Lady Downshire, whom Lord Downshire had married nine years ago, was not particularly fond of her husband’s charges and preferred to spend time with her own children. The family remained mostly at the estate in Hillsborough, Ireland. Charlotte had not seen Lady Downshire in years.
“All the best actresses are French,” a man’s voice said from the side.
Charlotte glanced his way to confirm he was not speaking to her and saw another man standing beside him. Both men were dressed to distinction with perfectly tailored coats and shiny buckles on their fine shoes. They did not seem to see her, and she stepped closer to the wall, glad to hear the country of her birth spoken of in positive ways. It happened so rarely.
“And all the best mistresses, too,” the other man said in a leering tone.
Charlotte’s smile fell, and she lowered her eyes to the floor.
The first man laughed. “Passion is passion, after all.”
Charlotte ducked her head and turned away from her secluded corner so she would not hear their bawdy talk. They glanced her way as she exited the vicinity but then dismissed her, likely surmising she had not been near enough to overhear.
Charlotte wished she could tell the men that such judgment could not define each individual born beneath a country’s flag. And yet, was Charlotte’s own mother not an example of the immoral fervor so often associated with the French? And were not the number of Frenchwomen under the sauvegarde of English men further evidence of low morality? The English did not seem to care that such choices were often forced upon these women because of war and loss and the need to survive. The Revolution was over, but France was now making war with everyone else, it seemed, further decreasing the opinion of her country throughout Europe and fanning the desperation many women felt to find security anywhere they could.
Charlotte was making her way back to Lord Downshire when she heard mention of his name.
“ . . . Lord Downshire tonight?”
Charlotte stopped and glanced at the three women, none of them looking her way, clustered just a few feet to her right. She did not know them.
“Yes, he is here with that woman again,” a second woman answered the first.
“His ward?” the first woman asked skeptically. “I wonder how much longer we are expected to pretend we believe such an explanation. And with his wife remaining in Ireland, no less.”
Rather than walk away and maintain what was left of her dignity, Charlotte simply turned her back to the women, though she could still hear what they said. She gripped the teacup too tightly in her hand and stared at the dregs at the bottom of her cup.
“To have a mistress is one thing, but to have a woman kept in your own home under the guise of Christian compassion is a mockery.”
The voice of the third woman joined the conversation. “I understand she and her brother came to stay when they were very young. Wasn’t Lord Downshire friends with the children’s father?”
“Well, yes, he took them in because their mother eloped with her lover. They’re all French, you know. I feel for the late Lord Downshire. He must be turning in his grave to see his son behaving so sordidly. To say nothing of the current Lady Downshire. Surely she must know what’s taking place under her nose.”
Charlotte tried to swallow the embarrassment, but her cheeks were on fire and her heart raced. She relaxed her grip on the poor teacup. It was not as though she’d never heard such whispers, but two conversations in one night disparaging first her nationality and then her very person made her feel as though everyone was talking about her, thinking scandalous things, believing horrid accusations. Perhaps the draw of the theater was not worth the edge of society that too often left her bleeding. She placed the cup and saucer on a small decorative table, afraid her hands would shake and the clink of china would betray her.
“There you are, Charlotte. Are you ready to return to the box?”
Lord Downshire had spoken loudly enough that the women surely heard him. Charlotte was only glad he had not approached so silently as to overhear them. She forced a smile as he stood beside her and put out his arm.
Charlotte inclined her head, not wanting to speak for fear her subtle accent would give her away. No amount of elocution lessons could completely hide her difficulty with the th sound. As Lord Downshire guided her toward the exit, she glanced at the gossiping women. One woman offered her a repentant look, but the other two raised their chins in a silent challenge and then turned back to one another, dismissing her entirely.
“Did you get refreshment?” Lord Downshire asked as he escorted her back to their box.
“Yes, dank you,” she said quietly, not making eye contact with the people they passed.
She wanted to defend the fact that Lord Downshire had never been anything but a guardian to her and that Mama had lived out the rest of her life in agony over the choice she had made. Charlotte wanted to shout that she had a moral heart and sought God’s direction for her life. But she could not win a good opinion, and she knew it. Her complexion was too dark, her face too round, and her accent too lilting for her to ever be free of the censure that followed her.
Those aspects she could not change about herself were also why she was unmarried at the age of twenty-five. She was too far below Lord Downshire’s class to warrant the attention of a gentleman but raised too high above the class that might accept her nationality and mother scandaleuse. Lord Downshire had offered to facilitate a match, but Charlotte did not want a husband who needed her for her income, generously provided by her brother and investments Lord Downshire had made on her father’s behalf. Nor did she want some man with a scandalous past using her as proof that he was reformed.
Charlotte wanted someone to love her. She wanted to belong in a place of her own choosing and have children who grew up to respect her as their Mama. A mama who would never do to them what Charlotte’s mother had done to her children. Repentant though she had been, Mama could not undo the stain she had left that marked Charlotte and John for life.
