The nearly two dozen visitors milled about in the Grand Foyer without direction, mumbling to one another in obvious discontent. A number of gentlemen shouted in support of some recent proposed action.
"What shall I do?" Charlotte whispered to her aunt.
"I cannot understand what it is they wish, dear," a confused Aunt Penny relayed to her niece.
"We demand a challenge!" came the shouts of many. "Yes, a challenge! For your favor, Lady Charlotte!"
Muriel could not understand why they should wish to hear of another self-admitted blemish from Charlotte. It was beyond comprehension.
"Gentlemen," Muriel shouted. "Gentlemen!" she repeated louder a second time, raising her hand over her head to gain their attention. "Do calm yourselves, please. Your behavior borders on barbaric."
The room quieted and Muriel spoke freely. "I am sorry to disappoint you. We have nothing planned for this afternoon."
Vehement verbal opposition followed her statement. The gentlemen's voices grew insistent and angry. Muriel knew they would not be satisfied unless this afternoon had a winner.
"What do you suggest then?" she asked the crowd. "Shall we stoop to something as simple as drawing a name out of a hat?"
"My hat!" Lord Paul Bancroft offered.
Major Dunham, looking splendid in his regimentals, cried out, "We can't have that! He's a known cheat!"
"Be warned. I may take offense to that, sir," came the sharp reply from Lord Paul. "We have no time to waste dueling."
"Let it be my hat, my lady!" the dashing Lord Oscar offered.
"No, let it be mine!" Sir Albert Stephenson called out, followed by a few others eager to participate.
The front door opened, and Sir Samuel entered the overflowing foyer and removed his headwear. "What goes on in here?"
"Here, we'll have Sir Samuel's hat," Major Dunham proposed. "He's no involvement in this whatsoever."
"Regarding what?" Sir Samuel replied, baffled at the commotion before him.
"I would appreciate if you would allow us to borrow your chapeau for a game of chance," Charlotte requested in a compelling lilt, one she must have known no male could refuse.
Sir Samuel wore a blissful expression, handing over his curly-brimmed beaver immediately.
"If you would hold it thusly." She turned it in his hand, the brim up and the crown down.
Muriel instructed them all, "Once all of you have placed your calling cards into the hat, we shall begin."
The group parted, allowing Sir Samuel to move from one end of the room to the other. "That's it, gentlemen, cards into the hat," he repeated, moving through the throng.
"What am I to tell them, Moo?" Charlotte whispered to her sister.
"I don't know, Char-Char," Muriel returned quietly. "I had no idea a session of Repelling the Suitors was planned for this afternoon."
"Perhaps I could tell them I am featherbrained or that I am clumsy," Charlotte mused. Could she not think of something better?
"I don't know how that should put them off." Muriel glanced past her sister, keeping watch on the progress of gentlemen beyond.
"No. You're right; it's not enough." Charlotte must think of something much, much worse. "I need something revolting, absolutely horrid. Something that would make them run all the way back to London."
"At least something that would make them reconsider before returning to Faraday Hall," Muriel agreed.
"And I shall," she murmured to herself. "You cannot allow me to face the winner all alone, Moo." Charlotte's stomach churned in agitation.
"You have done it before. Twice, if memory serves" Muriel sounded as if she were going to be quite stubborn.
"I don't think I can manage it again. I feel very uncertain about facing him this time. I wish you would keep watch over me," Charlotte begged her younger sister. "I need to know you're near."
"Observe you? I cannot. You know I cannot." The expression on Muriel's face told how shocking it was that Charlotte should suggest such a thing. "I am forbidden to eavesdrop on you."
"I do wish you would. That you might be there to help me ... just in case-" Charlotte had no idea what she was going to say. What if she couldn't think of anything suitable? Feigning deafness wasn't as great a defect as she had thought. "I give you permission to watch. I insist upon it."
"Very well," Muriel gave in, clearly not pleased. "But I cannot imagine how I should come to your aid if you should need it."
