She might never marry; would that be so dreadful? She’d never thought so before, but she hadn’t particularly imagined being alone in her unmarried state.
Lady Hetty Redgrave would understand. It would likely be worth the visit to her to try and understand what she must prepare herself for, if the next few weeks did not provide her an adequate response.
A tour of the Continent would likely be called for shortly, if she were disappointed. She’d never seen Switzerland, after all, and she rather thought one ought to be able to claim such things.
“Have you heard from sweet Prudence lately?” her mother asked beside her. “Surely she must be near her time.”
Charlotte smiled at the mention of her friend. “Yes, only yesterday I received a note. She delivered a little girl on Friday. Cam says she has the sweetest disposition and rather dark hair. Small like her mother, but strong and hale. All is well, apparently.”
“Oh, bless her! I’m so pleased. We must send gifts. Shall we see to Bond Street after this?” She dabbed at her eye discreetly with a gloved finger, sniffing softly. “I shall spoil the little lamb, mark my words. We cannot expect Marjorie Westfall to do any such thing, and Miranda Sterling will outdo me if I do not act first.”
“Mama!” Charlotte laughed, nudging her gently. “You are a wonder. Yes, let’s to Bond Street once we’ve walked more. I shall feel much more myself if I am needlessly buying something.”
Her mother gave her a scolding look. “It’s not needless in the service of others. Now, what is the child’s name? Did Camden say?”
“He did,” Charlotte confirmed. “They have called her Laura. Laura Mary Prudence Vale. Mary for his beloved cousin Molly, I believe.”
“Lovely.” Her mother nodded once. “Little miss Laura Vale shall have the best of everything, I do vow.”
Charlotte narrowed her eyes as she looked at her mother. “Will you be so indulgent if Charles or I have children?”
Her mother patted her hand a few times. “I intend for you to become very cross with me some years hence for never upholding the punishments you see fit to inflict upon your offspring.”
“I shall pencil in some spats for us, then.” Charlotte hugged her mother’s arm quickly, a surge of warmth and love filling her. While her mother often fit perfectly within the confines of proper distance from her children, as all mothers in Society seemed to do, at other times, she was inordinately affectionate and caring with them, and it was in those moments that Charlotte felt most herself.
Surely there was some significance to be found in that.
“I say, the pair of you do make a charming picture.”
Charlotte looked up, smile in place, and surprise jolted through her as the sight of Mr. Riley approaching them struck her. He was just as handsome as he had been at the Bonds’ party, and his smile more than ready. He walked rather than rode, which was convenient indeed for their purposes.
Her smile did not feel half so forced now. “Mr. Riley, good morning!” she greeted, curtseying when he neared.
He tipped his hat, bowing. “Miss Wright. The morning air does your constitution credit, if I may be so bold.”
“It’s not that bold, I concede that it does.” She turned to her mother. “Mama, may I present Mr. Riley? We met at the Prestons’ ball, and then again last week at the Bonds’ dinner party.”
“Delighted, Mr. Riley,” her mother said with a bob of her head.
He bowed again. “As am I, ma’am.” He looked at Charlotte, his smile almost sheepish. “I am sorry we did not have a chance to speak much at the party. My cousins do tend to monopolize me when I am in London.”
“The Bonds are your cousins?” Charlotte exclaimed with a smile. “But of course, I can see the resemblance now. Do I take it that Mr. Bond is your relation?”
Mr. Riley nodded, grinning unabashedly. “He is, Miss Wright. My mother’s brother. I have my own lodgings in London, but I find myself pressed upon to attend several meals with them a week. I cannot think why, I possess little of the refinements of Society.”
Charlotte did not agree in the least, but she was not about to say so. “We ladies see enough of refinement everywhere else, Mr. Riley. What we are in desperate need of is good company.”
“And refinement and good company are mutually exclusive?” he asked, his smile turning crooked, which was nearly impossibly handsome.
Struggling for wit amidst the flurry of butterflies within her, Charlotte shook her head. “Not always, but they are to be valued for themselves alone, regardless.”
“And you seem to be quite good company, Mr. Riley,” Charlotte’s mother broke in. “Will you join us on our walk? Unless you have a pressing engagement, in which case, we would not dream of delaying you.”
Charlotte could have hugged her mother to death for her suggestion and held her breath as she anticipated Mr. Riley’s answer.
Blessedly, he nodded. “I would very much enjoy joining you. My business is not at all pressing, and a walk would be quite beneficial.”
“It usually is,” her mother agreed, stepping to one side to allow more room on the path and releasing Charlotte’s arm.
Charlotte gestured to the spot on her left, smiling. “We are sometimes brisk in our strides, Mr. Riley. Leisurely strolls are not quite our pace.”
“Charlotte, we can surely slow our steps if Mr. Riley wishes,” her mother scolded from her right. “It is not as though we make haste for any purpose.”
“As it happens,” Mr. Riley informed them, “I have been known to take long strides at a certain pace myself. It irks my mother to no end. She always claims it is unnecessary to hurry along as I do, and I try to explain that it is not hurrying for hurrying’s sake, it is only how I walk.”
