Springtime Pleasures (25 page)

She had raised her eyes and Mr Cole had caught her look. He had had the grace to blush. “Oh no. No.” He had cleared his throat again and his eyes had softened with even more of that terrible pity. “From Isabella.”

“Oh.” It was all she had been able to say. She had taken the letter and had been proud to see that her hands were not shaking.

He had bowed. “Goodbye, Miss Stanton. I wish you all the best.” And after another hesitation, “I am very sorry.”

She had nodded, and after a short moment, he had vanished into the whirl of happy party guests.

Charlie had sat, rubbing her thumb over the clear address on the outside of the letter.
Miss Carlotta Stanton
. Once she had broken the seal, she had found that the inside was another matter: here the handwriting was smudged and marred by blotches where the ink had spread—as if the author of the letter had been crying while she had been writing these lines.

My dear Charlie
, it had begun.
It is with a heavy heart that I write this letter which my cousin has promised to deliver to you. You must know how very, very dear you have become to me during these past few weeks, a true sister of the heart. How I have wished you would become—
The next few words were crossed out.—
My mother has forbidden me any further contact with you. I will, most likely, not be allowed to attend parties or balls where you will be present as well. I begged my mother to allow me to see you one last time, but she would have none of it. My heart breaks when I think of never seeing you again. You are my dearest friend in all the world—whatever shall I do without you? Oh, how I wish that we could escape to St. Cuthbert’s together! But it is not to be. I don’t know how I shall bear it. I don’t know how my brother will bear it.

My dear Charlie, goodbye. Goodbye.

Your loving friend forever,

Isabella

It was a good thing Charlie always carried a handkerchief in her pocket—another one of Miss Pinkerton’s worldly advices. After reading Isabella’s letter, she was in dire need of a hanky, and had added her own tears to her friend’s on the paper.

Charlie sighed, and despondently eyed the toes of her shoes that were peeking out underneath her dress. The next time the Dolmores were invited to a ball, she would plead some kind of malady and stay at home.

Just then the set ended.

Charlie spotted Cousin Caroline and Mr Clarke moving in her direction.

Charlie grimaced.

As if to underline her own failure to secure a proposal of marriage, Cousin Caroline had received just such a proposal only the day before—and now she simply glowed with happiness. Charlie hoped it was not just because of Mr Clarke’s future baronage.

“Is this not your cousin?” she heard him say. “Miss Stanton!”

Charlie stood. With considerable effort she made her lips curve into what she hoped was at least a resemblance of a smile. “Mr Clarke.” She curtsied.

“Would you care for some refreshments, Miss Stanton?” he asked. He was a good-looking man, of medium height, with brown hair and brown eyes. He was probably more at home in the country than in Town, though he cut no mean figure in his elegant evening clothes. “I have promised dear Caroline a lemonade after our very energetic dance.” He threw a smiling glance at his fiancée. “Let me get one for you as well.—And you, my dear—” He turned to Charlie’s cousin. “—why don’t you stay here with Miss Stanton and let me brave the crush in the refreshments room on my own?”

Blushing prettily, Cousin Caroline nodded and stepped next to Charlie. Together they two girls watched his retreating figure being swallowed up by the crowd.

“He seems a very kind man,” Charlie eventually remarked.

“Oh, he is,” the other girl said, her voice bright. But then she seemed to remember to whom she was talking. Her blush deepened, and with obvious signs of confusion, she sank down on a chair.

Suppressing a sigh, Charlie followed her example.

She twiddled her thumbs.

“Mr Clarke is very dashing, too,” she finally said.

Cousin Caroline turned towards her, her eyes sparkling. “Isn’t he? He is so very handsome.” Again, she cut herself short, and bit her lip.

In front of them, people moved up and down, while on the dance floor several couples formed for the next set.

Two young men with wine glasses positioned themselves almost in front of the two girls. Appreciatively, they eyed the female dancers.

“Mighty fine girl, that one.” He pointed with his glass.

“The red-haired one? Can’t miss that one in the dark!”

