Charlotte

by Virginia Taylor

  Cook left, pleased, and even Mrs. Wishart smiled. “We could do with another housemaid, too, now we’ve got extras living in the house. Mr. Alden didn’t give it a thought, and it’s been hard, no doubt of it.”

  “When you have problems with staffing, see me. Mr. Alden won’t be back for a few months, and Mr. Nicholas wants me to take over where his mother left off.” Charlotte vacated the room taller than she had been two hours previously.

  After a light evening meal with Nick, which she’d had set out in the conservatory, a cooler room in the hot weather with the greenery in front of the glass, she sat at Nick’s desk in her suite, listing names of the various people she had met since her marriage. Time passed quickly, and she didn’t realize how long she’d taken until Nick came up to his bedroom.

  “Avoiding me?” he asked.

  “How well do you know Mrs. Grayson?”

  “She was a friend of my mother’s. We’re still on speaking terms, I hope.”

  “In that case, I will include her on the guest list for tomorrow night—just a few people for a companionable evening of whist, I’ve said on my invitations. I want the older group, but I don’t know too many of Lady Grace’s generation who have influence in society.”

  “An evening of whist?” His eyebrows lifted. “Initially that sounds dull, but I presume this is preparing us somehow for our function?”

  “The problem is asking people on such short notice. I have a list of people I want at our supper dance, but when I don’t know them, it seems a cheek. If I have some of them here first and broach the subject of a cousin’s informal presentation, I think they’ll spread the word and ease our way.”

  He didn’t comment and went into his room. She packed up soon after. Tomorrow, she would be very busy. She needed her ring resized.

  * * * *

  Charlotte combined her morning ride with a visit to the goldsmith and came home ready to conquer the new arrangement of the drawing room and hall.

  First, she went to the back of the house where the maids slept and the out-of-use furniture was stored. She noted her choices and found two male outdoor servants who she asked to move three small tables to the drawing room. Also, while there, she had them shift the two large, heavily carved credenzas to either side of the marble fireplace.

  Even that simple change made a world of difference, and so she had them set the furniture back against the walls so that they could roll and stand the smaller Persian rugs in the hall. She stood in the doorway, directing the placement of the biggest dark red rug near the fireplace. The men stumbled around, mistaking one carved piece for another. They stopped and started and finally looked at her in puzzlement.

  Containing her impatience, she had them set down the longest couch while she paced to the edge of the carpet, indicating how she would like the seating. After they had managed that simple task, they floundered with the next, the placement of the small tables, while she moved to the doorway again.

  A hand settled to the back of her neck and pulled a curl on her nape. She glanced up at Nick, her whole body alert to the gently caressing motion of his fingers. While his action calmed her, the sensation set her body tingling, and she closed her eyes, wondering if she should pretend his touch didn’t affect her.

  “You’re flustering them, my love.”

  “How so?” she asked, not sure if she should stop his distraction or simply enjoy the moment.

  He grinned. “The same way you fluster all young men. You are making them too conscious of themselves.”

  “I’m being a martinet. I want the furniture just so, and I don’t seem to be able to explain what I mean.”

  His hand continued the caressing. “I’ll intervene, if I may.”

  Though she had trouble concentrating on anything but his hand on her nape, she tried to look composed. “I’m sure your mother didn’t need her orders to go through your father.”

  “My mother, although attractive, didn’t have a face that would stop a man in his tracks.”

  She caught his gaze, grabbed at his hand, and did her best to frown. “You are distracting me, which I think is the point. You’ve been showing me that certain things distract certain people. And all the time I thought you were being nice.”

  He smiled. “I’m glad I have the power to distract you. Now, if I might help?”

  She nodded, and without raising his voice, he said, “Put down that table, please,” to the men who instantly did so. “My wife will explain to you her idea for the room, and she will then leave you to do as she expects.”

  He waited while Charlotte told the men she wanted two areas made in the room, one facing the fireplace with seating and side tables precisely placed, and the other furnished with small tables dotted there and there and there for whist. While she spoke, Nick slid his hand from her neck to her waist and, idly, took her left hand in his. For the first time in her life, she didn’t plan not to react. Instead, she smiled at him with gratitude, and she squeezed his fingers in thanks.

  He nodded courteously, half smiled back, and left her to finish the room.

  * * * *

  Nick noted the rolled carpets in the hall, the boxes of ornaments, the empty vases, and the pictures waiting to be hanged. He could see Charlotte had already changed the main room for the better and was interested to see the result. As he had said, he was pleased his touch distracted his wife as much as her appearance distracted him and the male servants.

  He would never know if Luke had made love to her. If she had conceived, he would only know he was the father if the child died or if it was a monster and not a baby as perfect as Nell’s or Amelia’s. He had come to terms with childbirth not killing every woman because the proof lay all around him. Very few, these days, were so unlucky.

  He strolled to his sitting room and sat at his desk. Charlotte’s pile of invitations had been taken for posting, and he indolently checked her lists of names. Nothing out of the ordinary there, and so he attended to the business matters his father needed addressed, taking longer than he expected. The opening door sent his gaze in that direction.

