by Sara Reinke
* * * *
She waded into the crowded parlor again, still trembling and distracted. When her aunt caught her by the arm, staying her in mid-stride, she yelped aloud.
“Charlotte, darling, here you are,” Lady Chelmsford exclaimed, wide-eyed and lumbering close to her. “I have been looking all over for you!”
“I… uh, terribly sorry, Aunt Maude,” Charlotte stammered, struggling to smile. “I… I had to relieve myself. Dreadful inconvenience, but rather an urgent need that would not last until we returned home.”
Lady Chelmsford hauled Charlotte in tow, using her broad bosom and the expanse of her pannier to cleave a path through the throng for them. “Your mother wants you,” she said. “She thought you had run off once more and on your own.”
Charlotte laughed shrilly, nervously. “Dear God, no,” she said. “I have yet to recover from yesterday’s wrath.”
Lady Chelmsford delivered her to the far end of the parlor, where Lord and Lady Epping stood together in amicable conversation with a small group. Charlotte recognized Margaret Houghton, the forthcoming bride among them; she realized the tall man with the solemn, elongated face and powdered wig beside Margaret must surely be her betrothed, Frederick Cuthbert.
Another woman stood by Margaret, holding lightly to the arm of James Houghton. James spied Charlotte in her approach, and his smile widened with delight. “Darling,” he called out. “At last! Here you are!”
“Yes, splendid,” Charlotte muttered, as Lady Chelmsford yanked her forward, making her dance on her tiptoes as she was presented to Lady Epping. “Mother, hullo,” she said, feigning nonchalant good cheer. “Sorry to have kept you waiting. A bit of a personal emergency arose, but all is tended to now. No need for any fuss.”
“Charlotte, darling, you remember Lady Margaret Houghton, do you not?” Lady Epping asked, hooking her hand against Charlotte’s sleeve and steering her in a semicircle to face Margaret.
“Of course,” Charlotte said, yet smiling like a witless idiot. She had not seen Margaret Houghton since she had been thirteen years old; she could not have picked the young woman out of a crowd, but she accepted Margaret’s proffered embrace like they were old and fond friends.
“Look how beautiful you are!” Margaret squealed against Charlotte’s ear, nearly inflicting damage with her shrill tone. “James has told me so often, but I never would have dreamed he was not offering empty flattery! Oh, it is so delightful to see you again, Charlotte, darling!”
“Yes, well,” Charlotte said, patting Margaret’s back. “Simply marvelous. Congratulations on your upcoming marriage, Margaret. I am sure it will be splendid.”
“And her mother, and Lord Roding’s, besides,” Lady Epping said by way of introduction, indicating the woman perched on James’s sleeve. “Lady Essex.”
“My lady, how do you fare?” Charlotte asked, lowering herself in a polite curtsy.
“Our father is yet in London,” Margaret said. “He will be pleased to see you Saturday, though. Oh, I am sure he is just giddy with the news.”
News? Charlotte thought, glancing out of the corner of her eye toward her mother. What news?
At this precise moment, James held aloft a large brandy snifter. He tapped the edge of a small silver spoon against the side of the crystal, issuing a sweet, beckoning toll. Charlotte blinked at him, puzzled, as he tapped the glass again. He continued tapping until the tones drew the parlor to silence, and all attentions turned in their direction.
“My good friends and fellows, I would like to propose a toast,” James called out. “We are gathered together in formal anticipation of this upcoming Saturday, when my beloved sister and her dearly betrothed shall exchange vows to bind them together eternally.”
He turned as he spoke so that his voice rang out in rich measure across the entire breadth of the chamber. “This has brought to my heart and mind my own marital status—or the lack thereof, as my mother is so fond to remind me,” James said, and the crowd rippled with quiet, polite laughter.
“What is this?” Charlotte whispered at Lady Epping.
Lord Epping caught Charlotte’s gaze from beyond his wife’s shoulder. He awarded Charlotte a somewhat sheepish and sorrowful sort of glance most often reserved for someone about to be drawn by open cart from Newgate prison to the gallows of Tyburn.
“While my father’s county has never wanted for an abundance of beautiful, charming, and magnificent women, I have only ever aspired for one—whom I have long considered Essex’s greatest treasure,” James said, and he turned toward Charlotte. “I wish that I could express how even a fleeting glimpse of this exquisite lamb moves me. I have adored her from afar lo these many years, and at last, duly inspired by my sister’s seeming good fortune, I have made formal arrangement… and now announcement.”
Charlotte stared at him in sudden, stricken realization. Her eyes flew wide; she felt the blood drain from her face in an aghast rush and her breath knotted in her throat. No, she thought. She wanted to scream it.
No, no, no!
“I have made my intentions known to my gracious Lord and Lady Epping,” James told the crowd. “And with their consent and blessing, my heart’s joy is now utter and complete. I would like to introduce my bride to you…” James held out his hand to Charlotte. When she did not move, frozen with shock, Lady Epping gave her a shove to galvanize her into motion. She stumbled forward, hiccupping for air, unable to claim any. James caught her hand and drew her near.
“…my bride, Miss Charlotte Engle,” he announced, and the crowd erupted in joyous applause.
James put his arm around Charlotte’s shoulders and embraced her. “Darling,” he said against her ear, letting his lips press moistly against the arch of her cheek. Charlotte was stunned, her mind awhirl. This could not be happening, she told herself. She could not let this happen. She looked up at James and tried to shrug him loose. He was smiling at her wolfishly; a man who had just won a generous prize at the card tables, and Charlotte balled her hands into defiant fists and sucked in a sharp breath to berate him.
“I would like to extend my personal congratulations to you, Lord Roding,” she heard someone call out from behind her. The voice was loud and resonant, drawing the throng to an uncertain and puzzled silence. Charlotte turned, and her eyes flew wide with new shock when she saw Kenley step forward, shouldering his way through the crowd to approach them.