"Thank you so much, dear, dear Moo." Charlotte smiled and exhaled in relief. She would not be alone in this. "I shall meet the winner in the parterre and you shall observe us from the window in my bedchamber."
Finished with his one sweep through the room to collect all the calling cards, Sir Samuel returned to the staircase where the ladies stood.
"Draw the name! Lady Charlotte, draw the name!" came the cries before them.
"Draw my name!" one among them shouted.
Charlotte glanced at her aunt, her friend Susan, and finally her sister. She then raised her gloved hand and paused before reaching into the hat. First she mixed the lot with her fingers. The men held their collective breaths. The room fell silent as everyone waited.
The winning calling card emerged, clasped between a thumb and forefinger. Charlotte turned the bold black engraved script toward her and announced, "Lord William Wentworth."
After a brief retreat abovestairs to fashion her latest ailment, Charlotte proceeded to the parterre. She sat upon the small bench awaiting Lord Wentworth's arrival.
"I must congratulate you on your victory, my lord." Charlotte meant for her tone to be kind.
"I thank you, Lady Charlotte." Lord Wentworth seemed pleased to be in her company. "I am delighted to have the opportunity to learn something about you."
Charlotte glanced away from him and to Muriel, who stood peering down at them from the window, watching every movement, seeing every word spoken through her opera glasses.
"Am I SPEAKING LOUD ENOUGH for you to HEAR ME?" Lord Wentworth forced the uncomfortable words out in varying volumes.
"You need not shout, my lord."
"I beg your pardon." He bowed his head. "I hope I did not offend you."
"No offense was taken." Charlotte glanced back at Muriel, who turned away from the window with obvious laughter. "Please have a seat here next to me." She motioned to the empty space on the bench.
If they both sat facing the house, Charlotte was certain Muriel could see them quite unobstructed.
Lord Wentworth took up Charlotte's hand and held it gently between the two of his. "I must confess that I care not of your false eye or deafness-"
"Deafness?" The allegation took Charlotte by surprise. She'd never said she was deaf.
"You bear each unfortunate affliction with every grace imaginable and have managed to keep them hidden until the brave moment you chose to unveil them. I cannot help but adore you all the more for it-" He gazed at her with much warmth and continued. "If you would assure me of your affection, I would seek out His Grace and beg for permission to offer you marriage this very moment"
"Do not say such things, my lord." Charlotte had not been prepared for this strong sentiment of devotion.
"But it is true," Lord Wentworth exclaimed. "I cannot think of anything but you since the dance we shared last night. I have not been able to eat, drink, or sleep."
"It is fortunate that our acquaintance started only recently, for you should feel very ill if we had been introduced a month ago, or worse, the year before."
"I do apologize. I had not meant to further burden you. I am most anxious to hear of ..." He glanced at her and immediately fell silent, waiting to hear what she had to say next.
Now Charlotte was the one feeling a bit off. She faced him and in her sweetest voice said, "Well ... there are times when I am quite ... clumsy." She glanced up at Muriel, who motioned for her sister to offer him something more than her talent of occasionally treading upon her hem.
Lord Wentworth chuckled. "There is
nothing wrong with clumsiness. I'm not proud to admit that, on occasion, I trip over my own feet "
"But the reason for my clumsiness is ... my limb. My lower limb." Charlotte felt her cheeks warm, and no doubt, she blushed ferociously at the utterance of her body part.
He stood. Charlotte followed him to his feet.
Lord Wentworth's jaw dropped open and his eyes bulged. "You cannot mean ... an artificial limb?"
"That is precisely what I mean-" Well, it hadn't been until he made the suggestion. "It's wooden." Charlotte's gaze flew to the window to observe her sister's reaction.
The opera glasses fell from Muriel's face. She slapped her forehead, turned away, and shook her head, eventually moving out of sight.
Oh, dear. Muriel had abandoned her post and Charlotte was quite alone in this now.
"I have seen you on the dance floor. You are flawless." Lord Wentworth reminded her, "I've danced with you myself."
