Papa was shut up with his steward, and from the staircase window, Charlotte saw the duke walking in the garden with Thomasina. Was he proposing marriage to her?
The thought made Charlotte feel strange and restless, which was silly when it was what everyone wanted. She supposed she did not want things to change. She and Thomasina quarreled frequently, but she couldn’t imagine life without her older sister and didn’t want to.
Instead of going to her own chamber, Charlotte turned toward the library, where she had last seen the guitar. Henrietta had been trying to master it, just to out-do Thomasina in accomplishments, and Mama had covered her ears and sent her from the drawing room.
The instrument was still there, propped up by the window. Charlotte snatched it up, pulled one of the straight-backed chairs from the table and threw herself into it. There had often been a desperation about her playing, a need to lose herself in something, and she felt this with a vengeance now, although she could not understand why. She simply played, using one of the plectrums in the table drawers, focusing on her fingers and the strings of the guitar until the music began to flood her. She played some of the wilder music of southern Spain, humming along, since she could think of few words, and then moved onto a mixture of songs she had heard abroad and those she knew from home, until her voice became one with the guitar and her spirit felt soothed and contented.
Smiling at her own finishing flourish, she looked up at last and saw the Duke of Alvan in the open doorway, his whole face curiously focused, his eyes intense.
Embarrassed, she jumped to her feet, blushing furiously.
“Don’t stop on my account,” he said at once. “Please.”
“Oh, I must anyway. It is almost tea time and I have things to do.” Taking the guitar with her, she hurried to the door, but he didn’t immediately move aside.
“May I see?”
Wordlessly, she held out the guitar and he examined it, smoothing his hand over the wood and strumming once across the strings. “What a lovely instrument. Where did you find it?”
“In Spain. It was a gift to my father.”
His eyes refocused on her. “You play beautifully. Did you learn there, too?”
“Yes.” She took a deep breath and shrugged. “And I practiced a lot. When I was ill, there was little else I could do.”
His eyes searched hers. They seemed to glow, reaching deep inside her so that she couldn’t breathe. “Do you play the pianoforte, too? The harp?”
She nodded. “That is, I have done,” she said uncomfortably.
Slowly, he returned the guitar to her and stood aside. “I look forward to hearing you play again.”
She all but snatched the instrument and fled. Her heart beat too hard. Because of his compliments. Because she shouldn’t care.
Chapter Six
As Charlotte dressed for dinner that evening and searched for a ribbon for her hair, she came across the blue length she had bought at Finsborough market. With an exclamation, she snatched it up and dashed along to Thomasina’s chamber.
“I brought you this,” she said, dropping it into Tommie’s lap. “I thought it was just your color and then forgot to give you it.”
Thomasina picked it up, wreathed in smiles. “Oh, Charlie, it’s perfect and just what I needed. Mama won’t let me wear her jewels in my hair and we were struggling.” She passed the ribbon to the maid, just as their mother bustled into the room.
“That’s a pretty color,” she approved. “Charlotte, you haven’t pinned your hair.”
“No, I haven’t,” Charlotte agreed, “but I will.”
Her mother nodded and turned back to her eldest daughter. “Has he spoken to you yet?”
Thomasina shook her head. “No, but he is quite gentlemanly and is never alone with me for longer than a moment or two. Why? Has he not spoken to Papa?”
“Not yet.” Lady Overton smiled reassuringly. “I believe he is being considerate, letting you grow used to him first. Besides, it makes it so much less of a business transaction if you become friends first. To be frank, my dear, I am quite pleasantly surprised in him. I had thought him proud and distant when we met him before, but he is a most amiable guest, quite unselfish, and your papa was just saying he is not high in the instep at all. I believe this will answer famously for us all.”
Thomasina smiled mistily.
Charlotte’s stomach twisted. She had wanted Thomasina to care for him, so why was she not happier with these first signs of affection?
Muttering about her hair, she hurried back to her own chamber and pinned it into a simple style, barely looking at the results in the glass before making her way down to the drawing room.
