Waltzing with the Earl

by Catherine Tinley

  Charlotte instinctively sought out the Earl, and then realised why Henrietta appeared unhappy. He was enjoying a conversation with Millicent Etherington beside the grand pianoforte. They were standing close together, and as they spoke, she briefly laid a hand on his arm to emphasise a point. Millicent was a spirited young lady, with a lively manner. Her hair was an unusual shade of auburn, and combined with creamy skin and hazel eyes, it had made her the focus of many a gentleman’s attention this season, when she’d made her come-out.

  Mr Buxted, who had arrived that afternoon, was seated with Mr Foxley and Miss Langley.

  Mr Foxley, who had been watching the door, promptly rose to welcome Faith and Charlotte. Faith responded to this kindness by greeting him with a warm smile, which made him blush. Charlotte felt even older.

  Lady Olivia, looking pretty in pale yellow muslin, was seated near the fireplace. She looked at ease—unlike the Reverend Sneddon, who was standing alone nearby, looking as though he wished to join one of the conversations but was unsure how.

  Charlotte accepted a glass of wine from Merrion, who moved unobtrusively among the guests. Half listening to Faith and Mr Foxley’s conversation, she continued to observe with amusement the interplay between Henrietta, Millicent and the Earl. The girls were transparent in their feelings and intentions, whereas Lord Shalford was much more difficult to read. Since they’d arrived she had seen him engage both ladies, seeming to favour first one, then the other. This was a gauntlet thrown down to the former friends, who were using every trick they could think of to win his attention.

  He had maintained a courteous equanimity with Charlotte, keeping his conversation general, though coincidentally he had often ended up near her. They had twice been paired for cards, and had had fun trouncing Faith and Mr Foxley on the previous evening, but he did not toy with her as he did with Henrietta and Millicent.

  But then, she thought ruefully, I cannot be coquettish.

  Mrs Buxted remained anxious about Henrietta’s prospects, and continually advised her daughter on how to flirt ‘properly’—complete with stories of her own successes as a debutante.

  If Charlotte were to guess, she would say the Earl’s heart was not engaged with either young lady. But the choice of marriage partner among the ton was usually more about land and money than affection—even now, in these more enlightened times. She shivered, unsure why the thought disturbed her so.

  ‘Are you cold, Miss Wyncroft? May I send a servant for a shawl? This evening is most inclement.’

  Reverend Sneddon, all solicitousness, was at her elbow.

  ‘I am not cold, thank you.’

  ‘May I then fetch you a drink? Ah, I see you have one.’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘Would you like to sit down? You see...this chaise is free. We could sit here and have a little chat and you would be comfortable.’ He indicated a nearby settee.

  Charlotte, helpless to rebuff him any further, sat. He joined her, flicking out his long coat-tails with a practised movement.

  Reverend Sneddon was an old soul in a young man’s skin, with a wet mouth, an eager manner and a slowness of thought which meant he missed some of Charlotte’s attempts at humour. Unfortunately, he had begun to single her out for particular attention.

  ‘I wish to ask you, Miss Wyncroft, what you think of our Surrey countryside. It has not the grandeur of the Alps, but it has its own beauty, do you agree?’

  ‘Surrey is exceptionally beautiful. Its beauty is typically English, I think.’

  Reverend Sneddon nodded approvingly. ‘“The hills gird themselves with joy, the meadows clothe themselves with flocks.” You are correct, Miss Wyncroft, and the acuity of your observation does you great credit.’

  ‘Er...thank you,’ said Charlotte dubiously.

  The Reverend, like Mrs Buxted, liked to quote obscure verses from the Bible, and was always pleased when he thought of a suitable verse.

  As the Reverend droned on, Charlotte found her attention drifting to the conversation between the Captain and the Earl, who were standing nearby.

  ‘Dash it, Adam, where did you find such a prosy fellow?’

  ‘He is a temporary incumbent in the parish—just for a couple of months, thankfully. He has quite a way with words, does he not?’

  ‘We should rescue poor Miss Wyncroft.’

