The whole scene was a perfectly balanced vista of solid grey stone melding perfectly with the green-brown hues of nature.
Charlotte was singularly hopeless at art, but she had never more wished for artistic talent so that she might paint Chadcombe and keep its perfection alive in her memory.
‘My goodness,’ said Mr Foxley.
‘It is beautiful,’ agreed Faith.
She accompanied Mr Foxley to the right side of the temple, to explore the view from there. Charlotte remained immobile.
The Earl stayed, watching her. ‘Miss Wyncroft...?’ he prompted gently.
‘It is flawless,’ she said simply. ‘I think I have not seen a house more perfectly suited to its surroundings.’
‘Thank you,’ he said gruffly.
He looked directly at her, and her heart melted. ‘Your grandfather made something wonderful.’
‘He did. He also left us with debts and mortgages, which my father worked hard to pay down. He had not the money to build grand things, but this beauty belongs as much to him as to my grandfather, for he paid for it with hard work.’
‘It belongs to you, too.’
‘It’s my turn,’ he said. ‘They each did something great in their own way. Now it is for me to add my contribution. I know that you understand that.’
He offered her his arm as they stepped through the back of the temple, where stone steps led to an uneven winding path through the woods. Mr Foxley and Faith joined them, and Mr Foxley, taking his lead from the Earl, awkwardly offered his arm to Faith. Blushing, she placed her gloved hand on his arm.
‘This path through the woods will take us to the main drive, and we can walk from there to the house,’ said the Earl.
By unspoken agreement they stayed in their pairs as they walked. Mr Foxley and Faith walked a little ahead, close together, while Charlotte and the Earl dropped behind a little.
The path wound its way through a pretty wilderness. The twists and turns of the trail meant Mr Foxley and Faith, though only a little ahead, were frequently out of view. It seemed to Charlotte that there was no one else in the world save her and the Earl. On their right the woods were dark and mysterious, while to their left they caught occasional glimpses of the deer park and the house as they walked.
In one part the trees were young and small, and the Earl stopped to point them out to Charlotte.
‘My father planted these oaks when I was a child. Look, some are starting to produce acorns this year.’ He indicated the small half-formed pods on the lower branches. ‘It takes great vision to plant an oak.’
She understood. ‘He planted these knowing he would never see them fully grown, never sit in their shade.’
‘Yes.’ His voice broke a little. ‘His illness... He should not have been taken away so soon.’
‘You still miss him.’ She spoke softly.
‘Every day.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘How is it that you understand me so well?’
They stood, not speaking, while the silence of the woods surrounded them. Her hand was still on his arm. She could feel his warmth through the fabric of his coat. Her pulse was beating so fast she feared her heart would explode.
‘You know, that bonnet is extremely fetching.’
His voice was low and his eyes held hers. She could not look away.
‘You are remarkably pretty.’
He lifted his hand and gently touched her face. His fingertips left a trail of fire on her skin. She didn’t move, afraid to break the moment.
Tilting her chin up, he bent his head and kissed her.
His lips were warm, intense and delicious. Charlotte’s heart was beating so loudly it seemed the whole world moved to its rhythm. For a timeless moment they kissed. It was the sweetest, most beautiful moment she had ever known.
Chapter Eleven
The Earl stepped back in agitation.
‘Ch—Miss Wyncroft, I apologise! You are a guest in my home and I have taken advantage of you. I should not have—I mean, I have never—’
He raked his fingers through his hair. His expression was one of self-disgust.
‘And your father is far away. You have no protectors. I am a wretch, Miss Wyncroft! I have no excuse, though you are simply—But I must not speak. Do please say you will forgive me?’
Charlotte, who felt greatly confused, could only mumble stupidly.
‘Oh, no! Of course!’
Her face must be a fiery red, and she wondered what he must think of her. Did he know how she liked him? Did he think that she, like Henrietta and Millicent, was on the catch for him? Did he think her forward? Was that why he had kissed her?
Her mortification knew no bounds.
Adjusting her bonnet, which was decidedly askew, Charlotte began walking, her eyes on the path ahead, hurrying a little to get away from him—away from the moment.
They quickly caught up with Faith and Mr Foxley.
Mr Foxley, seemingly unaware of any tension, said cheerfully, ‘Shalford, tell me—how many tenants do you support?’
The Earl answered steadily, and he and Mr Foxley began to speak of farm workers and livestock, and the best crops for different types of soil. Mr Foxley had developed an interest in agriculture, and he and the Earl spoke easily on such topics as yields and cattle breeds until they were back at the house.
Faith and Charlotte dropped back a little, allowing the gentlemen an opportunity to talk. Thankfully, Faith did not try to engage Charlotte in conversation, and was content to follow the gentlemen, a dreamy half-smile playing on her lips.
Charlotte was surprised by the Earl’s air of calm so soon afterwards. It was as though, for him, the kiss had never happened. She knew that men often took such things lightly, and hoped this meant he would forget the incident. She felt incredibly shaken by the kiss—probably because she had not been kissed very often.