She found her father and Alvan already there, pouring over a newspaper which was spread out on top of the pianoforte. Alvan looked up and smiled at her, even before he straightened, and her stomach seemed to perform a little somersault, for he had a good smile, rare, genuine, and utterly engaging.
But there was no time to dwell on such ridiculous trivia, for her mother and Thomasina were close on her heels, and she could already hear the rumbling of carriage wheels on the drive. Their guests were arriving.
Mr. and Mrs. Walsh arrived first and were welcomed and presented to the duke. They were an odd couple, the vicar gentle, academic, and unworldly, his wife managing and only too aware of everyone’s social standing. Thomasina had been well warned to protect the duke from them as much as possible, and Charlotte was afraid he would simply freeze them with his haughtiness.
However, he was perfectly civil to Mrs. Walsh, who became inexplicably tongue-tied in his company, and by the time the Laceys’ party arrived, he was deep in discussion with the vicar about some ancient text. Thomasina, seated beside them, looked bewildered.
Mrs. Lacey entered the drawing room spilling over with apologies. “My dear Lady Overton, I am so sorry for not letting you know sooner, but everyone assured me he would be here.”
“Who?” Lady Overton asked, at a loss.
“Mr. Cornell, who is Lord Dunstan’s friend… but where are my manners? I believe you know Lord Dunstan?”
“Of course,” Lady Overton smiled, giving no clue to any but those who knew her best that she was seething at her dinner numbers being upset. “How do you do, my lord? You are most welcome. Allow me to present you all to his grace…”
Dunstan, almost as tall as Alvan, presented a fine figure. Good looking in a gentler way, he was dressed tastefully but in the first height of fashion in impeccable black pantaloons and coat, his pure white cravat an intricate riot of folds that was clearly the envy of Matthew Lacey, for he could barely take his eyes off it.
He inclined his head at Alvan, curling his lip in what might have been a smile. “Alvan,” he drawled.
Alvan merely nodded in return and bowed to Mr. and Mrs. Lacey, who proudly introduced their offspring, Matthew and Almeria.
Intrigued, Charlotte regarded Lord Dunstan more closely. Although it was all very civil and understated, she could not doubt Alvan’s indifference, to call it no worse, toward meeting an old acquaintance here. And the way Dunstan had spoken the duke’s name sounded more like an insult than a greeting.
As though sensing her scrutiny, Dunstan’s gaze flickered to her, then to Thomasina as their mother introduced her daughters in order.
“Enchanted,” he murmured, as he bowed over Thomasina’s hand. “You must know I worshipped you from afar all last season.”
“Funnily enough that escaped my attention,” said Thomasina sweetly. She had always been adept at discerning flatterers from genuine admirers.
Dunstan’s eyes twinkled with rather more genuine interest before they turned to Charlotte.
“My second daughter, Miss Charlotte Maybury,” her mother murmured.
“Delighted, Miss Charlotte,” he responded.
Charlotte gave him her hand, since Thomasina had, but withdrew it quickly and stepped back to make way for Henrietta.
“Bang up fellow, ain’t he,”
Matthew Lacey murmured as Charlotte all but bumped into him. “I’d love to get that effect with my cravat but haven’t the nerve to ask him how.”
“I should make your own arrangement,” Charlotte advised. “How are you, Matthew? Are you down from Cambridge for Easter?”
“At least,” Matthew said. “Studying’s not really my thing. Trying to persuade my father to let me give it up.”
“But you’ve only got a year to go, haven’t you?”
“It will seem like fifty,” Matthew said frankly.
“Poor you,” Charlotte said sympathetically. “Though I think I should enjoy it, myself.” Since they had wandered far enough away not to be overheard, she added, “But tell me more of Lord Dunstan. Has he come to offer for Almeria?”
“He’s making up to her certainly. Don’t know if he’s just passing the time, but Mama is thrilled. Cornell was after her, too, of course, but we’ve heard nothing from him though he was expected the day before yesterday. He seems to have vanished into thin air.”
“He probably forgot what day it was and never left London,” Charlotte suggested.
