by Olivia Kane
He cleared his throat and began. “Ladies of le bon ton will do well to note that pale pink stockings are now replacing the stripe in popularity among the fashionable ladies of Paris. Although white cotton, hand knit or by frame, suffice for everyday wear, for that special evening at a ball fine white silk stockings remain the standard in elegant dress.”
“Hmmm, pale pink. Interesting,” Charlotte said. “Is there an illustration?”
Guy got up from his chair and walked across the room to where Charlotte lounged and lowered the illustrated page to her eye level, holding it there steadily while she gazed upon it.
“Thank you,” Charlotte said when she had absorbed all the necessary details. “I believe I will now play the pianoforte. Come into the music room with me,” she demanded, jumping up off the chaise with a pup under each arm.
“I didn’t know that you played,” he said, following in her wake.
“I do. Terribly.”
She sat down and started pounding away at the keys; discordant sounds jarring the afternoon peace of the house. Charlotte continued haphazardly pounding away for a quarter of an hour, only pausing long enough to ask Guy his opinion of her talent.
“I am quite blown away, my lady,” he deadpanned. Charlotte only smiled and continued to make the most horrific sounds possible.
“I do so love music. I can simply spend hours at the pianoforte.”
“You must regularly be mistaken for Mozart.”
“I say stop that confounded racket! You are giving me a blistering headache,” shouted Hugh.
Charlotte looked up as he strode into the music room with his hands over his ears.
“Good afternoon, brother. You are just in time for my recital. Please have a seat.”
“Charlotte, I could hear the racket over the din of the carriage as we came down the drive. Guy, what fresh hell is this that you sit here in? Has she made a prisoner out of you?”
“No prisoner. He is simply humbling himself to me as required in the mutually agreed upon reward of our shuttlecock match,” Charlotte explained. “I am reaping the benefit of his poor performance with the racquet.”
“She beat you? You don’t say!”
“I fear your sister defeated me fair and square. She is quite the sportsman.”
“How was the funeral?” Charlotte asked.
“Fine, as those things go. Delicious pheasant pie afterward for luncheon and those dried Spanish figs that I swear he brought back from that store in London, what’s its name, Guy? You know the one. Best I’ve ever had.”
“Stampington’s Imports?”
“Yes, that’s it!”
“And how did you find the Earl?” Charlotte pumped him. “Heartbroken?”
“I imagine so. Although he seemed quite composed whenever I glanced at him. I’m sure he’ll be recovered from his bereavement soon enough to marry you.”
“Don’t be impertinent.”
“Guy, I am here to save you from my sister. Let’s go hit the shuttlecock.”
Guy glanced over at Charlotte where she sat at the pianoforte. News of the Earl brought him barreling back to earth with a thud. Here he was, lost in the day’s antics as if they held any meaning or signified any romantic intentions on Charlotte’s part. They did not, he bitterly realized. His name wasn’t on her list and he was fooling himself if he thought that inheriting a farm could ever impress a girl like Charlotte.
Charlotte turned her attention back to Guy. “You are free to go, Mr. Lancaster, for now. I am a little tired and wish to lie down.”
“As my lady wishes,” Guy said, standing and making another deep bow before heading off with Hugh.
Charlotte nodded in response and walked upstairs, humming to herself. Tormenting Guy was hard work but strangely exhilarating. She flexed her fingers; they felt a little sore from her comic exertions at the pianoforte.
Unfortunately for Charlotte, the placement of her bedroom window directly above the lawn on which the shuttlecock match was underway had a deleterious affect on her longed for afternoon nap. The frequent shouting of a variety of curse words made it impossible to relax.
“What the devil, Lancaster?”
“Bloody hell. How did I miss that!”
“The dickens of a shot, Radcliffe!”
Charlotte leaned out her window, motioning to the men below, desiring to tell them to mind their manners and be civil, but their focus was on the shuttlecock. Charlotte couldn’t help but notice the powerful way Guy’s racket sliced through the air, practically destroying the shuttlecock with the ferocity of his swing.
