinion on these matters—though there are many who disagree with me,’ said Lady Annesley diplomatically. ‘When Lord Annesley was alive we had many conversations about politics and war, and he encouraged my opinions. He also enjoyed our disagreements.’
Waltzing with the Earl Page 6