by Corwin, Amy
As if understanding, Lady Victoria took Charlotte’s hand and held it in her own, rubbing the warmth back into her cold fingers. “Oh, I shouldn’t worry about it.” She shrugged and chafed Charlotte’s hand more vigorously. “I am dreadful with genealogy and can barely keep my own nieces and nephews straight. Who is to say how we are related?”
Charlotte paused, trying to understand why she felt Lady Victoria was sidestepping the question. In the past, Charlotte had developed the useful talent of sensing when someone was avoiding the truth, perhaps because she wished she were better at such “embroidery” herself.
The sensation of an unexplained undercurrent did warn her, however. Experience had shown the dangers of ignoring such signals or getting too close to anyone acting as her guardian.
Gently removing her hand from Lady Victoria’s clasp, Charlotte picked up the teapot and poured fresh cups.
Take a step back, concentrate on the future. Soon she would be free of solemn, disapproving guardians and drafty rooms in cold English homes where she never belonged, where she could not even discuss her ideas without causing disharmony and disruption.
As if sensing her withdrawal, Lady Victoria spoke idly about the unsettled weather. After a few minutes, Charlotte screwed up enough courage to ask another question, one prompted by her uncontrollable curiosity.
“Why are you Lady Victoria while your husband is Mr. Archer?”
“I am the eldest daughter of a marquess, my dear. I have always been Lady Victoria.”
“Then Mr. Archer is a—” Charlotte stopped in consternation. She’d been about to call him a commoner. How revolting. She was starting to sound as starchy and class-conscious as the rest of the British.
Laughing, Lady Victoria picked up her tea cup and took a sip before shaking her head. “My family was quite upset, I believe, when I married Mr. Archer. However, I am not entirely sure it was his lack of a title which disturbed them. He was, after all, the fourth son of a duke.”
“Oh?” She waited for Lady Victoria to explain why her family had not wanted their daughter to marry the fourth son of a duke. Was it just because he didn’t have a title himself? How very British.
Then the oddity of her situation struck her. Surely, Charlotte would have heard if her family was in any way related to a duke?
Lady Victoria, however, didn’t elaborate. “Why don’t you get some rest? We have an invitation to a soirée this evening. We will not stay long if you don’t wish to, but I always find it best to have some activity of that sort right away when I am settling into a new place. It prevents you from worrying over events that inevitably turn out for the best.”
“But, I am not worried,” Charlotte protested.
“Nonetheless, we’ll dragoon Mr. Archer and attend.”
Charlotte smiled at her. “Thank you, Lady Victoria. You are very kind.”
“Nonsense. I am simply bored. Now that you are here, our prospects have brightened enormously. I’ve always wanted a daughter.”
“I am afraid I may not be precisely what you had in mind.”
“You are wrong, Miss Haywood. It seems to me you are exactly the kind of girl I hoped my Mary would become, if she had lived. I couldn’t be more pleased.”
“Thank you,” replied Charlotte rather doubtfully. “I only hope you don’t have cause to change your mind once we become better acquainted.”
Chapter Three
If a person annoys another by abusive language or constantly following him, whereby a breach of the peace may occur, such person can be proceeded against and summoned by the party aggrieved. —Constable’s Pocket Guide
“That’s a very attractive dress, Miss Haywood,” Lady Victoria said. She fingered the heavy white silk of Charlotte’s skirt and smoothed the gathers in the back.
“Thank you. It’s one of the few advantages of being an heiress,” Charlotte replied, staring in the mirror and feeling unaccountably depressed by her image. The long length of gleaming white silk just made her appear even taller, towering over Lady Victoria’s delicate figure.
Lady Victoria laughed. Reaching behind her neck, she removed her beautiful pearl necklace and stepped behind Charlotte.
“What—” Charlotte tried to turn, but Lady Victoria held her shoulders.
“You should wear these tonight,” she said as she fastened her pearls around Charlotte’s neck.
