The floor was of Italian marble, and featured a herringbone pattern around the edges. Two large chandeliers had been imported from France before the wars, and these had been lowered for cleaning earlier in the week. They still rested on soft cloths on the floor, and two housemaids were inserting dozens of long candles into each of their lights. They were beautiful, delicate pieces of bronze doré, with myriad pieces of cut glass to reflect the light and make it dance. Charlotte was excited at the thought of the effect tonight, when the darkness would be banished beautifully by crystal candlelight.
New candles had also been placed in various sconces and candelabra around the room, and would ensure the ball was brightly lit. Three hundred beeswax candles had been ordered for the ball, at a shocking cost of fifteen pounds—more than Priddy’s annual salary. They were to be used throughout the public rooms, the hallways and the privy rooms. A hundred would light the ballroom itself.
The new housemaids—hired from London—were busy cleaning mirrors, walls and tables, and the floors would be washed in the afternoon, when the other tasks were completed.
There were three sets of double doors along the left side of the room, which opened onto a terrace near the rose garden, and they would be opened tonight if the ballroom became too hot. To the right was the card room, where Mr Buxted and others of a like mind would retire to play piquet, whist and vingt-et-un.
At the far end of the ballroom, next to the dais where the musicians would sit, was a door to the large supper room. Here they found Mrs Gordon.
‘Oh, good morning, Miss Wyncroft... Mr Grove,’ she said, curtseying to Charlotte. ‘I should like your advice, for we must decide about the supper tables. We can lay them across the room or along it, in two long lines.’
They debated the options for a few moments, finally agreeing that with the numbers expected the long tables were the better option. Relieved that everything was under control, Charlotte left them to it and went to the gardens.
As arranged, she met Fradgely, the head gardener, who provided her with a chestnut and willow trug and a stout pair of metal shears. Grove had ordered large numbers of flowers from a trader in Farnham, who was travelling to the Covent Garden market for fresh blooms that morning. He would not be expected to arrive until mid-afternoon, but the vases were ready. Charlotte’s task was to cut a selection of flowers from Chadcombe’s own gardens for the large display that was to adorn the ballroom dais.
Satisfied that the staff had everything under control, Charlotte enjoyed an hour meandering among the sights and scents of the gardens, gradually filling her basket with Sweet William, honesty, geraniums, hollyhocks and a variety of roses. The day was still cool, cloudy and dry, and Fradgely believed there would be no rain until the morrow.
Lost in thought, and humming to herself, she failed to notice the Earl until he was right in front of her.
‘Oh! Lord Shalford.’ She made her curtsey and could not prevent a smile spreading over her face on seeing him.
For the Earl’s part, it seemed the sun had just come out.
Adam was wearing his favoured buckskins, which clung tightly to the muscles of his legs. His coat of grey superfine looked as if it was moulded to him, and accentuated his broad shoulders. Charlotte could not recall being so conscious of a man’s figure before. It was disconcerting, to say the least.
Since the incident with the poachers, and their ride home, Charlotte had been aware of him in this new way. Her heart leapt whenever she saw him, she had a strange warmth in the pit of her stomach, and she liked to imagine he had a partiality for her that he did not have for anyone else. Yet she could never forget that her lack of dowry meant that there was no future for her in his life. Which still left the possibility that he was trifling with her.
She had been spending more time in his company, for she still liked to walk every morning. Now, though, he insisted in accompanying her—and whoever else was walking that day. It was her favourite part of the day, and she hated the thought that it would all end when they left Chadcombe in two days’ time.
‘Are you well today, Miss Wyncroft?’
Unexpectedly he lifted her hand, bent over it, and kissed it. Charlotte was acutely conscious of the sensation of his lips on her bare hand, and the fact that her heart was beating rapidly.
‘I am well, my lord,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘As you see, I am cutting some of your flowers. Are they not beautiful?’
Still holding her hand, he looked intently up at her. ‘Beautiful.’
Charlotte could feel her colour rising. She was not imagining things—he was still flirting with her. Reminding herself yet again that he could not possibly be serious in his intentions—she might not know the exact state of her dowry, but she knew she was no heiress—she withdrew her hand from his.
‘I must go to my cousins, for they will surely be up and preparing for the ball.’
* * *
He allowed her to go, smiling inwardly at her agitation. Soon, he thought, her father would be home and he could petition him to support his suit. Then he would woo her properly. All worries about her lack of dowry were gone. His path was clear. He loved Charlotte and would marry her.
It meant that he could do very little to improve the estate in his lifetime, but with Charlotte by his side they would hold Chadcombe well. The family and the tenants would be cared for by a master and mistress who had a true love for Chadcombe.
He was sure his father would have understood. In fact, he did not care about what his father would have thought—which the old man would have liked!
* * *
Charlotte, knowing nothing of his plans, was all confusion. She did know she was in severe danger of losing her heart to him, and then, when he married Millicent—or Henrietta—she would be broken.
They had only two days left in Chadcombe. She would enjoy the ball, make the most of her time here, and then she would go away, far away, with Papa, to recover.
She increased her speed, seeking the safety of the house.
