‘You need not explain to me,’ he said with more than a trace of sarcasm. ‘I am used to the acrobatic morals of young ladies, and do not even attempt to understand them.’ At the door he paused for a final shot. ‘Whatever Dickon’s attractions, and I confess I noted none, you could do better for yourself, as you no doubt appreciate. I bid you good hunting.’ Replacing his hat at an elegant angle upon his head, he offered her a small bow before leaving.
It was some moments before Charlotte’s rage dissolved sufficiently for her to think clearly. What exactly had he been accusing her of? She sat down abruptly upon a clump of hay. His attitude could not have been worse had Dickon indeed been her brother. If only she could have explained properly. Charlotte drew in a deep, steadying breath. The fault, of course , was Dickon’s but he was an innocent and had meant no harm by his kiss. She thought about this for a moment or two. It was what she usually said to herself when Dickon had plagued her with his teasing. But was she correct to go on excusing him in this way? His attitude had grown more and more familiar of late, moving on from childish pranks with frogs and beetles to more familiar teasing. Now, with today’s talk of marriage and kissing, she should perhaps deal with hire more firmly. But how? She had tried to be firm in the past and Dickon had only laughed at her. But something must certainly be done to distract his thoughts away from herself. She supposed she should mention the problem to Uncle Nathan, but somehow she always backed away from the idea.
Meantime she had the added problem of one of her foremost neighbours and birthday guests believing her to be quite without a scrap of decency. For all that he seemed a fuddy-duddy, after all he was quite old, at least thirty, it was not a situation to be enjoyed. Perhaps tomorrow there would be an opportunity to fully explain the embarrassing consequences of Dickon’s foolish fancies. The last thing she wanted was to have her birthday spoilt. Having decided upon a plan of action, she felt instantly better. It was a silly mistake which could quite easily be rectified. Tomorrow, Sir James Caraddon and she could laugh about it. For now she might try once wore to persuade Uncle Nathan to invite just a few of the company of strolling players to put on a sketch for her guests. She so desperately wanted to see them and she would never be allowed to visit their little theatre.
Hearing barking in the yard, she jumped to her feet. ‘All right, Sam. I’m coming. But it must be a short game today.’ Picking up her skirts, she ran from the barn, shaking off her troubles and the wisps of straw that had clung to her gown as easily as only the very young could.
* * * *
Nathan Pierce had a much more serious problem upon his mind than whether or not his niece should have a group of strolling players to entertain her guests at her eighteenth birthday party. It was, in his opinion, far too young an age to carry the kind of burden he was about to place upon her slender shoulders. Yet he had his instructions, clear and precise, and there was little he could do to alter them. True, in all the sixteen years he had had care of the child, her father had never been to see her once. For all that gentleman knew, his daughter could well be dead. Ah, but there was the nub of it; in his eyes, Charlotte was not his daughter and never would be. Charlotte had believed her father dead, and Nathan had let her continue to think so, on the basis that it was less painful for her than the truth. But it was not a situation which could be allowed to go on indefinitely.
Nathan leaned back in his worn leather chair, his right hand once more reaching into his waistcoat pocket for his spectacles. Hooking the wire frames upon his bony nose, he read again the letter he held in his hand, his long face pursing with concentration. It was from his old friend, Lady Constance Caraddon, delivered by hand from her home in Truro, and he experienced anew his relief when he’d first read that she was willing to relieve him of this unpleasant duty. It was one thing to tell a young lady that she was about to inherit a sizeable fortune, and quite another to rob her of her parentage. He owned that the manner in which it should best be done had defeated him and he had written to Constance for help. He was likewise delighted to learn that his timing, as always, had been impeccable and her grandson, James, was at home.
‘I am certain James will be delighted to attend Charlotte’s coming-out. And we can bring the child back with us for Christmas, if you like, when I will do what needs to be done, dear Nathan. You need have no fear for I am the very epitome of tact, though why you should worry, I do not know, for it is old water under a long-ago bridge and she sounds a sensible enough chit. In any case, I have every faith that James likewise will do what he can for her. You will see for yourself what a fine young man he is.’
