Waltzing with the Earl

by Catherine Tinley

  Mrs Buxted waited until the door had closed behind him, then sank into the nearest chair.

  ‘Lord, give me strength...’ She sighed. ‘Why must he visit now, of all times? But, Charlotte, I must tell you—’ her tone was serious ‘—it is true what I said about the Etheringtons. They are invited to Chadcombe.’

  Her shoulders were slumped and she looked quite defeated. Charlotte was moved by pity. Her aunt, misguided as she was, believed she was acting in her daughters’ best interests.

  Charlotte spent a few minutes reassuring her that as Miss Etherington was not yet actually engaged to Lord Shalford nothing was lost. She then tactfully tried to suggest that perhaps Henrietta could be a little more composed, a little less demanding, in Lord Shalford’s company—but this was not acceptable to Mrs Buxted.

  ‘No and no and no!’ she said. ‘Henrietta is a sensitive child—she always has been—and she cannot change now. Nor would I wish her to. You mean well, but you have not been reared to be truly female. Gentlemen understand that we females are emotional creatures and need to be cared for. If she arouses his caring instincts it will be a good thing.’

  Charlotte was dubious, but did not argue. She had a lot to think about. Her newfound charity with Lord Shalford was quite confusing. He had not been at all arrogant today—in fact she had enjoyed their moments of shared humour and understanding. Why should he suffer a lifetime of Henrietta’s tantrums? Perhaps, she thought soberly, he shouldn’t marry Henrietta after all.

  Something about the thought disturbed her, so she pushed it away.

  * * *

  Adam, walking to his club, was having similar doubts. He could not know for sure which of the Misses Buxted was responsible for the appalling tantrum he had heard, but he hoped it was not Henrietta. He enjoyed his quiet life, disliked histrionics and instinctively shied away from drama. Perhaps Aunt Sophia was right—the character of his wife might be as important as her dowry.

  His thoughts turned to Charlotte, and he chuckled at the memory of her discomfort in the library. He smiled then, remembering their shared laughter, and a feeling of warmth pervaded his chest.

  He shook it away.

  No! Laughter is all very well, but I will not make my grandfather’s mistakes. He married for love—a penniless woman of good birth—then spent his life wasting his inheritance and running the estate down almost to the point of ruin. My father married an heiress whom he learned to love. He knew his duty.

  He squared his shoulders, his expression grim.

  Our fortunes are not yet secure. I must live up to my responsibilities—whatever the consequences for myself.

  Yet a small, hopeful thought persisted. Perhaps Miss Wyncroft would turn out to be wealthy?

  Now, why did that make him squirm? What was wrong with wishing she was well-dowried? He liked her, didn’t he? More, perhaps, than he liked any of the others. More than he had expected. That was surprising to him.

  Logic forced him to consider her dowry. If she was eligible, then he could pursue her. Emotionally, something in him recoiled from such thoughts. He did not like the thought of selecting Miss Wyncroft on the basis of whatever money she could offer. It belittled her.

  You are thinking too much, he told himself. Do what you must.

  Chapter Eight

  The distance to Chadcombe was around forty miles, so they had decided to make the trip in a single day, with two stops to break the journey. Yet it seemed to Charlotte that time had slowed down, and the day was in fact a week pretending to be a day.

  Perhaps it was because she was in the backward-facing seat of the carriage, with Faith by her side, while Mrs Buxted and Henrietta had, of course, taken the more comfortable forward-facing seats.

  Yet that could not be the only explanation, for Charlotte had travelled much longer journeys, backward-facing at times, on worse roads and in carriages much less comfortable than the Buxteds’ well-sprung travelling chaise.

  Nor was it the scenery, for the Portsmouth road, and now the leafy lanes of Surrey, allowed fine views of the verdant countryside, which was now in full summer bloom—though the cool summer had not lived up to the warmth promised in spring.

  Charlotte had heard many tales of the bitter winter that had just passed—how the Thames had frozen over in February, and how a Frost Fair had been staged on the frozen river, with printing presses and roast oxen on a spit. An elephant had even been walked on the ice near Blackfriars Bridge.

