by Robin Helm
“You are most gracious, my lady. We thank you for the dress,” she said to Georgiana who immediately motioned for its dispatch.
The Miss Kensington who unfurled like a flower from the field of maids was much different than the defeated, plain miss who had been previously pitied. In fact, she looked so well, Fanny remarked, “We went too far to ruin the entire original.”
“But,” stammered the mother, “it fits like a glove!”
“We have several very clever maids,” Georgiana commented briefly, winking at Charlotte who stood to her other side.
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After the presentation, Charlotte’s Season became a whirlwind of events. A fortnight passed in a blink, and her parents returned to Pemberley.
Her birthday gift had been a string of pearls which she had worn for the first time at her presentation at court. The pearls, coupled with her lucky fan she had insisted upon hiding in a hidden pocket built into her petticoats just for its use, worked well to boost her confidence. The event was successful, for Charlotte as for all of her friends, though Lady Montclair confided to her sister-in-law that Charlotte had by far the most elegant curtsey of all the debs.
Miss Kensington bloomed albeit painfully slow. She began tweaking her wardrobe and slipping notes to her seamstress with sketches and measurements of what she wanted. The seamstress was, at first, somewhat reluctant to obey the mouse and defy the hatchet, yet the girl had a keen eye and the seamstress preferred to make beautiful and flattering pieces. In the end, Charlotte and Hetta arranged for Lady Montclair to be present at the unveiling of the initial gowns, and so high were the praises and so obvious the improvement of the figure that Lady Kensington was forced to acquiesce.
In spite of her long strides in fashion and elegance, Hetta remained shy and withdrawn. Fanny and Mary had little patience with her, and Agatha was distracted by a possible suitor. Therefore, it fell to Charlotte to find Hetta a good match before the younger, more attractive and outgoing sister was released into Society. Hetta had but two Seasons before the mother could reasonably allow Kitty to come out.
“Bennett,” Charlotte whispered to her brother behind her fan at the Ponsenby’s ball some three weeks after the presentation, “Bennett, do attend me.”
Bennett had been highly encouraged to stay in Town at Darcy Place for the remainder of the Season. He was seven-and-twenty, a respectably eligible gentleman.
“Is that Cavanaugh across the room?” he mumbled to himself, not minding his sister in the least. She gave him a whack with her fan.
“Eh? You again? What is it you want this time?”
“My friend stands over there,” Charlotte began, lifting her fan to wave it in Hetta’s direction.
“Do stop trying to fob me off on your wallflower,” he interrupted.
“She is a lovely girl, if you will but talk to her,” Charlotte pleaded.
Bennett squinted in the direction of the tallest plant at the farthest, darkest corner of the room.
“Looks plain,” was his retort.
“Can you two still not play nicely together?” came a deep voice from behind the pair.
“Henry!” Charlotte sighed softly. “Mr. Brandon,” she corrected, dipping in response to his bow.
“But where is the Glorious Gloria this evening?” Bennett inquired with raised brow as he glanced around Brandon’s person.
Henry glared at him before turning back to Charlotte.
“Glorious Gloria?” she asked.
“Never mind. I believe you were making a request when I interrupted?”
“Oh? Oh, yes,” Charlotte said, stiffening as she remembered Bennett’s ungenerous reply. “My dear friend, Miss Kensington, has had no dances this evening. She is painfully shy but simply blossoms with positive attention.”
A new idea struck Charlotte. “Henry! Mr. Brandon, would you ask my Hetta to dance? Surely your popularity and kind review will go a long way in encouraging other gentlemen to follow your lead.”
Henry looked long into the burning, blue eyes before smiling the rueful smile she loved best – the smile that meant she won.
“Thank you! You are a true gentleman,” she added for her brother’s benefit. Bennett huffed but cared very little.
Charlotte proceeded to lead her gallant knight to the damsel in distress. Hetta’s expression of fear startled Henry, but he managed to coax her from behind the tree, using much the same tactics he had used on four-year-old Charlotte.
