Once Again a Bride, page 10
By “people,” he meant the ton, Charlotte understood. There were, of course, hordes of unfashionable people all over the streets of London. “The Season hasn’t started,” she replied, trying to sound knowledgeable. He smiled at her, and Charlotte felt as if her ignorance was perfectly transparent, and yet somehow charming. She flushed.
“No. But the bad weather has spoiled the hunting, which will bring everyone back in short order. Do you hunt?”
Charlotte merely shook her head.
“What do you do, auntie?”
The glimmer in his eyes made it a joke, but she still smarted at this reminder of her lamentable history. “Please don’t call me that.”
“Your wish is my command, Mrs.…”
“Not that either!”
Edward laughed. “What am I to call you then?” Her flush deepened; she could not ask a young man she barely knew—and such a very attractive one—to use her first name. “How about ‘ma’am’?” he suggested. “Bit of a regal touch, dash of deference. That’s the ticket.”
“You’re making fun, but…”
“Not at all, ma’am. Perfectly serious.”
She couldn’t resist his smile, the glint in his blue eyes—and the fact that she had no alternative. She didn’t want to hear anyone call her “Mrs. Wylde” ever again. “Oh, very well.”
“Yes, ma’am; thank you, ma’am.” Before the jest could turn annoying, he added, “They say this art exhibit ’round the corner will be all the rage once the Season gets under way. Care to take a peek?”
Charlotte gathered the scraps of her dignity. “That sounds pleasant.”
With the good sense not to repeat the word “ma’am,” Edward turned his team toward the park gates. Their destination was not quite around the corner, but it was nearby. He pulled up before an imposing redbrick building and handed the reins to his groom. “Walk them, Sam,” he said as he jumped down and offered Charlotte a hand.
Inside, the walls of large rooms were crowded with pictures right up to the ceiling. Here and there, people wandered; most seemed more interested in each other than in the artworks. Charlotte examined a portrait of a fat man in full court dress and wondered what in the world to say about it. It seemed very ugly to her.
“My dears, hello, hello!” trilled a voice, and she turned to find Edward’s mother bearing down on them. “How lovely to see you again.” Lady Isabella enveloped Charlotte in a quick embrace, scented by violets, then took her arm. Her fur-trimmed cloak, with matching hat and muff, made Charlotte’s look like a candidate for the ragbag. “I couldn’t induce Edward to come to this exhibit. Now I see what is required—more attractive company than his mother.” She laughed and pulled Charlotte along. Arm in arm they strolled through the rooms, Edward trailing behind.
“That landscape is pretty,” Charlotte ventured, feeling that she must express some opinion if this exhibit was so important.
“There’s Cecily Harcourt,” was Lady Isabella’s reply. “She still looks rather plump, doesn’t she? She delivered Seton’s child only a month ago. They say her husband hasn’t the least idea that the boy isn’t his. I suppose Cecily is quite adroit with her… timing.”
Charlotte glanced at the woman in question, then away. She tried not to look shocked. It was the first time anyone had treated her as a married woman, not a girl who must be sheltered from scandalous gossip.
“Isn’t that Helen Trent?” Lady Isabella went on. “I’m surprised she dares show her face in town with all those gambling debts unpaid. Three thousand pounds or more, I heard. I know she can’t be blackballed from the clubs the way a gentleman can, but you’d think she’d be ashamed.”
“She’s barred from all the decent gaming houses,” Edward put in.
“Really?” Lady Isabella relished the tidbit. “What will she do, I wonder? They say she cannot live without cards or dice.”
“Find another ‘patron,’ I expect,” answered Edward carelessly.
His mother’s laugh trilled out. “She’s hardly the beauty she once was, darling. I don’t think any rich man will be lured in to cover her sort of losses.” Seeing Charlotte’s expression, she added, “Poor Helen generally loses.”
“No head for it at all,” Edward agreed. “If she can’t get anyone to frank her, it’ll have to be the moneylenders.”
“Edward, shame on you! What a shocking idea.” In fact, his mother appeared to find it delicious. “Let’s sit. Looking at art is so tiring.”
