Charles: To Discover His Purpose (Other Pens, Mansfield Park Book 2)

by Leenie Brown

  “Whatever you are pondering, stop,” said Linton as he took the seat next to Charles.

  “Who said I was pondering anything beyond the delightful acting I shall experience this evening?”

  “You are wearing a very calculating grin for one contemplating actors prancing about the stage.” Linton was wearing a disapproving scowl, which was not an unusual expression for him to wear when conversing with Charles.

  “Very well, I shall attempt to school my features into something more serious and fitting for a comedic play.” He kept his tone light and teasing in reply and earned a deepening of Linton’s scowl for his efforts, just as he knew he would. It was surprising how tolerant Trefor Linton could be of his foolishness.

  “You should just stop planning whatever it is you are planning.”

  “Shhh,” Constance scolded from behind them. “It is about to start.”

  With a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, Linton took heed of his sister’s words, which caused Charles to follow suit and fall silent.

  Moments after the play began, Charles completely forgot to think about how he could sway the Barrett ladies to his favour as he became engrossed in the tangled web of deceit playing out on the stage below him. As the curtain dropped at the end of the first act, he stretched his legs out as much as the space would allow him and tilted his head from side to side as he brought his sensibilities back to the present.

  “Are you enjoying the diversion?” Evelyn asked, leaning forward.

  He turned his head and smiled. “Immensely.”

  “I am glad. Mrs. Malaprop is horrid to Lydia, is she not? And her misuse of words!” Her beautiful pink lips slid into an amused smile. “It is rather funny, is it not?”

  “Indeed, she is horrid, and it is humorous.” He leaned toward her. “We are fortunate that there is a chandelier here to keep this corner of the box so well lit, for if it were not there, I would not be allowed to speak to you. As it is, your mother is glaring at me as much as Mrs. Malaprop might glare at Ensign Beverley despite the light the candles provide.”

  “She is not pleased with me,” Evelyn admitted.

  “Then, we have that in common,” Charles replied with a laugh, “for I dare say she is not pleased with me either.” Not that it was an unusual thing for guardians of young ladies to be displeased with Charles. He was nearly immune to their censure. However, in this instance, he was going to have to be concerned with Mrs. Barrett’s disapproving looks, for he needed to change them. He would, before the end of the month, see her welcoming him with something less like a scowl. He would strive for a smile, but he was not certain a lady so severe as Mrs. Barrett ever welcomed anyone with a smile. He would have to watch her. It was the only way to learn of what she approved and disapproved. Speaking to her daughter was on the disapproved list, but that really was not an action he could avoid. He must speak to Miss Barrett if he ever hoped to sway her heart toward caring for him.

  “She does not approve of you.”

  “Not many mothers do.”

  “Why?”

  Charles smiled. “My reputation is not completely the work of fancy, my dear.”

  Miss Barrett’s scowl was much more becoming than that of her mother. Charles found he did not mind such a look from Evelyn. She would likely look charming wielding a broom and shouting her displeasure. Her features were just so well-proportioned. Her eyes were such a lovely shade of green and her lips, ah, her lips. Was there ever a set of lips more perfectly shaped into a bow of pink?

  “But why do you insist upon behaving in such a fashion?” Her eyes grew wide, and she looked over her shoulder at her mother. “Do not answer that. Pretend it was never spoken. I have already lost one day of callers; I do not wish to lose a full week.”

  “Lost a day of callers?” Charles questioned in surprise.

  “Shhh.” Evelyn’s reply was quick and accompanied by another hasty look toward her mother.

  “I should not have said that,” she whispered. “I promise you I do not speak so freely around everyone.” Her head shook slightly from side to side in self-reproach.

  “See, it is as I said. I am special,” he quipped.

  One of her lovely brows rose. “Or you are as annoying as my brother, and I believe that is the more accurate conclusion.”

  “Whatever you must tell yourself.”