Guy was taking his feelings about the Earl out on the shuttlecock. Take that Earl of Buckland, he snarled each time the shuttlecock came hurtling toward him.
As shot after shot flew over her brother’s head Charlotte felt the joy in that morning’s victory melt away. Guy had obviously held back with her. How she hated when men let her win at sports! It was really the height of rudeness.
Chapter Four
“I am delighted that I will be able to extend my stay to attend the Meryton assembly,” Guy announced that evening as he shuffled the cards and then distributed them. “I received a letter from my solicitor saying that he is needed in London on urgent business and will have to put off work on my accounts until early next week.”
“When did you get a letter?” Charlotte asked, peering at Guy with suspicious eyes.
“Today.”
“I didn’t see a letter arrive for you today.”
“It came when you weren’t looking.”
She narrowed her gaze at him. “But I was always looking.”
He raised his eyebrows at her and they exchanged pointed glances. Charlotte held her gaze until Guy looked away first.
Of course there was no letter, that much was obvious, Guy knew. But, after an afternoon spent taking his frustrations out on the shuttlecock and cursing until his voice was hoarse, Guy eventually managed to recover his composure enough to plot his next move. He much preferred to take his time with a flirtation, goodness knows he had dawdled over Cecelia for the past few months, but Charlotte’s repeated references to the Earl of Buckland incited a proprietary instinct in him. He had known Charlotte first and longest; surely he could not lose her so quickly upon rediscovering her.
He was determined to make a play for the Lady Charlotte. In all of his twenty-eight years, he had never had a woman bewitch him as she had in the past twenty-four hours. He needed more time with her—nay he wanted more time with her. He was slowly realizing that he too had a list of worthy marriage partners forming in his mind, and hers was the only name on it.
As for Charlotte’s list, and its restrictions, he would put that out of his mind. In both breeding and wealth, he was a worthy suitor; it was time he started acting like one, he scolded himself. It was easy to sit in a solicitor’s office and take possession of the keys to Ludlow Lodge, all its animals, its acreage, the loyal servants that stayed on. The hard part was remembering to act like a member of the upper class he now unexpectedly found himself part of. Yet for the first time since his inheritance, because of Charlotte, he felt challenged to act the part.
“Will you save a dance for me at the assembly, Lady Charlotte?” he asked. “Not knowing the ladies of the neighborhood, it will be a relief to know that at least one friendly face will be there to dance with me.”
Guy cocked his head and looked at Charlotte. A strand of her light brown hair had escaped its restraints and was hanging near her eye; he could hardly stop himself from reaching out and putting it right.
Charlotte, upon hearing his request, could not but help but try to guess at Guy’s motives. Despite their long acquaintance, he had never so much as brushed his hand against hers. Although the thought of Guy holding her hand in his for the length of a country dance, or placing his arm against the small of her back as some dances required, made her pulse quicken uncharacteristically, she was also quite aware that they had been toying with each other the entire day. This mi
ght be nothing but another volley from his end in the day’s back and forth between them.
Seated across from him at the card table, Charlotte was finding it hard to stop fixating on the squareness of his jaw or the liveliness of his eyes. Every time she looked at him, he seemed to be looking at her, right through her really, and she was finding her vulnerability toward him a very perplexing and slightly dangerous development. “Oh to be twelve again and think him a regular ninny!
There was no way that she was going to get swept away by the fact that his features seemed to fall into place in a way that she found pleasing, or that his thick brown hair had a beautiful natural wave to it. Merely appreciating such a fact did not make one susceptible to it, she told herself. And while it was surprising that she could be so distracted by his physical proximity, she had yet to lose her head or turn into Lydia Bennet. She was not likely to lure him into one of Bennington Park’s unlit corridors and tease him until he professed his love.
