by Sandy Raven
At nineteen, Elise had been abducted and almost horrifically abused at the hands of a young man she had initially trusted. And to this very day, it influenced her. As a mother, she’d tried to warn Charlotte to be careful not to give any young man hopes that she was interested unless she truly was. Before any young man could come courting, her father had to give his approval. Yes, she had promised her daughter she could have love, but Elise wanted Charlotte to always be mindful that she gave no man any false hope, and did not encourage him unless she was seriously considering spending the rest of her life with him. She didn’t want Charlotte to anger any young man to the point he might harm her.
Then it struck her. Had Elise warned her daughter to the point of frightening her away from all young men?
Remorse washed over her. Had Elise caused her daughter to fear the opposite sex? Had she transposed her fear onto her daughter?
If so, she’d done her daughter an enormous disservice. Not all young men were like the one who’d abducted her. There were honorable and worthy young men out there in society who would make Charlotte an excellent husband. She just had to find them. And Charlotte was never going to find a young man if Elise didn’t let her daughter have some freedom.
Elise had to take a leap of faith that Lia was right about this. She had to trust that their daughters would best learn how to navigate their romantic lives away from the watchful eye of their mothers and society gossips.
Her daughter could return home more dispirited than before. Elise wanted to protect Charlotte, but keeping her home while Penelope and Isabel went to Scotland wouldn’t prevent a broken heart.
Even worse, keeping Charlotte at home would tell her daughter that she, the mother who loved her, didn’t trust her to make safe and adult decisions. Or as Lia said earlier that day, Charlotte would never learn to fly. She needed to trust Charlotte and give her her head. She would have to let go, just as she would a horse who was ready to move on to another home, another rider.
Elise had a decision to make. On the one hand, if she chose to send Charlotte, she would be devastated if her precious daughter was hurt, either physically or emotionally. And on the other hand, Charlotte would be terribly upset, and rightfully so, to have her two best friends go on this adventure while her mother still wanted to treat her like a child and keep her close to her skirts.
Lia and Beverly said they would understand if she decided to not let her daughter go. If Charlotte stayed home, then more than likely Isabel and Penelope would decide to remain at home as well. It was what their girls did. One never went without the others. That one characteristic reminded the entire ton of their mothers when they were younger.
To bring the comparison even closer, for the past two years, the girls had each worn one of their mothers’ more famous costumes to the Whippleworth’s annual masque, causing some to begin calling Charlotte, Isabel, and Penelope, The Young Fates, a name given to their mothers some twenty years earlier. She had to admit that she’d enjoyed seeing the girls wear their dresses. And to improve on their costume, their daughters had carried it a step further, clasping tight to a gold cord between them most of the night, solidifying the mythological image.
Was she being unreasonable to fear so for her daughter’s well-being? She’d have to learn to let go of her oldest child at some point. Charlotte was the daughter of her heart. And at twenty-one, she was very nearly an exact replica of Elise, equally tall and thin, but with her father’s dark brown hair and expressive brown eyes.
To Elise, Charlotte was the most beautiful and graceful young lady currently out in society. But, just the other day, her precious daughter had confided to her that she felt the more awkward of the three because of her height. She didn’t feel as feminine as Isabel or Penelope. Her daughter said she’d wished she had larger breasts and hips, or some curl to her hair. Fighting tears, Elise could only commiserate—because her daughter had every single one of her features.
She wished Charlotte could see what an unmatched beauty she was. Elise could see it in her daughter, though she, too, hadn’t been able to see it in herself in her younger days. She wished she could pour the wisdom she’d acquired with age into Charlotte’s head, so her daughter would not have to go through the pain of learning it.
Elise believed that somewhere out there was a man who would appreciate Charlotte for the beautiful spirit she had inside, and for her physical beauty. That’s what she wanted for her daughter—a man who would love her for who she was, not for her connections or dowry. Perhaps this paragon of gentlemanly virtue was in Scotland. Heaven knew her daughter wasn’t having any luck finding him in London.
The rational side of her knew the girls and Marcus would be fine because they would have guards protecting them. And if she stayed home, she could spend that month at home with the young horses her grooms were starting under saddle. She loved riding when the air had a chilly nip to it. The cooler temperatures made both Elise and her horses feel more alive.
The boys would be away at their schools—her son Andrew at Eton, and Jonathan starting his first year at Oxford. She adored all three of her children. But admittedly, more time had been shared with Charlotte as she grew up. It was the reason they were so close. Her daughter had been educated in their home. They shared breakfast and dinner each day. Charlotte had inherited Elise’s love and way with horses, as had Penelope from Beverly, and Isabel from her father. Lia had decided long ago that she was not adept at riding horses and rode in carriages, with drivers and footmen to protect her, per her husband’s command.
When it came to the safety of his family, her brother took no chances. So, if Lia was hoping to get her husband to agree to allow their two oldest children on such a journey, she would have to convince Ren that they would be safe. And even then, her husband would probably hire more guards just to be sure.