  ‘She stands in no need of rescue, Harry. Besides, it is quite an entertaining spectacle.’

  Charlotte, glancing up and seeing the amusement in his eyes, flashed him a challenging look. He raised his glass and gave her a wicked smile.

  The Fanton brothers made a striking tableau, thought Charlotte, both so tall and handsome. The Captain said something which amused his brother. Charlotte couldn’t help watching the Earl laugh. She liked him like this...relaxed.

  In fact, she simply liked him. Seeing him here, at home, she had been pleased to discover more of the warmer, more human side to him—the one she had seen glimpses of in London. He was affectionate towards his great-aunt and his young sister, who clearly looked up to him despite hints of occasional differences in opinion. Lady Olivia was delighted to have such a large party at Chadcombe, and was warm and friendly towards them all.

  The Earl was also resolute in putting his heritage—Chadcombe and the family—above all else. He took his duties seriously, meeting daily with his steward. Charlotte had concluded that her father would approve of him. Officer material, he’d say. He was always on the lookout for men of all classes who deserved promotion.

  The Earl was not a soldier, and had no need of patronage or promotion, yet Charlotte recognised in him the qualities of intelligence, leadership and vitality so valued by Papa. She wondered what the Earl would think of her father, and tried to imagine the two of them meeting. It gave her a strange but good feeling to imagine them together.

  Charlotte made her excuses to the Reverend and joined Olivia. She immediately felt more comfortable.

  It was nearly time for dinner, and almost everyone was there. Charlotte counted. Who was missing? Then she realised. Millicent’s brother, Mr Hubert Etherington, who had arrived the day before, had yet to make his entrance.

  Chapter Ten

  Charlotte watched as Hubert paused in the doorway before mincing into the room, taking small, careful steps because the heels of his evening shoes were so high. They were made of shiny black leather and were adorned with large silver buckles which had been bevelled so as to catch the light as he walked.

  Charlotte had endured a full half-hour with him earlier, hearing about his clothing.

  His thin legs were encased in white silk stockings, embroidered at the ankles with golden birds. Charlotte knew all about those stockings. He had asked the seamstress for eagles, but she had never seen an eagle and so had given him matching crows. Golden crows. After he had recovered from his initial frustration, he had come to understand that there was something exceedingly noble about golden crows.

  His small-clothes were of a yellow so bright it was almost shocking to the eye, while his evening coat was white and gold squares, interspersed with dark blue lines. He had told her that tying his neckcloth normally took at least six attempts before he was satisfied, as each layer had to be folded and refolded until his chin was forced to remain high. His shirt had points so high that he could turn his head neither to the left nor right, but instead had to turn his whole body. His waistcoat was double-breasted, with a wide shawl collar, and was patterned with intricate swirls of red, yellow, gold and white.

  Charlotte glanced around, enjoying everyone’s reaction. Mr Buxted, who had never before encountered Mr Etherington, lifted a quizzing glass to his eye, uttering, ‘Good God!’ in an animated tone. Miss Langley had her mouth open in shock. Lady Olivia moved her hand to her forehead, while Lord Shalford shook his head slowly.

  His eyes instinctively
sought Charlotte’s, and they shared their amusement at Hubert’s ridiculousness.

  Hubert made his way carefully to the central window embrasure, where Henrietta and her mother stood. He bowed equally carefully—but with great grace.

  ‘Ladies, you look beautiful tonight. Demeter and Persephone personified.’

  Mrs Buxted was unsure how to interpret this. Henrietta had no such reservations. Seeing only the admiration in his eyes, and still smarting over Millicent’s outrageous flirting with the Earl, she gave Hubert an encouraging smile.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Etherington. I must say your waistcoat is most impressive.’

  Mrs Buxted eyed it suspiciously. ‘I believe these colours are quite the thing among you young men. Fashions have certainly changed since I was a young girl.’

  ‘Oh, but, Mrs Buxted, you are still a very young lady. Why, if I didn’t know you had a grown-up daughter, I should not believe it.’