Henry had been sure to leave this one dance open for someone else, but he made a show of enjoying Miss Kensington’s company and afterwards made light mention of her elegance, saying she had improved upon closer acquaintance. Her conversation, though not particularly witty, was thoughtful and correct, and her countenance shone with new life in the direct light of kind attention.
“Brandon appears to be actually enjoying himself,” Bennett remarked to his sister upon her return.
“You do realize you must make the effort to speak to the ladies in order to find a bride,” Charlotte retorted as she left him for happier company.
Her mission had distracted her from the most important question of the evening, but she was soon to have her answer.
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“What a vision!” exclaimed a young debutante.
“I did hope the descriptions were exaggerated,” a mother sighed.
“Why, she has the face of angel!” noted yet another lady in admiration.
Charlotte discreetly turned to find this surreal being, but the action proved unnecessary.
“Lady Montclair, Miss Darcy,” greeted that idolized leader of fashionable Society and the very gracious appropriator of vouchers, Lady Jersey. “I hope you will allow me to introduce to you my niece, Lady Gloria Ponsonby. Gloria, Lady Montclair and her niece, Miss Darcy.”
Upon concluding their greetings and curtseys, the matron aunts turned to speak to each other, indicating to the younger girls they were excused for a private chat as well.
“I confess, it was I who requested the introduction,” Lady Gloria began. “Your friend, Mr. Brandon, has mentioned you.”
“Yes! Our acquaintance began when I was but four years old, and he was in his final year at Eton,” Charlotte explained, her curiosity piqued.
“He seems to be a very considerate, purposeful kind of person,” Lady Gloria noted, obviously seeking information.
“You have described him perfectly,” agreed Charlotte. “I would tell you,” she continued, seeking to help her dear friend, though suffering some mysterious pang for her effort, “that he is not always so serious. He suffers greatly, being from home while his father is ill. I would call his usual countenance … pleasantly content … with a talent for leading others to the same feeling.” Charlotte struggled to find the words to correctly describe Henry, so complex he suddenly seemed to be.
“That is just what I was hoping to hear,” Lady Gloria replied, interrupting Charlotte’s reverie.
Charlotte jolted to attention. What am I doing? I am helping my friend attain happiness. But I do not know this Lady Gloria. How do I know she will make him happy? She a niece to Lady Jersey, a fact which may or may not be in her favor. Lady Gloria appears to be as serene and considerate as Henry is himself; her eyes do not wander ceaselessly around the room, studying every male attendant the way her aunt’s do. And yet, something is not quite right.
“I wonder if you have heard your moniker? I will not tell you, if you will be offended,” Charlotte said leadingly.
“I have a moniker?” Lady Gloria asked eagerly. “What fun! Unless it is ungracious,” she corrected, expression becoming concerned, “like those caricatures in the paper, of my aunt,” her voice fell deeper and deeper into a whisper.
She is a sweet and innocent angel, Charlotte thought to herself, not completely satisfied by the discovery.
“People can be so mean, can they not?” Charlotte agreed. “But your nickname is as kind as it is deserving. You have been called the Glori
ous Gloria, so long as you do not mind the lack of title.”
“Glorious Gloria?” she repeated in wonder. “Why, what an odd description. How do you suppose it was invented?”
Charlotte searched the crystal blue eyes for deception, the porcelain pallor for a telltale flush, but she saw only bewilderment. She chuckled in spite of herself.
“Lady Gloria, have you not passed a looking glass this past decade or so?”
“Oh, well, flaxen curls and pale skin do become rather ethereal when wearing so much white muslin, I suppose.”
Charlotte chuckled again, shaking her head. “If Michelangelo had seen you in his lifetime, the Sistine would bear your resemblance. Shining, golden curls framing delicate china with accents of the softest blue. And yes, the garments accentuate the ethereality.”
At this fair description, her new friend pinked becomingly, sealing Charlotte’s good opinion of her. That pang returned. Charlotte absently attempted to rub it away, leaving a red mark on her chest.