She hadn’t actually looked at any, Charlotte thought. But she was happy to sit on one of the cushioned benches. This glance under the shiny surface of society had left her a bit dazed.
“Dear Charlotte.” Lady Isabella’s gloved hand patted one of hers. “I am so glad to have this opportunity. Ever since we met I’ve wanted to talk to you about Henry’s will. It is just so very unfair to you.”
Charlotte had to nod. Whenever she focused on her true situation—which she did as little as possible—she was stung by the injustice of it all. It was much more pleasant not to think about it.
“I feel for you because the same thing happened to me.”
“Really?”
Edward had drifted away. He stood, hands behind his back, gazing at a huge historical painting of Lot’s wife turning to a pillar of salt.
“When my father died,” Lady Isabella explained. “He left me next to nothing. Henry as well. Everything went to James.” Seeing Charlotte’s frown, she took it to be confusion. “Our elder brother; Alec’s father, you know. It was outrageous. I took the matter to court.”
Charlotte remembered a vague mention of something like this. “To challenge the will?”
“Yes, indeed. I was the one who stayed at home to care for Mama, you know. It always falls to the daughter, does it not? James and Henry were off to school, town, wherever they liked. Do you know I was thirty-one before I broke away to marry? Can you imagine?” Her laugh was less musical this time.
Charlotte didn’t know what to say. Lady Isabella seemed to expect a response. “Your suit in court was successful?”
Lady Isabella looked away, her thin shoulders stiff. “Well… no. Except, I made my point, you see. I told them all exactly what I thought.”
Which accounted for her reception at Sir Alexander’s house, Charlotte concluded. “I’m told that Henry’s will is quite legal. He was free to do as he pleased with the house and estate; I have no grounds to dispute it.”
“Of course they tell you that.” Lady Isabella leaned forward. “Those who benefit will always discourage…”
“The thing is… I beg your pardon, Lady Isabella, but it seems to me that no one benefits from Henry’s will. Unless you count being allowed to live in that house…” Which she did not. In her mind, the will was a mirror of Henry Wylde’s character—slyly spiteful. She didn’t want to think of him, still less spend months grappling with legalities. “I don’t wish to go to court.”
The older woman leaned tensely toward her for another moment, then sat back. “Well, of course it’s your choice, my dear.” She rose. “Shall we see some other paintings?”
They walked into a further room and found Edward there. He looked bored. Lady Isabella barely glanced at the pictures before moving on. It was impossible to take in so much at one time, Charlotte thought. There must be at least fifty paintings in every room. By the time they had made the circuit of the building, colors and images were blurred together in her mind.
“Very striking,” Lady Isabella said as they returned to the entrance. “Don’t you think, Charlotte?”
“Uh, yes. It was lovely to have an outing.” That was certainly true. She smiled at both the Danforths.
“Poor dear. I should be delighted to take you about London this Season, but… please don’t be offended…”
Charlotte had no doubt what was coming. “I need some decent clothes!”
Lady Isabella cocked her head in agreement. “Of course, with blacks… your wedding clothes are much smarter, I imagine?”
Charlotte hesitated, then decided to throw herself on Lady Isabella’s mercy. Wardrobe was clearly her area of expertise. “I… my father thought I should have my trousseau made in London. The marriage… came about rather quickly, and… my seamstress in Hampshire…” Charlotte fingered the folds of her old-fashioned cloak. “Then, when I got here, Henry would not allow me to spend…”
“My dear, say no more. Men have no notion of these things.”
Henry had known very well, Charlotte thought. He’d wanted every penny for his own purchases.
“My own dressmaker is a genius with the needle and very quick as well. I would be happy to recommend you to her.”
A sternly suppressed longing surged up in Charlotte and crashed. “I don’t want a wardrobe full of black gowns.” It was excruciating, not to mention hypocritical, that she had to appear to mourn Henry.
“Well, yes. Hmm. Such a brief marriage, and really unknown, after all. There can scarcely be gossip… Henry was not exactly a member of society. No, I don’t think black is necessary. You cannot wear bright colors, of course.” Lady Isabella surveyed her. “That dark green becomes you, and perhaps a bronze—yes, that would be very striking for evening.”