* * *
Charlotte gazed at her reflection, thrilled. She had known from the start that this ball-gown was special. It was a stunning white gauze evening gown, worn over an under-dress of midnight-blue French satin. It had little puffed sleeves and a demi-train, and was embroidered with tiny silver rosebuds.
She had loved the dress from the moment she had tried it on, and had looked forward to wearing it. Now, with the addition of long evening gloves and matching satin dancing slippers, her preparations were complete. Biting her lip in excitement, she acknowledged she had rarely looked better. Her eyes were dark blue and sparkling with anticipation, her cheeks had a rosy blush, and her dark hair had been expertly arranged by Flint, with pretty side-curls framing her delicate face. Her only jewels were a simple string of pearls which had belonged to her mother.
She was unaware that she was also glowing with happiness, giving her an inner light that was almost ethereal in its radiance.
Tonight she was going to enjoy every moment. She was going to stand up for as many dances as she could, and make up for all those evenings spent sitting in her room in Buxted House, trying not to think about what she was missing.
This staircase was surely designed with ball-gowns in mind, she thought whimsically as she walked carefully downstairs. She imagined the huge panniers of fifty years ago, and was glad current fashions were so much more elegant.
The Earl and Miss Langley had already taken up their positions in the hallway, ready to greet their guests. Some sixth sense made the Earl turn as Charlotte was about halfway down. On seeing her, his eyes widened and he smiled warmly. The look in his eyes was one of admiration, and Charlotte’s heart beat faster. He—like all the gentlemen—was in full evening-wear: the knee breeches and plain black coat much favoured by that leader of fashion, Mr Brummell.
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��Miss Wyncroft.’ His voice was a little husky. ‘You look stunning.’
Miss Langley turned. ‘Oh, Miss Wyncroft, what a beautiful dress! You look charming, my dear.’
A dimple peeped out in Charlotte’s cheek. ‘As do you, Miss Langley. What an elegant headdress.’
* * *
Why, thought Adam, have I never noticed that dimple before?
With his inner turmoil resolved, he was looking forward to the freedom of being in her company again. Tonight she looked dazzlingly beautiful. He wished he could partner her to the ball, and his mind raced ahead to envisage her as his wife, standing with him in this very spot, waiting to receive their guests jointly.
* * *
Miss Langley was explaining to Charlotte that dear Olivia had persuaded her about the headdress, though she had thought to wear her usual cap. But now she had done it she thought perhaps feathers were not so outlandish.
Charlotte reassured her.
The Earl picked something up from a side table. ‘A gift for you, from myself and Miss Langley. There is one for all the lady guests.’
She took it. It was a beautiful, delicate fan, decorated with swirling colours and patterns.
‘Thank you, my lord. I shall treasure it.’
There was a little ribbon on the bottom of the fan, so she hung it over her arm. Now she was truly ready for the ball.
* * *
Four hours later, Charlotte left the supper room to return to the ballroom, knowing that Lord Shalford’s ball was a great success. All those invited had attended, and the public rooms were thronged with guests—some of whom had travelled many miles to be there. Already they were saying that this July night was the biggest event of the year. The music, the food and the dancing were excellent, and all agreed that the new Earl certainly knew how to entertain.
Charlotte had been conscious of keeping an eye on the staff, for fear some disaster might occur, but she need not have worried. Everything had gone smoothly—a credit to the large team of servants that most of the guests would barely notice.
She had been surprised to find herself in much demand as a dancing partner. Thankfully Reverend Sneddon would not dance, and nor did he approve of dancing—though he conceded he could not single-handedly change society’s preoccupation with balls.
‘The Lord,’ he had pronounced, ‘hast pleasure in uprightness, not pleasure in pleasure.’
He was so pleased with this witticism that he shared it with as many people as he could find, with disappointing results. No one, it seemed, appreciated his genius.
Charlotte had danced with Harry, with Mr Foxley, and with two of the local young men, who had flirted with her and complimented her in a most enjoyable manner. She had also danced a cotillion with the Earl, which she had particularly enjoyed. He was a good dancer, moving with an easy grace that had belied the complexities of the dance.
Henrietta, Faith and Millicent had also been in demand, and Olivia was thrilled to be enjoying her first ‘proper’ dances—albeit with young men she had known all her life. She had told Charlotte, shyly, that in this new setting she looked at some of them in quite a new manner.
Faith had been careful not to spend too much time with Mr Foxley, although Charlotte suspected they were both deeply in love. She wondered when the diffident Mr Foxley would have the courage to speak to her aunt and uncle.
Henrietta was in alt, having attracted a new throng of beaux. Poor Hubert had been reduced to hanging around, muttering about country bumpkins who knew nothing of fashion.
Indeed, many of the young gentlemen were impressed by Hubert’s elegance. Not for him the rigidity of Mr Brummel—his palette, he said, was wider than that! For tonight he had chosen a coat of ruby-red brocade with gold frogging, which reminded Charlotte of a dressing gown. Wearing it with an impressive mustard waistcoat and high, starched shirt points, he certainly stood out amid the boring black, blue and grey evening coats of the other men.
