by Olivia Kane
“I don’t find it hard to understand,” Hugh continued their argument. “I just find it all quite humorous.”
“Why should you laugh? My reasoning is sound. You have the entail here to Bennington Park and he has been gifted with Ludlow Lodge. Both of you go to sleep each night secure of and already acquainted with the rooms that your future lives will play out in.
“I, however, by virtue of my sex, have none of the same assurance. I cannot allow myself to become prey to a mercenary, either. No, my good fortune has the potential to be my misfortune. Marrying one of the neighbors of whom we are well acquainted is the surest way to protect my interests and keep mamma from crying as well.”
Guy had walked over to Hugh and was looking with amusement at the list over his shoulder. “Try as I might, I cannot feel sorrow for your dilemma, my lady. And I might warn you that the limits you think will secure your happiness may be the very thing that prevents it. In other words, you make no allowances for the element of surprise in your life.”
“I detest the element of surprise.”
“But you have lived a sheltered life. It’s a big world, full of many beautiful places other than Hertfordshire.”
“You are assuming that all surprises are good. What about the woman who falls in love and then is surprised to find herself living in downgraded circumstances in a foreign landscape? What about that, Mr. Lancaster?”
Guy refused to argue her point. He was, however, enjoying how passionately she defended the idea of rational choice. It was an unusual stance for a young woman of her charms to take. She was certainly a puzzle.
“I’m willing to bet you, Charlotte, that you will never marry one of these men on your list,” Hugh exclaimed. “I know these fellows and everyone of them is a dolt!”
“A decent compatibility is enough for me.”
“You are a rare young woman to pronounce her heart dead and buried before you reach the age of twenty,” Guy exclaimed. Charlotte was sheltered; he guessed that she had never had occasion to be alone with, much less ever kissed by, an attractive man. Suddenly, he couldn’t stop the thought that he should be that man.
Immediately, he ordered the idea from his head.
I shouldn’t think such things, he chided himself. Here he was, a guest in the Lord Radcliffe’s fine home, accepting his hospitality and thinking ungentlemanly thoughts about his daughter. But it was already too late, for once he imagined kissing Charlotte, he simply couldn’t un-imagine it.
Charlotte flinched in surprise upon hearing Guy’s words.
Her heart wasn’t dead! Guy could be so tiresome; his days as a tutor were long over but he still had the habit of pontificating when the mood struck. And furthermore, she most definitely did not like the way his eyes were fixating on her as if she were a piece of livestock he inherited.
She could not endure the two of them for a single minute more. Wasn’t there some manly pursuit to occupy them instead—riding or fencing or smoking—anything but continuing this tiresome conversation? She changed the subject.
“Look at how brilliant the sky is today! Hugh, don’t you want to ride out and show Mr. Lancaster the marsh?” The marsh was a long ride away and a very dull spot on the estate—hopefully when they got there, they would both fall in.
“My goodness, Charlotte,” Hugh exclaimed, stopping cold as he read the last name on the list. He looked up at his sister with incredulity. “The Earl of Buckland? But the poor man only lost his wife yesterday.”
Charlotte could not deny her inclusion of the recent widower on the list.
“Yes, it is he. I mean, it’s only...” she tried to explain. “Oh go ahead. Call me a ghoul. It’s just that the Earl is a known commodity, and besides being a very wealthy man, he lives right down the road. Widowers can be unpredictable in the duration of their grief and I won’t pretend it wasn’t the right thing to do to include him.”
Guy whistled and Hugh threw up his hands and howled with laughter.
“Charlotte you are an amazement to me,” exclaimed Hugh.
“But how does a widower court while in mourning?” Guy wondered.
“Most widowers are happier to marry than unmarried men are. It’s a proven fact! I believe their familiarity with the matrimonial state makes them quite the safe bet,” Charlotte explained.
“So tomorrow, Hugh, you have your marching orders. You must scope out this Earl and determine if he is a suitable suitor worthy of inclusion on the list or a truly heartbroken man who deserves to be left alone in his grief,” Guy said. He hoped Hugh would dissuade Charlotte from pursuing the widower, or anyone on the list, he thought jealously.
“”Excellent idea. I will keep the list in my possession until I return home, upon which I will give a full report on the Earl and his estate.”
“Oh, you...” Charlotte grumbled, but Hugh had the list curled up and already inserted inside his jacket pocket.
“Let’s go, Guy,” Hugh said, making for the door. Guy followed, but then stopped, and turned to Charlotte.
“Lady Charlotte, do you want to ride out with us?”
Charlotte didn’t look up as she gathered her pups and arranged herself back on the chaise lounge.
“No thank you, Mr. Lancaster. I am quite content here. You and Hugh have tortured me enough for one afternoon, thank you very much.”
Chapter Three
The Lord Radcliffe and Hugh dressed somberly for the funeral of the Earl’s wife. The footman had the carriage ready for departure at precisely 9:45 for the twelve-minute drive to the churchyard. Charlotte was there to see them off. Before leaving, the Lord Radcliffe looked up at the sky and said, “a most pleasant day. Remember that Mr. Lancaster is our guest and it is your duty as his hostess to see that he is kept entertained.”