Charlotte knew that some people expected mourning dress for months and months. The idea was hateful. Rebellion rose in her. She would not wear widow’s weeds for Henry Wylde; she did not care who objected. “I should like to see a bit of society.”
“Of course you would, dear.”
“I hate black!”
Lady Isabella considered her. “It is very becoming on some, but with your coloring…”
“I won’t buy it!”
“Very wise.”
“But you think I could attend… that is, you would be willing to…”
“Evening parties would be acceptable. Not balls, I’m afraid.”
It was more than she’d dared hope for. Charlotte determined to write Wycliffe immediately and ask about drawing funds from the estate. Surely something could be spared.
And so, a surprisingly few days later, she stood before the mirror in her bedchamber in the first truly modish gown she’d ever owned. Lady Isabella’s dressmaker had been a marvel. She’d altered two gowns she had on hand to fit Charlotte, in particular a midnight blue—nearly black—velvet evening dress more beautiful than any garment she’d ever worn. And two more were being sewn especially for her. The woman had given her a special price as a friend of a longtime customer.
“Ooh, Miss Charlotte,” said Lucy, adjusting a flounce of the lavender morning gown trimmed with bunches of purple ribbon. “That’s gorgeous, that is!”
Charlotte was almost tearful at the vision in the mirror. She hoped she wasn’t vain or frivolous. It had just been so long since she had anything so pretty.
“I was thinking, miss.” Lucy hesitated.
“What?” Charlotte turned to admire the fall of the skirt in back.
“Jennings, Miss Cole’s dresser, has ever so much experience. She’s up on everything to do with fashion. I was thinking I might ask her to do your hair once, to show me, like.” As if afraid of objections, Lucy rushed on. “She’s been very kind to me, says I have a dab hand with an iron. If I saw her doing it, then I’d get the knack.”
“That’s a wonderful idea, Lucy. If you think she really would.”
“I do, miss. She’s offered to help me learn.”
“Then please ask her.”
Lucy beamed.
Nine
Exactly how, Alec wondered, had he ended up at the theater in this box full of females, about to be subjected to an evening of Edmund Kean? He vastly preferred comedies; he despised Kean and the set who raved over his stage frenzies. A year ago, or the year before that, he would have been engaged in some wholly different, much more… palatable form of amusement. With a very different sort of female.
Had it been Lizzy, dying to see a play? No, it was Anne, he remembered. He’d overheard her wistful comment about reading dramas but never actually seeing one performed. It was simply assumed, when he mentioned purchasing tickets, that Lizzy and Frances, and Charlotte, would come. Lizzy had been so excited; impossible to disappoint her. Even Frances had been pleased, and Charlotte… He’d been avoiding Charlotte, yet here she was beside him, stunning in a dark velvet gown. She’d undergone a transformation since he’d last looked, moving from winsomely pretty to riveting. Whenever he turned his head, he was mesmerized by the coppery golden glimmer of her hair, her sparkling eyes, smooth white arms, the curves under the soft folds of…
As if reading his mind, Lizzy said, “Doesn’t Charlotte look splendid? Have you even noticed her new gown? Jennings did her hair specially.”
It took Alec a moment to find his voice. “Very nice.”
“Very nice,” Lizzy mocked. “What a sourpuss you’ve been lately, Alec. Always gone off somewhere, never taking the time to…”
“It’s quite a good crowd for so early in the year, isn’t it?” interrupted Anne, ever the peacemaker. She leaned over the rail of the box, taking in the scene; there were roses in her cheeks again, for which Alec felt a surge of gratitude. It would be good for her to get a taste of London society, with her come-out just a year away. He hadn’t thought of that before. There was so much that he’d never expected to think about.
“The lady in that box across the way seems to know you, Alec,” said his youngest sister with a giggle.
“Lizzy,” Frances admonished.
“Well, it can’t be any of the rest of us. And she keeps looking over here and smiling and playing with her fan.”