For Elise, it would likely be the opposite. Michael would think that as long as Charlotte was protected by one of their footmen and properly chaperoned, it would be a wonderful idea for her to go with Beverly to Lady Fitzhugh’s event. He would see it as an opportunity for Charlotte to meet new people and have fun with her friends at the same time.
She’d given it much consideration of late. Elise knew she was the one who had to get over the fear that someone might hurt her daughter. The fear was likely a remnant of her trauma all those years ago. It had been horrible, both she and Lia suffering at the hands of different men trying to hurt Ren by hurting them. Because of that, she knew her brother would take no chances with their safety. Elise wouldn’t even have to ask him to make sure there were enough guards. He would do it for his own peace of mind.
She heard muted voices, then footsteps in the hallway. Michael being greeted by their butler. Her husband asked after her, and she smiled to herself. She loved him so very much. He was a wise man and much like Lia, in that he didn’t see the world as inherently evil. Whereas there were more days of late when she did. Especially since the recent attempts on the queen’s life.
Elise gave her husband a little smile as he entered the room. His handsome face still warmed her from within. Her love for him had only grown deeper each year of their marriage. He came over to her and kissed the top of her head, a habit of his for as long as she could remember.
“How are you my darling?” His voice sounded almost cheerful this afternoon.
“Well, thank you.” Tilting her face up, she closed her eyes and waited for the tender kiss on her lips that came after the kiss on her head. He was a man of habit. Next, he’d pour himself a drink and ask if she’d like one. He always asked.
Michael went to the sideboard and poured himself a half glass of whisky. “Would you care for a glass of wine?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Yes, please,” she replied. “Tonight, I could use a glass. I might even need two before I come to a decision.”
He handed her the wine glass and sat next to her in the matching wingback chair, his facing the unlit hearth. The weather had been warm enough late
ly to not require a fire until much later in the evening, if at all.
“Tell me, my minx,” Michael said after taking a sip of his liquor, “what has you in such a cudgel? Does the milliner have a hat you fancy?”
Elise gave Michael a worried smile, then told him about the invitation to Rathcavan and her concerns for letting Charlotte go without her.
“I think they will be fine, as long as they each have a guard to accompany them when they are outside of the home.” He leaned back in the chair and crossed one leg over the other before taking another sip of the dark amber liquid. “I believe the girls will enjoy getting away from town for a while.”
“I know they will enjoy and appreciate the time out of the spotlight.” She remembered how people gossiped about her and Beverly, and knew her daughter and goddaughters suffered the same. “And it’s always a good feeling to be out of sight from those judgmental harridans who gossip.”
“I believe them to be as safe there as they would be at Woodhenge, Haldenwood, or Fenwicke Hall,” Michael assured her.
She was unable to meet his gaze, knowing he was likely right. But it did nothing to ease the fear she had that Charlotte might get her heart broken and she wouldn’t be there to comfort her. There were so many times when she was younger that she wished her mother, or Amelia, had still been alive. Because she had no mother to talk to when Michael had broken her heart. At the time, she was afraid to burden her grandmother who was already frail. And all she had were her friends, Beverly and Lia.
To this very day, Elise regretted her rudeness to Lia when they were first introduced. She remembered thinking Lia an interloper looking to change everything at Haldenwood, everyone else be damned. But Elise had been so very wrong about her. Lia had been a young lady in need of a friend, as much as she and Beverly were in need of a friend who thought about things in a more rational way—something she had been incapable of doing at the time.
Too, Lia had always been a much better judge of character than Elise.
She stared into her glass trying not to cry. “You have more faith in people than I do,” she whispered.
He gave her a sympathetic little smile, one that told her he understood where her sentiment came from. When he spoke, his voice was soft and sincere. “Even with all that has happened to our family and friends, and the queen, I still believe in the inherent goodness of mankind.”
Elise remembered how she had gone against her initial instinct and trusted the man who abducted her. She’d been a bad judge of his character and made a mental note to talk to her daughter about heeding the warnings of the other women, including Beverly, who would be chaperoning them.
And also about trusting your gut when it came to men.
That which a mother does for her daughter.
* * *
Beverly lifted the quill to begin her nightly letter to her husband. It was how they stayed in touch with the day-to-day events in each others’ lives. After leaving his commission in the army upon ascending to his title and marrying her, he had begun a life in the Foreign Service as a diplomat for the Crown, at the recommendation of her father, who’d done the same up until his passing. She’d wanted to travel with Kip when Penelope was young, but he thought it more important for their daughter to be raised and educated at home in England.
She envied Lia and Elise that their husbands were home with them virtually every night and that they were able to have siblings for their children. Kip had been traumatized by Penelope’s birth. Especially when he thought Beverly was going to die. After she’d recovered he’d told her he loved her too much to put her through that again.
Then he began to take assignments out of the country. And if Beverly hadn’t hated the Foreign Service before for taking her father from her for most of her life, she hated it now. But her husband wasn’t happy living the life of a landless nobleman. He’d wanted to effect change in the world through the diplomatic channels that had opened up to him because of his military training, and her father’s urging. Her husband was a happier diplomat, than he was an idle gentleman. Beverly couldn’t deny him that which made him feel fulfilled, just as he would never deny her that which made her happy—her daughter, her friendship with Elise and Lia, and her horses.
