Her clear, gray eyes sparkled above rosy, flushed cheeks and she appeared younger than Charlotte expected. Her narrow, aristocratic face had only the faintest of lines around the eyes and mouth, and her fluffy brown hair was barely touched with gray at the temples.
She looked pleasant and welcoming as she held out her hands to Charlotte. “Miss Haywood, it is so good to finally meet you. I am Lady Victoria and this is my husband, Mr. Archer.”
Charlotte took a deep breath and politely stepped forward to touch the lady’s outstretched hand.
“How do you do?” Charlotte asked, surprised at the genuine welcome in Lady Victoria’s gaze.
When Lady Victoria released her hand, Charlotte glanced shyly at Mr. Archer and smiled. He nodded, studying her curiously with sharp brown eyes. Although he stood only a few inches taller than his wife, he appeared wiry and full of nervous energy. His hair was a shade darker than Lady Victoria’s, and there was a bit more gray around his ears.
“Welcome to our home,” he said. Mr. Archer glanced from Charlotte to his wife and rubbed his side of his chin with his hand as he appeared to wait for her reaction. “Thank you,” Charlotte said, uncomfortably aware of her awkwardness and height.
Despite the low heels of her walking boots, she stood two inches taller than either of them. However, neither Lady Victoria nor Mr. Archer stared at her gangly form with the shocked dismay everyone else exhibited. In fact, they seemed oblivious to it.
Some of Charlotte’s tension slipped away as she let out a long breath.
“We’re so glad to have you here,” Lady Victoria said at last.
“Indeed. Come in, sit down.” Mr. Archer gestured at a nearby chair.
Just behind him was a small, cozy sitting area complete with an oval table still laden with the remnants of a large breakfast. The sun shone cheerfully through frothy lace curtains and several benches and chairs were arranged haphazardly in clusters around the room. Most of the seats were smothered under a variety of colored silk cushions and open books were piled on the two chairs closest to the windows.
As Charlotte moved to sit, Mr. Archer took his wife’s arm and led her to a handsome Hepplewhite settee with delicate curved legs.
“I am afraid I cannot stay,” he said. “An appointment with my man of business. You understand.” He kissed Lady Victoria’s cheek and rested his fingers briefly on the curve of her neck before straightening. He nodded to Charlotte.
She smiled with relief. The famed British reserve seemed sadly lacking in the Archers. The Westover household, in contrast, had been absolutely moribund with it. Charlotte couldn’t remember either Lord Westover or his wife demonstrating any particular affection for each other, especially in public. In fact, Charlotte couldn’t remember them staying in the same room with each other for more than five minutes without resorting to a lot of subdued hissing and frowning.
“But, John—” his wife protested. She caught his hand and pressed it against her cheek before releasing it.
“Sorry, my dear.” Flicking a finger over her cheek, he shook his head before giving a brief bow to Charlotte. “However, you two ladies can use the time to get acquainted. I will tell Suddley to bring in some tea, shall I? And those lovely seed cakes?” He waved at the table. “Or, help yourself to the ham—”
“Yes, but dear—oh, never mind,” Lady Victoria replied, her voice breathy with exasperation. “You will be back for supper, will not you?”
“Oh yes, unless my nephew wishes me to meet him at the club.”
“I should think you’ve seen enough of the club for one week. We haven’t had him to dine for quite some time. Why don’t you invite him? I can arrange for a few friends to join us, and we shall have quite a nice evening.”
He sighed. “Impossible. If I forgo the club, I suppose we’ll have to attend that infernal soirée—you haven’t forgotten, have you? That chit, Lady Beatrice, invited my nephew, and if we don’t go to the club, well….” He shrugged and held up his hands in a helpless gesture. “We cannot let him go without us.”
“I would almost rather you go to the club—”
“If you insist.”
“But I believe the soirée will be a better choice.” A small frown puckered the skin between her brows. “He’s not dangling after that creature, is he?”
“Lady Beatrice? Shouldn’t think so. Unpleasant little trollop—regular viper—if you ask me.”