  She gasped, folded her arms, and leaned back in her seat.

  “Take care,” Linton murmured beside him.

  Charles inclined his head in acceptance of the warning before glancing over his shoulder again at those behind him. Mrs. Barrett was still looking at him in a wary fashion. Constance had leaned toward her friend and was discussing something in a whispered tone behind her fan while Henry caught his eye and raised a brow. It seemed that the only one not questioning his intent in talking with Miss Barrett was Mrs. Kendrick, who actually smiled at him. However, that might have been the most startling response of all since she often greeted him with less civility than Mrs. Barrett was currently displaying.

  He would have to tread carefully and for the remainder of the play he did. In fact, the rest of the evening was rather uneventful. There were no arguments or raised brows. There were no pretty scowls or exasperated huffs. Conversation between acts turned to the mundane. Mrs. Barrett relaxed, Linton appeared to be enjoying himself if his smile was any indication, and Charles grew restless.

  “How do you keep yourself?” Evelyn asked when they were finally rising to leave.

  “I am not certain I understand your meaning,” Charles replied.

  “What do you do for entertainment during the day?” Her eyes narrowed, and she shook her head as he smiled slowly in answer. “Sleep.”

  He chuckled for it was not a question but rather an answer – one that she was making for him.

  “You should consider doing something with your time other than sleeping,” she said. Then, as her mother’s eyes narrowed at her, Evelyn dipped a curtsey. “I am delighted that you were able to have a night of entertainment rather than sitting alone at home, Mr. Edwards.” She moved to leave but then turned back. “There are many things you could do, you know? There are a variety of good causes which could use your support, and it is much more fulfilling than sleeping your life away.” She dipped one more curtsey, gave Constance a hug, thanked Trefor for the opportunity to attend the theatre, and scooted after her mother.

  He paused, and his brows furrowed. It seemed that there was another person besides Trefor Linton who thought he could be more than he currently was. A strange feeling very akin to satisfaction crept over him.

  “Whatever you are thinking, stop,” Linton said.

  “Must you always assume that my mind is constantly engaged in plotting the scandalous?”

  “Is it not usually so engaged?”

  Charles shrugged. He did spend an excessive amount of time plotting pleasure, but not this time. Well, not directly. Kissing Miss Barrett would be pleasurable, and that was his aim, was it not? However, there was no need to shatter Linton’s vision of him. So, he affected an easy smile and said, “I was merely pondering Miss Barrett’s advice. It is similar to what you told me earlier about continuing to behave nobly, and I find I must consider discovering a charity in need of a handsome benefactor.”

  “An action is only noble if it is performed for the right reason,” said Mrs. Kendrick.

  Ah, there was the disapproval he was more familiar with from her.

  “Your helping Henry was noble because you did it out of the goodness of your heart for a friend.”

  Her brow rose, both challenging him to refute her if he dared and letting him know that she did not believe his actions in helping Henry had been altogether pure.

  “Continue down that vein, and you will do well.” Mrs. Kendrick’s head tipped to the side. “Serving only yourself by behaving nobly will lead to naught more than heartache.” Her lips curled into a small smirk, and her eyes twinkled. “Ask Mr. Crawford. It was only after he learned
to care for someone more than himself that he found himself satisfied.”

  Mr. Crawford was too busy kissing his lady’s fingers to be bothered with such a question, which, Charles supposed, was the answer Mrs. Kendrick wished him to receive.

  “Duly noted,” he replied.

  Mrs. Kendrick tipped her head and studied him. Then with a small sigh, as if she could read his thoughts regarding his intentions and knew that they were less than honourable, she instructed Trefor to give her his arm.

  Chapter 4

  “I thought you might not be here tonight.” Constance wrapped her arm around Evelyn’s as they stood together at the edge of the ballroom.

  “I was nearly forbidden,” Evelyn replied. “Mother was not pleased that I was civil to Mr. Edwards last night.”