In fact this was only her third ever kiss. She had enjoyed a brief flirtation with a young officer in Vienna last year, and two years previously had been kissed by a rather good-looking Italian count, who had professed undying love for her. Charlotte had been impressed by his fervour, but unmoved.
Neither kiss had stirred her like this one. She was unsure why. Something about the man and this place, their conversation, perhaps. Certainly when he had spoken of his father and Chadcombe she had felt a strong affinity, a sense of connection to him.
She pushed the thought away, strangely reluctant to dwell on it.
The Earl was indifferent to the kiss, it seemed, and was feeling guilty because she was his guest. Remembering his agitation, the words he had used, and most of all his regretful tone, she felt flooded with mortification and hurt. It clearly had meant nothing to him—which meant that she meant nothing to him. She needed to get as far away from him as she possibly could.
As they mounted the steps to the house, the gentlemen stepped back to allow her and Faith to enter first. Charlotte could feel the Earl’s eyes on her. Staring fixedly ahead, she went inside and continued straight to her room.
There she paced in some agitation for quite ten minutes, before removing her bonnet, cloak and muddy boots. Her skirt hem was muddy too, and without Priddy she would have to deal with it herself. She was reluctant to call on Mrs Buxted’s dresser or a housemaid just now.
After brushing the mud from the dress as best she could, she let down her overdress, tidied her hair and prepared to face the others again. Her pulse was less tumultuous, though each time she remembered the kiss she suffered renewed discomfiture.
Thankfully, her reflection in the mirror showed no sign of her distress.
‘Be calm,’ she told herself. ‘All is well.’
With her own reassurances ringing in her ears, she ventured downstairs.
Approaching the drawing room, she heard the hu
m of voices—male voices as well as female ones. What if he was in there? With her hand on the door, she felt her courage suddenly fail her, and she walked on, away from the room, to visit Miss Langley.
She failed to notice the Earl, watching her as he walked along the landing above.
* * *
Adam watched her, knowing she was still distressed. Internally, he berated himself again for having taken advantage of her. He who prided himself on his self-control, his calm good sense and judgement! He had actually kissed a young, innocent lady who was a guest in his home! He imagined the cold, angry eyes of her father upon him. Any father would be justifiably outraged. If someone had behaved so towards Olivia...!
He could not account for it. Why had he behaved so rashly—especially since he already knew he could not marry her? He was not one to trifle with women. Yet each time he remembered how she had looked at him, her beautiful face framed perfectly by that damned bonnet...
She haunted him. He could not sleep, and some nights he had taken to drinking or reading in the library until he was exhausted, for to retire too soon meant hours of restless wakefulness.
He would resist this. He must.
* * *
Miss Langley’s parlour was a small, comfortable room, with a fireplace and a lady’s desk, and Miss Langley had used it as her own since Lady Shalford’s death. Charlotte had formed the habit of visiting each day after her hostess’s meeting with the housekeeper, to see how she did. The elderly lady seemed to value Charlotte’s support, which appeared to soothe her worries about household matters. Charlotte was careful not to overstep her role as guest, but listened sympathetically to poor Miss Langley’s daily trials.
Today, Miss Langley was walking around the room with a long piece of paper in her hand, muttering.
‘Dear Miss Wyncroft, I am so pleased to see you. What a to-do!’
The paper—which looked like a list—was rather crumpled, and her voice was tremulous.
Charlotte took the elderly lady’s hand and spoke in a calming tone. ‘Miss Langley, let me assist you. Let us sit, and you can tell me what has happened.’
‘Oh, dear... Well, the new oven is not working, and Cook says it will not do, for the third footman and Philip the groom have both tried to mend it, and she says she never wanted a new-fangled oven, and how is she supposed to cook for so many people on a modern contraption she says is quite useless? And the night footman tells me Mrs Cotter in the gatehouse is ill, and so is her baby, and I need to visit them—and Mrs Gordon says the young ladies are too demanding, and she will need two extra housemaids, but where I am supposed to find more housemaids I do not know!’
Miss Langley wept quietly into a lace-edged handkerchief. Charlotte’s heart melted for her. She held the dear lady’s hand and made soothing, reassuring noises, while all the time her mind was working on solutions to the day’s difficulties, none of which seemed to be insurmountable. It was a good distraction from her own troubles.
When Miss Langley seemed ready to talk again, Charlotte said tentatively, ‘Tell me...do you know who installed the oven?’
‘No, I cannot remember the name...’ Miss Langley thought for a second, her aged face crinkled with concentration. ‘But, wait—yes! It was Mr Price, from Farnham. He is an ironmonger, but now he sells new stoves.’
‘Could someone fetch Mr Price to repair the oven?’
‘Yes, of course. One of the grooms could go. But what if he cannot come? Or what if he cannot mend it today? What shall we do?’
‘Is there also a stove? Have you any other means of cooking?’
‘Well, yes, the top stove is still functioning, and we have the bread oven, which is in the third kitchen...’ She thought for a moment. ‘And we could use the fire griddle in the back chimney if we need to... But what of the pies and the roasted meats?’
‘Is it possible to review the menu with Cook, so she can avoid dishes normally finished in the oven? Just until Mr Price can restore it?’