Lord Downshire returned Charlotte to her seat in his private box. She thanked him, then faced forward and tried to center her mind on the fourth act of the play, which she knew would turn lighter than the darker scenes of the first three acts. Leontes would realize the mistake he’d made and be reunited with his banished daughter and wife. All would be forgiven; all would be made right. Charlotte longed to lose herself within the story, and yet when the curtain lifted, she was trying to wipe her eyes without anyone noticing her self-pity. The only thing worse than feeling her embarras and shame would be to try to explain her tears to someone else.
As was often the case, Charlotte was alone with her thoughts while surrounded by people.
Edinburgh, Scotland
November 22, 1795
The ball at the Edinburgh Assembly Hall lasted until early morning, and Mina slept until her maid woke her to prepare for kirk. She was glad there would be no entertainment that evening; she needed a full night’s sleep. She attended kirk and, as usual, Walter was waiting to walk her home when it concluded.
They spoke of last night’s ball, who they’d seen and who they missed, and Walter shared an entertaining story of being caught in the freezing rain when he and Clerk finally left. He didn’t say their plight was because neither man’s family owned a carriage, but she was aware of it. She could not imagine how she would have made her way home without one.
Upon reaching her family’s apartments, Walter bowed and kissed her hand, sending a tingling dance of nerves all the way up her arm. “Parting is such sweet sorrow,” he quoted; he really was such a romantic man. They would both be attending a dinner party later in the week, and she was looking forward to seeing him again.
Mina retired to her room to get out of her elaborate dress—her family insisted she set a proper example for kirk—and rest a bit. Her maid woke her some time later to inform her that Lady Stuart had tea se
t up in the drawing room. Her maid helped her into a day dress and tidied her hair. When Mina reached the sitting room, wondering who might be joining them on a Sunday, she found only her parents there.
Parents.
Father rarely joined them for tea.
Determined not to act suspicious, Mina smiled and sat beside her mother, who was already pouring tea from a fine set Father had brought back from Brighton last spring. The three of them made small talk for a few minutes about the morning service and a dinner invitation Mother had accepted on the family’s behalf for Monday evening. The more her parents skirted the true reason for this formal sitting, the more tense Mina felt.
Finally, Father put his cup and saucer on the table and turned his full attention to his daughter. “Did you have an enjoyable evening last night, Mina?”
“I did,” she said with a careful smile. “It was wonderful to see so many familiar faces again.”
“I noticed you dancing with William Forbes. Is he a particular acquaintance?”
“You do not need to speak so formally, Father. But, yes, I know Mr. Forbes.”
“I shall speak as formally as I like,” her father said, fixing her with a sharp look. Mina dropped her head in submission. So much for her attempted lightness. “He has a good situation, I understand.”
“I believe so.” Mina kept her eyes on her cup as she sipped her tea.
“Your father would like to invite the Forbes family for dinner,” Mother said.
Mina looked up to glance between her parents while she returned her cup to her saucer. “Why?” But she knew why, and the reason challenged her defenses even more.
As she’d expected, Father went on at length about the importance of Mina making a good match, one that would secure both her future and her family’s position. Mr. Forbes was heir to a wealthy and well-respected baronetcy, his father’s banking enterprise, and was of Clan MacFarlane. All of which supported Father’s future aspirations.
“What we want to avoid at all costs,” Father said after fanning the flames of Mr. Forbes’s charms, “is you marrying below our rank. To choose poorly will affect not only us, but generations to come.”
Mina held her tongue, feeling that now was not the time to share her desire of making her own choice. The time would come when she would inform her parents of her determination—she did not need parental consent to marry in Scotland—but that day was not today. Not when she did not yet know her own mind on the subject.
And, she could not help but be unsettled by Father’s words—not that she hadn’t heard them all before. She was her parents’ only child. The loss of legacy in the Belsches title, which could only be passed through a direct male heir, had bothered her father for many years after it became apparent that there would be no son. Only when he’d inherited the Stuart baronetcy, which was a title that could pass through maternal lines, was his legacy secured anew. With the new title had come a fresh livelihood for her father, a new chance at a legacy, career, position, and status.
Mina didn’t fault Father for seizing the advantage of his elevated situation, but she could not see why a man of her own choosing couldn’t be an acceptable choice. Even if her husband were middle-class, her children would be raised with the same title elevating her father now.
“So, inviting the Forbes family to dinner is strategy,” Mina said when he finished, daring to meet her father’s eyes.
“Yes,” he said simply. “Requiring forethought and wisdom.”
“You must know, Mina,” her mother said in softer tones certainly meant to remedy Father’s calculating reply, “that we only want your happiness and security.”
Mina felt a stronger pull toward pleasing her mother than she felt toward pleasing her father. It should not be that way—her father was the head of the family and charged with her well-being—but she had always been closer to her mother, and Mina trusted her.
“I know you wish only good things for me,” Mina said, hoping she sounded like a mature woman capable of considering all aspects of a match. “I want the same, of course. But I would like very much to find both elements—happiness and security—in one man rather than having to choose between such ideals.”
“Sir William can give you both,” her father said with a nod as though the decision had been made. “He is a handsome young man with good manners and prospects. He will treat you well.”