“Oh no, he left London with Dunstan, then they separated to visit different friends on their way here. Dunstan has written to him at the friend’s but has had no reply as yet. Mama is furious because he has forced her to let your mama down.”
“Oh well, I’ve never really seen the point of having even numbers for dinner.”
“Your duke looks very proud,” Almeria said dubiously, joining them.
“It is just his manner,” Charlotte said defensively. “He isn’t really. Even my mother says he is a charming guest.”
Almeria and Matthew exchanged speaking glances, as though they knew very well why Lady Overton found him charming.
Almeria leaned closer to Charlotte, lowering her voice. “Has he offered for Thomasina yet?”
“I have no idea,” Charlotte retorted. “Is Lord Dunstan going to offer for you?”
Almeria flushed. “You don’t need to be so sensitive, Charlotte. It’s just what everyone is saying. I only ask through friendship.”
“Of course you do,” Charlotte said contritely. “And I’m sorry I snapped. Look, have some ratafia,” she urged as Gerald approached with a tray.
For Charlotte, seated between old friends Matthew and Mr. Walsh, dinner was perfectly comfortable. She also had plenty of opportunity to observe, and she never saw Alvan and Dunstan address each other directly. Alvan appeared to divide his attention between Thomasina and Lady Overton on either side. Lord Dunstan conversed largely with Almeria, but watched Thomasina—which Charlotte found both strange and slightly alarming. She wondered if Tommie noticed.
Leaving the gentlemen to their port, the ladies repaired to the drawing room.
“Tell me, dear Lady Overton,” Mrs. Lacey begged, sitting beside her on the sofa closest to the fire. “I was thinking of giving a small, impromptu party at the end of the week—nothing great, just some dear friends and a fiddler, perhaps, so the younger ones might dance—would you be able to come and bring your family? And your noble guest, of course!”
“I’m not sure his grace dances,” Lady Overton said doubtfully. “Though for myself, I would love to come and I know the girls would, too.”
“Well, he needn’t dance if does not wish to,” Mrs. Lacey said anxiously, “but it would be so pleasant to welcome him to Seldon Manor.”
The gentleman joined them with gratifying speed, and Lady Overton at once asked Almeria to oblige them with a song accompanied on the pianoforte.
“You have such a sweet voice, I know everyone will love to hear you,” she said warmly.
“She means everyone will appreciate Tommie’s playing all the more,” Henrietta murmured cynically in Charlotte’s ear.
Charlotte couldn’t dispute it.
After a pretty show of modesty, Almeria went and sat at the piano. Gallantly, Lord Dunstan joined her to turn her music. Her voice was indeed pleasant, although she missed a couple of notes.
Alvan sat in Charlotte’s line of vision to the piano, his face attentive yet curiously expressionless. From what Thomasina had said, he enjoyed music, only troubling to attend society events that included it. Charlotte had been oddly thrilled that her own music had seemed to please him this afternoon, but she saw no sign of that intense raptness in his face now. If anything, he seemed… tense. But he applauded with everyone else when Almeria finished and rose, blushing, from the piano stool.
Inevitably, Thomasina was next called upon to entertain. Lord Dunstan remained to turn the music, exchanging a few laughing words with her. Thomasina was much more confident than Almeria, and never missed a note. To Charlotte, the duke appeared to relax a little, though he was far too gentlemanly to give Thomasina more praise than Miss Lacey.
After that, it was the turn of Henrietta, who was more enthusiastic than skillful, but who always drew plenty of genuine praise.
If it had been a contest, Thomasina would have won with ease and her smile said she knew it.
“Ring for tea, Henrietta,” their mother said comfortably.
“Will Miss Charlotte not entertain us also?” the duke said.
Lady Overton blinked at him in surprise. “Oh no. Charlotte does not care to.”
Charlotte, flushed to the roots of her hair, agreed at once. “Indeed, I don’t.”
“We never press her,” Thomasina added. “Mrs. Walsh, are you cold? Shall I fetch you a shawl, or will you sit here, closer to the fire?”
