by Pinki Parks
‘Here ma’am,’ Emma said, ‘the dress your brother bought you is laid out so nicely on the bed, but it is too early to dress yet, perhaps though you might like to bathe first?’
Charlotte was still a little paint splattered from her morning’s work in the studio and she gladly assented to Emma’s suggestion. In the corner of the room was a screen, covered in images of peacocks, surrounded by golden threads of flowers, behind it was a copper tub and Emma went to summon the footman to bring hot water from the kitchens to fill it with.
As this activity occurred Charlotte looked out of the window onto the gardens, it was a wintry scene and the lawns were still covered in frost, the immaculate gardens still appearing most impressive despite the cut back of the winter season. There was no one about, and her thoughts returned to the young man whom she had seen running across the grass a little earlier on, and whom she now knew to be Cecil. She wondered what he was like, was he a Duke too? Or perhaps even of royal blood.
‘The tub is hot now ma’am,’ Emma said as Charlotte turned from the window. The exercise had in fact taken almost half an hour to complete, and Charlotte noted that personal hygiene may be something harder to come by for the length of time she remained here.
‘Thank you, Emma’ she said, ‘shall I enter the tub now?’
‘Why yes ma’am, all is prepared, I have a hot kettle here too upon the fire to top up as you need.’
‘The tub itself was awkward to get into, but no doubt it was the best possible contraption available at this time, and Charlotte was grateful for the warmth of the bath even if the rather odd block of soap was not her usual expensive department store brand.
She was meticulous in scrubbing off the paint stains, after all it would not do for a lady to appear dirty on her birthday, and as she continued to bathe she and Emma kept up a pleasant conversation, one in which, by way of a few contrived lapses in memory, Charlotte learnt a great deal.
‘There must be a lot of people coming to the ball tonight ma’am,’ Emma said.
‘Oh, I’m sure of it,’ Charlotte replied.
‘I heard the Duke arriving as I was instructing the footman,’ Emma said, ‘and then of course his Grace of Hareburn is here too, I don’t know how you refer to two Dukes at the same time,’ and she laughed.
‘Trouble probably,’ Charlotte said from behind the screen, ‘Hareburn is near London isn’t it?’
‘No, Bath ma’am, Cecil Duke of Hareburn in the district of Bath, that’s how I saw him styled somewhere or other. All these grand titles are lost on me ma’am.’
‘Bath, that’s right,’ Charlotte said, now having ascertained the information she needed.
‘Then there’ll be the ladies up from town for the season, all arriving in their finery, you have so many friends ma’am, it is such a privilege to wait upon you in this way, my mother will be so pleased to hear the tales of the grand ladies and aristocracy, is it true that the Lady Maria Fitzherbert is to be in attendance?’
Charlotte was a little taken aback by this question, the subject of the portrait which she was currently restoring was not a character she was expecting to meet. The exact date and time in which she now found herself had somewhat alluded her, though she had guessed that it must be around the end of the regency period given the dress and general air of her surroundings. The portrait hanging in the long gallery was dated 1888, she knew that from her own historical research and with Maria having died in 1837 that placed the current date somewhere between the painting and her death.
‘I hope so, yes,’ Charlotte said, ‘but women such as that can be a little difficult to pin down when it comes to party invitations.’
‘Oh, I am sure ma’am,’ Emma said, ‘especially given the circumstances she now finds herself in, though I have always been told not to speak ill of one’s betters, and I know she has been a great friend to the Duchess after your father’s death.’
‘She’s had her share of trouble,’ Charlotte replied, once more getting into character, ‘but she’s come back fighting.’
‘That she has ma’am, that she has,’ Emma said.
A merry fire was playing in the grate, and the room was pleasantly warm as Charlotte stepped from the bath, refreshed and no longer paint splattered. As she had bathed, Emma had laid out yet more items of clothing for her to wear, the dress itself was exquisite and Charlotte hoped that it would fit, though of course she would have the corset to help her with that if necessary.
The afternoon was now drawing on, and a light riposte had been laid out in the adjoining sitting room which Charlotte discovered also belonged to her. It was a while since she had eaten properly, the promised doughnut from Phoebe not having appeared prior to her entering the store cupboard. She ate readily, though the food was light in comparison to the usual bagel and cookies she purchased from McClusky’s to get her through the afternoon.
As the clock struck four Emma knocked at the door and entered to enquire if Charlotte would like to begin preparing herself for the evening. She replied that she would and then began one of the most complicated dressing procedures Charlotte had ever experienced. Not only was there the dress to put on but also the undergarments too, each piece having its own sometimes bewildering purpose. Over the next couple of hours Emma assisted her in transforming herself into an elegant regency lady. After all it was her birthday.
The dress which her brother had bought her was indeed an exquisite one and Charlotte, though not enamoured by clothing in general, felt herself to be quite the image of beauty when she beheld herself in the mirror.
‘Just one pin more and we are done,’ Emma said, as she gently raised Charlotte’s left arm and pinned her into place.
Charlotte was grateful that the food had only been light since she could hardly breathe now, but perhaps it was worth it given the dress, and the fact that she must look her best for her birthday.