  Mrs Buxted responded well to this sally, while across the room Mr Buxted guffawed loudly. By the time Hubert—hampered by his shirt-points—turned to view him, he seemed engrossed in conversation with Miss Langley.

  The Earl and Harry had joined Charlotte and Olivia, and the men shared their opinions of Hubert’s attire.

  ‘Thank God I was never fashionable,’ Harry said with feeling.

  ‘Oho! I do recall,’ said the Earl, ‘a certain hat that you thought was extremely fashionable.’

  Harry looked outraged. ‘Well, if you are talking of the smart beaver that I wore when I was fifteen, then I shall tell you that you are off the mark. And furthermore you are a blackguard and a scoundrel, Adam, for you know that I would not stoop so low as to make you embarrassed in front of the ladies.’ He winked at Charlotte and Olivia. ‘I shall not even mention the incident with the raft.’

  ‘Oh, do tell,’ said Charlotte, ‘for I should love to see Lord Shalford embarrassed.’

  The Earl held up his hands. ‘I take it back, Harry. The hat was perfectly fine and stylish, and it suited you perfectly. And nothing happened with any raft.’

  ‘Of course not. You certainly didn’t challenge me to a race on the lake with home-made rafts, and your raft certainly didn’t sink within yards of the start.’

  ‘No!’ Charlotte clapped her hands together with glee, then directed a sympathetic look at the Earl. ‘Were you very humiliated?’

  ‘Completely mortified,’ said the Earl, shaking his head mournfully.

  ‘Oh, you poor thing!’ Charlotte laughed insincerely.

  She noticed that Harry and Olivia were staring at her and the Earl, transfixed.

  ‘What?’

  Harry nudged his sister forcefully. ‘Nothing...nothing. Oh, look—I think it is time to eat.’

  He was right, for Merrion was just announcing dinner.

  Charlotte, moving with the others to the dining room, wondered briefly what they had been staring at, then put it out of her thoughts.

  * * *

  Charlotte sat at the pianoforte, concentrating on her music. She loved to play and sing and—unlike her cousins—took pleasure in practising until she was content. She had found a kindred spirit in Olivia, who had shared some new pieces with her, and they had successfully performed a duet for the guests last night.

  Just now, Charlotte was practising a beautiful aria by Mr Handel that she had never learned before. She thought she had the piano part mastered, but was still working on the vocal performance. Lascia ch’io pianga were the words—Let me weep. Ironic that she was singing a lament, and yet she could hardly recall a happier time.

  She finished the piece and looked up—to find the Earl standing in the doorway, watching her.

  ‘Beautiful,’ he said softly, then turned and left, leaving her blushing and more than a little bewildered.

  It was difficult to understand the effect that he had on her. Each time he entered a room her heart beat a little faster, and she was ever conscious of where he sat or stood. Her ear had attuned itself to his voice, and she could hear it even now, when he was not near.

  Why? Why did she react to him so particularly? Was she simply becoming caught up in Henrietta and Millicent’s games? She frowned. She must be true to herself. Empty flirtation and the competitive games of the Marriage Mart did not become her. If she married it would be based on a genuine bond with a man she loved, not on his wealth and rank. Although, she conceded ruefully, she was unlikely to marry outside her own class.

  Perhaps I am just as shallow and vapid as the rest of the ton.

  Completely confused, and no nearer to seeing her own heart clearly, she returned to her music.

  * * *

  Adam strode towards the stables, desperately trying to shake the feelings that had swamped him just now, as he’d listened to Charlotte’s beautiful clear voice. He had enjoyed watching her, her face intent and focused, knowing that he was unobserved. He had had the strongest and most unexpected urge to kiss her.

  Where had that come from?

  It would not do.

  Finally he had had a discreet conversation with Mr Buxted. Charlotte, it seemed, was no heiress. Mr Buxted had explained that Charlotte, though of excellent family, had inherited the consequences of a spendthrift grandfather—just like his own. Charlotte’s father was in the military—not an occupation associated with creating great wealth. It was likely that Charlotte’s dowry would be no better than respectable.