Nathan smiled to himself. Constance was no fool. Though he had made no precise mention of it she would guess his hope that her grandson and his niece might make a match of it. Since Charlotte must take possession of this fortune, a suitable husband would have to be found for her, if only to protect her from the host of predatory males who would inevitably gather and from the tittle-tattle that would follow her. He saw it as no bar that the man was thirteen years her senior, for a mentor of more mature years was considered an advantage. Nor did it worry Nathan unduly that he had, as yet, never met the young man, though he would be pleased enough to have the opportunity to look him over, as Constance had shrewdly guessed.
A flash of colour caught Nathan’s eye and, getting stiffly to his feet, he crossed to the window. Charlotte, dressed most unsuitably for this cold day in a red and white striped gown, was throwing a ball for Sam, her small dog, and then in her exuberance running with him to retrieve it. She was laughing and giggling as freely as a happy child and Nathan thought what a great pity it was that such a rare innocence must be quashed.
Taking off his reading spectacles, he folded them away and stood for a while, watching her. With one hand resting easily inside his half buttoned waistcoat and the other behind his back, he gave a picture of a man comfortable with life and with himself. His long coat and brown breeches had evidently seen good service and were spotted with small burns from his clay pipe. Upon his bald pate he wore a grey peruke, but not from vanity. He had worn a powdered wig for most of his life, always the same style, with no great regard for fashion. Such considerations made little impression upon him, or on the quiet life he led here in the country. Besides which it was more economical not to chop and change.
Although by no means a poor man, Nathan Pierce deemed it prudent to be exceedingly careful with his money. He’d disposed of most of the horses he had kept for sporting purposes following the taxation imposed upon them shortly after the election of 1784, more than a year ago. And, though it was a minor irritation to him, he would bear with his decision until common sense prevailed and the government abolished it. As a result he kept only one carriage and grumbled constantly about the tax on those horses. He was now considering having some of his windows bricked in to avoid the iniquitous, increased tax upon his property. Why the government imagined that all people who lived in large country houses were rich quite defeated him. Money was such a worry. He gazed out upon his land, and upon his niece, and smiled to himself. Money would present no problems for Charlotte. If anyone deserved such good fortune, she did.
Pushing open the window, Nathan leaned out upon the sill and called to Charlotte. It was only fair to warn her of his plans now that he had had them confirmed. She came running to him at once.
‘Yes, Uncle Nathan? You wanted me?’ Her young face glowed from the fresh air and she was scarcely out of breath despite all the running about she had done. Just looking down at her eager, trusting expression, twisted his heart.
‘Come inside, Charlotte, there is something I would discuss with you.’
But once Charlotte was seated within the small book lined study, Nathan felt at a loss as how best to begin. ‘Would you care for a glass of wine, Charlotte dear?’ he offered, reaching for the bell pull.
‘At only quarter after eleven?’ asked Charlotte, slightly startled, for her uncle drank little.
‘It will sharpen our appet
ite for lunch. Besides we have your birthday to celebrate.’
‘But that is not until tomorrow,’ Charlotte laughingly scolded him. ‘Oh, very well, if you wish it. Just a small glass of Alice’s lovely pansy wine, perhaps.’
When the glasses had been brought and they had both taken a small appreciative sip, Nathan set his down with excessive care, took out his snuff box, put it away again, then sat tapping his fingers together as he was wont to do when perplexed.
‘Is something troubling you, Uncle?’ Charlotte ventured at last into the ensuing silence.
‘No, no, not at all,’ blustered Nathan, pulling himself together with an effort. It would not do to let the child see his concern, would not do at all. ‘Indeed no, the news is all good, my love. My only guilt is in the fact that I have been dilatory in informing you of it, since it concerns you so deeply.’
