Waltzing with the Earl

by Catherine Tinley

  She saw the Earl’s expression change as he stepped forward urgently to catch her as she fell.

  This time she came round to find herself being carried in the Earl’s strong arms to the nearest settee.

  ‘Papa?’ she asked him as he gently laid her down. ‘I thought I saw Papa.’

  ‘I am here, Daughter.’

  He was beside the Earl. Both looked concerned.

  Charlotte sat up, and reached out to hug her father. ‘Papa! Papa!’

  They hugged for some moments, while the Earl covertly wiped a speck from his eye.

  Charlotte finally regained the ability to speak. ‘But I do not understand! How can this be? They told me—Major Cooke told me—’

  ‘Yes, yes, but we cannot blame the Major, for I was nearly dead. Two of the men who travelled with me were killed, and it is only by good fortune that I and Mercer survived.’

  He looked older, and pale and tired. His left arm was bandaged, and he was definitely thinner than he should be. But he was alive. Charlotte had the same sense of unreality that she had felt in the Earl’s library, when Major Cooke had spoken to her, but this time it was a beautiful, wonderful, fantastical unreality.

  And the Earl was here too. Why was he with Papa?

  She looked towards him in some confusion. ‘How has this come about?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Papa, ‘I think you know Lord Shalford. Well, he has been my rescuer.’

  ‘Hardly that,’ said the Earl. ‘Captain Didot was already on his way to release you when I met him. He would have done it sooner, only he was feverish with an infected wound and had to stay in Reims for near a sennight.’

  ‘Yes, but he would have brought me only as far as Reims, and I would have had the devil’s time of it trying to arrange for clean clothing and funds and my passage home. The Earl organised everything for Mercer, too—got him to the Commissioner’s building, where he could be looked after, and left him funds to manage everything—Mercer told me. I must admit it was all much easier with an earl making the arrangements. We were home in two days.’

  He twinkled at the Earl, who threw his head back and laughed in response.

  ‘Now, Sir Edward, you will make me sound like an autocrat, who uses his title unfairly.’

  ‘“I am the Earl of Shalford!”’ said Sir Edward, in a mockingly haughty tone. ‘“I wish to cross the Channel today, not tomorrow.”’

  The Arrogant Earl! thought Charlotte, remembering her first—wrong—impression of him.

  ‘You have me there. But it had the desired effect, did it not?’

  ‘It certainly did—for here we are. We started out Sunday morning, near Laon, and I hardly know what day it is now! That was yesterday, I think.’

  ‘Oh, Papa, you must rest. Aunt Buxted, perhaps...?’

  Mrs Buxted, who had been sitting in unaccustomed silence in a rather shocking lilac nightgown, with her hair half unpinned, suddenly came to attention.

  ‘Yes, of course. Sir Edward—you must stay with us. I shall ask Biddle to call Mrs Walker.’

  Biddle, when called, had already anticipated the need. ‘Mrs Walker is preparing a room for Sir Edward at this moment. I presume—’ he bowed to the Earl ‘—Lord Shalford would prefer to retire to his own townhouse?’

  ‘Indeed, and I shall leave right now,’ said the Earl.

  Sir Edward shook his hand warmly. ‘Thank you, my boy,’ he said, in the tone normally reserved for his best officers. ‘Shall I see you on the morrow?’

  ‘I think I can safely promise it,’ said the Earl.

  He bowed to the ladies—smiling warmly at Charlotte, who beamed back—and left them.

  * * *

  As he travelled home in the hired coach, the Earl reflected that, despite his tiredness, he might not get much sleep tonight. Charlotte’s reaction had been all he had hoped for—and he had anticipated it many times since Didot had taken him to the cave where Sir Edward and his colleague had been held.

  It had been odd to see Didot and Sir Edward dealing with each other so politely. The former enemies had accepted each other’s apologies—Sir Edward for the deaths of Didot’s comrades and Didot for attacking the group in the first place, for the deaths of Foden and Hewitson, and then for keeping Sir Edward and Mercer captive for so long.