“I will be more than happy to help you pass the time at the assembly, Mr. Lancaster, but surely by tomorrow night you will be completely bored with my company and desirous of new faces. Hugh, we must introduce Mr. Lancaster to other suitable dance partners. I am especially desirous to see Mr. Lancaster dance with Miss Lydia Bennet, for a finer match I cannot imagine! Hugh, you must not fail to introduce them and make sure he dances with her no less than three times.”
“Heads up, Guy, as my sister aims to set upon you one of the most vacant-minded girls in the county. And do not dance with any partner more than twice; that is the limit or else you are going on record as practically being engaged. I will be sure to point this Lydia Bennet out to you, Guy, if only to serve as a warning lest she approach—although you might find her eldest sister Jane pleasing. She is quite the beauty.”
“I recommend her sister Mary over Jane for Mr. Lancaster,” Charlotte spoke rapidly, “as we both know that she is quite accomplished on the piano forte and Mr. Lancaster is known to be quite the aficionado. Although I fear she cannot rival my talent. Either way, I am sure Mr. Lancaster will find the company in Meryton quite inclusive.”
Guy reshuffled the cards, amused at her transparent efforts to deflect. “Well then, I shall hope to dance with Jane and Mary and Lydia, too. But tell me, is it only you Lady Charlotte, or do all Hertfordshire women prefer men native to their own county?”
“Fortunately for you, Mr. Lancaster, there are many silly girls in Hertfordshire who would not turn up their nose at leaving the county. Why, just think, you might discover your future spouse 24 hours from now,” Charlotte exclaimed.
“Then I shall seek out this Jane that you recommend to me,” Guy stated, hoping to stir jealousy in her but failing as she did not so much as bat an eyelash or flare a nostril in response.
Instead Charlotte busied herself by staring a hole through her hand of cards. “Lydia is the one you want, Mr. Lancaster. I am sure of it.”
The ballroom at Meryton was ablaze with the light of its splendid chandeliers, and the musicians were playing happily away high in the gallery, as the Radcliffes and Mr. Lancaster arrived the next evening.
The Lord Radcliffe departed immediately to the gaming tables, promising to meet back up with the party when refreshments were served. The Lady Radcliffe positioned herself on the center bench in the ballroom, arranging her skirts, ready to find fault in her neighbors’ dress and dance. Hugh was quite the master of ceremonies, introducing Guy to as many young ladies as possible.
Charlotte nervously hoped that a hardy country girl would catch Guy’s eye, causing him to fall so immediately and hopelessly in love that he completely forgot their scheduled dance. Since she woke that morning, she had been dreading her dance with Guy—how she wished he had never asked her! What if he caught her enjoying it? He would take that information and torment her with it, of that she was convinced. She prayed the musicians would all fall ill and the assembly be reduced to nothing but polite conversation for the remainder of the evening.
Sadly, her prayers were not answered. When the music started, Guy sought her out immediately and she had no other choice but to smile politely and take her position on the dance floor across from him.
To his credit, Guy kept his distance in the dance, holding her hand lightly when necessary and releasing it quickly when the time came. He neither fixated on her face nor appeared bored as the dance progressed, all the while endeavoring to make polite conversation when the moment required it. All in all, her dance with Guy was so perfunctory that when it ended, she was left feeling slightly dismissed and a little deflated.
The touch of his hand had hardly set her nerves afire, she noted, and although she had yet to experience that sensation with any other man’s hand, she knew it to be a very important indicator of one’s true feelings. It was a relief to discover that she did not have any true romantic feelings for Guy. Actually, she thought, she should thank him for the experience, as it proved to her that it was the lack of any other distraction at Bennington Park that had fooled her into imagining his presence posed any danger to her. She doubted she would have given him a second glance in any other circumstance. She was now free to think of other matters.
As for Guy, he regretted his scheduled dance with Charlotte as soon as he arrived at the assembly rooms. The room was too crowded; there were too many strange eyes; indeed the atmosphere was quite stuffy. He felt like a fraud and could not summon any of the bluster that had possessed him last night at the card table. He resisted the idea of playing the part of the society gentleman where Charlotte was concerned; he felt compelled to court her in his own way, and not via the conventions society imposed on him.
