“How terrible of you!” Charlotte teased her friend.
“It is, it really is. Punch?” Frances asked, and the uniformed man provided the women with drinks.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean about my station, dear Frannie.” Charlotte added. “You know the Woodhalls have taken a fall in the world. I can’t say we don’t deserve it.”
“Nonsense. The right man and you’ll be back on your feet in no time. Look there,” she said, pointing out a well-groomed young man with brown whiskers. “There is the sadly widowed Captain Howard Bannister, recently returned from India. If you don’t mind the warmer climes, I think you’ll find he’s worthy of the pursuit.”
“Recently widowed?” Charlotte asked?
“No, the mourning period is long past. He has been to a few such events and though your sisters have fluttered about him and made what I’d deem brazen flirtations, he has merely yawned at their antics.”
“A man of taste. I like him well already.” Charlotte joked. The women laughed and, to her surprise, the Captain both spotted her and proceeded to approach her from across the room.
“Oh dear. Here he comes. What do I say?” She whispered to Frances.
“Nothing stupid, I should think.”
The man offered a polite bow and Charlotte and Frances curtsied. “You are looking well today, Mistress Cook.” He offered politely.
“You are too kind. May I present Miss Charlotte Woodhall of Waverly Lodge?” Charlotte thought he had something of a weak chin, but his eyes were bright and he was clearly fit from his duties.
“Charmed.” He announced. When they’d dispensed with the niceties, he came directly to the point. “A lively tune!” He cried, as music began. Dancers took the floor. “Would you do me this kindness and honor, Mistress Woodhall?”
“I should be delighted.” She wasn’t at all sure she was. She would have preferred to have had a chance to speak with him first, and dancing wasn’t her strongest asset. But there would be some opportunity during the dance itself to get to know one another, or so she hoped.
His conversation proved meager at first, as they both tried to find things to talk about. “I have met your sisters, I believe.” He informed her as they met during the carefully choreographed dance steps. She was trying to recall the correct way to perform a contratem and settled for watching others and taking their lead.
“Oh?” Was all she could say.
“Yes.”
“And may I ask…” She struggled as she tried to remember her travelling steps. “May I ask how you found India?”
“Hot.” He informed her. “India is a place that is far too intemperate for my taste. I have been stationed here for the time being. Strange to live in peace for so long, speaking as a soldier, but I can say I don’t mind it terribly much. I’ve been keeping occupied.”
As the dance progressed, she found she was attracted to him, but it felt like a surface attraction, a curiosity that piqued her interest without giving her any clear indications. It was odd, though; she took note of a man with a grim face and a shock of red hair dancing nearby who kept glaring at her. She wasn’t sure what she was doing wrong or why she had offended him, but he was clearly disturbed.
The dance came to an end and the dancers clapped for the musicians. After stepping away from the floor, she noted the man with red hair positively scowling in their direction. But she couldn’t get any intelligence on who he was; Howard seemed to have warmed up to her and was vividly describing the places he’d seen in his travels, in particularly in Greece, India, and even at home. It was an interesting conversation, and she’d initiated it by asking him to elaborate on some of his trips, having never travelled much herself. But soon she excused herself to catch up with Frances.
“I do hope you’re not leaving just yet?” He asked hopefully.
“Why no! I can’t recall when I’ve had such a nice time. Only give me a moment to speak to Frances.”
She rescued her friend from a man Frannie called a ‘crashing bore’ and from whom she was grateful to be led away. “Do tell me,” Charlotte asked, pointing to the red-haired man. “Who is he? I don’t recall seeing him before.”
“And no small wonder.” She was told in a confidential whisper. “The Duke of Dorset, George Mandeville the Younger. The elder died just last year while the young Duke was away at school.”
“I recall hearing that!” She marvelled. “I had no idea he had a brother.”
“Isn’t he in a black mood?” Frances asked, looking over at him. He was seated, arms folded and apparently being spoken to by a young woman who was trying to keep the mood light. But he was having none of it. After a short time, he got up and the two left the building.
“He doesn’t seem to care much for his wife, I should say. I wonder why he should have singled me out for ire.” Charlotte said, not realizing she was speaking out loud.
Frances caught what she was saying and quickly corrected her. “No, you goose, that’s his sister. As to you, I have no idea. Did you do or say something?”
“Nothing of the kind!” She was about to ask more questions, when Captain Bannister returned with more punch and conversation. She forgot the matter entirely, giving in to her first decent dance in some time and wondered why every outing couldn’t be so wonderful.
*****
It had been some days since she’d seen and danced with the Captain when Frances sent a message proposing an outing. Any excuse to spend time away from her family was welcome, and there was the added incentive of possibly replacing the ribbons stolen away from her. She agreed readily enough.