  The infected wound which had so delayed Didot’s return had been inflicted, ironically, by Sir Edward himself. The adversaries had parted with a sense of mutual respect which Adam had found curiously noble.

  He had been busy afterwards, seeing to Mercer and Sir Edward, who both carried injuries. Initially they had hired a cart from a local aged man who, it seemed, had been the cause of the trouble. It was he who had fed Didot misinformation, motivated by revenge for the death of his only son, killed in battle by an English bayonet.

  Adam had brought the two injured soldiers to Reims, where they had enjoyed good food and comfortable sleep for the first time since they had left the city. The following day, he had sorted out the necessary funds for the three of them, organised Mercer’s safe passage to Paris, where his brother would meet him, and finally, hired a coach to take himself and Sir Edward to Calais.

  Through it all, thoughts of Charlotte had sustained him.

  His likely insomnia tonight, however, was not due to Charlotte’s undoubted happiness, but had quite another source. The unexpected sight of his beloved en déshabillé, wearing nothing but thin nightrail, and with her glorious hair unbound, had affected him profoundly. It would surely be almost dawn before he would successfully eliminate the enchanting image—and the feeling of holding her in his arms—from his mind.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Charlotte’s joy on waking the next day was immediate. Her heart, which had struggled to become accustomed to the loss of her father, now thrilled at his return. She donned her favourite morning dress of lemon figured muslin, and shared her delight with Priddy, who was dressing her hair.

  ‘I am so glad I stayed up last night, Miss Charlotte, for you gave me the best possible news.’

  ‘It is wonderful, is it not? I cannot wait to see Papa today—to talk to him and to hug him and hear his tale.’

  ‘He is still abed at present, but the servants, as you may imagine, are agog with curiosity.’

  Charlotte giggled. ‘I am hardly surprised, for it seems amazing to me that he is alive.’

  ‘Yes—and have you thought about what this means for yourself? You will not be living here as an orphan, but instead you will be with your father.’

  ‘I know. Oh, Priddy—I expect he will have an Army pension, or work for the Foreign Office, and we shall get by. I hope also that you and Joseph can be part of our household.’

  ‘Well, as to that, I am sure Sir Edward will let us know—though we would not wish to be a burden.’

  ‘Oh, Priddy, of course he will find a way, for everything is perfect now.’

  Well, nearly everything, she amended in her head.

  In the event, Sir Edward slept until mid-afternoon. Charlotte had asked that a bath be offered to him, to which Mrs Buxted had agreed with alacrity. Her aunt seemed fascinated by Sir Edward’s tale, and had talked of the notoriety to be gained by hosting one whose story would earn him the status of hero among the ton.

  She had already written excited letters to two of her closest friends, her crossed and re-crossed lines detailing the heroism, endurance and good fortune of her illustrious relative. Unfortunately London society was preoccupied today, with the news that the Chinese Pagoda had caught fire after the Buxted party had left the park, and two men and some swans had died.

  The crowd had clapped and cheered, thinking the conflagration a planned part of the celebrations. Mrs Buxted had said, to Charlotte’s amusement, that she was sure she would not have been so stupid.

  So Sir Edward ha
d a bath, and the services of Mr Buxted’s valet, who shaved him, cut his hair and helped him dress. The Colonel was rather limited by the injuries to his arm and the back of his head, though both wounds were healing well.

  Charlotte’s things had quietly been moved back into her old room—which still had the original green hangings—and Priddy had taken great delight in unpacking Charlotte’s trunks and returning her hairbrushes to the dressing table.

  The Colonel finally appeared in the drawing room late in the afternoon, looking much more like his old self than when Charlotte had seen him last. She jumped up to embrace him, then held his hand as Mrs Buxted introduced him to her daughters, her friend Mrs Spenborough, and to Mr Foxley, who had called for his usual visit.

  Mr Foxley and Faith still seemed quite forlorn, and Charlotte surmised that Mr Buxted had not yet given Mr Foxley his decision.