  When the snow had stopped and spring had arrived, everyone had talked of a warm summer to come. April had been deceitful, with false promises of warm days. May, June, and now early July had been mainly dull and grey, with rainy days outnumbering sunny ones.

  Charlotte, used to the intense summer heat of Austria, Italy and Spain, could only be grateful for the mildness of the English summer. And she quite liked the rain, which had made England lush and beautiful, with the earthy smell of farms, rich soil and flowering hedges.

  Reluctantly, Charlotte conceded that the journey was being made difficult by her companions. She had never yet spent a trip in the company of an opinionated middle-aged lady and two quarrelling misses, and from the moment they had left Half-Moon Street the Buxted ladies had maintained an incessant flow of noisy emptiness. Even Faith, whom Charlotte had come to love dearly, was displaying her least attractive side, complaining about the backward-facing seat at least once every half-hour, and refusing to ignore some of her sister’s selfish barbs. Faith was developing the habit of defending herself, which Charlotte applauded, but she was feeling its full effects today.

  Oh, how she missed Papa’s easy companionship. Normally when she travelled, Papa—along with Priddy—would accompany her, and now she was without both of them. Papa had written to say he had some final duties to complete, but that he would be home for the Peace Celebrations. Charlotte had to admit she would be glad, for the company of the Buxteds—and her lack of freedom—was now chafing badly. London had not been the pleasant adventure she had hoped for.

  Unbidden, an image of the Earl came into her mind. Her heart missed a beat. If not for him, she reluctantly admitted, London would have been hard indeed.

  She enjoyed his company. Despite her initial reactions to his arrogance, she now knew him to be warm, intelligent and humorous. She refused to read anything more into her reaction. Spending her days with the Buxteds, it was hardly surprising that she reacted warmly to the only congenial person in her orbit. If Papa had been here she would not, of course, have hungered for the Earl’s company, for Papa would have given her all the stimulating conversation and wit that she craved. Yes, that was surely the reason why she was so focused on Lord Shalford.

  And Priddy had been left in London with Joseph, for the Buxted party were bringing only three servants to Chadcombe—a groom to look after the carriage horses, Mr Buxted’s valet and Mrs Buxted’s abigail. The abigail would dress Miss Henrietta.

  ‘You will understand,’ Mrs Buxted had explained, ‘that the needs of my firstborn are of the utmost importance. This visit is to ensure that Henrietta secures the Earl.’

  Oh, Charlotte understood. They talked of little else.

  The Earl had been busy these past weeks, and they had only seen him four times at Buxted House. He and his brother had ridden with them every Tuesday, and Henrietta had ensured she was always present for the rides. The Earl usually managed to speak with Charlotte on each occasion, and she had come to enjoy their easy discourse.

  They had also heard he had escorted a theatre party that had included the Etheringtons. Charlotte had kept to her room that day, until Henrietta’s storm of weeping and wailing had died down.

  June had passed in an orgy of shopping, packing, and visits to dressmakers, with the result that all of them—including Faith—had an entire wardrobe of new dresses, cloaks, hats and spencers.

  Charlotte
herself had even become a little caught up in the excitement, and had been unable to resist ordering two new dresses—one a pale green day dress with long sleeves, a lace trim and a row of tiny seed pearls, the other a stunning evening gown in the new French satin. She hoped she would have the opportunity to wear it at Chadcombe, as it was a private house and there could be no objection to her taking a full part in any parties organised by their host. This extravagance meant she would have to be careful with her remaining money until Papa arrived back, but she was confident she would manage.

  Mr Buxted was to join them in two days, for he needed to complete some business in London. Charlotte strongly suspected his ‘business’ was to avoid travelling with the ladies, and envied his ability to make that choice.

  For the past two miles they had been following a stone wall on their right, and now to Charlotte’s relief they stopped briefly at a gatehouse before entering what must be the Chadcombe estate. Charlotte noticed the gateman had mounted a horse and was riding ahead of them up the drive.