When he’d first begun to travel, gossips whispered behind her back that her husband was unhappy with his decision to marry her. She remembered the night he surprised her, having arrived from Dublin unplanned. Her maid informed him where she was, and he’d arrived at the Rutherford’s annual ball to find her on the dance floor with Elise’s husband, Michael. It was a scene straight from a fairytale in her mind. Her handsome husband cut in, asking his friend for permission to dance with her, his wife.
For the rest of that evening, and duration of his stay, Kip was the most attentive, affectionate husband in all London. But she learned later, that he returned home unannounced because the Prime Minister had called upon him to take another, more urgent, assignment in India, where unrest was flaring up in the northern regions.
Kip had promised her that he was not going to India in a military capacity. His task was negotiations.
And for the past six years, he had come home for a month or two every year. In his last letter, he’d said he would be home for Christmas this year.
This life was familiar to her, as her father had done the same for many years. And though Beverly’s mother had died when she was young, Penelope still had her to guide her as she grew into adulthood. Perhaps after Penny married, Beverly could travel with her husband to his assignments. She missed Kip greatly while he was away, and she’d often thought that if he were home more, perhaps she might have had another child. It was still possible, if she could keep him in the country long enough. She wasn’t past her childbearing years yet. Though Kip would probably have hysterics if she turned up pregnant. Silly man.
But if she had another child, her husband would insist she remain in England while he continued to travel as a political envoy. If she married off Penny, there was a very good chance that she might once again be a bit more of a priority in her husband’s life.
She wanted that so very much, but not at the expense of her daughter’s happiness.
Penelope didn’t share confidences with her. Beverly wasn’t sure that was normal. But not having a mother of her own, she wasn’t exactly sure what normal really was. Lia and Elise had both said their daughters didn’t confide their innermost thoughts and desires with them either. Of the three of them, Lia was the only one who’d had the benefit of a mother for most of her younger life, and she said that she didn’t remember sharing confidences with her mother at all.
Dipping the tip into the ink well, Beverly began,
* * *
Good evening, my darling,
I pray this night finds you feeling well. I am, of course, missing you greatly as usual.
Well, my lord, another social season has ended. I’m making plans for closing up the townhouse for our return to Fenwicke Hall next week. Penelope will likely go to Woodhenge to stay with Charlotte for a few weeks before joining me.
Remember the invitation to Rathcavan we received a few weeks ago? And do you remember that I initially had reservations about going? Well, once I realized that my main reason for not wanting to attend was entirely selfish, I knew I had to change my thinking for Penelope’s sake. Because I haven’t regained my full confidence in the saddle yet, I wouldn’t feel comfortable riding out with the first flight hunters. But I also could not deny Penelope (and Isabel and Charlotte) the opportunity to ride with your aunt on Rathcavan lands. The girls would get such inspiration from her. I know I do each time I visit with her. So I have decided to go to your Aunt Adina’s birthday celebration and hunt.
I’m glad I didn’t immediately respond to decline her invitation, because a few days after I received Lady Adina’s letter, I received another from your cousin, Margaret. It seems the new earl’s sister, Lady Olivia, is betrothed to a young man, having met him less than one month ago. And now th
ere will be a betrothal ball at the end of the month that we’re there.
So it has now been decided that Penny and I, along with Charlotte, and Isabel, will all attend. Both Lia and Elise have said they wish to remain behind to spend time with their husbands and younger children.
Of course, you know I wish you could be with us to celebrate your aunt’s momentous birthday and your niece’s engagement. I also wish our daughter could find love. She needs a man who can appreciate her for the exceptional young lady we know her to be.
A year has passed since her heart was broken by that young man from Spain. If I hadn’t been recuperating from my fall at Fenwicke Hall I would have met him. You know how upset I was that I could not be with Penelope when she was going through her disappointment. I wasn’t there to hold her through her tears, and blame myself for her returning home from town early nursing a broken heart.
Penny seems to have recovered somewhat from the heartbreak. While she is socializing with her friends and attending functions, she is not the same young lady she was before her young man disappeared. She shows absolutely no interest in finding a husband right now. Though, I hope she might change her mind in Scotland, where there are sure to be new faces, including young men she’s not previously met. Surely if she meets the right man, she will fall in love with him, as I did with you.
I will, of course, keep you apprised of our plans as we get closer to departing for Rathcavan. It would be wonderful if you could join us. Not only would it be a splendid birthday surprise for your aunt, but also for Penelope and myself. We all miss you very much. Me especially. Every night we’re not together makes me wish I were with you in Mumbai.
I will close for now, my darling. Know that I pray for your safe return daily.
All my love,
B.
* * *
Beverly sealed the letter and added it to the pouch she would send with a footman to her husband’s secretary at the diplomatic offices, just as she did each week. And when her footman returned each week, he brought her another one exactly like it, containing letters for her and Penny, from Kip.