  Sir Edward contentedly endured the attentions of the group and told his story in full—though playing down some of the more distressing details. His audience were fascinated and amazed. Mrs Spenborough could hardly wait to spread the story far and wide, and pressed Sir Edward for every detail she could think of, including whether he had been tortured in captivity.

  ‘No, not at all.’ Sir Edward laughed. ‘I do not say living in a cave is to be recommended, but we were well-treated. There was not much food, and it was cold at times, but better that than being held somewhere that exposed us to the hot French sun.’

  The Earl and Captain Fanton called shortly afterwards, along with Lady Annesley, who was delighted to see her old friend looking so well after his ordeal. The Earl also found himself being interrogated by Mrs Spenborough, but was much more reticent than Sir Edward, repeating only that he had found Captain Didot by the merest chance.

  ‘Yet, you had been searching for information about me, I know. I gleaned as much from Didot, and from the Army men in Reims.’ He looked at the Earl keenly. ‘There is one thing I do not yet understand, Lord Shalford.’

  ‘And what is that?’

  ‘What made you travel all the way to France in search of a man you had never met?’

  There was a sudden charged silence in the room. Mr Foxley, Lady Annesley and the Captain all looked at Charlotte. Her face burned, and she did not know what to say.

  ‘The Buxted family—along with your daughter—were my guests at Chadcombe for a number of weeks,’ said the Earl smoothly. ‘In fact, Major Cooke came to my house to break his bad news to Miss Wyncroft. It was the least I could do—though I confess I did not expect to find you alive.’

  Sir Edward looked a little sceptical, but did not challenge the Earl. Lady Annesley smiled a secret smile and had a decided look of satisfaction on her face.

  Charlotte did not know what to make of it all.

  * * *

  Later, Mr Buxted found Charlotte and Sir Edward in the morning room. They had gone to escape the attentions of the steady stream of visitors that had arrived at the house as news of their guest spread. Mrs Buxted and Henrietta, delighted with the attention, were quite happy to be the ones to relate the tale, while Faith was content to listen to it time and time again.

  Sir Edward, tired of talking about himself, took the opportunity to ask his host about Mr Foxley. Mr Buxted summarised Foxley’s family background, and his link to Mrs Buxted.

  ‘Actually, Edward, I should welcome your advice about Foxley. You see, he wishes to marry Faith.’

  ‘Does he? Seems a good sort of fellow. What’s his fortune?’

  ‘Modest, for he is a second son—enough for them to have a comfortable life. He is, as you say, an excellent young man, and I think they would deal well together.’

  ‘Hmm... Charlotte, what is your opinion?’

  ‘I agree that he is a good man, Papa, and their regard for each other is, I believe, sincere and enduring.’

  ‘Splendid. Then there should be no problem. It seems to me you should approve the match.’

  Mr Buxted looked dubious.

  ‘Why, what is the problem, Freddy?’

  Mr Buxted spluttered a little. ‘Well, Louisa might not like it...’

  ‘Louisa? I thought you said he is her godson. And besides, what has she to say about it? It is your decision, is it not?’

  Mr Buxted regarded him with all the malevolence of a man who had been married for more than twenty-three years. What would Edward know about it, when he had been a widower these fourteen years and more?

  ‘What is it that you wish for Faith?’ Charlotte asked her uncle softly.

  ‘I wish her to be happy.’

  As soon as he said it, his expression changed. Charlotte saw in him a sudden firmness, a resolution, which had been missing before.

  He stood. ‘I will speak to Louisa immediately—yes, and Faith too. For I know my courage will fail me if I wait too long.’

  * * *

  In the five minutes or so that it took for his wife and daughter to come to his study, as requested, Mr Buxted’s resolve began to leach away.

  Perhaps Louisa did know best. It was certainly traditional for a girl’s mother to have a good deal of influence when it came to a decision about marriage. The habits of twenty-three years—and disquiet at the notion of standing up to his formidable wife—had him pacing the room in apprehension.

  Louisa and Faith arrived together. Mr Buxted composed himself, and invited them to be seated. They sat together on a heavy oak couch, straightened their skirts, and waited.