  Constance chuckled. “Civil?”

  Evelyn shrugged. “Mother called it being overly friendly. I considered my actions appropriately civil.”

  “You did not argue with her, did you?”

  “I am here, am I not?”

  “Then you did not argue?”

  Evelyn shook her head. “I did not dare. It was not easy, I can assure you, but I remained silent and only nodded my agreement.”

  Her mother had gone on and on about speaking to Mr. Edwards for a full ten minutes when they were in the carriage. Evelyn’s tongue was still tender from having held it between her teeth for that long. However, it was a small discomfort that could be overlooked if it kept her from being confined to home rather than here with Constance.

  “She feared that someone saw us speaking in our box,” Evelyn added.

  “That is possible,” Constance replied.

  “He was sitting next to your brother, and I was not the only one to speak to him. I do not know why my mother must assume that one word spoken to Mr. Edwards will ruin me forever.” She shook her head.

  “Do you like him?”

  “What? No! Why should you think that?” Had everyone lost all sense when it came to Mr. Edwards?

  “I was merely curious.”

  Constance looked away. It was a sign to Evelyn that her friend was not being completely honest.

  “Why are you curious?” Evelyn asked.

  “Why are you trying to encourage him to take on a charity?”

  Evelyn had been wondering that very thing herself. “I do not know,” she answered honestly. “Mother said that he is a ship without a mast, just floating along without purpose.” She turned to face her friend. “How can anyone – anyone – be content to live like that?”

  Constance laughed. “You are not attempting to reform him, are you? Not everyone feels the same need you do to be involved in so many projects.”

  “You do.”

  “Not as much as you. I enjoy a project, but one at a time is enough for me. You, on the other hand, would be bored without at least three projects in progress and another two in waiting.”

  It was true. Evelyn loved to be busy, and she relished the feeling of accomplishment she felt when she had bettered someone else’s life.

  “Do not make him a project,” Constance whispered.

  “You are a fine one to talk,” Evelyn muttered. Constance had taken on Mr. Crawford as a project, which was why she was now betrothed to the man. Evelyn, who had been considering saying more on the subject, snapped her mouth closed. Constance was probably right. Such a thing could be dangerous. “I do not intend to make him a project, I merely suggested he consider doing something with his life. I will do no more.”

  Evelyn smiled at her friend, who did not look convinced. “Now, who shall I dance with first?”

  “Not Henry,” Constance replied, “although you may claim him for the second set if you wish.”

  “Only if he asks me before Mother has promised me for every set.” She nodded toward where her mother and Constance’s aunt were talking with some gentlemen. “I do hope Mr. Marsh arrives before I am signed away,” she added as they moved toward her mother.

  “Do you really wish for him to make an offer?” Constance whispered.

  “I believe I do,” Evelyn whispered back. “He is a fine gentleman, and he supports my charity work. And,” she dropped her voice lower, “accepting an offer would finally bring me my own home.”

  She loved her mother dearly, but Evelyn had to admit that the last two years had been trying. When she wished to go right, her mother demanded they go left. Not actually left, but it was as if they disagreed far more often than they agreed.

  Mr. Marsh seemed the best option to restore her former happy relationship with her mother, for not only did Evelyn approve of the gentleman, so did her mother. And her mother would make certain that her father also approved. How she wished that her father could be here to meet the gentlemen who called on her and asked her to dance, but he could not be. He would know precisely which gentleman would be the best choice, for she and her father were, as Evelyn’s mother always said, kindred spirits. However, he was not able to travel to London and was instead at their estate with her younger brother to aid him in recovering from a riding accident that had left him unable to use his right arm until his shoulder healed.

  “Has every dance been claimed?” Evelyn asked as they reached her mother and Mrs. Kendrick.

  “Oh, I did not accept on your behalf, but I think you will be a very popular partner tonight.” Mrs. Barrett looked excessively pleased with herself. She leaned toward her daughter. “I did intimate to Mr. Marsh that you were all anticipation to see him.”

