She usually rose early and made her way to the morning room to play music before breakfast.
She could lose herself in the music. Sometimes it helped her forget. Other times it made her remember. And if tears came that was acceptable, since she generally felt a little better afterwards.
She missed the walks in Chadcombe, and her rides on Lusy. She had always loved being outdoors, and had never truly appreciated the freedom she had enjoyed until it was taken from her. Now she was expected to be always available in case the ladies needed her, so she had rarely stepped outside the door since the day they had all walked to the Chinese Bridge. She had not seen the Earl since.
Today, though, she would have some escape. Faith—dear Faith—conscious of Charlotte’s unhappiness, had asked Mrs Buxted if Charlotte might accompany her on a walk to the park after Church, as Mr Foxley was to call to walk with them.
Henrietta, when asked, had not wanted to go. ‘Walk with Mr Foxley?’ She’d sniffed. ‘I should think not!’
Mrs Buxted had politely asked Charlotte if she would chaperon Faith to the park. Charlotte had been only too happy to agree.
They were just going down the steps when they spied Captain Fanton, walking along Half-Moon Street towards Buxted House.
He greeted them warmly. ‘I was on my way to see if anyone wished to go for a walk.’
‘You may accompany us,’ said Faith, ‘for we are just walking to Green Park.’
‘I should be delighted,’ he said, offering Charlotte his arm.
As they walked, they naturally stayed in their pairs. Strolling behind Faith and Mr Foxley, Charlotte was struck by strong memories of the many walks at Chadcombe—only then it had often been the Earl who had walked with her. But she must not think of him.
The day was cool and dry—apart from that one hot day a few weeks ago the summer had been disappointingly cold. That was the day when she and the Earl had ridden together to see the ruined abbey, and Faith had become unwell...
‘Is your brother still away on business?’ she asked Captain Fanton—her self-control had lasted less than a minute.
‘Er...yes. I hope he will return for the festival tomorrow.’
At the park gates they stopped to read a large notice indicating that the celebrations here were not open to the general public, and directing people to the festival fair in Hyde Park. It also announced that at eight tomorrow evening there would be a re-enactment of the Battle of Trafalgar on the Serpentine.
The Captain was fascinated. ‘That looks excellent. Foxley, will you be there for the festival?’
‘I will. I wonder how they will do the re-enactment?’
Mr Foxley and the Captain discussed the upcoming festivities much in the manner of excited schoolboys, Charlotte thought. She took the opportunity to speak to Faith.
‘It is good to see Mr Foxley again. I declare I have missed him these past few days—though not, I imagine, as much as you.’
Faith blushed rosily. ‘I am happy to be in his company again.’
‘Forgive me—I do not wish to intrude—but has he not spoken to my uncle yet? I was sure he would seek permission to pay his addresses before we left Chadcombe.’
Faith sighed. ‘No. We fear Mama will object. Even though he is her godson. I know she hoped I would make a brilliant marriage. But I have no wish for a title, or for great wealth.’
‘So why does he not ask?’
‘Well, you see, if he is rejected by M—by Papa, it will become difficult for us to see one another. At least this way we can still walk together, and pretend that some day we might be allowed to marry.’
Charlotte noticed her slip—Faith’s mama was the true barrier here. ‘Faith, I am not the best person to advise you, but I know now how quickly happiness can be stolen away. If you have a chance to be happy you should do all in your power to keep it.’
Faith frowned. ‘Do you truly think so?’
‘I do—and perhaps your parents will agree to the match.’
‘Oh, if only they would!’
They had now reached the Queen’s Basin, and Mr Foxley took his customary place by Faith’s side. He took her hand and spoke earnestly to her.
‘Faith, I have been speaking to Captain Fanton about our situation. I know Miss Wyncroft will not mind if I speak plainly. The Captain recommends I speak to your father.’
Faith looked to Captain Fanton, who nodded. ‘I think Mr Buxted holds you both in high estimation, and we all can see how well-suited you are. I believe it might be good to discuss it with him, at least.’
‘I have just had a similar conversation with Charlotte,’ said Faith. ‘Perhaps, then, you should speak to him. But what if he forbids you from seeing me again?’
‘Mrs Buxted is my godmother. I do not think I will be banned, for I have done nothing improper—save, perhaps, discussing my feelings with you before speaking to your Papa.’
They moved off in the direction of the fortress, heads close together, planning and conspiring.
Charlotte and Harry watched them, before glancing at each other ruefully.
‘They are so excited,’ said Charlotte. ‘I do hope we have advised them correctly.’
‘Of course we have.’ said the Captain. ‘Life is too short to waste in such dithering.’
He offered her his arm and they followed the young lovebirds.
‘Since Papa died I have been conscious of how happy I was before, and how I did not even appreciate it.’
‘I know what you mean. I have seen so much death, Miss Wyncroft. So many young lives lost too soon. Men who will never marry. These two need to make the most of the happiness they have found.’
She had always wished for a brother, and had unfortunately fallen into the habit during her time at Chadcombe of thinking of the Fantons as family—probably because she had been falling in love with the Earl at the time. It would have been wonderful to have Harry as a brother, Olivia as her dear sister. But she had never deluded herself. Her dowry—even when she’d had one—would not have been enough to tempt the Earl.