  Adam had listened in dismay. In truth, the strength of his disappointment had surprised him. It seemed that he had entertained strong hopes—unrecognised even by himself—that Charlotte would prove to be eligible. And after his conversation with Mr Buxted last night he had dreamed of her—of holding her hand as they walked together. When he had awoken, the sense of loss he’d felt had reminded him of the pain he had felt when each of his parents had died.

  Yet when he had heard the beautiful music Charlotte was making he had been unable to resist opening the door softly, just to watch her for a moment. And now here he was, with tumultuous thoughts and feelings battling in his head, his chest and his stomach. Somehow she had penetrated his defences, and he was well on the way to being beguiled by her.

  Now that he knew he could not marry her, to dwell on his own feelings and preferences was an indulgence he could not afford. That way led only to pain. He must overcome it. He could be her friend, but nothing more.

  ‘Saddle my horse!’ he snapped to the stable-boy.

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ The boy moved quickly, wondering what had put his normally even-tempered master into such foul humour.

  * * *

  They had now been at Chadcombe for two happy weeks, and the guests had all developed their own routines. While many of the party slept late, still accustomed to London hours, the early risers—Charlotte among them—often met for breakfast. The Earl regularly ate with them, before disappearing to meet with his steward.

  Mr Foxley and Mr Buxted had formed an unlikely friendship, forged over a mutual love of fishing. Most mornings they fished together in the trout stream, usually returning empty-handed but occasionally with a fish or two, which they bore triumphantly to Cook with all the eagerness of schoolboys.

  By late morning, when Charlotte had visited Miss Langley and finished her music, Faith had usually appeared. She and Charlotte had developed the habit of walking in the gardens, and the Earl—surprisingly—often accompanied them. They had explored all the gardens around the house, discovering such delights as a grotto, an avenue of fountains and a rose garden. Even the kitchen garden was of great interest to Charlotte, who loved its neat lines and delicious scents. And while they walked, they talked—of books, family and gardening, among other things.

  Charlotte looked forward to this part of the day with much more intensity than she should. She and the Earl were becoming fast friends, and Charlotte was re
velling in his company. She had succeeded in subduing many of the tumultuous feelings he aroused in her—partly because he was now unfailingly polite towards her, with no hint of the warmer emotions she had been surprised to see in his eyes before. She had convinced herself that she had imagined it. He sometimes seemed tired, and distracted, as if struggling with some hidden emotion, but always she had a feeling of warmth in his company.

  Faith, too, was blossoming at Chadcombe, and took a full part in the three-way conversations—though some of the lively teasing between Charlotte and the Earl passed her by.

  They had once seen what looked like a Greek temple in the distance, on the edge of the woods, and the Earl had promised to escort them to it. After two days of showers today was dry, with the promise of sunshine, and so they were to walk out. Charlotte donned kid half-boots and a pretty straw bonnet with a blue satin ribbon, and brought her cloak in case it should turn out to be cool. When she reached the hall Faith and the Earl were waiting, along with Mr Foxley, who had just returned from his fishing trip.

  ‘Oh, Charlotte, what a pretty bonnet,’ said Faith enthusiastically.

  Charlotte smiled. Faith was so much kinder than her sister.

  Mr Foxley gallantly agreed, and the Earl, who rarely complimented any of the ladies on their looks or fashions, said, ‘It becomes you.’

  Charlotte, gratified, felt her cheeks go a little pink, then chided herself for reacting.

  They meandered companionably through the deer park up to the temple—which, the Earl explained, had been erected in his grandfather’s day as a place from which to enjoy views of the house. He turned back, indicating the scene.

  They all turned—and collectively caught their breath. From this position, the view was stunning. The green sward of the deer park, dotted with mature oaks and elms, swept like a verdant carpet down from the temple, then gently up again to the gardens, and from this angle the lines seemed to converge perfectly to frame the house. Beyond, the Surrey hills provided the perfect backdrop.