However, he had asked her, so he must follow through and follow through he did. He performed the dance mechanically and when it was over he bowed and walked away, anxious to put his mistake behind him and stick to the safety of conversation.
I will never do that again, he vowed.
To his eye, her enthusiasm for their dance was lacking as well.
Presently, the attentions of the company were diverted by two notable arrivals. The first was that of Mr. Bingley, the new tenant at Netherfield Hall, who entered the assembly trailing with him a stylish party of newcomers: his sisters and a tall man called Mr. Darcy. Charlotte and her mother were both pleased to be introduced to their new neighbors. She found both men to be moderately attractive; the tall man less talkative than his friend; and the ladies very well bred, if a little overdressed for Meryton.
As Mr. Bingley was new to the area and his habits unknown, there was no question of Charlotte adding him to her list of potential suitors. He could be unstable; the type of man who let property one moment and then hastily packed up and left the next. No, despite his financial status, Mr. Bingley was not a suitable suitor for Charlotte. By the end of the evening, rumors were rampant that he had expressed high regard for the lovely Jane Bennet.
As for his companion, Mr. Darcy, the first rumor to circulate about him was that he had ten thousand pounds per year, followed quickly by the consensus that no money in the world would be worth enduring his rude nature and condescending stare.
The second arrival, much to the surprise of everyone present, was none other than the grieving widower himself, the Earl of Buckland.
Charlotte was quickly alerted to his presence by the persistent jabbing of her mother’s elbow into her side and her repeatedly whispering, “look, the Earl. There he is! Do you see him? Look!”
Charlotte looked. The Earl of Buckland was a man of medium height and muscular build, with a straight nose, wearing expensive buckskin breeches and a fine black coat.
“A pleasant enough face,” she decided, stealing a look at him. He was past the first flush of youth, that was for sure, but decidedly not middle-aged either. She gave him an allowance for his flushed complexion, which on further reflection she imagined was the end result of constant and repetitive weeping over his lost wife. His figure was solid, almost beefy. Like all the available ladi
es of Hertfordshire, she found her eyes drifting over toward him several times throughout the night, and when she at last was formally introduced, her excitement about his arrival had not diminished.
Hugh made sure that Guy was included in the introductions. Guy found the Earl’s manner quite reserved, as befitting a widower. Even accounting for the man’s descent into grief, he found him too staid for a young woman as playful as Charlotte. He had a feeling that he had seen the Earl before, but could not place him. He wanted to dislike him immediately; however he was certain that if he remained patient, in time, Buckland would give him many reasons to do so.
The Lord Radcliffe had saved a table for his party in the adjoining room and when refreshments were served, they gathered there.
“Was I mistaken in counting two dances with Mary Bennet, Mr. Lancaster? One more and we will be congratulating you on your engagement,” Charlotte teased.
“She was delightful company,” Guy said. “We chatted about Euripides.”
“Mr. Bingley seems to be a solid fellow,” Hugh remarked.
“And so handsome!” the Lady Radcliffe concluded.
“May I join you, dear neighbors?”
Charlotte looked up to see the Earl standing at their table. He was welcomed with much cordiality by her eager parents, who kept glancing over at Charlotte and then back at the Earl and then back at Charlotte as the Earl took a seat with their party and began to speak.
“My late wife did not wish for me to be by myself too much,” he noted. “She was much concerned that I was too inward a man, and she urged me to not seclude myself but rather to seek companionship right away” he said, as if wishing to acquit himself of any appearance of impropriety for socializing so soon after her demise.
Charlotte, for her part, listened carefully but did not enter into the conversation. Instead, she kept her eyes carefully focused on Hugh and Guy, watching with disdain as they downed biscuits and finger sandwiches as if it had been days, instead of hours, since they last ate. The Earl, she noticed, partook of nothing.