Touched by the gesture, Charlotte dropped the string of jet beads she had planned to wear onto the dresser. The ladies had not worn bright colors for months, not since the tragic death of Princess Charlotte in November. Sharing the same name, Charlotte felt a deep sympathy for the princess and had always admired the woman for standing up and refusing to marry for any reason except love.
Princess Charlotte knew what it meant to follow her dreams instead of simply settling for heavy duty. If only plain, ordinary Charlotte could do the same and escape from the cold mists of England to the blazing sands of Cairo, perhaps she could finally find happiness and independence under the baking, desert sun.
“This necklace is beautiful—too beautiful,” she said, catching Lady Victoria’s gaze in the mirror. She was afraid to assume too much.
However, her fingertips ran over the satiny pearls, still warm from Lady Victoria’s skin, and Charlotte felt her throat tighten. The necklace matched the creamy lace inset into the rounded neckline of her dress, and she felt almost…pretty. The subdued gleam of the pearls nestled into the hollow of her throat, lending her a small part of Lady Victoria’s grace.
“Why don’t you borrow it for tonight?” Lady Victoria gave her a hug. “Welcome to your new home, my dear.”
“Oh,” Charlotte’s voice broke. She clenched her jaw painfully, holding back the strong urge to cry. “You shouldn’t—that is, you may not wish me to—”
“Nonsense. The necklace would have been my daughter’s. Now, you are my daughter. I say you shall wear them tonight. They look very well with that gown, don’t they? I always thought they had a rather warm cast and would complement someone with your vivid coloring.”
Charlotte fleetingly touched a red curl that draped over her shoulder. After a searching glance at Lady Victoria’s kind face, Charlotte smiled, relieved that the remark had not been meant as a veiled insult.
“Thank you,” she replied as she turned abruptly. “Shouldn’t we leave?”
She knew she might appear ungrateful, but she was uncomfortable with gifts, even ones just lent for the night. Her previous guardians had always assumed expensive items should flow from Charlotte to them and not the reverse, and she had grown accustomed to the knowledge that any affection they showed to her was proportional to their greed. Now, it was difficult to adjust and graciously accept even the smallest of items.
“Yes,” Lady Victoria said. “John is surely waiting for us by now. He’s very punctual.”
“One of his few good qualities?” Charlotte teased shyly.
“No.” Lady Victoria’s wide mouth twitched at the corners. “He has many good qualities, or at least he assures me he does whenever I show any tendency toward forgetfulness.”
Smiling, the two women picked up their gloves and made their way down the stairs.
As predicted, Mr. Archer already occupied the hallway, pacing to and fro in front of the door. The butler, Suddley, laden with their cloaks, watched him impassively.
When Mr. Archer saw them, he dashed forward to press a kiss on his wife’s cheek. “Ravishing, my dear, as always. Are you sure you want to attend this wretched function? Wouldn’t you rather have a cozy evening at home?” His arm snuck its way around Lady Victoria’s slender waist and squeezed.
She giggled breathlessly and pushed him away. “So you can go to the club? No, my dear.”
Then she motioned to Suddley to drape their cloaks over their shoulders. As he approached Lady Victoria, Mr. Archer grabbed a lovely black wrap with swan’s down edging from the butler’s hands. He stepped behind his wife and wrapped it around her, smoothing it over her
arms as she threw him a coquettish smile over her shoulder.
Mr. Archer said, “We could—”
“We’re attending, John, and that is all there is to it. Now tell Miss Haywood how elegant she looks and let us go before we’re hopelessly late.”
“I am already hopeless,” Archer replied glumly before releasing his wife. “And we cannot be too late to suit me.”
“You will enjoy yourself,” his wife assured him. “You always do. You can show Miss Haywood what a wonderful dance partner you are.”
“Harrumph.”
“John,” she warned, “you promised to behave and spend the evening with us instead of gambling….”
Mr. Archer shook his head and waited in apparent boredom until Suddley announced that the carriage awaited them at the door.
To Charlotte’s dismay, they arrived at the soirée all too soon. A vague sense of inadequacy shivered through her when they were met at the door by a butler even more imposing than the impressive Suddley. He signaled for a magnificent footman, who deigned to take their cloaks before handing them off to yet another footman wearing a red jacket and powdered wig. He swept them majestically forward into the presence of a dainty, fairy-princess sort of female who made Charlotte feel even more gauche and awkward.