Charlotte was at once riveted. She had thought she had learned all there was to know about herself. Charlotte knew that on the death of her parents, when she had just turned two, Uncle Nathan had adopted her, sold his town house in London’s fashionable Russell Square and brought her here to his country home to bring her up alongside his own child, Dickon. And whatever this remote farmstead had lacked in physical comfort had been more than compensated for by the lavish degree of care and affection she had received within it. She had felt no lack from not having parents, for dear Alice had been like a mother to her, and she had Molly and Dickon for playmates. Charlotte had needed nothing more, for she loved her life on the farm.
She enjoyed helping with the animals, though she cried every time one went to market. She loved to walk across the moor and watch the shifting sunlight upon the bracken, to follow the tumbling streams that cut their way through to the main rivers and on to the sea. But most of all she adored walking along the cliff tops, gazing out across the crashing surf, pondering on the lands and possible adventures which lay beyond. Sometimes she would feel moved, as if by some mystical force, to call to the gulls that swooped and cried above her head, to add her voice to theirs and pour out the words she had learned from the plays and verses she loved, as if compelled to answer some inner longing she could not fully explain. One day, perhaps, she would see those faraway places -London, Bath, Paris, even Rome or the exotic East - but Charlotte knew that always she would return, for everything in her young life here at Caperley was quite perfect.
Everything, that was, except for her growing concern over Dickon.
Mostly her cousin was gentle and kind with a tendency to fawn upon her as if nothing was too much trouble. But at other times his jokes would test the limits of her patience and Charlotte was becoming confused as to how best to deal with him without causing offence. A shiver slid down Charlotte’s spine as she recalled the feel of his mouth on hers. Though she was very fond of him, she had not enjoyed the experience one bit. And she couldn’t help but think of what might have happened if Sir James Caraddon had not appeared when he did. Dared she mention the episode to Uncle Nathan and ask his advice? Covertly Charlotte studied his face, but before she had time to frame the thought into action her uncle was on his feet, pacing the rug, hands clasped behind his back, and a veritable torrent of words was pouring forth. Charlotte sat up very straight, realising that she should concentrate, for surely her ears must be playing her false.
‘So there you have it, Charlotte, my dear. Your father has made sure you are amply provided for. For my part, I think your coming into your fortune at eighteen a mite early, and I suspect his motives for his insistence upon that to be entirely selfish, for the man’s a Pharisee and cares not a jot for anyone but himself.’
Nathan pulled himself up, drew breath, and wondered if perhaps he’d gone too far, but Charlotte was sitting quite still, so calm that she looked almost like a model carved from pale wax. Too pale. ‘I’m sorry, my dear. I should not have said such a thing. I confess I still feel some bitterness towards the man after the way he treated Ella, my beloved sister and your dearest mama of whom you were so abruptly denied.’
When Charlotte did not respond, Nathan edged closer, and, fumbling for his spectacles, placed them upon his nose and bent down to peer into her face. ‘Are you quite well, m’dear?’
Charlotte tried her voice. ‘Yes, Uncle. Quite well.’ It came out as an add little squeak.
Nathan straightened. Ah, good, good.’’
‘Would you mind, Uncle Nat, repeating the most salient points again? I’m not sure 1 understood exactly...’
‘Ah, quite so, quite so. Too much for a young girl to absorb all at once. I’ve said as much all along.’
‘Are you saying that my father is still alive?’ Charlotte stared at Nathan from shocked wide eyes.
‘Ahem, yes,’ Nathan agreed, as gently as he could. ‘In France or Italy or some such place I expect, where he’s been these last sixteen years.’
There was a long, appalled silence while Charlotte absorbed the full implications of this news.
‘And now he leaves me not a small inheritance but a fortune?’ she said at last in a small, tremulous voice.
‘Indeed.’ Nathan whirled about and picked up a paper from among the clutter of books which blotted the desk-top. Reading was his favourite occupation and now that Dickon was beginning to show interest in the estate he could indulge his passion more and more. He was enjoying Boswell’s Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides at the moment, which he found absolutely fascinating, but he must first discharge his duty to his beloved niece before he would have the time to return to it. ‘Here it is, plain and simple,’ he said, and, picking out a point halfway down the document, Nathan began to read.
