Julia shook her head. “It is true that all the Ton is twittering about Miss Danbury, and she has removed from Bath. Still I would advise against basing your decision solely on rumor.” Julia offered Charity the plate of biscuits, but Charity refused. Her stomach was in knots.
“That is so,” Charity said. “I know I let my tongue get the better of me, but if it is true Julia, I could not accept him, not with a bastard child. No one would expect it of me. You understand as much.” Charity continued to worry at the napkin in her lap.
“I do, Charity. It is not an easy decision, when you do not have all the facts.”
“But it all worked out right in the end, for you, Julia.”
Julia looked over her cup at Charity. “It worked out better than alright,” she said with a smile.
“What I mean is you were forced to consider much the same.” Charity took a sip of tea, although it had gone cold.
“Of course. You know I would never be one to advise you to marry a rake no matter how handsome or titled he may be. If he is false…that sort rarely changes simply because he is wed,” Julia cautioned. “Such men do not stop prowling. In fact, they may be more despicable to their wives than they ever would be to a woman they were trying to court. After all a wife has little recourse.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Charity said, setting the cup back in its saucer. “The fact that a man could be such a cad and get away with it makes me boil. A woman could never act so.”
Obviously,” Julia said as she poured herself a bit more tea. She looked a question at her friend, but Charity declined the offer of more tea with a shake of her head.
“I cannot offer assistance on the matter,” Julia said. “As I do not know the gentleman well and neither does Lord Fawkland. Your other friends know him better, Lady Beresford and Lady Amelia. Have you spoken with them?”
Charity thought of Reginald and James. They trusted Wentwell, but dare she trust a man’s opinion on such a sensitive topic? She asked Julia. “I don’t know what to believe.”
“Well then, my friend. I must give back the advice you once gave me. If Lord Wentwell is a rake, in truth, then you must simply choose another.”
“You are right, of course.” Charity agreed after a few moments pause.
The two women sipped tea in silence for a spell as Charity tried to get the sight of Lord Wentwell out of her thoughts.
“What other prospects have you?” Julia asked finally.
“I told my mother I have been considering the Poppys,” she told Julia.
“So you do like James?”
“I like the family. I have no sibling as you do, Julia, no one to rely on or care for. If I were to marry one of the Poppy brothers then their sisters would be my own.”
“Which one?” Julia questioned. “James or Michael?”
Charity sighed. She had been considering Michael Poppy, but she kept trying to find another option. Such hesitation was not really conducive to a happy marriage was it, she wondered.
“I know James better than Michael, but James is near promised to Flora Muirwood, and Michael has shown interest in courting me, so I guess, Michael.” Charity shrugged. “I do not know that it makes a lot of difference. Either way, the Poppys would be my family.”
Julia sat her cup distinctively into the saucer, at once every inch a baroness. “It makes a great deal of difference which brother,” she said sharply, and Charity remembered her friend’s conundrum last summer with the brothers Gruger.
Charity bit her lip as Julia continued. “New siblings are one thing Charity, a husband is quite another.” She sat back in her chair. “I think you should get to know Michael better; then decide what you feel.
Julia was right. Charity could not say that she knew more than a handful of things about Michael. Lady Shalace was not pleased when Charity told her she wished to consider Michael Poppy as a suitor; as a husband. But if she were in love Charity was sure she could convince her mother to agree to the match, especially if she convinced her father first. Of course, she wasn’t in love with Michael Poppy, but perhaps she might fall in love if she got to know him better.
“I suppose I should get to know Michael better before I make a firm decision; that is true.” Again Charity sighed. “It is only that Michael is so stoic and rooted.”
“He is a good man, Charity.” Her friend said in a softer tone. “I do not think he would ever bring you unhappiness.”
“But would he bring me happiness? The man hardly ever smiles.”
“Michael is just shy. If anyone should be able to bring him out of his shell, it would be you, Charity, much as you have done for me. After all, you and I get along swimmingly and I have been called quite dire.”
Charity smiled slightly as she raised her teacup to her lips and then put it back down.
“And broody, and melancholy.” Julia persisted. She waved a spoon as if it were a paint brush in her hand.
Charity laughed outright them.
“No longer,” Charity said. “I think married life agrees with you.”
“It is love that agrees with me,” Julia said with firm conviction. “You shall see.” She set the spoon in her saucer.
‘So you think Michael is a good choice?” Charity asked bringing the conversation full circle.
“I certainly can’t answer that, Charity,” Julia said. “It may be so. Only you can answer that question. Only you can know your own heart.”
Charity frowned and then brushed the creases from her face with a soft hand. “I do not think I love either of them, at least not yet. Not the way you love your Lord Fawkland, or the way Lavinia loves her Captain Hartfield. Oh Julia, how should I know?” She leaned across the table, anxious to hear Julia’s advice.