And now bathed, dressed, and with the lightest of cosmetic touches Charlotte awaited the evening hour and her summons downstairs to the ball. She knew that the evening would present her with considerable challenges yet she hoped that the excitement of her birthday would excuse her mistakes in the eyes of those whom she made them towards. She was eager to meet her brother, and his infatuated friend, not to mention the possibility of talking to the subject of the painting upon which she had worked so hard at restoration. It was all terribly exciting, so much so that she rather forgot her current predicament and anxiety at being in such a strange and new place.
If truth be told Charlotte or Melissa, as we have also known her, was tired of her life in New York. She wanted change, something different from the everyday, if this was to be her reality then so be it, she would at least enjoy it for as long as it lasted, and she figured that if she had somehow magically got here, eventually she’d somehow magically get back.
~
A knock at the door came at around five minutes to seven, it was the footman informing Charlotte that her mother requested her presence downstairs, but before she could answer another voice interjected.
‘It’s alright Jones I’ll escort the lady, I think I can be trusted with my own sister, tell mother we’ll be down shortly.’
‘As you wish your Grace,’ the footman said.
Into the room bounded a young man in a fashionable style of dress, white trousers and a long frock coat with a high collar and a coloured cravat, it was the young man from the portrait, though he was far more dashing in real life than his portrait had made him out to be.
‘Oh, you look beautiful sister, I am so glad you like your present, I took ever such a lot of advice.’
Charlotte smiled at her brother as he appeared before her, and standing up, relishing her role, gave a small curtesy.
‘Oh, none of that,’ he said, ‘I’d make Ellen and Isabella do it but not you, come now the ball awaits, everyone is eager to see my sister on her birthday, and what a picture she looks, Cecil is downstairs too, he’s dying to see you
, come on!’
And with that the Duke took Charlotte by the arm and led her out of the bedroom, and down the long-carpeted corridor towards the sound of merry making below. It was dark outside now, and the servants had lit the lamps casting a warming glow throughout the house, as they approached the long staircase the Duke turned to her.
‘You look a picture Charlotte and I am so proud to call you my sister.’
‘And I to call you my brother,’ she replied.
‘I hope you have a wonderful evening and if you can tear yourself away from Cecil for a moment I wish to steal only one dance with you.’
‘It would be my pleasure,’ she said.
‘Excellent! Come on then, let’s go down, I’m sure mother will be sending for us again if we’re not quick.’
‘His Grace the Duke of Langburn and the Lady Charlotte Langburn, patroness of the ball,’ the footman announced as they entered the ball room which was packed with people of all manner of description.
A round of applause now went up as the two entered, and the dowager Duchess appeared in front of them chastising her son for delaying Charlotte’s arrival whilst at the same time telling her daughter how beautiful she looked.
Around them the dancing had resumed, and a merry jig was playing as the men and women danced in formation. It was a most pleasant scene as the great and the good of the local district came together to celebrate Charlotte’s birthday. Her sisters were dressed in yellow and red respectively, and were currently enduring the attentions of Sir Robert Campbell the most ineligible bachelor within a hundred-mile radius, and whom it was said of that he would marry a horse so long as it had a title and a dowry, his luck with women so lacking in fortune that he had reached the age of forty without finding a suitable match, each season’s new batch of young ladies providing a new opportunity. Though he was harmless enough.
Charlotte found herself adapting easily to the rigours of a regency ball and it was not long before she had mastered several of the dances, accompanied by her brother. But as the second dance ended the footman stepped forward to make another announcement of arrival.
‘His Grace the Duke of Hareburn,’ he said as the young man whom Charlotte had observed from the gallery entered the ball room. At this close proximity he was much more attractive than she had realised. Tall and dark, with a well-built physique and handsome features. He was dressed similarly to her brother, and upon his announcement an air of excitement rippled through the room. Turning from the dance Charlotte looked towards him and he caught her eye almost immediately, smiling and walking over towards her.
‘Happy birthday dear Charlotte, and what a happy occasion this is,’ he said, bowing deeply to her as she smiled, ‘I am so pleased to see you again, I have thought of little else since we met in Bath all those weeks ago,’ he continued, ‘the arrival of Freddie’s invitation was a delight.’
‘I am pleased to see you again too,’ Charlotte said, though of course she had never seen him in her life. She was pleased however to now make his acquaintance, and at his request the two shared the next dance as her brother looked on.
The early evening passed most congenially as further guests arrived and bid Charlotte a happy birthday, amongst them was Maria Fitzherbert who, though having led a somewhat scandalous life, was rapturously welcomed amongst the company. She was in the district visiting her cousins the Carshaws at Coldfax Hall, and the Duke had invited her, rather on the spur of the moment, when he had dined there some days before. The portrait hanging in the long gallery had been a gift from the King himself whilst Maria had been his mistress and the late Duke had been kind enough to indulge the couple in their liaisons by inviting them both to Langburn at the same time. Tonight, Maria was pleased to return to the great house, scene of such happy former times in order to celebrate the birthday of the Duke’s youngest daughter, whom she had first known when she was but a girl.