⸟ﻬ⸞ﻬ⸟
In Devonshire, the Colonel rallied for the final time.
“My dear!” Marianne cried, closing the distance to the bed quickly, as she had posted nearby for the duration of his illness, only excusing herself when necessary.
“Marianne, my love!” he mumbled, lifting his hand weakly for her grasp. “Where? Where is Henry?”
“He has gone, dearest, to do your bidding.”
“My bidding?”
“Your last words before you fell into a deep sleep were that he needed to find a bride. He must have an heir.” Marianne began to fidget.
“How long?” Colonel Brandon rasped.
“How long has he been gone? It has been a month, at least. He packed immediately and rode the entire distance, only stopping to change horses. The trunks were sent after him.”
“The devil,” Brandon grunted. “I never meant him to act rashly.”
Marianne gasped, leaping to his side once more. “I knew it! I told him you had more to say, but he was intent on obeying your wishes. Shall I write to him? Tell him he is needed at home?”
“Right away,” the Colonel said, eyes becoming heavy. “I thought, for quite some time, it would be little Charlotte Darcy.”
He slept. Henry’s mama did not.
Chapter Three
1843
“Does Little Lottie like nieces or nephews or quietly sipping her tea?”
Charlotte laughed, enjoying the sensation before standing to her feet to welcome her guest.
“I will never understand why you must insist on entering unannounced,” Charlotte said, walking towards her friend with hands outstretched.
“We both are well aware that I enjoy the element of surprise,” Henry squeezed the delicate fingers and released them. “Imagine the day I catch you snoring in your caps.”
Charlotte’s peel of laughter was as comfortable as it was delightful. “In my caps? What nonsense! Only spinsters or married females are imposed upon to wear those.”
“Well, did you not just celebrate your …,” he made a show of counting fingers while mumbling off the years,” twenty-fourth year? The books are feeling crowded.”
“You are no better than Bennett,” she accused. “What a terrible visit. No, you must not laugh, truly. I deserve only your most heartfelt pity. His children are just like him, and his wife! Well, the nonsensical creature insists on praising them all.”
“You shall not have my pity, for you have only one sibling, whereas I have four, all married now with innumerable brats. No! I take it back. One child is presentable. A little girl named Ella Grace. She is the only one with sense out of the …,” another show of counting, stop, restart, repeat. “Well, never mind how many. I had to escape to London while the poor servants returned the house to order.”
“Christmas certainly feels different now that I am an adult,” Charlotte sighed. “I was invited to York, but Mama would have been heartbroken were I not at Pemberley to arrange the garland.”
“York?”
“You recall Hetta Kensington? My shy friend who eloped with the Duke’s younger son?”
“Ah, yes. I believe there was some objection to the mother?”
“Lady Kensington, yes. Well, my Hetta has been embraced by the family now that she has born their heir and some, and I was invited to their big Christmas gathering.” Charlotte shrugged. “An honour really, but Mama has been aging so quickly of late.”
“My mother as well. She rallied after my father’s death, but she sits silently now, watching the grandchildren play on the lawn or climbing the tapestries, all one and the same to her. It strikes me that she is waiting.”
“The same with my Mama!” Charlotte exclaimed, finally having a description for her observances.
“You are comfortable in your new rooms?” Henry asked politely.
“More comfortable than I had been at Darcy House with Bennett dropping in at all hours with no notice and the entire clan in tow,” she replied, shuddering. “The move was relatively easy, as the rooms were furnished, and I keep only minimal staff.”
“Is that your lucky fan?” Henry inquired, crossing the room to the curio cabinet.
Charlotte sighed. “I am afraid it is too delicate to carry daily now,” she answered. “It is kept on display, for my pleasure.” She was silent for a moment, captivated by cherished memories. “It was a gift from my Valentine, you know,” she picked up again. “My thoughtful Valentine.”
“The same one who saddled you with that pompous beast? Where is old Valley anyway?” he asked, checking his heels.