This circumstance, plus his air of distance, had caused many of the younger guests to look at him admiringly—the ladies wished to flirt with him and the young gentlemen tried to take in every detail of his costume. For here, surely, was a Pink of the ton.
Henrietta’s new admirers were clearly awestruck. Charlotte, watching, could only wish Henrietta had not worn so much jewellery, for it made her look quite vulgar. Diamonds dripped from her earlobes, hung around her neck and glistened on her wrist. She flirted expertly with her new fan, which was similar to Charlotte’s.
Millicent, too, was enjoying the ball, and had danced every dance. She also had collected a swarm of local swains, interested to know her name and her opinions, and to offer their services should she need some punch.
The older guests were either in the card room or seated along the right-hand side of the room, watching the young people dance. Mrs Buxted’s enormous purple turban dominated the huddle of chaperons, most of whom had spent the evening reminiscing about their own dancing days.
Olivia sidled up to Charlotte. ‘Great-Aunt Clara has just given an instruction to the musicians to play a waltz. It is so exciting. I only wish I had learned to waltz, for I will need to know how to dance it before my come-out. But at least I shall get to see it.’
‘Well, Olivia.’
It was the Earl.
‘Are you enjoying yourself, chit?’
‘Oh, I am. And you are a wonderful brother.’
She dashed off before he could reply, hoping to get a good spot from where to watch the waltzing.
The Earl looked a little startled, but pleased. Recovering, he bowed to Charlotte. ‘Would you do me the pleasure of dancing the waltz with me?’
Charlotte’s happiness was complete. ‘I should be delighted, my lord.’
There was a murmur of excitement as the couples took the floor. Belatedly Charlotte realised that Henrietta was glowering at her. Oh, no! Henrietta had probably expected the Earl to offer her the waltz.
‘My lord, I think Henrietta wishes to dance the waltz with you. And I feel a little unwell, so—’
‘Oh, no! You shall not sacrifice yourself for her this time. You are not unwell, for I never saw you in greater looks, and it is you I wish to dance with—not your cousin. Let her find a partner from among her admirers.’
Shocked, but secretly pleased, Charlotte let it go. In truth, this was her wish. Right now she wanted to enjoy this dance, with this man, in this ballroom and wearing this dress.
The music began.
Whirling around the ballroom, Charlotte felt as if she were in a dream. The room and the people were blurred with movement. In the golden light of a hundred candles the only thing in focus was his face. His eyes were fixed on hers. She could feel his arm around her, steadying her as they swept around the floor. The music lifted them, swelling and flowing with emotion and grace.
They moved effortlessly together, and drew many admiring glances from around the room.
Too quickly for Charlotte’s liking the waltz came to an end. She and the Earl, very properly, took a step back from each other and she curtseyed as he bowed.
‘Did you enjoy that?’ he asked as they walked towards the large table near the doors, where two liveried footmen were serving punch.
‘Oh, I did! It has been so long since I have danced the waltz.’
‘You should dance it every day, if you wish, for you dance especially well.’
‘Oh, well, it was expected in Vienna. We had many hours of lessons in my school with the dancing master. I can actually dance the man’s part, too, for my friend Juliana and I would practise together.’
He handed her a glass of punch. ‘Indeed? I can imagine it easily, for you are a masterful lady. Where is your friend now?’
‘Still in Vienna—but she will come to England this year. I shall be happy to see her again.’
She sipped the sweet punch, glad of the cooling liquid in her throat as the room was so warm. She glanced around. Many eyes were on her and the Earl. Some people were chatting behind fans; others were simply eyeing them speculatively. Mrs Buxted was glaring at them.
‘Oh, my goodness!’ She spoke aloud without thinking.
‘What is it? Something ails you?’ He was all concern.
‘They are all looking at us. It is horrible.’ A flush rose in her cheeks.
He had already noticed the gawking, but tried to soothe her. ‘Most of them will be unused to the waltz, and some older people in particular may disapprove. Does it bother you? It shouldn’t, you know.’
She did not argue, but they both knew the real reason for the speculation was not just their dance. Adam cursed himself for exposing her to gossip—although he could not regret waltzing with her. Until her father returned he could not speak his heart and propose to her, and the gossips would speculate that he was simply trifling.
How best to protect her?
He had an idea. ‘Come with me.’
She complied, and he led her to his great-aunt.
‘Miss Wyncroft, I believe you will be comfortable here.’
He seated her beside Miss Langley, and in doing so reminded all the gossips that she was close to the family and it was hardly surprising that they were at ease with each other. Satisfied that he had found a clever solution, he bowed politely—again correcting any misapprehensions about the degree of closeness between them—and left.
Charlotte was confused. Where was her warm, friendly dance partner of five minutes ago? Why was he behaving with such coldness? He had abandoned her with the chaperons, and his bow had been much slighter than his usual courtesies to her.
Anxiety stabbed her, and the glow she had felt during the waltz began to dim. Really, she had begun to rely on him—on their friendship—too much. Now she saw how easily it would disappear. She was leaving Chadcombe the day after tomorrow and would not, despite her dreamy hopes tonight, see much of him again. She watched, helpless, as he crossed the room, petitioning Henrietta for the next dance.
Waltzing with the Earl Page 16