Charlotte sighed. She did not want to be left in charge of Guy Lancaster. Without lessons to distract them, she had no idea how they would spend the day. She could hardly blame Hugh for accompanying her father to the funeral, but she wanted to.
“Must I, Pappa? Whatever will I do with him?”
“I asked Hastings to drag out the battledores and shuttlecocks. Winter is coming, who knows how many more nice days we will have?”
He was right. A few rounds of shuttlecock would pass the time easily. Reluctantly, she agreed to her father’s wishes.
“Goodbye Pappa! Goodbye Hugh!” She waved goodbye as they departed, restraining herself from urging them to enjoy themselves.
Hastings set out the game supplies on the flat lawn immediately outside the French doors of the drawing room. A cushioned wicker chair was positioned on the terrace so the elder Lady Radcliffe could sit and watch, but after a few uncomfortable minutes she declared that the sun was too low in the sky and therefore in her eyes.
“I will enjoy myself much more indoors,” she announced, retreating.
“What should we play to? Seven?” Guy asked as he practiced lobbing the shuttlecock on his battledore.
“Seven is fine.”
“Best of three?”
“That is fine. And the winner gets?”
“To be determined.”
Charlotte couldn’t help but grin at the prospect of beating Guy and extracting some kind of torturous payment from him.
He lobbed the shuttlecock. Charlotte ran forward and it landed in the center of her racket, bounding back toward Guy.
Guy lobbed it easily back.
Charlotte returned it.
Guy hit it back.
Charlotte aimed it right at him, politely. Guy did the same.
Charlotte was getting antsy. The game was entirely too tame to be any fun. She slammed the racket against the shuttlecock and it flew right by Guy’s head, landing on the ground.
“Score for me!”
Guy grinned as he bent down to pick up the shuttlecock.
“Very nicely played.”
He lobbed the shuttlecock back. Charlotte returned it.
Guy slammed it hard back, and it whizzed over Charlotte�
�s head.
“One one.”
“So that’s how it’s going to be?” Charlotte teased as she lobbed a strong volley back.
“Yes, my lady,” Guy said, gently lobbing the shuttlecock back her way. He knew full well he could beat her seven points straight but that wouldn’t be gentlemanly of him and besides, he was afraid she would wander off as soon as the game was over. He intended to stretch out the match as long as he could. He was enjoying his morning with Charlotte immensely.
He feigned clumsiness to let her gain the advantage.
“My goodness, you are an enviable opponent,” he said.
“You are too complimentary, Mr. Lancaster! I honed my skills against Hugh.”
“I can tell,” he said, tapping the shuttlecock so she could easily return it.
Guy was not at all an impressive athlete, Charlotte thought. She rarely even beat Hugh, yet was easily scoring points against Guy.
The score tied at six to six, Guy had the serve. He lobbed the shuttlecock gently toward Charlotte, she lobbed it back, and he made a half-hearted effort to return the shuttlecock. Instead, he watched happily as it landed on the ground just beyond his reach.
“Congratulations!” he said, laughing. “You win!”
“Yes I did.”
Guy forced himself to beat her in the second game in order to insure a third. As the third game neared its final point, she paused.
“We haven’t decided what we are playing for. What does the winner get?”
Guy had a suggestion ready. “The loser will be forced to flatter the winner all day, and admit that everything they say is correct, and humble herself to the other.”
Charlotte laughed.
“Don’t you mean humble himself?”
Guy raised his eyebrow. He suspected the prize would be a powerful incentive to her. For him, the prize would be her continued company. She would be honor bound to spend the day with him.
Charlotte thought the prize quite appropriate. If she had to spend the day with him, then he should spend it following her around agreeing with her every utterance. Laughing, she lobbed the shuttlecock back.
Guy popped it high in the air. Charlotte saw the shuttlecock spinning toward her and at the right second slammed it hard into the ground on Guy’s side.
“Yes!” She had been correct in assuming that shuttlecock was not his game.
“Good grief, what now!” Guy cried in mock horror. He ran and bowed before her. “Your humble servant for the day.”
“As it should be.” She laughed and then composed herself. She definitely wanted Guy to get the impression that entertaining him was a chore foisted upon her unwillingly, despite the fun she was having. .
“What does my lady wish for?”
“I believe I will sit on the terrace for now. Would you be a dear and fetch my fan? I believe it is on the small, painted table in the drawing room.”
Guy left and was back in less than a minute presenting her with the fan.
“Thank you. Oh dear. I would love to read my copy of Udolpho. I believe my lady’s maid knows where I last set it down.”
“I delight to do your bidding,” he said and ran off.
Charlotte smiled to herself at the idea of an afternoon of taunting Guy. She closed her eyes and waited until she heard his footsteps return.
“Here you go, my lady. One copy of The Mysteries of Udolpho,” he announced, handing her the volume with a flourish and a bow.
“Yes, thank you.”
Charlotte opened the book to her marker and started to read. Guy sat down across from her and watched her expectantly. She looked up from the page. This would not do at all. She could not be expected to concentrate with him practically breathing down her neck.
“Haven’t you a book of your own to read?” Guy read all the time: she knew that for a fact.