‘Charlotte, my dear girl, happy birthday to you,’ Maria said as she was announced into the ball room, and the Dowager Duchess brought her daughter to meet her, ‘why it is some years since I laid eyes upon you and how you have grown in beauty, Victoria she is a credit to you, and to her father.’
‘Thank you for coming,’ Charlotte said, her American accent still not fully disguised, and ensuring her mother’s eyebrow became somewhat raised. ‘It’s an honour to meet you … again, after so much time,’ she paused, ‘what a beautiful dress you’re wearing.’
‘It’s by the same tailor as your own so we clearly share the same tastes,’ Maria said, ‘I must say it feels so good to be back here after all these years.’
‘Oh yes, didn’t you use this place for your tête-a-tête with George?’
‘Charlotte!’ her mother screamed.
But Maria just smiled.
‘You might call it that dear, yes,’ Maria said.
Charlotte couldn’t believe what she had just said, things had been going so well, but she felt she knew Maria so well, even better than the character she was playing who had only met the lady a few times in the past. Back in New York Melissa had read all about Maria’s illicit marriage to King George, and the scandal it had caused. She felt herself turning bright pink and gave an awkward laugh as the Dowager Duchess changed the subject to the décor of the ball room.
‘Do please join the dancing,’ Charlotte said awkwardly, as she thanked Maria once more for her presence.
‘I certainly will, and I hope we will speak more before the night is out,’ Maria said, still smiling at Charlotte’s faux pas. Charlotte turned back towards the dancing, looking once again for Cecil, who by now was absorbed in deep conversation with her brother close to the fireplace, where a great log burned brightly.
She made to go over to him, but her path was obstructed by a gentleman whom she felt certain she had met before, or at the very least his features were familiar. It took only a moment for recognition to strike, though she was astonished at his presence. It was the man who had talked to her in the bar last night, the one with the bad chat up lines who believed himself to be an expert in art. She was certain it was him, except his hair was not spiked in the same manner, and did not have the highlighted tips, no doubt because such fashion accessories were not available in this period. His dress though was redolent of the man in the bar: cheap, and attempting to be more than it was. He smelt over scented by some form of fragrance and now leered towards her, a glass of punch in his hand, his eyes wide and intentional as he blocked her path towards Cecil.
‘Mistress Charlotte,’ he said, ‘so good of your brother to invite me, and such a pleasure to see you again,’
‘Oh er, the pleasure is mine Mr.?’ she replied.
‘Why tis I, the Marquess of Collingdale,’ he said, looking a little taken aback, ‘I should have thought after our horse ride you would recall me immediately, especially given the kindness of my gifts to you.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Charlotte said, ‘it must be the punch going to my head, oh no I mean the heat of the evening, and this dress is so tight, would you, er, excuse me please.’
And leaving the flabbergasted Marquess in the middle of the ballroom she crossed over to the gallery and stood out of sight behind a pillar catching her breath at the surprise of what had just transpired.
‘What ever is the matter Charlotte?’ her sister Ellen said coming up behind her, ‘what did you say to Collingdale? He looked most offended?’
‘Oh, I was just a little startled by him, that’s all,’ Charlotte said, regaining her composure.
‘I just overheard him telling someone how you had offended him by forgetting his name.’
‘It’s just the heat,’ Charlotte said, ‘I’m just a little forgetful today,’
‘You know he’s trying for your hand,’ Ellen said, ‘he’ll stop at nothing to persuade you to marry him, mother’s keen enough, but Freddie favours Cecil, there’ll be a clash before there’s a happy ending you know.’
‘I think I’ll take the
air,’ Charlotte said, leaving her sister, and making her way towards the long gallery windows and out from them onto the terrace which was a buzz with revellers.
It was hard to take in everything that had occurred to her in such a short space of time, in the space of 12 hours she had found herself somehow transported back to the regency period, she had met her sisters and her mother in that time and discovered that it was her birthday and that in the evening a ball was to be held in her honour at which a suitor favoured by her brother was to appear and now she had discovered that a rival to Cecil’s claims had also appeared, albeit only in the likeness of the odious man she had rebuffed last night, this image of him no less repulsive than his modern equivalent yet seemingly determined to win her hand.
If Charlotte, or Melissa, had not been the strong and independent woman that she was, capable of taking on anything which life in New York City threw at her, then she would have found the situation overwhelming. As it was though she intended to see where this adventure led her. The idea that this was some sort of reality television show, or indeed an elaborate joke had long passed. This was the Regency and the painting she had spent hours hunched over restoring all month and that morning was the portrait of Maria Fitzherbert. She followed the rules of society, married, had a child, even finding love in the process. Alas, her romance to the Prince, a dream for most women, had never given her the life of a true Princess. What strength she must have? To meet and speak with one of the most interesting characters whose portrait she had ever restored: the larger than life figure of Maria Fitzherbert.
‘Are you alright Charlotte?’ Cecil’s voice came from behind her.
‘Oh yes, I’m fine, thank you, it’s just …’
‘Whatever’s the matter?’ he asked.
‘I think I’m just bea-… tired, I’m tired, it’s been such a long day of preparations, sometimes when the party comes you just can’t keep up.’