“Yes, but you have more sense than most,” Lady Victoria said, her voice low and tender. “She has a pretty face and men rarely look beyond the façade. Particularly young men.”
Charlotte studied Lady Victoria with interest, relieved to hear views so similar to her own. She couldn’t abide the abysmal lack of intelligence most women seemed determined to exhibit around the male sex, as if rampant idiocy would make them more attractive.
“My nephew has more sense, my dear. Believe me.”
“The way he follows you about—worshiping you— hardly inspires me with faith in his perspicacity.”
Mr. Archer’s brows waggled in amusement. “But that is precisely why I am so convinced of his intelligence.”
Lady Victoria laughed and shook her head as her grinning husband finally took his leave.
“Now, my dear Miss Haywood, would you care for a cup of tea or would you rather go to your room to rest?”
“Tea would be lovely, Lady Victoria,” Charlotte said. She had barely walked three blocks from the Westovers’ house to the Archers’ townhouse. In truth, she needed neither the cup of tea nor a rest, but she hoped to stay longer than a month or two, so she was determined to be agreeable.
Thankfully during the last few minutes, her anxiety had dwindled until it seemed like a bad dream. She liked the Archers and felt strangely at home with the pair. They were both so cheerful and unabashedly affectionate with each other that she longed to find the right path to friendship. She wanted to be part of their home. Her heart ached to belong.
All she had to do was hold her tongue for three short years.
“So, Miss Haywood, have you been in England long?”
Startled, Charlotte caught Lady Victoria’s curious gaze. “Actually, yes. I’ve been here eight years.”
“You’ve lived with the Westovers for eight years?”
“Oh no, I’ve only been with the Westovers for a few months.”
Lady Victoria’s finely arched brows rose. Her gray eyes shone with intelligence and sympathy. “Oh?”
“I suppose I should explain.” Charlotte suppressed a sigh. “Perhaps it is simpler if I start at the beginning as it will save misunderstandings.”
“Undoubtedly. I always prefer it when tales begin at the beginning.” Lady Victoria’s lips twitched.
Brightening, Charlotte released a breath and let out a small, breathy laugh.
Lady Victoria reached over and squeezed her hand just as the butler opened the door. He ushered in a maid carrying a tea tray, liberally festooned with lace and covered with plates of seed cakes, biscuits, and a large silver pot of tea. In solemn silence, the butler pushed aside the dishes already on the table. He nearly spilled two cups half-filled with milky coffee before he could make enough room for the tea service.
Taking charge, Lady Victoria poured a cup for Charlotte and grinned when she requested it without milk or sugar.
“Would you like a cake?” Lady Victoria asked, holding the plate out to her.
“No, thank you.” Charlotte took a deep breath and then put off her confession for another minute by draining her teacup. Lady Victoria refilled it, although she kept her gray eyes on Charlotte’s face. “Well,” Charlotte started again. “My mother and father passed away when I was three.”
Lady Victoria nodded, but didn’t offer any embarrassing expressions of sympathy.
“My mother’s sister lived with us in Charleston, that is Charleston, South Carolina,” Charlotte said. “So I lived with her for a number of years. Unfortunately, she died of influenza during the winter of eighteen-t
en. That is when I was sent to England.” She shivered involuntarily, remembering the freezing weather and the long, cold voyage. Her ice-stiffened cloak never seemed to keep out the chill on the ship, and after she arrived in London, the cold permanently settled around her. “My father’s brother had estates near Brighten. So, he invited me to live with his family.”
She didn’t mention that two months after her arrival, her uncle had sent her to the first of a series of Swiss boarding schools for well-bred young women. There had been three in all. Finally, the headmistress of the last school sent her home with a note indicating she felt she could speak for all the ladies academies in her country when she said they would prefer Charlotte not return to Switzerland as she had an unsettling influence on the other young ladies.
“In eighteen-fifteen—no, eighteen-sixteen—I went to live with my uncle’s uncle near Richmond,” Charlotte said, her voice hesitant despite her efforts to make it all sound like a grand adventure.