‘Of course! I shall call her directly.’ Miss Langley moved to the bell-pull with renewed vigour.
Cook appeared quickly, with a harassed expression. Miss Langley, with great authority, told her of the plan. Cook, relieved, undertook to carry it out immediately. She and Miss Langley then had a discussion about a revised menu, which was soon agreed. Cook flashed a grateful look towards Charlotte as she left, though Charlotte had not spoken.
‘And now,’ said Charlotte, ‘tell me of the housemaids, and of the unreasonable demands that I and the other ladies are making.’
‘Oh, no, Miss Wyncroft! I should never suggest that you—Why, when you are so helpful, and so undemanding, and—’ She twisted the handkerchief between her hands. ‘No, never you, Miss Wyncroft. But the Etheringtons have brought only one maid, and of course, although dear Miss Faith has such an unassuming nature—’
‘She is a dear girl, is she not?’
‘Indeed she is. And not in the least like—But it is of no matter. We need two extra housemaids, and I do not know where we shall get them, for all of the village girls are already working in the kitchens, and none would be fit to attend the ladies above stairs.’
‘Could you perhaps use an agency? I know that in Vienna my father and his man of business always found staff to hire—except for my abigail and groom, who have been with us since before I was born.’
‘An agency? Perhaps... We have not entertained much in years. We normally hire extra staff from among the servants’ families, or from the village if we need to, but it is many years since we had such a large party at Chadcombe. Perhaps dear Adam would agree to an agency...’
‘Might Lord Shalford’s steward be of assistance?’
‘Indeed, yes—Grove will know how to do it. A capital idea! I shall seek him this instant. Thank you, my dear. Now, will he be in his office...? Or perhaps not—he was to meet with the thatcher today. Perhaps he... But no...’
She left in a flurry of trailing shawls and half-sentences, but Charlotte thought she was less anxious than she had been.
* * *
After lunch, the ladies, as well as Mr Foxley, Captain Fanton and Hubert, gathered in the drawing room. To Charlotte’s relief the Earl had left immediately, muttering about matters of business. She needed time to think. Was he playing with her? The hurt she had felt at first was now giving way to anger.
She had no great dowry. She was not eligible. So by kissing her, she could only conclude that he was trifling with her. Perhaps her first negative impression of him had been correct. Yet, she was finding it hard to think ill of him. Something in her wanted to find a way of reconciling things. What was he—honourable or dishonourable? And what of Millicent and Henrietta?
She stole a glance at her cousin. Henrietta was flirting with Hubert again. He paid her outrageous compliments and was unwavering in his attentions. They were bemoaning the fact that since their arrival at Chadcombe there had been no opportunities to dance.
‘Charlotte will play for us,’ Henrietta pronounced, ‘and you and I shall dance, Mr Etherington. Or perhaps Captain Fanton would like to dance with me?’
Charlotte’s heart sank. How was she to concentrate on music when her mind was awhirl? Before she could respond, however, Henrietta paused—changeable as quicksilver—frowning in concentration.
‘I have just had the most wonderful idea, Olivia,’ she said in a trilling voice.
Henrietta moved to sit with Lady Olivia, who had been quietly sewing a shirt. Olivia was surprised at Miss Buxted addressing her directly, for after the first couple of days Henrietta had not given much attention to any of the other ladies.
‘We have only a week left at Chadcombe. Should we not have a ball before we all part?’
‘Oh, how wonderful that would be!’ Olivia’s eyes lit up. ‘But Adam may not like it.’
‘Nonsens
e—we will persuade him. Would you not like to have a ball?’
‘Of course!’
‘We talked of going on a carriage ride tomorrow, if the dry weather should hold. We shall ask him then, and you and I can prepare all our arguments.’
Harry, who was just leaving, smiled mischievously at Charlotte. He was clearly enjoying Henrietta’s machinations. Charlotte sighed.
* * *
Adam was busy in conversation with his steward, Grove, when Harry found him. One of the estate cottages had suffered a small fire earlier in the day, and Grove had organised for the family to stay with relatives until repairs could be made to their home. It was the perfect distraction for Adam’s troubled mind.
‘Listen, Adam—you are to be assailed by the ladies.’ Harry’s eyes were dancing.
‘Indeed? What’s amiss?’
‘Miss Buxted has taken it into her head that you should hold a ball before they all leave. She’s got Olivia by the ear and the two of them are plotting to ask you.’
‘A ball? There hasn’t been a ball here for years. Remember when we were children, how we would hide on the landing and watch the guests arrive?’
‘Yes, and when we’d been put to bed Mama would come in to say goodnight, all satin and perfume and jewels!’
They grinned at each other.
‘So, what do you think?’
Adam shook his head slowly. ‘I’m not sure. It would be a lot of extra work for the servants, and for Great-Aunt Clara. I’m impressed that she has coped with our guests so well...’
Grove coughed delicately. ‘If I might be permitted, my lord—?’
‘Yes, Grove?’
‘Miss Langley has spoken to me about hiring two additional housemaids. If I make that four, and add two manservants, then I expect we will manage any extra work.’ He paused. ‘It would be good to see the ballroom in use again.’
Waltzing with the Earl Page 10