With shock, Charlotte realized she knew this delicate pink-and-white doll: Lady Beatrice Thatcher.
Charlotte stepped back and glanced at the door, letting Mr. Archer and his wife move ahead of her but the magnificent servants blocked the way out. A nervous cramp pinched her stomach but she resolutely straitened her shoulders.
The ball was being given in honor of the woman who had spent several months torturing Charlotte at the last Swiss boarding school she had attended before being expelled from school altogether. In fact, Lady Beatrice had taken extraordinary pains to make Charlotte feel welcomed to the academy by throwing her bedding out the window in the dead of winter. The girl then improved upon her actions by dumping the contents of a water jug out the same window onto both Charlotte and her bedding when she went to retrieve it.
She would never forget staring up at the second story window to see Lady Beatrice’s lovely face, framed by masses of pale blond hair, smiling down at her. Gaping up at her, Charlotte had shivered and clutched her wet blankets to her chest, too shocked to speak.
“Be gone!” Lady Beatrice yelled. “No one wants you here! All anyone wants is your money, you—you filthy Colonial! Everyone knows Americans are nothing but a lot of common criminals and deserters!”
Charlotte had stood there, frozen, until Lady Beatrice threw the empty pitcher. She dodged it just in time. The heavy white china shattered at Charlotte’s feet, followed by the sound of Lady Beatrice slamming the window shut.
After Charlotte had slowly collected her bedding, she found Lady Beatrice had not yet finished welcoming her. One of Lady Beatrice’s friends had thoughtfully locked the outer door behind Charlotte so she could not return to her room. Only her friendship with one of the scullery maids enabled her to sneak inside the school two hours later. She had barely enough time to remake her wet bed and shiver her way into it before the headmistress made her early morning rounds.
Unfortunately, although Charlotte managed to be in her bed before the check, the headmistress had discovered the wet bedding. Charlotte had been given extra duties as punishment for wetting her bed along with a few more months of humiliation.
The wooden crack of that window slamming shut lingered in Charlotte’s memory. She realized then that Lady Beatrice was right. The British aristocracy would never find her acceptable. They had closed their minds and hearts to her just as surely as Lady Beatrice had closed that window, and England would never be home to her.
So it was up to Charlotte to find her own path and her own place in the sun.
Now, standing in front of Lady Beatrice again, Charlotte was hard-pressed to nod civilly.
“Lady Victoria and Mr. Archer! How delightful!” Lady Beatrice exclaimed. She held out her elegantly gloved hands to her guest and stood on tiptoe to brush a kiss through the air next to Lady Victoria’s ear. “And who is this?”
As if you don’t remember me. Charlotte smiled demurely.
“My ward, Miss Haywood,” Archer said. “Lady Beatrice, may I introduce Miss Haywood?”
Trying to suppress her dismay, Charlotte stared down at the petite blond, barely managing to keep her bland smile in place. “How do you do, Lady Beatrice?”
“Lovely,” Lady Beatrice murmured. Not even the smallest trace of recognition sparkled in her cold eyes. She gazed over Charlotte’s shoulder, apparently trying to see who had come in after the Archers.
Charlotte stared at her, deliberating if Lady Beatrice meant she, herself, was lovely as she undoubtedly was or if she meant it was lovely to meet Charlotte. Again. Charlotte rather doubted it was the latter considering their previous acquaintance.
Glancing into the crowded room beyond her hostess, Charlotte’s apprehension deepened. The laughing throng made her feel ungainly and self-conscious as she towered several inches above her delicate hostess.
Charlotte touched her hair, only to remember its shocking red color. Why had not she worn a concealing turban to hide her garish curls instead of the black bandeau? She dropped her hand and almost rubbed her nose before she remembered the sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks. Her hands gripped the sides of her dress in her effort to keep them from calling attention to her most unflattering features.