All the young females in that household were already married, therefore this situation seemed best for everyone. Unfortunately, that was when her negative influence on older, married women first exhibited itself. Charlotte had not realized what her opinions about the equality of women meant to an older, careworn lady.
After years of silent suffering, Charlotte’s aunt had informed her husband she would no longer tolerate his affairs with dancers and opera singers. If he didn’t mend his ways, she would remove herself to their country estate where he would emphatically Not Be Welcomed!
Of course, Lady Victoria did not need to know any of this. Mr. Archer could entertain dozens of opera dancers and Charlotte would not say a word.
“Are the Westovers your uncle’s uncle?” Lady Victoria asked when Charlotte paused.
“Oh, no. I was only with them for two years. Then I went to live with the Westovers. They are, I understand, distant relatives of my uncle’s uncle. I am not entirely sure of the exact relationship. I went to them a few months ago.”
“And so now you’ve come to live with the Archers.” Lady Victoria patted Charlotte’s clasped hands. “It will be a relief, I am sure, to finally settle someplace.” Her sharp gaze was surprisingly kind when she caught Charlotte’s glance.
A few hot tears pricked the backs of Charlotte’s eyes. “Yes, I suppose it shall.” She sipped her tea to regain her composure. She would not indulge in a fit of the vapors the first time someone seemed sympathetic to her. “If it isn’t impertinent, may I ask how you are related to the Haywoods?”
“Haywoods?” Lady Victoria repeated, her face blank.
“Yes, well, I was simply wondering how I came to be here, that is—are you my relatives? Distant, I am sure, but I had not heard of the Archers….” Her questions sounded impolite, but she couldn’t help asking.
She suddenly felt desperate for reassurance that she was safe to make friends with the Archers: that they wouldn’t send her on her way in a few weeks or months.
As if understanding, Lady Victoria took Charlotte’s hand and held it in her own, rubbing the warmth back into her cold fingers. “Oh, I shouldn’t worry about it.” She shrugged and chafed Charlotte’s hand more vigorously. “I am dreadful with genealogy and can barely keep my own nieces and nephews straight. Who is to say how we are related?”
Charlotte paused, trying to understand why she felt Lady Victoria was sidestepping the question. In the past, Charlotte had developed the useful talent of sensing when someone was avoiding the truth, perhaps because she wished she were better at such “embroidery” herself.
The sensation of an unexplained undercurrent did warn her, however. Experience had shown the dangers of ignoring such signals or getting too close to anyone acting as her guardian.
Gently removing her hand from Lady Victoria’s clasp, Charlotte picked up the teapot and poured fresh cups.
Take a step back, concentrate on the future. Soon she would be free of solemn, disapproving guardians and drafty rooms in cold English homes where she never belonged, where she could not even discuss her ideas without causing disharmony and disruption.
As if sensing her withdrawal, Lady Victoria spoke idly about the unsettled weather. After a few minutes, Charlotte screwed up enough courage to ask another question, one prompted by her uncontrollable curiosity.
“Why are you Lady Victoria while your husband is Mr. Archer?”
“I am the eldest daughter of a marquess, my dear. I have always been Lady Victoria.”
“Then Mr. Archer is a—” Charlotte stopped in consternation. She’d been about to call him a commoner. How revolting. She was starting to sound as starchy and class-conscious as the rest of the British.
Laughing, Lady Victoria picked up her tea cup and took a sip before shaking her head. “My family was quite upset, I believe, when I married Mr. Archer. However, I am not entirely sure it was his lack of a title which disturbed them. He was, after all, the fourth son of a duke.”
“Oh?” She waited for Lady Victoria to explain why her family had not wanted their daughter to marry the fourth son of a duke. Was it just because he didn’t have a title himself? How very British.
Then the oddity of her situation struck her. Surely, Charlotte would have heard if her family was in any way related to a duke?