  “Mama,” Evelyn chided. “I shall be happy to see him, but do not make it sound as if it is more. He is here?”

  “He is, and why should it not be more,” her mother replied. “You are not throwing him over for some rapscallion, are you?”

  Evelyn knew precisely about whom her mother was speaking. “No, Mother, I am not throwing him over at all.” Although she had to admit that the more her mother approved so forcefully, the more she longed to be able to throw over Mr. Marsh. However, spiting one’s mother was not an acceptable reason to pass over a perfectly good choice.

  Her mother drew a deep breath through her nose and released it slowly. “See that you do not.”

  “Miss Barrett,” the very rapscallion to whom her mother had been referring appeared before them at the side of his friend, Henry Crawford, “have you been claimed for the first set?”

  “Not officially,” her mother answered, “but I did give a gentleman hope that he would have it. Had Evelyn been present, she would be engaged.”

  “That is a travesty,” said Charles. “I shall not discourage such an arrangement.” He moved to take up a relaxed spot standing with them and looking out at the ballroom.

  Her mother’s brows furrowed. “At what are you playing?” she demanded.

  “Mama,” Evelyn pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. She knew better than to scold anyone in public – especially her own mother. However, her mother’s reply had startled her, and the word flew from her mouth before her brain could think better of it.

  “I am not in favour of your dancing with Mr. Edwards,” her mother said plainly. “However, I do know that you cannot refuse and still accept others.”

  “There will be no dark corners,” Mr. Edwards replied. “The ballroom is spectacularly lit. Not a shadow to be seen, and I have looked.”

  Mrs. Barrett’s lips pursed and one brow rose.

  “He is an honest scamp, at least,” said Mrs. Kendrick.

  “Not always,” Mr. Edwards replied with a grin.

  “My question stands. At what are you playing?”

  “In a few week’s time, my good friend is to marry your daughter’s good friend, and I think it would be a right proper thing if Miss Barrett and I were at least able to speak to each other since it is quite likely that we shall be tossed into company on occasion after the happy event occurs. Therefore, I think it a most excellent plan to allow you to see that I can indeed treat your daughter with the respect you require, and she deserves. This,” he m
ade a sweeping motion toward the dance floor, “seems a good place to begin, what with all the chandeliers and all.” He shrugged. “I shall await to see if she is claimed for the first dance and then petition her for another. However, if she is not claimed as you hope, I shall offer my services, so that she will not be left standing, and then, I may quit this soiree since my purpose in attending will be complete.”

  “You came just to dance with me?” Evelyn was not certain if she should be impressed by such a deed or worry about his mental faculties.

  “No, I came to dance with you and by dancing with you and behaving appropriately, demonstrate to your mother that I am not entirely without a moral compass.”

  Yes. She should likely worry about his mental faculties if he thought he could dissuade her mother from disliking him.

  “And,” he continued, “I have been considering what both you and Mr. Linton said last evening, and since you seem to know a great deal about charities, I thought you might be able to point me in the direction of one to which I might be of service.” He held up a hand and turned to Mrs. Kendrick. “I am not taking it on for any recognition from the masses of young ladies who will find it charming.” He shook his head. “I wish to see if I can tolerate the activity before I do that.”

  Most definitely it was his mental faculties at fault, for one in his right mind would not declare such before her mother and still think it was possible to convince her that he meant her daughter no harm.

  “Mr. Edwards,” Mrs. Barrett began, but the music started at that precise moment, and she forgot to continue as she looked around in what Evelyn thought was a rather frantic fashion for Mr. Marsh to appear.

  “What say you?” Mr. Edwards asked Mrs. Barrett. “May I request the first set from your daughter?”

  For a moment, Evelyn thought her mother was going to become physically ill as she looked utterly aghast at the question.

  “It matters not to me if he has the first or some other dance, Mama,” Evelyn whispered.