“But you don’t want him for me because he is well-mannered. You want him for me only because of his family line, his clan, and his social position. If he were triple my age, rude, and paunchy, you would still want him for me so long as his coffers were full and his heritage pristine.”
Father’s neck turned red, and he stood, towering over both her and her mother. “You insolent girl!”
Mina looked at the floor, immediately regretting what she’d said. She tried to swallow the rising fear in her throat. She heard, rather than saw, her father walk toward her, and she shrunk back, though he had never struck her. Even with her eyes trained on the rug, she could see him in her mind’s eye glaring down at her while his eyes flashed and his jaw flexed.
“It is exactly this type of attitude that had me considering keeping you in Fettercairn for the winter. The common company you keep in Edinburgh does you no credit and may well be the ruination of us all.” He turned on his heel and stalked from the room, while Mina continued to stare at the floor.
Though she disagreed with her father, Mina hated displeasing him. He was under a great deal of pressure to secure his family line, and fate had given him but one child to help in that task, and a daughter at that. She knew her parents had hoped for more children, prayed for them, begged for them, and yet she alone carried the family legacy.
After Father’s exit, Mother put her arm around Mina’s shoulders, enveloping her with the familiar scent of cedar and lilac. Mina leaned into her mother’s shoulder, craving the ready comfort. “It is hard to be young and romantic, a leanbh, which is why you must trust your parents to know the best course for your future.”
“I want to fall in love, Mother,” Mina said, sniffling. Her emotion embarrassed her. “I want to be cherished and admired for more than my father’s credit and my family’s place.”
“Yet you are determined to see our goals as separate from your own. We, too, want a man for you who will cherish you, but it is in your best interest, as well as ours, to consider all the possibilities rather than dismiss a man simply for the same reasons your father takes note of him.” She paused, and Mina sensed she was choosing her words carefully. “Walter Scott is a fine young man, Mina,” she finally said. “I have a great fondness for his mother, and I know you are flattered by his attention and romantic notions. He has done very well for himself in his place, but he cannot give you the comfort you are used to nor the security you and your children deserve.”
Mina tensed, anxious at hearing Walter mentioned by name. Had she not been as discreet as she had tried to be?
“Walter works hard,” Mina defended, deciding not to deny the connection she felt to him; obviously her mother sensed as much. “And he makes me feel . . . important. My inheritance could make up the difference of his financial limitations.” She had learned only recently the details of the inheritance that would be settled upon her when she married; it was a generous amount. Not enough to maintain the lifestyle she’d been raised in, but she would never be uncomfortable. She didn’t know much about Walter’s situation, only that he lived in New Town—newer tenements specifically for the working class—and his lifestyle was more modest than her own. Wasn’t modesty a virtue?
Mother took Mina’s chin in her soft hand and held her gaze with her bright green eyes. “I understand the intoxication you feel under Mr. Scott’s attention,” she said with sincerity. “And I cannot fault you for basking in his notice. I only suggest that you get to know other men, like Mr. Forbes, as well as you have come to know Mr.
Scott. To support your connection to only one man while discounting the potential of other men in the process is a choice made of ignorance, not wisdom, and does you no credit. Surely you can understand that.”
Mina had already wondered if she’d missed out on other prospects due to her flirtation with Walter. But he was so charming, and she had encouraged his attentions. Goodness, she had kissed him! She knew neither how to undo those things nor if she wanted to, and a desperate desire to confide in her mother gripped her.
What if she told her mother the whole of her connection with Walter? What if she admitted the degree of her affection for him, and his for her? She could show her mother Walter’s letters. She could tell her mother of the kiss . . . only she couldn’t.
Mother would be horrified. She might tell Father, and then Mina would not put it past them to send her to Fettercairn before the week was out. There was far more society in Edinburgh, not just Walter. Friends, acquaintances, fellow parishioners. A confession about what she had allowed to grow between Walter and herself would bring everything good to an end.
She had but one course: Pacify her parents but, as they had counseled, not act upon ignorance.
“You may invite Mr. Forbes to dinner,” Mina said in a tone of surrender. She silenced her temptation to speak of the unspeakable. “And I will keep my prospects open, as you suggest, but I shall keep Mr. Scott in my consideration, too. I will not discount him due to his lack of privilege. He’s a fine writer, Mama, and he has already begun to pursue a literary career in addition to his work in the courts.”
Lady Stuart smiled rather indulgently, her eyes crinkling in the corners, and lifted a hand to smooth the backs of her fingers along Mina’s cheek. “Very good, a leanbh. Regardless of where your heart takes you, you will be glad to have allowed yourself to explore your options.” Her voice lowered, holding a note of heaviness Mina rarely heard. “Many women of your position do not have any choice in their husbands, Mina. I want you to understand how blessed you are, but do not fool yourself into thinking this decision is your right; it is not. Allowing you a say in this is a gift your Father and I have given you so long as we feel it is working toward your betterment. Use this gift wisely.”
The Lady of the Lakes Page 4