Alec followed her gaze, and recognized the sophisticated young matron who had considerably enlivened his last stay in London. The depth of her décolletage brought back steamy memories. Her dazzling smile when he nodded politely signaled a clear willingness to add to them whenever he chose.
“Is she on your list?” Lizzy asked.
“Be quiet, Lizzy.” How had he failed to consider that this outing would bring together two unrelated parts of his life? Which were definitely to remain unrelated.
“Alec intends to make an arranged marriage,” Lizzy proceeded to tell Charlotte. “He is very cynical and does not believe in love matches.”
“How could anyone, after watching our grandparents continually rip at each other? Father knew what he was doing, choosing a partner on a rational basis.”
His entire party stared at him, openmouthed. Anne seemed about to speak, then said nothing. Frances looked deeply shocked, but she could scarcely be more shocked than Alec himself. He couldn’t believe the words that had escaped his mouth. He was well accustomed to his sisters’ teasing; he’d never lost control in such… to expose his family’s most private… in front of… His face burned with humiliation. Why couldn’t Lizzy curb her tongue? Why could she not learn some discipline? “If you cannot behave with more propriety, Lizzy, I shall take you home immediately.”
“But all I…”
“Did was make spectacle of us for all to see.”
“How did I do that? That’s not fair!”
Lizzy gazed at him with huge, hurt eyes. Anne looked distressed, Frances uneasy. In his awareness that Lizzy had a point, he didn’t dare glance at Charlotte. Blessedly, before the silence grew unbearable, the curtain rose, and the performance began.
Kean ranged across the boards as Hamlet. Some poet had said that his acting was like reading Shakespeare by flashes of lightning. And why would you want to do that, Alec wondered? He ignored the play and struggled to recover his equilibrium. What was wrong with him? He did not lose his temper. He did not criticize his family. He did not, and he would not, and that was the end of it. So… why…?
Not even looking at the stage, he told himself he was tired and worried. The times were so bad that the country was a tinderbox awaiting a spark. Not his own tenants, perhaps, but he’d heard from some of them about others—unspecified others—who were threatening violence. If they carried their grievances into action, the government would crush them, and what would become of his own people in that case? Might he rush home to find a line of gibbets across his green fields? What could he do—what more could he do—to make certain that never happened?
Servitors entered the box with lemonade and ices, and Alec came back to himself to discover it was already the first interval. He had ordered refreshments to be served here, to avoid the crush in the lobby. Lizzy greeted them with vociferous delight. “What I don’t understand is,” she said as she dug in to an ice, “why isn’t Hamlet king? His father was the king.”
“His uncle took over,” replied Charlotte.
“But what reason did he give? Wouldn’t all the people in…?”
“Denmark,” Anne prompted.
“Yes. Wouldn’t they expect Hamlet to become the king? Everyone knows the Prince Regent will become king, and he has lots of uncles. Doesn’t he?”
“He certainly does,” replied Alec drily. And a bigger set of gamblers and lechers and incompetents could hardly be imagined.
“Claudius usurped the throne,” said Anne, savoring the verb.
“But how? With an army?” Lizzy wondered.
“With… um… persuasion and intrigue,” Charlotte offered, with admirable ingenuity, Alec thought.
Lizzy contemplated this as she finished her ice and reached for another. “Why didn’t he kill Hamlet then? In the history books people are always trying to make me read, they do that when they u… usurp.” She wrinkled her nose at their surprised expressions. “I have read some of them!”
“I expect he thought Hamlet’s mother wouldn’t like it,” Frances put in.
“Oh, yes. He wanted to get on her good side, because he wanted to marry her.” Lizzy nodded wisely.
Alec found he was smiling.
“She seems rather stupid, doesn’t she?” Lizzy looked from face to face. “I mean, she can’t understand why Hamlet is upset. But he didn’t get to be king. Why wouldn’t he be upset?”
“Very true,” said Alec. Lizzy shot him a glance, saw his smile, and returned it. Alec felt his chest lighten with relief. He didn’t enjoy being at odds with his sister.