‘At least that is what my aunt says.’
Charlotte recalled herself to the conversation. ‘Lady Annesley?’
‘Ah, you are acquainted with my Aunt Sophia?’
‘Yes, she knows—she knew—both my parents. She called to visit us yesterday. She is very kind.’
Charlotte had been happy to see Lady Annesley again, for she liked the Earl’s godmother. Lady Sophia had glared at Mrs Buxted when she had spoken sharply to Charlotte. Her aunt had looked uncomfortable, and had treated Charlotte a little better for the rest of the visit.
‘She tells me not to hurry to marry, but to believe I will find the right girl some day. I know she tells my brother the same.’
Charlotte blushed, and mumbled something unintelligible.
‘He is a good man, Adam—though I tease him for being a trifle staid at times.’
Was Harry trying to provoke her? Remembering the rose garden kiss—which the Captain had witnessed—she knew one would never describe the passionate Adam as staid!
Harry was continuing, his tone entirely serious, so she had to conclude she was being oversensitive.
‘He has always had the burden of being the heir, while I have been free to enjoy life more. I have had the easier task in many ways, and if it makes me seem flippant sometimes, then I apologise.’
‘Not at all. Your sense of fun becomes you as much as your brother’s seriousness suits him.’
‘He would not tell me what has happened, you know, but I am sure something is amiss between you.’ He looked at her directly. ‘I am at your service, Miss Wyncroft, if there is anything I can do. My brother is a good man, and he deserves the best of everything.’
What was she to make of this? He clearly had no idea o
f his brother’s dishonourable intentions. Well, she would not destroy his ideals.
‘I thank you, Captain Fanton, but I do not require any assistance. Shall we catch up with Faith and Mr Foxley? I am not performing my chaperoning duties very well.’
‘Chaperon? You? Her chaperon?’ He laughed. ‘Why, you are barely out of the schoolroom yourself.’
She replied with a tart riposte, and they bickered contentedly all the way back to Half-Moon Street. It was the lightest Charlotte had felt since she had heard about Papa.
Chapter Twenty-One
Adam stopped to wipe his brow. This was his second time travelling the flat road between Reims and Laon, and the French heat was draining. He believed, though, that he was making some progress. He had started in Reims, and he was now sure the Colonel and his colleagues had not reached Laon. Somewhere in between was the answer to the mystery of how Charlotte’s papa had lost his life.
The source who had reported the deaths of four mounted English officers was unknown, as was the location of the ‘shallow graves’ where they had been buried. It was daunting. No one really cared about four little-known English soldiers and where they’d died.
No one but the Earl. He had to try, for Charlotte’s sake. He had to find Sir Edward’s grave, or his belongings—anything that might help Charlotte make an end to some of her pain.
He had now adopted the tactic of stopping in every village along the route. It was not clear whether the soldiers had been attacked soon after leaving Reims, or had stopped for the night before meeting their end. This village—well, it was a hamlet, really—was as likely as any other as a place where the group may have stopped. At the least they would have had to seek regular food and water for their horses, as well as for themselves.
It looked as if there were two inns in this place. He looked more closely at the name over the inn on the right. Charlotte de Valois. His heartbeat quickened. If Sir Edward had noticed the name...
He dismounted, led his horse to the watering butt and tethered him there. Then, trying not to be over-optimistic, he entered the inn.
The place was blessedly cool inside. There were a couple of customers at tables, and more at the long bar on the far side of the taproom. They all turned to look at him when he entered.
Adam ordered a beer, which the innkeeper served without a word. Adam sighed. Another taciturn Frenchman. They were making his task so difficult. Still, he had to persist.
‘I am looking for four English soldiers. They passed through here on horseback about two weeks ago. Do you remember them?’
‘Hmm... Some Englishmen stayed for one night. They left the next morning.’
‘What was their destination?’
The innkeeper thought about this, then shrugged. ‘Calais, I think. They were going through Corbeny. Excuse me.’
Frustratingly, he then left Adam to see to another customer—a French soldier. A moment later he returned.
‘This soldier may have some information for you.’
Adam thanked him, then walked to the table near the door, where the French soldier was enjoying a savoury stew.
‘Pardon, m’sieur.’
‘You are seeking information.’ It was not a question. The soldier continued to eat the stew.
‘I am. Four Englishmen on horseback—’
He looked up. ‘Wyncroft, Mercer, Foden and Hewitson.’
‘Yes! Do you know what happened to them?’
The Frenchman smiled ruefully. ‘You ask the right man. I am Capitaine Didot.’
* * *
Henrietta thought she was behaving very well. She told all who would listen that she was having a good birthday. There were an acceptable number of presents—including two posies of flowers from her admirers, and a book of poetry from Hubert. There was nothing from the Earl, who had not yet returned to London. Henrietta had told Faith and Charlotte that he would probably buy her an especially good present for being late. Everyone was being most kind, she said, and even the Peace Gala planned for that night seemed as though it was especially for her.