“Exactly!” Charlotte cried, laughing at being so neatly understood in such a simple thing. “I can never walk with my friends for that exact reason. They do tend to lag so.”
Mr. Riley chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in the most delicious manner Charlotte had ever heard. “Would that be your friends from the Spinster Chronicles?”
Charlotte sobered just a little, nerves flaring at the question. “Yes,” she replied with some hesitation. “Yes, it would.”
Her mother reached for her hand and squeezed tightly before releasing.
“I have tried to my utmost,” he went on, his dark eyes staring down at the path before them, “to identify which lady has written which article in the column, and upon my life, I have never managed it yet. Of course, I cannot be quite sure of the identity of the so-called Spinsters at any given time, so that surely does not help.”
Relief surged through Charlotte’s veins, nearly taking the strength from her legs. He did not disapprove, then. He did not judge nor harbor resentment, and he spoke of them as naturally as though they were any other set of women in the world.
What a find indeed was Mr. Jonathan Riley!
“You do not know who we are?” Charlotte inquired with a quick grin. “Mr. Riley, everybody knows who we are, you need only ask.”
“And where would be the fun in that, Miss Wright?” he returned easily. He glanced down at her from his nearly towering height, smiling in a way that showed his nearly perfect teeth.
One must always appreciate nearly perfect teeth.
Charlotte hummed a laugh. “You take delight in trying to identify us? How did you know I was part, then?”
“Simple,” he stated. “When I inquired about you, I was told. Imagine my surprise and delight that I could come to know one of the gifted writers of the column I’d been so fascinated with.”
He could have proposed on the spot, and Charlotte might have accepted him. Such lovely words and opinions were so uncommon after the early strife they had faced from their column. While everyone in London, and several other parts of England, certainly read the issues as they came out, the writers of those issues had almost always faced criticism. That she was not doing so here was extraordinary.
Of course, he could h
ave been giving her a false impression. It had been done before, and she had no doubt it would happen again. She only prayed it would not be here.
“And why would you wish to come to know me, hmm?” she asked him, keeping her voice innocent and light.
“Charlotte,” her mother hissed, “what a direct question!”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Mama, if you intend to insert yourself into every moment of this conversation between Mr. Riley and myself, I’ll thank you to take four steps behind us like a trotting chaperone instead of my dear mother.”
Mr. Riley laughed heartily beside them, yet another uncommon trait in a gentleman of Society. “But it is precisely because of the direct questions, and your unflappable candor, that rendered me all the more curious about you, Miss Wright. And I take no offense, Mrs. Wright. I can assure you that I have had far worse in my own family, and I am quite comfortable holding my own.”
“You must allow me to be a little embarrassed about my daughter’s unconventional ways,” her mother protested weakly, smiling at them both. “Not out of shame, but only because I am much less so.”
“I will not think less of you for your motherly feelings,” Mr. Riley assured her. “I only wish to reassure you that you need not fear my opinions or your daughter’s reputation where I am concerned.”
Charlotte’s mother stared at him, then looked at Charlotte directly. “Well, then. Give him a hint on the Chronicles, Charlotte, and see if he is as loyal a follower as he claims.”
Mr. Riley coughed a laugh as Charlotte giggled at the suggestion. “And you say you are not as unconventional as your daughter, ma’am? Upon my word, your very vocal support of her outspoken column betrays you there.”
“I am quite proud of the Chronicles, sir,” Charlotte’s mother informed him. “And of my daughter and her friends for putting them out. I hope one day to write an article for them, if Charlotte will permit me.”
“Mama,” Charlotte groaned playfully, shaking her head. “She has been begging for years to do so, Mr. Riley, and will not give it up.”
He only shrugged. “Then I say let her. What a lark would that be, eh?”
Perhaps, Charlotte thought to herself. Perhaps.
“Which article in the last issue was your favorite?” Charlotte asked him, moving on to the test her mother had suggested, and that Charlotte had considered administering herself.
“The trials of country dancing,” he said at once.
“And what did you like best about it?”
He grunted. “It was spot on. I agreed with every word, and it had me laughing as well. I tend to prefer anything that makes me laugh where laughter is appropriate. The other articles were entertaining and good, to be sure, but that one was my personal favorite.”
Charlotte hid a smile, flicking her eyes at her mother, who returned it. “And the issue prior?”
Without hesitation, he answered. “Quotes and Quirks. I haven’t laughed so earnestly in ages, and I would swear I could pick exactly which member of Society had said what.” He shook his head, smiling at the recollection, then looked at Charlotte in speculation. “Did you write either of those?”
“I did not,” Charlotte was pleased to admit. She gave her mother a triumphant look. “I think we might have a true and loyal follower here, Mama. I did not write either article he praised, so this cannot be flattery.”
“I concur, my dear,” she replied with a sage nod. “You may proceed with getting to know him now.”
“Was that in question before?” Mr. Riley protested.
Charlotte shrugged easily. “I cannot be too careful, Mr. Riley. Never fear, you have triumphed. In Society but not of Society, if I may.”