…and when the said child Charlotte Eleanor Forbes should reach a majority of eighteen years she may take into her possession the sum of ten thousand pounds to be paid to her annually on the date of her birth for the remainder of her lifetime. And on receipt of this sum the said child shall lay no further claim either in money or in kind upon myself the said benefactor. Herewith I give my hand on this day the seventeenth of December in the year seventeen hundred and sixty nine.
Charlotte stared at the paper as if it were not quite real or would burn her fingers should she take a hold of it, which fortunately she had no opportunity so to do.
‘Signed on your second birthday, only two months before I brought you home to Caperley Farm. Your father mailed the document to me before he left for Italy. I never saw him again. But at least he did the decent thing by you in the end. We should be thankful for that, eh?’ Nathan cast his niece an anxious glance.
Charlotte’s jade green eyes brimmed with sudden tears. ‘My life would have been nothing without you, dear Uncle Nat. I should have spent it alone in that dreadful cold house, with only servants for company. Instead, I have been given all the love and warmth anyone could wish for. I shall never leave you, never!’ Whereupon she burst into tears.
Nathan was appalled, for this was most unlike his Charlotte. ‘There, now. Do not take on so. Enough of this.’ Pulling a large square of cambric from his capacious coat pocket, he thrust it into her hand. ‘Mop up, mop up. This is no way for a young lady to go on.’
Charlotte obediently did as she was bid and was soon able to offer him a smile, albeit a watery one. ‘You are quite right, Uncle; there is little point in being over-emotional. It was only that while listening to the legal phrases of that document it came to me how very much I owe to you.’
‘Tut tut. Stuff and nonsense. You owe me nothing. Haven’t I had the pleasure of your company all these years?’
‘Ten thousand pounds per annum is a c-considerable fortune and much, much more than I expected.’ Charlotte’s chin trembled just a little. ‘But I feel bound to say that since my - my f-father has not deemed it necessary to care for me throughout these long years, I see no reason why he should do so now. I think I would rather not have it at all. I am strong, and you have educated me better than most young ladies of my age. I could earn my own living if needs be, if…’ she faltered over the painf
ul words. If you no longer want me here.’
Nathan looked bleak. ‘As long as I live there will be a home for you here, but I am an old man.’
You are not at all old,’ chipped in Charlotte, unable to help herself.
He gave a wry smile. ‘But getting older, my dear. We all do, you know. And Dickon is a young man and will soon be taking a wife and it is a sad truth, but a fact nonetheless, that she would not want a spinster cousin-in-law about the place,’ Nathan gently pointed out. ‘Nor, do I think, would you wish to stay under those conditions.’
Charlotte felt a reluctance to mention Dickon’s own crazed plans for she suddenly saw that perhaps leaving the farm might be her only option. Yet to accept money from a father she’d believed dead was asking too much of her sensibilities. ‘May I have time to think about it?’
Nathan lowered himself into his chair, its familiar creaks almost a comfort in his distress, for he felt very tired. Was he being quite fair to Charlotte? Should he tell her the whole of it here and now and get it done with? What a coward he was to leave it to Constance. Yet it was surely better to come from a woman.
‘I would not wish you to do anything hasty, Charlotte my dear. I’ll concede the amount is a shock, even to myself who was half expecting it, for I had not opened the envelope until the date I was permitted to do so, the day prior to your birthday. And I agree it may well prove to be as much a burden as a blessing; these things often do. But you must not blind yourself to the opportunities it opens up for you.’ Nathan cleared his throat. ‘You are eighteen years old tomorrow and will soon be looking about you for a husband.’ As Charlotte’s small face registered fresh shock he hastened to reassure her. ‘Oh, pray, do not fret. You shall have a completely free choice. I would not presume ... Your happiness is all important to me and there will be no arranged marriages in this house.’
Outrageous Fortune Page 3