They’d been through many of Baths fine shops and were debating what to do next. “We could actually visit the baths themselves, you know.” Frances proposed. Although Charlotte had lived in the area much of her life, she had to remind herself that Frances’ family had come to the west country from London, some years before.
“You know that I never mind such trips. History and ruins holds a certain appeal for me.”
“Yes. Always buried in a book, as I recall from our youth. Do you still read as voraciously as ever?”
“As ever, I confess. And do you still write as though the muses held a personal grudge against your idleness?” Charlotte asked with a smile.
“I only write a novel per day, I promise.” The girls shared a laugh. It had been a long-running joke between them; Charlotte the overly ambitious reader, Frances the aspiring writer. Between the two of them, they had pledged to conquer the literary world on opposite ends of the reading and writing spectrum.
Before visiting the baths from the shopping district, one might take a stroll along the River Avon, as the girls did, until reaching the baths situated near to Bath Abbey. The Roman baths were a popular tourist destination in a town that was currently in something of a boom; Bath was, in 1820, one of the larger towns in the Britain. With the baths as the town’s primary claim to fame, it had been decided to renovate the destroyed Roman baths several times over the centuries. Ten years ago, it had been presumed that the hot springs for the bath had failed. This was not so; it had merely found a new channel, which then had to be restored.
As they strolled along the Great Bath, Charlotte mused at the additions to the structure. “You see the columns here,” she noted, pointing them out. “Everything above the base has been added for our amusement.”
“That seems rather less authentic than I had imagined.” Frances replied, disappointment in her voice.
“I fear imagination isn’t what it once was, I fear. Personally, I think it would have been perfectly fine to simply show the public actual ruins.” Charlotte agreed, then froze in her tracks. Across the water, she spied the tall, red-haired Duke staring at his own reflection on the opposite side of the rectangular pool. He looked up and caught her glance. Instead of showing the same ire he’d doled out at the party, he looked away, blushing.
“Look!” She whispered urgently to Frances. “It’s him, again!”
“Oh. Him!” Frances replied, not hiding her scorn. “What a cad. To treat a stranger such as yourself so rudely. Let’s ignore him and press on.”
They continued their tour, inspecting statues and rooms until it became impossible to ignore him. George Mandeville was stepped directly next to Charlotte as she was reading an inscription and bowed. “Forgive me, ma’am. I apologize for this intrusion.”
“Yes?” She asked coldly. She didn’t like him to begin with, and being addressed in public when there had never been introductions made was too rude.
“I- I do say, please forgive my impertinence. I have come to offer my sincere apologies for my behavior at the dance the other evening. I have no way of knowing if you were aware of my actions or not, but I feel I owe you that much.”
“I’m not certain what you mean.” She suggested, less stiffly.
“To be candid, it was my demeanor. I was in a terrible mood and my sister has informed me that my temperament was dark enough to place a shadow, potentially upon your evening. The cause of my ill-temper was not your doing and you should never have received such… I don’t know to say it, such unpleasant looks as you may have seen. I assure you, they were never meant for you. And now I have discharged my apology, I humbly beg your forgiveness.”
This long, stammering speech seemed honest and spoken with such sincerity, she couldn’t help but soften. “Whatever offense may have been caused is entirely forgotten. Pray, speak no more of it kind sir.”
To maintain the social graces, Frances facilitated introductions; she had met the Duke of Dorset once before, at a party, though it had been a brief meeting.
It was already late in the afternoon, so Frances and Charlotte were bound for the tea room. Before leaving, Charlotte quickly asked the man the question that had been troubling her most. “You say you were in a poor mood and that I hadn’t caused you grief. What troubled you so, that you should affix your gaze in my direction at all?”
He blushed again. “It was improper to trouble you at all, but honor demanded I make amends. I assure you once more, it was nothing to do with you, Mistress Charlotte.”
“Indeed, but what was it?”
He hesitated. “It is only fair, I suppose. The man you were dancing with… how well do you know him, if I may ask?”
She blanched. “Only slightly, though I should say he has made clear his intentions to call upon me tomorrow. We are to go for a ride and a picnic lunch.”
“I’m sure it will be quite a splendid time. Do enjoy.” George remarked hurriedly, turning to go. A thought crossed his mind, and he turned quickly. “I should say that if you are to spend further time with the Captain, it is your business entirely. But I would urge caution. Good day.”
With that cryptic warning spoken, the Duke stepped into the crowd of tourists exiting the bath and was gone.
*****
“My dear, Captain,” Charlotte admonished her suitor, “You really must have a proper physician look over your leg. If it troubles you so, that’s the best thing for it.”
When Captain Bannister had come to call, he had surprised her by arriving and using a cane. For a young man, it was an unusual course of action, and she had tried for most of their outing not to comment on his discomfort. But when he tried to sit, he winced and gritted his teeth manfully, clearly trying and failing to mask the pain.