‘Charlotte, I wish to borrow your ermine muff this evening, for the night may be cold.’
Charlotte hesitated.
‘And do not say you will be using it, for it is entirely unsuitable for mourning wear.’
Charlotte gritted her teeth. ‘I shall endeavour to find it, Henrietta.’
‘Oh, do not worry, for I have already sent Flint to fetch it.’
This proved to be the case. When Charlotte returned to her room, Flint was just leaving with the fur hand-muff, an apologetic expression on her normally impassive face.
Charlotte said nothing, but was moved to punch her pillow when she was safely alone. Henrietta had already ruined a shawl and two pairs of Charlotte’s gloves, having ‘borrowed’ them. Really, Henrietta was the most frustrating, the most spoiled—
She forced her mind to be calm. She must endure. She was hoping tonight’s Gala would divert her spoiled cousin, for today Henrietta had been even more demanding than usual, and Aunt Buxted had indulged her daughter’s every birthday whim.
Charlotte donned her cloak and joined Aunt Buxted, Henrietta and Faith downstairs. Mr Buxted would view the festivities with his own friends, he said, for the ladies would wander around the fair for hours and forego a proper supper. He would eat at his club.
They travelled by carriage to Hyde Park for the re-enactment—which was cleverly done with rowing boats—then went on to Green Park for the unveiling of the Temple of Concord. As promised, the upper level did rotate, and the spectacle was made even more exciting by the addition of eight mechanical fountains, two on each side of the temple. The paintings—which became difficult to see after sunset—showed allegorical scenes of England’s triumph under the Regency.
The evening finished with the anticipated walk around the fair and an impressive firework display. They met many friends and acquaintances at the various events—including Mr Foxley and the Captain, who stood together at the re-enactment—and returned to Buxted House weary but content.
Charlotte, while relieved that she had been asked to attend with the family, had struggled to find enjoyment in this celebration of war. She had eaten nothing all day, and could not wait to find her bed.
‘How exciting! What a wonderful birthday I have had!’ Henrietta exclaimed.
‘Yes, dear. But it is late now, so you must calm yourself or else you will not sleep tonight.’
‘Oh, Mama. As if anything could stop me from sleeping. Why, you have said yourself that I could sleep the clock around if I were allowed to.’
‘That is true. Would anyone like some hot milk before bedtime?’
‘No, thank you, Mama.’
‘In that case, I shall retire. Is Mr Buxted home?’
The footman on duty nodded. ‘Yes, madam. He has already retired.’
‘Very well—you may lock up.’
As her aunt and Henrietta mounted the stairs Charlotte took the opportunity to have a quiet word with Faith.
‘I saw you speak to Mr Foxley at the fireworks. Has he approached my uncle?’
Faith nodded miserably.
‘Never say he rejected Mr Foxley?’
‘No...but he has not given his approval either. Papa has said he must consider the matter.’
‘I see... In that case, perhaps he will say yes.’
Faith’s eyes misted. ‘I cannot believe so. I know Papa. He is a wonderful man, but it is difficult when Mama has her mind set.’
Charlotte hugged her. ‘Do not give up hope. Things may yet work out well.’
Twenty minutes later, sitting on her bed, she repeated her thoughts to Priddy.
Priddy was brushing out Charlotte’s long hair, having waited up to attend to her mistress despite Charlotte�
�s earlier instructions to the contrary.
‘Mr Foxley is a fine young man, but Miss Faith’s papa must do what he believes to be best for her.’
‘I think he would be just the husband for her.’
‘Now, Miss Charlotte, it is not for you to interfere.’
‘I do so wish to interfere in this case, but you are right. I just—’
She broke off, for there was a sharp scratching at her door. Priddy opened it, and Charlotte heard the footman’s voice.
‘Miss Wyncroft is wanted downstairs.’
‘Why? What is happening?’
‘As to that, I cannot say. I was told by the mistress to fetch her.’
Charlotte rose as Priddy came back. ‘Perhaps Henrietta is upset about something. But why would they return downstairs?’
Priddy handed Charlotte a light robe to wear over her thin nightgown. ‘Shall I accompany you?’
‘No, you should go to bed. If Henrietta is having a tantrum this could take hours. I am surprised, though, for she seemed in excellent spirits not half an hour ago.’
As she descended the stairs, barefoot, Charlotte slipped her arms through the light muslin robe. There were voices coming from the small parlour. Her aunt—exclaiming. Then a man’s voice. Was Mr Buxted also awake? It was extremely odd.
She reached the hallway and Biddle was there. ‘What is amiss, Biddle?’
He looked strangely shaken. ‘Miss Wyncroft...’ His voice shook. ‘We have unexpected visitors. I—’ He composed himself and opened the door for her. ‘The Earl of Shalford and...and Colonel Sir Edward Wyncroft.’
Charlotte felt as though she were in a dream. The Earl was there, looking weary, but smiling, and beside him, was—
‘Papa?’ Her voice was little more than a whisper.
‘My little Lottie! My darling girl. I am so happy to see you.’
Was this real? How could this be real?
She wanted to run to him, but her feet would not move, and now everything was starting to go black. Just like...
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