“Oh no,” the vicar’s wife said in surprise. “I am perfectly comfortable.”
The tea tray, which had clearly been waiting for the mistress’s summons, arrived almost at once. Lady Overton poured, and Charlotte and Henrietta carried the cups to everyone. Lord Dunstan had taken a seat by Thomasina and was doing his best to monopolize her, which did not please Almeria, clearly, although she did her best not to look in their direction.
The duke, who had been talking to her father and Mr. Walsh when she had brought him his tea, strolled over and sat next to Charlotte on the sofa.
“Why do you not play?” he asked abruptly.
“I do not like to,” Charlotte repeated.
“Because there is no one you care to impress?”
Color seeped into her face once more. “Because I play to please myself.”
“Or because you would far outshine your marriageable sisters?”
Drat the man, he was far too perceptive for comfort. “I have an unfair advantage,” she muttered.
He raised one skeptical eyebrow. “Too much talent or too much practice?”
“I simply don’t care to play in public,” she said stonily. “My reasons are my own.”
“And they are none of my business,” he agreed. “But for what my opinion is worth, I think you should play.”
She curled her lip. “To attract a husband with my one accomplishment?”
“If you wish,” he said peaceably. “But there are other, more mundane reasons. For instance, when you sing, you do not stammer.”
With that, he stood and strolled away, pausing to talk to Henrietta and Almeria. Charlotte gazed after him, baffled. Not because he had told her something she did not know, but because he had noticed.
Chapter Seven
Alexander Moore, the seventh Duke of Alvan, woke the following morning, impatient to be off. Not just to the Hart Inn, but, thereafter, away from Audley Park and home. He did not like Dunstan being in the neighborhood and suspected the man of fomenting some kind of trouble. He didn’t want it to involve Lord Overton’s family, so the best thing Alvan could do for them was to leave and end this feud with Dunstan at a safe distance from the Mayburys.
In fact, as he let Hanson shave him by candlelight, he knew that what he should be doing today was speaking to Overton about Thomasina, not pursuing his curiosity about the Hart. Of course, it was a matter of form. Everyone knew why he was here, and he didn’t doubt his success. He could leave this afternoon.
; But then he would never know the secret of the Hart Inn.
All the young Mayburys were breakfasting when he went downstairs, although only those going on the expedition were in riding dress. Thomasina wore a very fetching habit in bottle-green, with a matching hat from which a magnificent feather waved cheerily whenever she moved. Charlotte had on a well-worn fawn habit that had seen better days, probably when she was fifteen-years-old and it had been passed down to her. Not the first time Alvan was irritated by this favoritism that both neglected and insulted this most intriguing of Overton’s daughters.
“What I wonder now,” Charlotte was saying, “is if the Laceys’ missing guest is not also involved in this? Oh, good morning, sir. Let me… pour you coffee.”
“Thank you.” Alvan sat and buttered himself some toast.
“Do you know this Mr. Cornell?” Charlotte asked him. “Is he the sort of man to let his hosts down because something better came up?”
“Charlie, of course he is not,” Thomasina exclaimed.
“I would say it depended on the hosts and on the rest of the company expected,” Alvan said frankly. “In this case, I am surprised he has not kept his word. It’s certainly something else to ask the innkeeper.”
“Mr. Villin,” Charlotte said, her eyes dancing.
He couldn’t help the quirk of his lips in response. “Truly?”
“Truly.”
“Well that settles his guilt. I am almost tempted to take a magistrate with us.”
Charlotte laughed. She had a delightful laugh, low and infectious, and it lit up her face with an animation that went beyond beauty to sheer fun. Not that she wasn’t beautiful, for she was, despite the dowdy clothes and un-styled hair. It wasn’t, perhaps, the beauty of perfection such as that enjoyed by her sisters. He was sure people would say her eyebrows were too thick and dramatic, her mouth a little too wide, her nose a little too large, her skin a shade too pale, with just a hint of remaining childish freckles. But there was something about her…
The Unmarriageable Collection (Books 1–3) Page 6