Julia looked thoughtful for a moment before she answered. Her eyes misted, like they did when she was considering a particularly tricky bit of a canvas, and Charity knew she was putting her whole self into the answer. “When you feel as though you heart will break should he refuse your affections. When you feel as though you may die altogether should you never see him again. That is how you know, Charity. That is the man you are meant to be with, because you cannot bear the thought of being apart from him.”
For an instant, Lord Wentwell’s penetrating green eyes flashed through her mind and Charity nearly felt the heat of him and smelled his scent. She thought of how miserable she was at the opening ball after their argument and these weeks since. The ache in her heart was real. The pain not yet dulled enough for her to hide her feelings.
“There! You see!” Julia said catching sight of Charity’s expression. “You already have some feeling for the gentleman. I think you just need to get to know him.” Julia reached across the table and caught her friend’s hand. “I am so happy for you, Charity.”
Charity’s face colored. She could not tell Julia she had thought of Lord Wentwell and not Michael Poppy.
Julia was right. She could not love a man without knowing him and rake or no; she knew the sort of man Lord Wentwell had shown himself to be. No good could come from dwelling upon their argument or their estrangement. She would focus on Michael Poppy. She would give him a chance to court her and she would get to know him better. She vowed that she would do so. Future potential or no, the history of their families owed him that much at least.
Then perhaps one day she might have a husband who looked at her the way Lord Fawkland looked at Julia or the way Lavinia looked at her captain, and on that day, she would share their joy.
~.~
Chapter Fifteen
Several days later Lady Charity awoke with a lighter feeling in her heart. Father had promised to join her for an outdoor concert in the park, which was something so remarkable that it drove all thought of trouble from Charity’s mind.
Her heart swelled whenever it seemed her father was inching closer to recovery. A hint of his old self could bring a light to Charity’s eyes like nothing else. The evening prior Charity had complained that she might have to sit at th
e park without a gentleman to keep her company.
Father had made a joke about attending as her partner to sit for the musicians under the shade of the grove of trees. Charity had leapt at the offer and begged him to keep it. To her surprise, he had meant the words in earnest and the promise was made to be kept the following day.
“I have already accepted an invitation,” Mother said. “You cannot go,” she told father, and the Earl objected vehemently.
Charity had not seen the two of them have such a row in an age. She was upset that they were fighting, but the very fact that her father had the presence of mind to engage in the argument was cause for celebration.
“Do you remember the opera?” Lady Shalace said.
“What about the opera?” Father asked. “I have not been to the opera in an age.”
“You are right,” Mother said. “And do you know why? The last time we were at the theater, you insisted upon obtaining a playbill. You left me and Charity to go and get one, but you came out a different door and assumed that we had left the theater and so you abandoned us.”
“I did not do that,” Father argued. “I would never leave you unattended.”
“Yes. You did. Then you went off with a group of strangers, and told them your friends had abandoned you. You asked if they might give you a ride home?”
“I see there was no harm done.”
“No harm! Charity and I were in a panic, looking for you without appearing to look for you.”
“I do not remember this,” Lord Shalace said shaking his head angrily.
“My point exactly,” Mother said.
Who brought me home?” Father asked.
“I have no idea. I am only glad you remembered where you lived.”
“Oh pshwa,” Father said turning to Charity. “I don’t remember that at all. You know your mother has the gift making much of nothing.”
“Indeed. We all have some forgetfulness,” Charity said softly, trying to smooth matters.
Charity understood that her mother was worried that Father would have one of his episodes, but Charity reminded Mother that he had been in good spirits since they came to Bath. The weather and the waters always agreed with him. This was Bath, not London.
“Besides, Mother,” Charity said. “You know we cannot hide him away for days on end. Members of the Peerage need to see him sometime, or there will be talk.”
Lady Shalace nodded. She had no wish to try to explain how The Earl of Shalace was still doing the work of the realm when he did not know who he was from one day to the next.
“Perhaps the waters of Bath are improving his state,” Mother said, “but it is not a cure all.”
Father blustered and Charity took his part.
“Mother, you must admit, it certainly seems that his mind is clearer of late.” Charity argued. When he might have gone off on a tangent and fallen prey to some delusion after only a half an hour, now his conversation seems more clear and his propensity to make untoward comments more controlled. Why, Charity thought, he might sit for an entire session if he understood the goings on. Charity had not seen her father so improved for a long time. She felt as if her Father had been returned to her.
“He wishes to go, and he has not voiced his own opinion for an age. He seems so much better. Do you not think so?”
“Perhaps.”
“Please Mother. I know you are worried that he will say something out of sorts in front of someone of import, but I will not leave him out of my sight. Truly, keeping him indoors is as likely to cause rumor as allowing him this outing. We should have no reason to interact with anyone and yet, he will be seen listening to the music. It will soothe him.”
“I suppose I have no say in this,” Lady Shalace said at last, wringing her hands nervously. She would have cancelled her engagement, but after the argument, Father forbade her to come with them to the concert. Besides, others would wonder why Lady Shalace was begging off, and she could not plead illness if she went to the musicale.