They guffawed—and a horrible sense of
déjà-vu
overcame Charlie.

“Oh dear,” she murmured. That was definitely something she did not need this evening.

“The dark-haired chit over there—nice figure.”

“Ah, but that face, dear chap, that
face
. Wouldn’t want to see such a face across the breakfast table for the rest of my life.”

“With a dowry of ten thousand pounds? What do you care for her face with that amount of money involved?”

Again, they laughed. Loudly. Obnoxiously.

“Did you see Clarke?”

Next to Charlie, Cousin Caroline stiffened.

“Bobbie Clarke? The poor fool. I’ve heard he’s been snatched up.”

“Quite right. By the Dolmore girl. Mother’s been hunting for a titled husband for her daughter for years—and it appears poor Bobbie fell into the trap.”

Feeling acutely embarrassed, Charlie threw a glance at her cousin. Caroline’s face had lost all colour. Indeed, she seemed close to tears. “I’m not just marrying him for his money nor for his title,” she whispered.

“Soon to be leg-shackled, poor Clarke.”

“He should have run faster.”

Again, they laughed, and quite suddenly, Charlie had had enough.

She gave Caroline’s arm a small pat. “Just wait for me here. I won’t be a minute.”

Determinedly, she strode forward, aiming for the narrow space between the two men. “Excuse me!” she called brightly, then barrelled past them. A shove with her elbow made one glass topple and empty its bright red contents over a snowy-white shirt.

“Wha—”

A foot anchored around the other man’s ankle, and a good pull, and then he landed on the floor with a loud crash.

All around them, heads turned.

Even some of the dancers craned their necks to see what the commotion was.

“Goodness me!” Charlie exclaimed brightly. “Are you foxed, gentlemen? Persons who can’t keep their spirits have no place in a ballroom, if you ask me.”

Somewhere a titter started. Soon, it moved around them like a giant wave.

Charlie turned to one of the matrons standing near her. “Did you see that? If you ask me, it is most shocking how young men behave these days!”

“Oh, my dear,” the lady said, reaching for Charlie’s hand. “I hope nothing has happened to you.”

“Well, I—”

The man on the floor had scrambled to his feet, amidst the crunch of broken glass. “I say!” he spluttered. “That… that damn chit—”

“Sir! You are forgetting yourself!” the lady snapped at him. “Making such a spectacle of yourselves! You should be ashamed!”

“It… it was she!” his friend protested, pointing at Charlie.

Charlie stared at him coldly. “Me? Don’t be ridiculous, sir. I am just a girl.” She turned to the matron. “Thank you so much for your assistance, my lady. It was most welcome.”

“Not at all.” Charlie’s hand was patted.

Charlie threw a glance over her shoulder at her cousin, who was watching her with wide eyes. Smiling, Charlie gave her a nod.

In the future these men would think twice before they gossiped about Miss Dolmore.

~*~

Any feeling of satisfaction Charlie might have felt over putting the two oafs in their place had fast fled by the time the family had come home from the ball in the early hours of the morning. Now Charlie sat in front of the looking glass in her room, brushing her hair and feeling the onset of a serious case of the blue devils.

Sighing, she stared into the mirror. Without her glasses, her face was a blur.
No sharp angles
, she thought. Perhaps this blurred Charlie-in-the-mirror was the respectable lady Charlie-outside-the-mirror could never hope to be. Blurred Charlie looked quite beautiful, with all the faults of the real Charlie erased. Indeed, not even the lack of a decent bosom was quite that apparent.

Sadness washed over her.

Blurred Charlie was probably not even a Charlie, but a nice Charlotte, a girl who had never shot either wild boars or highwaymen in all her life.

Charlotte was the girl who would have been considered suitable to become the Viscountess Chanderley.

I’ve never wanted to become a viscountess,
Charlie thought.
What do I care about his title, when it is the man I want?

A lone tear ran down her cheek.

Quickly, she dashed it away with the back of her hand, and put her spectacles back on. “Wretched pea-goose,” she muttered.

She looked into the mirror.