“I would like to, my lord,” Kenley said to James. “But alas, I cannot. You offered sweet words in Miss Engle’s regard, and I am sure she would thank you for them. But she cannot be your bride.”
The crowd muttered again; everyone fidgeted and blinked at one another in startled bewilderment. Lady Chelmsford uttered a low, warbling moan, and swayed unsteadily on her feet, as though overcome by the vapors.
Charlotte stared at Kenley, her eyes surely the size of tea saucers from the feel of things. James’s arm tightened possessively about her, jerking her against his lapel as he scowled at Kenley.
“Truly, Lord Theydon?” he asked, his tone mocking as he offered the younger man courteous title. “And prithee tell, why can Miss Engle not be my bride?”
“Because she has already consented to be mine,” Kenley replied.
At this, the parlor dissolved into absolute chaos, voices overlapped in a sudden, sweeping, cacophonous din. Lady Chelmsford uttered another quavering yowl and promptly keeled over in a horrified swoon. She plowed into four people standing near, including Lord Epping, and brought them with her to the floor.
Charlotte felt James’s arm loosen in reflexive surprise from her shoulders, and she took advantage of the moment, jerking loose of him. She staggered forward, and blinked when Kenley held out his hand to her. She folded her fingers about his fiercely, and when he drew her against his shoulder, she huddled there, her eyes enormous with shock. “What are you doing?” she gasped at him.
He lowered his face toward hers, sheltering her from the noise of the crowd. “You told me you would prefer death t
o marrying James Houghton,” he said. “I thought I might offer you another alternative.”
“This is outrageous!” James yelled, his hands folding into fists. He jabbed his forefinger in the air toward Kenley. “How dare you touch her? Remove your hands! You are a rot damn liar, Theydon! You only met Charlotte yesterday! You cannot expect one among us in this room to think she would marry you so quickly and heedlessly!”
“It is true that to your limited observation, we were introduced yesterday,” Kenley said. “But if the truth is to be told, I have known Charlotte these past six months.”
“What?” Charlotte hiccupped, blinking at him. “We met in London,” he told her brightly, grinning and raising his brows in hint. “In London, upon my return to England. Yes, we both… here in London, we…”
“We held season tickets to Vauxhall,” Charlotte whispered in suggestion.
“… we both happened to hold season tickets to Vauxhall,” Kenley said loudly. “And we… we then…”
“We met over discussions of Handel,” Charlotte whispered.
“And we met over discussions of Hamlet,” Kenley declared.
“Handel,” Charlotte hissed, clapping her hand over her eyes.
“Over discussions of Handel,” Kenley said loudly. “Yes, Handel. My favorite.”
He pressed his cheek against her brow and helped muffle her groan with his coat lapel. “As dear to your heart as you have described her, Lord Roding, Charlotte is a thousand-fold more so to me,” he said. “She is the most captivating woman I have met in all of my days; if I should live millennia—if I scoured this earth from corner to corner and pole to pole, I could not hope for one to surpass her in my regard. She fills my thoughts; my every breath turns my mind repeatedly with sweet relentlessness to her. She fills my heart; with each beat, she courses through my form, infusing me with joy and sustaining me with the gracious gift of her most precious love.”
Charlotte looked up at him, her brows lifted, her mouth agape. Surely, these were the sweetest words she had ever heard uttered, in her regard, or any other.
“She is my complement, my companion, my comfort,” Kenley said. “Friend to me, and counsel besides. Her wit and wisdom shame me for my own lacking. I wish that I could share her with you, Lord Roding, for I sympathize with your adoration. However, I more than adore and admire this magnificent woman. I love her plainly, truly, and with every measure that I call my own.”
“This is an outrage!” James bellowed. He whirled toward Lady Epping. “My lady! Surely, you cannot consent to such a daft arrangement as this! Surely you will not allow our darling Charlotte to wed under such ridiculous and outlandish pretense!”
Charlotte glanced toward her mother. Lady Epping was as white as linen, shaking like a leaf caught in a gale’s leading edge. She stared at Charlotte, her eyes enormous and filled with stunned disbelief. A peculiar, breathless cawing wheezed from her agape mouth, and Charlotte realized it was likely as close as she had ever driven her mother to truly keeling over in a swoon.
“My Lord and Lady Epping, please accept my apologies, as I know this must seem sudden and reckless in your regard,” Kenley said. “I promise you it is not, and that Charlotte and I had full intention of telling you of our arrangement after we had been able to convince you that our hearts and minds are bound fast and sincerely to this. We are not being impetuous or ill-advised.” He glanced at James. “However, circumstances have not allowed for that, and I hope that you understand my stepping forward as I have. I know that the arrangements you have with Lord Roding were made with Charlotte’s interests in mind, but surely you would agree that a marriage of her own choosing is one in which she is truly best served.”
“Of course we do, lad,” Lord Epping said. He had managed to wriggle out from beneath Lady Chelmsford and regain his footing. He stepped toward Kenley, looking between the young man and Charlotte, his face set in a broad, delighted grin. At this, James staggered backward, sputtering. He looked as though he would collapse in his outraged shock.
Kenley extended his hand, and Lord Epping caught it between his own, pumping Kenley’s arm in a hearty, eager shake. “Such a surprise!” he exclaimed. “Not an unwelcome one, but a surprise still the same! My darling Charlotte in love and never saying a word of it!”
He reached for Charlotte and drew her against him, hugging her warmly and kissing her cheek. “Where are servants? May we not see another round of wine poured?”
Lord Epping drew back from Charlotte, looking around, waving his hand in the air in beckon. “Another round of wine,” he called again. “We are due another toast for my daughter, and now for my son as well!”