“Nicely put,” her mother praised. She looked around Charlotte at Mr. Riley, the pink ribbons of her bonnet almost matching her rosy complexion. “A rare find, Mr. Riley, given the draw of Society.”
“Thank you, I think.” He gave them both a quick smile, then sobered just a touch as they continued their walk. “I believe I may understand how I came to be so, if you care to know.”
“By all means,” Charlotte allowed, lacing her fingers before her. “How?”
“I was not raised in Society,” he said plainly. “I’m from Rossendale in Lancashire, near the town of Haslingden.”
Charlotte’s jaw dropped. “You’re from Lancashire? You don’t sound like it.”
Mr. Riley laughed and looked at her fondly. “I learned long ago that men of business do not take a man seriously when he speaks like a mill worker. When I am home, near my family, I can assure you, no one would doubt my heritage.”
“Is it more natural to speak that way?” she asked out of outright curiosity. “You may do so now, if you like.”
“Oh, I’m quite used to the finer accent now,” he told her without concern. “When I’m perfectly at my ease, the accent slips in some ways, but it’s still there. I hardly notice it now.”
They walked in silence for a moment or two, while Charlotte tried to imagine the curious accent of the counties of the north in Mr. Riley’s tone.
It was a rather warm, inviting, and particularly charming voice, in her imagination.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, realizing she had interrupted his speaking. “You’re from Haslingden.”
“Yes.” He nodded and tipped his hat at a passing phaeton. “My father was a rather driven, hardworking man, but distinctly middle class in Rossendale. He was a foreman in a cotton mill. Tough, but fair, and all the workers respected him greatly. You’ll find that not all foremen are so, and mill masters sometimes less so.”
Charlotte could not comprehend any such thing, being so far removed from any of the industrial camps and cities in the north.
“When the master of the mill decided to sell, my father went to him with an offer,” Mr. Riley went on. “It was a daring move, some would even say rash, as he did not have even half of the funds requested for the sale. But my father is a canny thinker, and he had a plan.”
“What was it?” Charlotte asked eagerly, caught up in the tale of this tough but kind man, seeing what his son had come to.
“A partnership,” he said. “My father would put everything he had towards the sale, and the former master would continue to fund the mill until the agreed upon percentage of profits could pay him off outright, allowing my father to then claim sole ownership.”
Charlotte gasped, shaking her head. “Unfathomable. Why would the master accept it, if he wished to retire from the task?”
Mr. Riley laughed and gestured down another path as they came to a fork. “Because he did not wish to retire in truth. His health did not permit him to continue on as he had done, so he thought selling was his only option. My father gave him the means to continue maintaining an interest and a share while his health would continue to decline, and by the time it was all paid, he might be ready in truth to retire in full. So, given how he respected and valued my father, he accepted.”
“How marvelous!” Charlotte clapped and barely restrained herself from grabbing Mr. Riley’s arm. “And? How long did it take?”
“Five years only,” he replied with a proud smile. “He implemented some new ideas, found the latest machinery, increased production at an ambitious rate, and the mill flourished. A few years after that, he was one of the wealthiest mill owners in the county and can also boast the lowest rate of death and illness from his workers. He worked a mill as a child, you see, so he is mindful of the conditions of his own workers.”
Charlotte’s mother made a soft sound of approval. “Charity and ambition. Quite a rare combination, you must be proud.”
“I am, Mrs. Wright.” He nodded repeatedly, looking as though he might burst from it. “And while we, his children, never worked in the mill, he did insist that we try our hand at all the positions to learn how exactly things worked. We were frequently visitors to the mill, but never put in harm’s way. He does not employ children, you know. Thinks it unnecessary and unscrupulous.”
&nbs
p; “Huzzah for that, I say,” Charlotte praised. “And you? Are you taking over the mill?”
He smiled at the question. “I have inherited my father’s visionary taste and drive to succeed. I am his partner now, and I’ve just finished finalizing a contract with a shipping company in Preston to expand our business and increase our holdings. In a few years, I shall be in a position to buy them out entirely, leaving my father with the mill while I oversee shipping. My brother has caught the drive we share, and time will only tell how he takes part.”
Charlotte watched Mr. Riley in abject fascination, finding him far more interesting now than she had only this morning, and he had been marvelously intriguing then. “I find I’m rather impressed, Mr. Riley. To come from the working class and rise up the ranks in fortune and status to now be fairly wealthy, influential, and successful is an astonishing feat. And yet you intend to rise further still? Quite remarkable, I must say.”
He looked at her with a quizzical smile, something akin to hesitation in his eyes. “You don’t see me as somehow a lesser creature because my fortune comes from trade?”
“Why should that lower you?” she shot back. “I procure all sorts of things from trade, and it has never been logical to me that somehow the profit from my purchases and those of others should be of a lowering status to those who created them. No, I am rather fascinated with trade, and with those who know how to use it to their advantage.”
“I have no breeding,” he pointed out. “My grandfather worked in the mill all his life.”
She raised a brow at him. “And my grandfather shined his own silver when his butler could no longer do so rather than sack him and find a new butler. Resourcefulness is not a crime, and is highly lacking in the upper classes, I find.”
Spinster Ever After Page 14