  “Luncheon,” Charlotte said, a smile on her lovely face. Something inside his chest lifted and warmed. “I’m having the dining room revised. Do you mind eating in the conservatory again?”

  He rose to his feet. “Not at all, but I won’t put you or the servants to the trouble. I’m sure Cook is already preparing food for tomorrow night and that you have more important matters to attend. I’ll eat at my club today.” She looked disappointed, and his heart lurched at the unexpected sight. Her expression so rarely deviated from serenity. He reached out and took her left hand, touching her wedding band as he had before. “The sign of ownership,” he said, wryly. “A manacle, a warning to other men. I find I like knowing that they can see you belong to me.”

  “Do you mean that?”

  “Would I lie?” Surprised, he waited.

  “You have before, and you have to know that it’s not fair that I belong to you, but you don’t belong to me.”

  “Are you so sure about that?”

  “Do you still keep your mistress?” she asked, her fingers so ready to leave his that he tightened his grip.

  “No. There’s only one woman I want, but other than with a ring, I’m not sure how to keep her.”

  She stared at his fingers. “I’m sure you could think of a way if you tried.”

  He took her into his arms and saw her expression deaden slightly. “Wrong way?”

  She evaded his gaze. “I’m not ready to be cajoled.”

  His lips twisted. “Not before luncheon?”

  Placing her hands on his chest, she pushed out of his hold. “You don’t know who I am. And sometimes, nor do I. I need time.”

  His jaw tightened. “How much time?”

  She held his gaze for some seconds before finally drawing a deep breath. “I don’t know, but I’m currently indisposed. You feared a certain event?”

 
He held his breath, his chest thudding. “You can’t possibly know if you are pregnant so soon.”

  “But I can know I’m not.” She backed out of the room and closed the door firmly behind her.

  Chapter 19

  Arriving home in good time for the whist party the next evening, Nick strolled through the front door. Persian rugs had been spread across the polished wooden floor, muffling the sound of his shoes as he passed through a main hall he scarcely recognized. Paintings of rural England hung along the two side walls. The table no longer held a silver tray for cards but an enormous arrangement of flowers.

  Approving, he checked the newly refurbished sitting and dining rooms, and blew out an admiring breath. Charlotte had style. The rooms no longer looked overcrowded, and instead seemed to be filled with light. He was hard to see how she had managed this change, bearing in mind that she had used the same furniture. The marble topped credenzas placed on either side of the marble fireplace balanced the room. The patterned carpet in front somehow made the area friendlier and more inviting with the seating grouped in a three-sided arrangement, sectioning this area from the more expansive space set behind with whist tables and the dining room chairs. The dining table on the other side of the hall had been shortened by the removal of a couple of leaves, making this room look more spacious. The ornamentation he’d known his whole life had been used in another way entirely.

  His mother’s precious ivory carvings were now grouped in a glass-fronted cabinet, and the porcelain maidens no longer cluttered every available surface. He suspected many had been packed away. Now only fruit or flower paintings hung on the walls. The stuffed birds had disappeared.

  He bounded up the stairs and changed into his evening clothes. “This collar sits well,” he said to Vera as he passed her in the main hall. “The starching recently has been, at best, variable.”

  Vera grinned. “The mistress has dealt with the matter.”

  “My wife?”

  “She had a word with Mrs. Wishart.”

  Dressed in spotless black and white, Nick presented himself in the drawing room, wondering where dinner would be served. He’d barely backed in front of the empty fireplace to survey the renovated room again when Charlotte appeared, dressed elegantly in a white evening gown overlaid with a bodice of red lace.

  “And yet another new gown, although this one was worth every penny,” he said without a tinge of irony.

  “Look closer.”

  Noting the expectant tilt of her eyebrows, he glanced at the gown again, reminded of the night he had met her and the white gown she’d ripped. He rubbed at his jaw. “Familiar, or not? Presumably I’m not mistaken in thinking this might be the fantastical gown that fell to pieces some three months ago in front of my eyes. The red lace is a repair?”

  “The red lace is another remodeling. You have seen this same gown with a blue bodice, with a blue overdress, with a green overdress, and more. I have two evening gowns and this is one.”

  He moistened his lips. “Clearly I noticed you far more than the details of your gowns.”

  “Beautifully said. You’re not alone. I doubt anyone other than Sarah knows the limitations of my wardrobe.”

  “However, you can afford more than a few gowns on the allowance from my father,” he said slowly, scrutinizing her face.

  She nodded. “I prefer to use the money for other purposes. We will have dinner in the dining room tonight as usual and I think—” She glanced across the hall to the dining area where Thomas, the manservant stood, waiting. “Yes, we are ready.”

  Nick seated her and himself at the table and was instantly served consommé by Thomas and not a maid. That finished, Thomas announced a course of asparagus and artichokes and crayfish, followed by roasted beef. Nick ate each, puzzled. “Is Cook afraid we might starve?”

  Charlotte smiled. “In alphabetical order this week, we’re experimenting with a few new recipes for Sarah’s come-out. We will likely be feeding more than one hundred people, and we want to know which dishes we can manage here and which will need to be prepared elsewhere.”