  The drive passed through a pretty wooded area, where a few bluebells still remained. The clouds were breaking up for the first time since they had left London, and long fingers of sunlight pointed to the secret beauties of the woods.

  The trees widened out to reveal a large deer park, and then suddenly Mrs Buxted and Henrietta simultaneously emitted sounds of awe. Faith jumped up and looked out of the window to see what they were exclaiming at.

  ‘Faith. Sit down this instant!’

  ‘Is that the house? It looks like a palace!’

  ‘Yes, Faith, but they will see you—hanging out of the carriage like an urchin. Be seated, or I will box your ears.’

  Faith jumped back as if stung, while Henrietta and Mrs Buxted spent the next few minutes exclaiming on the merits and beauties of the house, estimating the number of windows and speculating on how much it had cost to build.

  Finally the coach came to a halt. Charlotte was last to descend, and she took a moment to absorb the scene.

  Chadcombe was a large, elegant house built in the Palladian style. It was built of Portland stone, with stucco ornamentation and Venetian windows over the portico. The symmetrical wings contained long, elegant windows which would ensure a great deal of light in the public rooms. It was truly beautiful.

  The gardens, from what Charlotte could see, contained topiary, trees and flowers, and gave way gradually to the natural splendour of the deer park. She could see a lake glistening, diamond-like, in the distance to her left, and could hear the tinkling splash of garden fountains.

  While Charlotte had been looking around, the front door had opened and her aunt and cousins were now mounting the steps. She hurried to catch up, and entered the house just behind the others. She was struck by the impressive hall they entered. It was large and airy, with a chequered floor and an impressive wide staircase. The ceiling was adorned with plasterwork in the style of the Adam brothers, including classical paintings in the cartouches.

  The Earl was there to welcome them, looking handsome and solemn. He wore a well-cut olive-green coat with biscuit-coloured inexpressibles and polished Hessians. Charlotte curtseyed with the others, while Mrs Buxted expressed her gratitude in the most animated terms. The Captain, whom Charlotte had initially failed to notice, assured Mrs Buxted of their welcome. The Earl then introduced his sister, Lady Olivia, and his Great-Aunt Clara—Miss Langley.

  Olivia smiled shyly at them. She, too, had inherited the Fanton good looks and was extremely pretty, with dark hair and grey eyes like the Earl. She was dressed demurely in a high-necked figured muslin gown, with long pointed sleeves and a mauve satin ribbon. Charlotte smiled at her, recognising that the girl was a little nervous.

  Miss Langley was an elderly lady, with white hair confined under a lace cap. She was wiry, wrinkled, and talkative, and greeted them warmly.

  ‘So glad to meet you. Adam and Harry have told me you are all good friends. Yes, you will have a lovely time at Chadcombe—and I have allocated you rooms near each other so you may be comfortable. You must have had a terrible journey—I hate to travel now, though of course when I was younger...’

  Henrietta moved her reticule from one hand to the other, then adjusted her left glove.

  ‘But here I am, rabbiting on—you must wish me at Jericho! Our housekeeper will show you to your rooms, then I hope you will all join me for tea in the morning room. Well, it is called the morning room, though I do not know why. Of course, we use it in the morning, but also in the afternoon, so why it should be called a morning room... The Etheringtons have arrived too—not half an hour before you—and Mr Foxley is expected later today—’

  The housekeeper, a kindly-looking woman wearing a starched white apron over a grey dress, smiled courteously at them all, then led them upstairs. The keys she wore at her waist, which proclaimed her profession, jingled as she walked.

  As she mounted the stairs, Charlotte couldn’t resist looking back. The Captain was leading Miss Langley and Olivia off through a doorway to Charlotte’s right, while the Earl stood watching them ascend, his gaze flicking from her to Henrietta and back again. His expression was unreadable, and Charlotte felt a little disturbed. What was he thinking?

  She raised her eyebrows quizzically. Noticing, he turned abruptly on his heel and left.

  Charlotte did not know what to make of this. Gone was the light-hearted gentleman who had laughed with her in the library. Just now he had seemed more serious, more intense. This visit was all to do with Henrietta. She knew it—knew the only reason they were all there was to allow him to get to know Henrietta better and decide if they should suit. A budding friendship with his soon-to-be-betrothed’s cousin was not his priority. Charlotte understood that.