Charlotte shook her head, chuckling. “Valley is not old, and she answers to Her Ladyship now, if you please.”
“Entitled, is she?”
“Since clearing the larder in Wellington. Her Grace nearly sent me off when I refused to let her keep Valley. In the end, the dog received a courtesy title, and I was able to keep my room in the guest wing.”
“Do you enjoy traveling to and fro?” Henry asked.
“A perk of being nearly shelved, I suppose, but I do not expect I will ever meet a cap that I find tolerable.” A comfortable silence settled for a moment, broken by the sound of small draperies being opened immediately followed by a tiny yawn and carpet scratches.
“Ah,” said Charlotte, smiling knowingly at her guest, “Her Ladyship rises from her bed. It must be tea time.”
Henry turned to look over his shoulder, noticing for the first time the tiny draperies arranged beneath Charlotte’s writing desk. The draperies now stood open, revealing a bed of pillows and blankets. A diminutive dog growled until correct homage was paid in back scratches, and then advanced to her mistress for a similar treatment. Once satisfied, Valley pranced to the extended pull rope and gave it a tug. A maid entered, listened to the yipped orders, curtseyed, and excused herself.
“’Tis the silliest thing I have ever seen!” Henry exclaimed.
Charlotte’s head bobbed in humble agreement even as she held up her hand, indicating there was to be more to the show.
Not a minute later, the maid returned with the tea tray. She set it up near to Charlotte but removed a small dish of tea and another of thumbprint biscuits. The maid also enjoyed teasing the dog and turned to go, but she was called back and deafened until adding the lemon slice to the tea. Valley growled, mumbling her opinion of such slack service before delicately lifting a biscuit from the plate.
“You take that beast out in public?” Henry asked, gawking.
Charlotte poured the tea, a soft smile playing about her mouth.
“Everyone loves her. They fuss when I leave her behind, in fact. Most invitations are now sent to both of us.” She chuckled. “When my Valentine gifted me the tiny terrier, I was not immediately impressed, I assure you. A noble hunter or pointer – sure, they are useful breeds. But I was saddled with a tripping hazard, an ankle biter at best.” Her voice quavered just a bit. “I could not have asked for a better companion. And as for usefulness! Well, she is
a fierce huntress, better than any cat in the kitchens,” Charlotte finished with aplomb.
“You will be opening a Lady’s Club and taking wagers soon?” Henry asked in all seriousness, but his sparkling eyes contradicted the tone of voice.
“I shall be forced to find a cap after all, to keep it presentable,” Charlotte responded in kind.
“I do not recall – have you received any more treasures from your ‘Valentine’?”
Charlotte’s smile marked her contentment. “Every year, I expect to be disappointed. I have reasons why this year will be the last. Yet, every year, on the fourteenth of February, I receive a thoughtful momento.”
“And you have no idea who might be your Gallahad?”
“I was once convinced it was my parents, but not now. I really have no idea.”
“How thrilling! You have only a fortnight before this year’s mystery is resolved.”
“Curious, is it not? Twenty years it would be,” she said dreamily. “A faithful suitor if ever there was one, yet I do not know his name.”
⸟ﻬ⸞ﻬ⸟
It was an exceptionally cold morning. The howling wind woke Charlotte early, so she put on a warm wrap and gathered Valley into her arms for the trip downstairs. The maid fixed up the fire in Charlotte’s sitting room and offered to hurry breakfast, but Charlotte declined the need, requesting only hot tea. Valley yipped her interest in a warm beverage as well, and the maid retired to the kitchens.
“This shall be a perfect day for a book,” Charlotte informed her companion as she studied the titles on her shelves. She was just selecting an old favourite when Valley began to whine at the window.
“What is it, Valley?” Charlotte mumbled. Moving to the window, she squinted to make out the figure who was passing something through the door to Mrs. Burton, the housekeeper. Had there been a knock? Charlotte rushed to the foyer just as the door closed.