“All finished with the meager supply I brought with me.”
“Hmm, I suppose you are a very fast reader.”
“You flatter me.”
“Please be our guest and pick a book out of the library. You know the way,” she shooed him off. She liked directing his movements. It really was the most pleasant morning to sit on the terrace and lose herself in the romantic travails of Emily St. Albert and her love Valancourt.
After a while, Guy returned with a copy of Plato’s The Republic.
“Light reading I see?” Charlotte teased.
“I will trade with you, Lady Charlotte, if you so desire.”
She shook her head no. Charlotte then waited until Guy was completely engrossed in his reading before setting her novel down and staring at Guy until he felt her gaze and looked up.
“My lady?” he asked, his alert brown eyes peering at her over the top of his book.
“What did you think of my ladies’ maid?”
Guy was unsure how to answer. “She seemed capable.”
“Do you find her pleasant looking?”
He refused to be tricked into commenting on a lady’s appearance and redirected his eyes toward his Plato.
“Every lady pales in comparison to the Lady Charlotte.”
Charlotte smiled at his response but when his eyes met hers, she quickly looked past him and onto the lawn and then back onto her book. After a few minutes, she said, “I find that my enjoyment of a novel is much improved when it is read aloud. Don’t you agree?”
Guy much preferred to read to himself but was honor bound by their deal to agree.
“Yes. Much preferable.”
“Read to me,” she commanded, handing her book over to him. “There are some very pretty lines at the beginning of the first chapter that I would like you to hear. It may help you understand me better.”
Guy put his own book down as instructed and flipped to the requested passage and read it aloud.
“Home is the resort
Of love, of joy, of peace and plenty, where,
Supporting and supported, polish’d friends
And dear relations mingle into bliss.
Charlotte sighed in delight. “Isn’t that beautiful, Mr. Lancaster? You see it is not merely my own preference to stay near my beloved home, but a sentiment shared by poets. Do you endorse such sentiments yourself?”
“Yes, my lady.” He was obligated to agree.
Charlotte smiled to herself.
“How I love to read and reread my Udolpho! The Italian landscapes described are so exotic and unlike Hertfordshire. I am quite taken away! Now turn to the beginning of Chapter 4. That is where I left off.”
Guy flipped the book to the requested page and began to read.
”St. Aubert woke at an early hour, refreshed by sleep and desirous to move forward ...”
He read in his best tutor’s diction. Charlotte tilted her head up, closed her eyes and listened, occasionally waving her fan in front of her face. Guy’s expressive voice had a way of making the story come alive. Charlotte could picture the pine forests, rutted mountain roads and varied foliage of the Italian countryside clearly in her mind’s eye. The soothing, familiar timbre of Guy’s voice sent her reeling back through time to her days in the schoolroom—although Guy would never indulge his students with the kind of suspenseful or romantic novels she preferred. He is such a snob about literature, she thought.
“.... found him still sitting on his horse, but bleeding profusely, and appearing to be in great pain,” Guy continued. Charlotte heard footsteps on the stone pavement. Looking up, she saw Hastings standing at attention, waiting for Guy to pause.
“Mr. Lancaster, stop please,” she halted him. “Yes Hastings?”
“Luncheon is served in the dining room. The Lady Radcliffe is most anxious for you to join her.”
“We will be right there.”
She held out her hand to Guy, and he placed the book in it.
“Oh dear, right when it was getting good. I suppose we will have to stop here until after lunch. How do you like the story so far?”
“Very much,” he admitted. He avo
ided melodramatic fiction like the plague. A book had to be 50 years old before it had proved its literary worth, he firmly believed. He would never have opened the Udolpho on his own but had found himself lost in the story anyway. He was anxious to see what transpired next.
After a jovial luncheon spent reminiscing about old times, Charlotte and Guy joined the Lady Radcliffe in the drawing room.
“Shall I pick up where we left off?” Guy asked, setting down into a chair by the window where the light was good and opening up the Udolpho.
Sensing that Guy was eager to continue the story, Charlotte demurred.
“No, not right now. Can you ask my ladies maid if she has seen my fashion magazine? I thought it was around here, last I saw it.”
Guy put down the novel and set off in pursuit. Charlotte got off the chaise and retrieved the Udolpho from his chair and hid it behind the drapery. She gathered her Pomeranians on her lap, as she did most afternoons at this time, and caressed them softly, cooing sweet endearments into their pink little ears.
“Where has that naughty man run off to?” she asked the pups.
A good ten minutes passed before Guy reappeared in the drawing room bearing the requested fashion magazine.
“You were gone a long time.”
“Your maid was at her own luncheon, which she dutifully interrupted. She had to walk upstairs to your chambers where you had left it.”
“Oh good,” she said, taking the periodical from him and leafing through the pages. She saw Guy look around for the Udolpho and pretended not to notice his confusion as to its whereabouts.
“Here, read this to me now, please,” she laughed, handing him the fashion magazine opened to a pictorial on ladies’ silk stockings. Guy kept a straight face as he glanced at the copy before him, knowing Charlotte was trying very hard to provoke him. He admired the way she threw herself so wholeheartedly into her efforts.