“I suppose you will just get agitated if I come with,” Lady Shalace said to her husband.
“I am escorting my daughter,” he said. “And only my daughter.” Father spoke with his old authority.
~.~
The following morning dawned bright and beautiful. Lady Charity called to a servant in the hall to see if the Earl still felt well and intended to keep their appointment. She had just finished splashing her face with cool water when it was confirmed that the carriage had already been called and Lord Shalace’s man, Robert Benton needed only tie his cravat to complete his preparations.
Charity flew through her morning ritual so as not to make her father wait. She would give him no opportunity to change his mind.
“My Lady” her father’s manservant greeted her with a nod. “Shall I call for a lunch of three to be set in a basket?”
“No,” Charity bit her bottom lip with barely restrained glee. “Just two, if you will. Father shall be my chaperone this day, and I, his.”
Her father’s man looked uncertain with the arrangement, but knew better than to question Lady Charity. A lunch was prepared and a blanket provided on which they might sit while listening to the soothing musical tones of Bath’s most popular string quartet.
It was a beautiful day and the park would soon be teeming with those who had come to listen, and so Charity was impatient to be off. She bid her farewell to her mother, who was off in the opposite direction to meet her ladies. One of Mrs. Thompson’s friends had a promising second cousin, twice removed, that just might have potential as a match to her daughter. He was the eldest son of a Viscount. Mother tried to tell Charity of his virtues, but she barely heard her mother. She was so excited to be going on an outing with her father.
“Do not be late, darling,” her mother warned while wringing her hands. “You know that he tires shortly after his meal. He shall need his rest.”
Rest, Charity thought. The special code they used to refer to keeping Lord Shalace from making a fool of himself in public. Charity knew that the outing must be kept short, lest he allow his mind to wander. It was one thing for the Peerage to think that her father had short bouts of illness. It would be quite another for them to be aware that his mind was addled.
“Are you sure you feel well enough?” Lady Shalace inquired of her husband as they prepared to leave.
“Shut up, woman,” her father growled. “You are my wife, not my jailor.”
“’At least he remembered which of us was his wife,” Charity whispered and her mother nodded nervously. Her mother shook her head and looked to the sky as if it might provide some enlightenment
“Do not worry, Mother,” Charity replied, “I shall be careful. We will not engage in conversation with others, only so much as is necessary. People will see Father with his daughter and that is all. Plus, Father shall have a wonderful afternoon. If he grows weary we shall return home at once. I am well aware of his tendencies. If he thinks that I am you, well, I shall feign a headache and we will return home, posthaste.”
Charity’s Mother had grabbed her gloves and a lace parasol, placed her lips to her husband’s forehead, and preceded them to the door.
“Go,” the Earl said, shooing his wife out the door with masculine brusqueness. “You are hovering like a mother hen.”
Charity was determined that she might prove herself capable by suppling all of her father’s needs for an ideal afternoon. Perhaps, he might be tempted to another outing once he learned what fun might be had. Charity was determined to prove to all of the members of her family, including herself that she was capable of taking care of her father.
The ride to the park could not have been more ideal. Lord Shalace looked out the window at the streets of Bath and commented on how refreshing it was to be touched by the healing waters. He pointed out various landmarks that just a week ago he would not have recognized. His daughter nodded in response, her face dominated by a smile that could not fade. She was beginning to think that, perhaps, there w
as something to the rage about the mineral water. Her father was definitely better. Bath had healed her father, of that there was no doubt. Her heart was filled with joy.
Charity had chosen a soft blue day gown, the color of the rippling waters with which she felt newfound solidarity. She thought of the sea as she donned it and nearly removed the garment for another, but the color did much to draw attention to the brilliance of her eyes. Of course, the dye of the fabric paled in comparison.
Jean had piled her hair atop her head in the hope that a breeze on the back of her neck might provide some reprieve to the heat of the day. Charity felt exposed. The back of the dress was cut near as low as the front, leaving the breadth between her shoulders bare for all to see. It would help her to remain cool, yet she was now beginning to second guess whether she might have been better off to choose some gauzy shawl to tuck into the frame of the gown so that her skin might not be so readily available for viewing.
“Your skin is clear and pale,” her mother had told her. “There is no reason to go hiding it on a day such as this. Simply remember your parasol to shade you from the sun. Do not leave it behind. Use it.”
“Of course,” Charity agreed as she pulled on her wristlet gloves.
Now, seated upon the blanket that their footman had laid before his departure, Charity wondered if she might have been too hasty in her preparations this morning.
“My dear child,” her father mused as his clear eyes scanned the crowd, “I feel a sudden vigor, as if something remarkable is to happen to us this very day.”
“It is remarkable in itself that we are able to enjoy this concert together,” Charity replied. She would never cease to be grateful for this moment, in all its rarity.
“Soon enough I shall be giving you away to another gentleman,” Lord Shalace said. “Then you shall not have time for picnics and musicales with your father.”
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