  Millicent Etherington was part of the picture too. Mrs Buxted was sure that she was another candidate for the Earl’s hand, and had cautioned Henrietta to be wary. The whole thing, thought Charlotte, was sordid beyond belief. They were all part of it—the Earl, the young ladies, and the matchmaking mamas. And she would be forced to watch. She shuddered inwardly.

  * * *

  Adam watched them ascend. He was having so many doubts about this house party. It had seemed logical to invite the three ladies—Henrietta, Millicent and Charlotte—to his home, so that he could choose between them. He had not anticipated having such misgivings.

  It offended his sense of honour.

  He laughed quietly at his own pride. Honour would not pay the bills to restore the east wing, or pay his servants, or develop his farms. He needed to be rational.

  He wondered again—for the thousandth time—about the state of Charlotte’s fortune. Despite discreet enquiries, he had been unable to discover how things stood with her father because he lived abroad. Adam frowned. Distasteful as he found the idea, an early conversation with Mr Buxted was needed.

  Things were clearer with the other two. He knew their dowries and in both cases he sensed that they—and their parents—would support a match with him. Mrs Etherington, like Mrs Buxted, had made it plain. Clumsily so, in Mrs Buxted’s case.

  He supposed all three ladies had been trained in the skills needed to run a house like Chadcombe. As a man, his role was focused more on the estate and its financing—the mysteries of household management were beyond him. It would also be important, he thought, that his bride should get on well with his sister and his great-aunt. The last thing he needed was friction at home.

  Conscious that he was building a list in his head, he was again struck by discomfort. A wife was not a horse, to be selected on the basis of looks and performance. Yet he must not be clouded by personal preference.

  As Henrietta and Charlotte climbed the stairs together he couldn’t help but compare them. Henrietta, angelically fair—but so young and emotional. Charlotte, darkly pretty and much more sensible—though with disconcerting flashes of spirit at t
imes. In terms of whose company he favoured, Charlotte was infinitely preferable. He enjoyed her intelligence, wit and demeanour. There was just something about her that denoted Quality. But he must not be too hasty. He would now have plenty of opportunity to discover more about each of them.

  Turning sharply on his heel, he called for his steward.

  Chapter Nine

  Faith and Charlotte descended the stairs together for dinner. This was their third day at Chadcombe, and already they knew their way around the beautiful light-filled house. Their bright, comfortable rooms were on the second floor. Charlotte’s room was at the front, and she had a stunning view of the lawns, the deer park and the home wood.

  Chadcombe had a large staff, who ensured that all the guests’ needs were looked after. The female workforce, led by Cook and the housekeeper, Mrs Gordon, and directed by Miss Langley, prepared the food, kept the house clean and ensured that the beds were made, the guests had warm water for washing and fires were lit on the cooler days. The butler, Merrion, presided over the menservants, managed the Earl’s cellar, and served the finest wines, port and—in the case of the ladies—ratafia. He had been with the family over forty years, starting as a second footman, and knew every inch of the house.

  As the lady of the house—until such time as the Earl should marry—Miss Langley oversaw all household matters, and she had told Charlotte that she met with the housekeeper and butler daily. Something in her demeanour had made Charlotte wonder if the elderly lady found the responsibility a strain.

  Their party was now complete, and fourteen would sit down to dinner tonight. Charlotte, wearing an elegant blue crêpe dress, and with her hair dressed loosely à la Grecque, was looking forward to it. She and Faith had helped each other prepare, and dressed each other’s hair. Faith had said she was enjoying her first ‘grown-up house party’, which had made Charlotte feel quite old.

  Most of the guests had already assembled in the main drawing room. Mrs Etherington—a thin, pale widow who suffered from an impressive number of ailments—was seated on a settee, listing today’s symptoms to Captain Fanton, who was giving the impression that he was listening intently. Henrietta was looking mutinous near the middle window, and was clearly complaining to Mrs Buxted about something.