"Yes, it was a cotillion."
"It cannot be true," he muttered. "Ridiculous. I simply cannot believe such a thing."
Charlotte stood and took several steps away from the bench. "It is true, I say. See here-" She made a fist and struck the side of her leg, where the unmistakable rap of solid wood sounded. "I've had much practice walking and dancing. I only limp a little."
Lord Wentworth stood there unquestionably in shock. He gaped and exhibited some trouble breathing.
"I daresay no one would even know if I'd kept this knowledge to myself." She glanced over her shoulder to check if he had regained his ability to speak. "If any gentleman were serious in forming an attachment to me, I expect they would need to be told."
"I do not ... I am"-he stared at her skirts, apparently imagining the peg leg under her petticoats-"void of response."
The window of her bedchamber stood empty. Muriel was still not to be seen.
"I do not-" Lord Wentworth cleared his throat and tried again. "If you will excuse me." He performed a swift bow and made a hasty retreat.
Charlotte stood alone in the parterre, next to the bench, and contemplated what she had told him.
What a contemptible tale. Her father would be furious.
Muriel strode from the house toward her sister. "What could you possibly be thinking? Are you mad?"
"You said to think of something that would drive them away. I believe it worked quite well for Lord Wentworth."
"You wished to relay something "very horrid," I believe were your exact words. But honestly, Char-Char, a wooden leg?"
"I thought it quite imaginative. Lord Wentworth came up with the idea of a false leg. I had only thought to tell him I was clumsy and tended to stumble about." Charlotte was apparently proud and very pleased with her story. "I should think talk of my wooden leg might send a great deal of the gentlemen away. Isn't that what you wanted?"
Muriel shook her head. "How did you convince Lord Wentworth without resorting to raising your skirt?"
"Oh, that was easy." Charlotte giggled. "I bound one of Freddie's old, broken cricket bats to my leg to remind me which was the afflicted limb."
"Char-Char, how could you?" Even Muriel was taken by surprise.
"This one suited me well because of its shorter length." She raised her hem to display the wooden object attached at her ankle, ending just below her knee. "It also proved quite convincing when I rapped upon it, proving my leg was indeed made of wood."
Charlotte remained seated on the bench alone with her thoughts, mulling over the consequences of her actions a good fifteen minutes following Lord Wentworth's departure and nearly five minutes after Muriel had marched away in a huff.
She smoothed the unused lace handkerchief she'd tucked away earlier. Why had she thought there might be need of it? Charlotte had never felt further away from tears than at this moment.
Looking up when hearing the soft crunch of gravel, Charlotte saw the very man she'd wished for appear instantaneously, as if stepping from her dreams. There stood Sir Philip.
With his walking stick in hand, he removed his hat and swept a modest bow in his long, many-caped greatcoat.
Charlotte acknowledged his presence with a gracious nod of her head. He moved in her direction, and she rose when he stopped ten feet or so from her.
"Lady Charlotte, do you take the air?" he inquired in a wonderfully sonorous tone.
"I do," she replied. Charlotte did her best to restrain her obvious delight at his company. "You have arrived in time to accompany me for a turn in the rear gardens."
"I am more than happy to oblige." He glanced at his attire. "I must dispense with these travel clothes."
Charlotte stepped to one side, making room for him to deposit his hat, gloves, and greatcoat on the bench where she had been sitting. With a few moments to ensure the pristine condition of his jacket, cuffs, and trousers, he offered her his arm.
She placed her gloved hand upon his sleeve and merely stared at his bare hands. Charlotte wished she were brave enough to touch them.
He glanced around at the meandering pebbled paths, the various garden beds, and beyond to the expanse of countryside that spread out for miles around them. The sight seemed to please him.
"As beautiful as the gardens are, I believe one could grow uneasy after repeating the same route. Passing that small birch grove might become tiresome after the third or fourth time." He looked over at her with a tilt of his head. "Are you not tired of walking this path with every gentleman?"