“It will be fine in no time, I’m certain.” The soldier told her. “As I say, my friend has had medical experience during our troubles with Boney. He says it should be right as rain in a week or so, no more.”
“But what is it exactly? How can he be so certain?”
“Ah, I won’t trouble your mind with the condition’s name. Chauncey told me what it was called and I can say I have already forgotten it’s name! I fear my Latin was never so good.”
She sighed. The spread was before them; cheese, some good bread, apples, beef, and a bottle of wine. They had hardly dented the provisions as she fretted over his condition. “I wish I had heard him speak it’s name. I have a very good recollection of Latin.”
“And Greek and French as well, I have no doubt.” He looked over a few feet away in the grass, where another couple were enjoying their own picnic. They had accompanied Charlotte and the Captain per pre-arrangement, a comrade-in-arms of Captain Bannister’s and his own lady friend. Though the cozy park was packed with such couples, it was only proper that they be chaperoned on their first outing.
Charlotte snickered. “I do, in fact, read both languages, though I will concede that my Greek is a touch poor. However, my family has been in the care of Doctor William Scarborough. I’ll give you his address. You must see him, and I will be cross if you don’t.”
The man shrugged and leaned back in the grass. “Can we speak of more pleasant matters than my ailment? It’s a slight thing, in truth.”
“I can and I would. It’s too pleasant of a day for darkness.”
“In the light your beauty, there could never be any such clouds.”
She looked down shyly, then up again, a slight smile playing on her lips. “You are teasing, of course.”
“Never. I say only what I mean when it comes to your loveliness.”
There were further compliments and long talks followed by a walk before being returned home.
*****
For once, she was starting to be treated less like an undesirable in her home and more on par with her other sisters by her mother. Having gained the notice of a man worthy in her mother’s eyes put her in better graces than her youngest sister, who had somehow managed to contract a malady in the past week.
“That girl. Has she any idea the cost of a physician? An expense we can ill-afford.” The girl’s mother complained over dinner.
Though she was quite sure Catherine wouldn’t give her the same consideration, Charlotte felt obligated to say something in her defense. “I’m sure it’s not her intention, mother. She did look quite ill.”
“That’s what happens when one is out at unsuitable hours with tradesmen! Their kind are riddled with pox and who knows what ailments.” She grumbled.
It wouldn’t have gone very far to have countered her on that account; though they may have been descended from gentry, the truth of the matter was that there were many tradesmen living far more comfortably, and within their means at that. As it was, they were dining on a very thin broth that was supposed to pass for soup as starters. Charlotte suspected that the main course would be thinly cut and low quality meat, a compromise required for expenses incurred during extravagant shopping sprees. Though she had gone shopping with Frances herself, she had kept her budget extremely tight and was mostly along for the company.
As they sipped their broth, the doctor came down from their rooms. “A touch of stomach ailment.” He informed the women. “I’ve provided her with medication that will, I have no doubt, help her to mend quickly.”
“You are too kind, Doctor Scarborough.” Mother said in a too-friendly manner.
The bachelor nodded in reply and looked to Charlotte. “Mistress Charlotte, will you see me to the door?”
As the young woman took him to the entrance of their cottage, his voice turned serious. “Did you refer a man by the name of Captain Howard Bannister to me, by chance?”
“Oh yes!” She said, brightening at the mention of his name. “There was a problem with his leg.”
He shook his head. “He did come to see me and refused every examination. I was under the impression that he was bound by you for to make a visitation and it was the only reason he came to call. I saw him in my waiting room, spoke with him briefly, and he showed himself out in haste. Too much haste, I should say.”
“Too much haste?” She felt confused. “I don’t understand.”
“His pace kept changing, as did the way he favored his leg. I’ll be frank because I care for you girls; I’ve known you since you were just a babe. I’d stake my reputation that he was faking his discomfort. To what end, I can not say, but I felt you should know.
”
*****
Though she was accustomed to some degree of social exchange through the mail, it was a great surprise to Charlotte when she received a letter from none other than His Grace, the Duke of Dorset, George Mandeville. She had been sure she’d seen the last of him at the baths. Men of such high station would usually keep to their own kind.
When her mother handed the letter over, there was a look of faint amusement about her in doing so. “Someone has been setting their sights upon a lofty goal.” She murmured, then went away without a further word. She left before she could hear Charlotte scoff at the notion.
Though it was unusual, it would be rude not to open it. She went to the family’s modest sitting room, a room well-stocked with books collected by her father and settled in. The paper was clearly expensive and, she was pleased to see, his penmanship immaculate. She unfolded the letter fully and began to read.
ROMANCE: His Reluctant Heart (Historical Western Victorian Romance) (Historical Mail Order Bride Romance Fantasy Short Stories) Page 117