  “If we’ve managed these without outside help, we’ve done well. Please tell Cook,” he said to the manservant who left with the empty plates. “Thomas managed well, too. We haven’t used him to serve at the table for quite a while. I don’t know why.”

  “You had a skeleton staff because you rarely ate at home. Alfred didn’t see the need for too much formality for himself. I was hoping that for the supper dance we could have some of the extra staff sent from Stirling. Mrs. Wishart assures me no one was put off.”

  He nodded. When he had told Charlotte she wasn’t to change his lifestyle, he had meant his visits to his mistress, although Charlotte didn’t know about Beth then.

  Interested in the experimentation, he tasted apricots and cherries separately cooked in syrup. “And presumably, we will be serving supper tonight?”

  “Of course, but it’s only for twenty, and we’re presenting quite simple dishes.”

  He shook his head, but in wonder. Clearly, he had married an exceptional woman, if at twenty years of age she could run a household while organizing large events without stirring a single hair on her perfectly groomed head.

  The dining table was cleared and reset with stacked plates and regimented silver for the guests, none of whom had taken offense at their late invitations. Each arrival expressed delight, more than likely because each was a member of the older generation and flattered to be singled out by a younger couple. Nick, an inveterate gambler, found himself outclassed in whist and embroiled in delightfully wicked gossip about families he had forgotten in his stupor of alcohol and grief.

  After a light supper, he approached the long, pink couch enlivened by tasseled cushions in red and Mrs. Grayson’s welcoming smile.

  “I’m glad to see you found time to be with us tonight, although I wasn’t so sure while you were teaching me lessons in whist.” He sat beside the fragile elderly lady.

  “You’re very good, you know, but youth doesn’t have the patience of age.”

  “Nor, I see, the elegance.” He picked up her hand and kissed her wrist. “You are looking very beautiful tonight.”

  She tapped him on the shoulder with her fan. “Your wife is a beauty with the sort of elegance that lasts, an elegance of mind. She also has a natural skill at whist, which gives one to believe she is a very clever young lady.”

  He hoped Charlotte hadn’t been too clever. “I’m a lucky man.”

  “It wasn’t always so.” A wry smile crossed her fine-boned face. “Nor was my third cousin, Barrington Benbow. But his luck changed, too. His second wife, young Louisa, has finally presented him with a living son and heir. He’s delighted, as you would suppose.”

  Nick nodded stiffly. He didn’t know Benbow had married again. Clearly, his loss of Clara to Nick hadn’t disturbed him too greatly.

  “As you know, Clara lost her first by him. Louisa also lost her first with the same problem. Every now and again, one of the Benbows produces a child malformed in the womb, and with the frequency his were, Barrington thought he had no hope. This third child has put new heart into him.” She stared at Nick for a moment and reached out to pat his hand. “Did I shock you by speaking of Clara? If so, I apologize, dear boy, but to me, more said, soonest mended. Was I wrong?”

  He held Mrs. Grayson’s frail hand, his thoughts shifting through the thick fog of his memories. Had he been wrong? Could Clara have been carrying Barrington Benbow’s child? She’d had a previous baby with the same problem. Her husband’s next child had the same deformity. Nick didn’t need to be a genius to assume that the likelihood of Benbow being the father of all three babies was great.

  He moistened his suddenly dry mouth. “No,” he said, his voice husky. “No. Thank you.”

  That night, he lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, still thanking Mrs. Grayson. Clara had also blamed him for the premature labor. However, he no longer believed th
e labor had begun preterm. The rounding of her belly when she had come to him expecting his help indicated she had been more than three months pregnant. Her labor had begun full term, not two months early as she had said.

  In these past four years, he had been trapped by a lie that had directed him to be last of his line. Even now, he couldn’t grasp the concept of having a normal marriage and possibly a few children. He sat up, tangled in his sheets, knowing that to begin again he had to make peace with the past.

  Clara’s first child had died, and she feared her second would have the same inherited problem. Perhaps she preferred to believe that Nick had fathered her child even to the day she came into labor, knowing as she must have by then, that she was having her husband’s child and not Nick’s. This explained her inability to bear her pain without damaging him, too, and her willingness to slip into death without a fight.

  He covered his face with his hands, ashamed he hadn’t understood Clara’s fears, hadn’t tried, and hadn’t loved her enough to try. He had been too ready to lapse into despair, but for himself rather than her. Years of his life had been lost while he believed he had no future, but while he remained bitter, he would find no future to believe in.

  He took a deep breath and sat on the edge of his bed. He had a chance to start again. No one had forsaken him, yet he had done his best to alienate his father and his friends, embarrassing them with his self-pity and his drinking. No more. He stood and paced his room, his thoughts shifting to his wife.

  Not for a moment had Charlotte insisted on having a baby. The most she’d asked was that he considered one in the future, and this he’d refused to do. He’d wanted his way with her but on his terms only. He had decided long ago to have no feelings, but during his marriage he’d begun to experience various emotions like empathy for awkward, jealous Sarah, and antipathy for the unshakeable Charlotte. Initially he had wanted to spark opposition in the wife he saw as a pretty decoration, but no more.