"That was days ago." So he knew of the garden tours with her suitors. "And I must walk at least once a day for my health. Though I admit walking that particular day was not for my health but to acquaint myself with the gentlemen callers. I only thought it fair for each of them to have the chance to speak to me alone." The topic was an uncomfortable one. Charlotte had no wish to speak to Sir Philip about other gentlemen, and she quickly changed the subject. "I understand you have employed Tom Sturgis."
"Ah, Thomas." Sir Philip smiled. Unless she was mistaken, Charlotte thought she felt an added spring in the baronet's step. "Yes, he's a good lad."
"Yes, but as a valet? I believe he's only cared after horses"
"But he cares for them well, wouldn't you say?"
"I have never heard any complaints-from the equines or their owners. But the point remains, sir," Charlotte was quick to point out, "you are not a horse."
Sir Philip raised her hand to his lips and murmured while looking deep into her eyes, "I am so very glad you have noticed. But horse or no, I could not have com peted in your young gentlemen's footrace on the day of my arrival."
By the tone of his voice, he sounded as if he had not approved.
Sir Philip pulled her hand tighter into the crook of his arm. "The damage it may have caused to my boots might have been irreparable."
How easily he could equate the value of her affection with that of his high-topped boots. Then she recalled how her sister went on about Sir Philip and women. Muriel's metaphors of his starched linen strips-carefully crafted cravats indeed! Neither Sir Philip's nor Muriel's analogies pleased Charlotte.
"I am merely a gentleman who has had the misfortune, or in my circumstance, the good fortune, to be stranded in this delightful situation where I can watch the daily sport "
"Sport?" Charlotte stopped, and truth be told, she wasn't pleased with him at the moment. "This is not a game."
"Really? I thought it resembled one at every turn." Sir Philip's hold upon her hand tightened. "The very competitive nature of the participants, the contests, the prizes."
Charlotte had to admit he was correct and that he had consistently refused to allow himself to become involved.
Fine. But why did she feel she needed to use him to measure the other men? In fact, Charlotte cared for the baronet more than she would openly admit. And he ... compared her with pieces from his wardrobe.
"Dare I make a request of you?" Sir Philip's tone was pleasant.
"You may certainly ask." Charlotte did not think it proper she grant him h
is every whim, especially when he treated her so dreadfully.
"I fear my time here is coming to an end. I would request you honor us with a song or two this evening after supper. I imagine your aunt and your father, as well as Sir Samuel, would be delighted to hear you play."
"I should like to, if that is what you wish, sir." Even though he had not been particularly kind to her, Charlotte could not bring herself to deny him.
"It is. Above all things." He smiled down at her and stepped forward, continuing their stroll. "I must admit"a small sigh punctuated his words-"I shall be sorry to leave tomorrow, for I have become quite fond of Faraday Hall and its many pleasant amenities."
Wooden leg, indeed! What had Charlotte been thinking? Perturbed with her sister, Muriel strode across the terrace to the north side of the house. Perhaps the plan to thin the number of callers was not the wisest, and Muriel's ability to persuade Charlotte should have been employed with a bit more regard.
An old worn wagon sat near the side of house. "Ah, good day to you, Lady Muriel." Farmer Gilbert set an armful of empty wooden boxes on the back of the wagon and drew his cap from his head.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Gilbert."
"Just deliverin' some fresh goods for Sir Philipsome eggs, milk, cheese, and cream."
"I beg your pardon?" Did he say Sir Philip?
"We've got what you might call ourselves a gentlemen's agreement, we has."
"I see." Muriel thought this might be a topic she should not trespass upon, being clearly defined as male territory. That had never stopped her before, however, and she continued. "Might I ask what exactly is the nature of this agreement?"
"Rein' you was responsible for our meetin' in the first place"-Farmer Gilbert craned his neck, squinted an eye, and stared over his shoulder at her-"I'll tell you"
Sir Philip had not been amiable to the farmer during their initial encounter. Muriel couldn't wait to hear how the baronet had conducted himself on his subsequent meeting.
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