Then, as she gazed out over Lady Beatrice’s head, Charlotte realized that she stood next to the three shortest people in the room. Fate seemed determined to plague her with embarrassment.
Lady Beatrice barely acknowledged Charlotte’s presence as she spoke to Lady Victoria. Her large, luminous eyes, as blue and empty as unused Wedgewood plates, showed no interest in the Archers although she smiled and laughed at all the appropriate times. Her beautiful, pale-gold hair was curled and piled up in an elaborate confection adorned by a diamond clip and drooping egret feather. One long curl dangled down to caress her milky white neck and shoulders.
Over the years while Charlotte had grown taller, Lady Beatrice had grown in other ways. She had developed an impressive bosom for one so dainty, and she must have been fairly proud of this accomplishment because her dress displayed a great deal of it.
Charlotte resolutely refused to glance down at her own accomplishments. Although she had a bosom, in combination with her great height it seemed insignificant.
When Lady Beatrice flicked her a coldly dismissive glance, Charlotte’s tongue trembled to tell the truth about just how lovely it really was to be here in jolly old England with Lady Beatrice and all her delightful friends. Comments such as the one edging toward her lips got her sent down three times from the best ladies academies in Switzerland.
She had to exert some self-control: the Archers still believed she was a nice young woman.
“Is my nephew here yet?” Mr. Archer asked before Charlotte could open her mouth and say something dreadful.
She gazed at him in gratitude.
Lady Beatrice must have caught her expression and misinterpreted the gratitude for interest in the Archer’s nephew. She suddenly smiled wickedly and tapped her fan on Mr. Archer’s black sleeve.
“Why of course! He’s been here for ages. I vow he spends so much time here of late he’s almost like one of the family already.”
“Really,” Lady Victoria replied, her tone brittle.
Charlotte caught the glance shared by the Archers and remembered Lady Victoria’s remarks about Lady Beatrice. It seemed Lady Victoria knew her husband’s nephew better than he did.
A pretty face and extravagant bosom were amazingly attractive to young men. Most males were only, at most, vaguely aware of a woman’s intelligence. Charlotte had observed this many times while standing around in the corners of various ballrooms trying not to look too tall, too red-headed, too American, or too unacceptably intelligent.
“Oh, y
es,” Lady Beatrice said. “But I do hope you will enjoy yourselves. There’ll be a light buffet in the grand saloon at nine and in the meantime, there is dancing and a few games of chance to entertain you. If you will excuse me, I see Lady Howard has arrived. I simply must speak with her.”
“It was a pleasure to meet you,” Charlotte said with complete insincerity. “I hope we have a chance to speak later.”
The Archers made some polite statements, and the three of them wandered off in the general direction of the music.
The evening soon turned into the same grindingly boring experience Charlotte suffered through at every other social function she had attended. She spent a great deal of time murmuring vague replies to any man who decided he could ignore her physical appearance for the sake of her fortune. None of them wished to take a giantess out on the dance floor, however, and particularly not a red- haired one. Nonetheless, they were all discretely fascinated by exactly what property she owned and where it was located.
On the other hand, the ladies didn’t mind standing nearby. Charlotte made them all appear amazingly fragile and pretty in comparison. Another young lady taking advantage of this eventually leaned over to speak to Charlotte.
“You are Miss Haywood, aren’t you? I was so pleased to meet you earlier.” Despite her friendly comment, her eyes remained fixed on the dance floor. “These large balls can be quite tedious, cannot they?”
“Yes, they can.” Charlotte dredged her memory and found the girl’s name. “Miss Mooreland?”
Miss Mooreland flung a smile at Charlotte. “Is this your first ball?”
“No. Unfortunately, it is not.”
This caught the girl’s attention. She gazed at Charlotte, her brown eyes wide with shock. To Charlotte’s surprise, she was actually quite pretty with a soft, round face and large, doe-like eyes. Perhaps she wasn’t trying to look good in comparison to Charlotte after all.
“Don’t you like balls?” Miss Mooreland asked.
“Not particularly.”
“Oh.” She seemed to consider this statement. “Is that why you are not dancing? You don’t wish to?”