Lady Victoria, however, didn’t elaborate. “Why don’t you get some rest? We have an invitation to a soirée this evening. We will not stay long if you don’t wish to, but I always find it best to have some activity of that sort right away when I am settling into a new place. It prevents you from worrying over events that inevitably turn out for the best.”
“But, I am not worried,” Charlotte protested.
“Nonetheless, we’ll dragoon Mr. Archer and attend.”
Charlotte smiled at her. “Thank you, Lady Victoria. You are very kind.”
“Nonsense. I am simply bored. Now that you are here, our prospects have brightened enormously. I’ve always wanted a daughter.”
“I am afraid I may not be precisely what you had in mind.”
“You are wrong, Miss Haywood. It seems to me you are exactly the kind of girl I hoped my Mary would become, if she had lived. I couldn’t be more pleased.”
“Thank you,” replied Charlotte rather doubtfully. “I only hope you don’t have cause to change your mind once we become better acquainted.”
Chapter Three
If a person annoys another by abusive language or constantly following him, whereby a breach of the peace may occur, such person can be proceeded against and summoned by the party aggrieved. —Constable’s Pocket Guide
“That’s a very attractive dress, Miss Haywood,” Lady Victoria said. She fingered the heavy white silk of Charlotte’s skirt and smoothed the gathers in the back.
“Thank you. It’s one of the few advantages of being an heiress,” Charlotte replied, staring in the mirror and feeling unaccountably depressed by her image. The long length of gleaming white silk just made her appear even taller, towering over Lady Victoria’s delicate figure.
Lady Victoria laughed. Reaching behind her neck, she removed her beautiful pearl necklace and stepped behind Charlotte.
“What—” Charlotte tried to turn, but Lady Victoria held her shoulders.
“You should wear these tonight,” she said as she fastened her pearls around Charlotte’s neck.
Touched by the gesture, Charlotte dropped the string of jet beads she had planned to wear onto the dresser. The ladies had not worn bright colors for months, not since the tragic death of Princess Charlotte in November. Sharing the same name, Charlotte felt a deep sympathy for the princess and had always admired the woman for standing up and refusing to marry for any reason except love.
Princess Charlotte knew what it meant to follow her dreams instead of simply settling for heavy duty. If only plain, ordinary Charlotte could do the same and escape from the cold mists of England to the blazing sands of Cairo, perhaps she could finally find happiness and independence under the baking, desert sun.
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“This necklace is beautiful—too beautiful,” she said, catching Lady Victoria’s gaze in the mirror. She was afraid to assume too much.
However, her fingertips ran over the satiny pearls, still warm from Lady Victoria’s skin, and Charlotte felt her throat tighten. The necklace matched the creamy lace inset into the rounded neckline of her dress, and she felt almost…pretty. The subdued gleam of the pearls nestled into the hollow of her throat, lending her a small part of Lady Victoria’s grace.
“Why don’t you borrow it for tonight?” Lady Victoria gave her a hug. “Welcome to your new home, my dear.”
“Oh,” Charlotte’s voice broke. She clenched her jaw painfully, holding back the strong urge to cry. “You shouldn’t—that is, you may not wish me to—”
“Nonsense. The necklace would have been my daughter’s. Now, you are my daughter. I say you shall wear them tonight. They look very well with that gown, don’t they? I always thought they had a rather warm cast and would complement someone with your vivid coloring.”
Charlotte fleetingly touched a red curl that draped over her shoulder. After a searching glance at Lady Victoria’s kind face, Charlotte smiled, relieved that the remark had not been meant as a veiled insult.
“Thank you,” she replied as she turned abruptly. “Shouldn’t we leave?”
She knew she might appear ungrateful, but she was uncomfortable with gifts, even ones just lent for the night. Her previous guardians had always assumed expensive items should flow from Charlotte to them and not the reverse, and she had grown accustomed to the knowledge that any affection they showed to her was proportional to their greed. Now, it was difficult to adjust and graciously accept even the smallest of items.
“Yes,” Lady Victoria said. “John is surely waiting for us by now. He’s very punctual.”
“One of his few good qualities?” Charlotte teased shyly.
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