  Mr Buxted chose the large leather chair near the fireplace. It was an imposing chair, and gave him a sense of security at his back. He had inherited it from his father, and had often speculated about the weighty matters his pater would have considered, while seated there. Mr Buxted found it a comfortable seat for an afternoon doze...

  ‘What is this about, Frederick?’

  His wife sounded cross. She was not, it seemed, in a particularly amenable mood. But then, she was rarely in an amenable mood.

  ‘I hope you know I was busy with Cook, confirming tonight’s menu. Lord Shalford is to dine with us, and I thought we could prepare some of the dishes he particularly likes, as well as a few special dishes to tempt poor Sir Edward. Such trials your dear cousin has been through.’

  ‘Ah. I hope you will include a nice game pie. For not only does Lord Shalford enjoy it—as we both know from our time at Chadcombe—but it is also one of my particular favourites. Not that this is anything to do with the matter in hand. I did not ask you here to speak of game pie—or that dish with shallots, leeks and cream, which is also particularly delicious and is an excellent accompaniment to game pie.’

  ‘I had not planned on game pie, but I may mention it to Cook.’

  There was a pause. Both ladies looked at him expectantly. He stood up and took a turn about the room.

  ‘I have received an offer of marriage for Faith. From Mr Foxley.’

  His daughter looked directly at him, hope filling those damned blue eyes of hers.

  ‘Well,’ said Louisa, ‘I hope you refused him. He is my godson, of course, and of good family, but I hope we know better than to throw away a daughter on a near-penniless second son.’

  ‘Actually, I told him I needed time to consider the matter.’

  ‘There is nothing to consider—he is not good enough for a Buxted. I hope you know what is due to the Buxted line, to the tradition and history of the name. Why, there were Buxteds came with the Conqueror.’

  In this, she had miscalculated. Having been frequently irritated by the sense of superiority she had gained through their marriage, Mr Buxted suddenly found the courage he needed.

  ‘You forget something, Louisa.’

  She looked at him, a perplexed frown between her eyebrows.

  ‘You are not a Buxted.’

  She gasped.

 
‘If I remember correctly, you are a Long by birth, and therefore cannot truly know what it means to be a Buxted.’

  Avoiding her eyes, he continued headlong with his rash course.

  ‘Despite what has been happening these twenty years and more, I am still master in this house. To marry for money and position is all very well, but Faith has the chance to marry a sensible man who enjoys fishing. I mean, not that he is sensible because of the fishing, but rather he is sensible and he enjoys fishing. In short, an ideal sort of man. If Faith wants him, then Faith shall have him—for he is a good man, not a snivelling fool.’

  ‘I hope, even if you have lost all sense, Husband, that my daughter has not.’

  Louisa turned to Faith, whose eyes blazed with hope—and fear that her mother would prevail.

  ‘Oh, Mama, please do not ask me to reject Mr Foxley, for indeed I wish to marry him.’

  Mr Buxted nodded approvingly. ‘If you think to make Faith unhappy, Louisa, by telling her to reject him, then I say this—you shall not. For I know when my Faith is unhappy, and I insist that she is happy. Yes, I insist on it.’

  Unaccustomed to such passion from her husband, Mrs Buxted could only concede. ‘Well, if you truly insist, then I dare say I must submit. But I do think my views should have been heard.’

  ‘I am aware of your views on the matter, but I am the head of this family and the decision rests with me.’

  His wife inclined her head.

  ‘Very good. Faith, my dear, I wish you happy.’ He kissed his daughter on the cheek, and was moved when she threw her arms around his neck.

  ‘Thank you, Papa. Oh, thank you!’

  ‘Yes, yes. You are a good girl. Now I will leave you to your mother, for no doubt you will wish to talk of bride clothes and such things.’

  ‘She will be married at St George’s in Hanover Square, and we shall have a Venetian Breakfast here afterwards,’ said Mrs Buxted, already imagining how to make the best of this wedding. ‘I know a particular modiste who makes beautiful dresses suitable for a wedding. She is expensive, but—’