All the angles were back.

But this was her, the real Charlie. Sweet, blurred Charlotte didn’t exist—and if she did, Charlie suspected she wouldn’t have liked blurred Charlotte very much.

She sniffed, fighting back those stupid tears.

Blurred Charlotte would have never befriended Isabella. She would have never cheated at cards to win a phaeton for a day, and she would have never abducted Chanderley to cure him of his misguided guilt. Not that this had been of much use.

The guilt still devoured him. That was the reason why he was so desperate to comply with his parents’ wishes to find a
suitable
wife.

Charlie knew well enough that she was not particularly conventional by society’s standards. For the first time it occurred to her to wonder how Chanderley had thought to get away with marrying her. Sure, if they had not run into the dratted highwayman, Lady Lymfort might have believed her accomplished enough, but such a charade could not have gone on indefinitely. Had Chanderley really expected her to play the fine, meek young lady forever after?

She frowned.

If he had, it was the most idiotish scheme she had ever heard of.

She shook her head.

Surely he couldn’t have…

Deep in thought, she began to braid her hair for the night, and had just secured the ends when there was a knock at the door.

Charlie turned. “Yes?” she called out.

The door partly opened, and Cousin Caroline peeked around the wood. “I wasn’t sure whether you would already be in bed.”

“As you can see I’m not. Come in.” Charlie reached for her knitted shawl—a long ago present from Emma-Lee—and wrapped it around her shoulders.

Almost hesitantly, her cousin slipped into the room. When she had closed the door, she leaned her back against it. “That incident at the ball today—that was no accident, was it? You somehow tripped the two men and made them look foolish.”

“They had no business talking about your engagement in that manner.” Charlie hesitated one moment before she added, “I could see how hurt you were by their malicious gossip.”

Agitatedly, Cousin Caroline kneaded her own hands, and came further into the room. “But we didn’t have… I gave you no reason to…” She broke off, her brow creased.

Charlie shrugged. “It was malicious and insulting. I knew I could stop it, and so I did.” Even in the dim light of the candles she could see her cousin blush.

“I gave you no reason to do this, but I thank you.” Caroline studied her hands. “You must think me the most selfish miss, the way I behaved all Season. Mother and I were so desperate that another year would pass and I still would not receive a proposal of marriage.”

Charlie blew out her breath and rubbed her fingers over her lips. “And then I arrived on your doorstep, your unconventional cousin.” She couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of her voice. “You thought I would embarrass you and prevent you from forming an attachment.”

By now, Caroline’s face almost glowed with embarrassment. She swallowed. But, “I did,” she admitted.

“Well, and I
did
, too.” Charlie sighed. “Surely it will be only a matter of time until Lady Lymfort tells everybody that I shot a highwayman.”

Caroline’s eyes widened. “You did
what
?”

“He would have robbed us. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“But… but…You have a
gun
? How can you have a gun?”

“I did ask you about ammunition once, if you remember. I took it from another highwayman.” Charlie frowned. “Truly, the number of ruffians in this country is shocking!”

To her surprise, her cousin started to giggle, and then the giggles turned into outright laughter. She sat down on the side of the bed, snorting and chuckling and laughing until tears ran down her cheeks.

Charlie watched her with not an inconsiderable degree of alarm. What if Cousin Caroline had a fit of some sorts? This was
too
strange!

As her hilarity slowly subsided, her cousin brushed a hand over her cheeks. “Oh Carlotta!” she exclaimed. “This is beyond anything I have ever heard!” She chuckled again.

But then, all at once, her amusement fled, and her expression turned serious. “I wish we could have become friends.” A wistful smile crossed her face. “But perhaps you wouldn’t have liked me very much. We will never know, will we?”

Slowly, Charlie walked over to the bed and sank down next to her cousin. She gazed at the other girl. She supposed it must be rather awful, spending Season after Season waiting in vain to receive a proposal, becoming older and older and knowing that one’s time was running out. After all, each year a flock of fresh, young debutantes entered the marriage mart. Before she had come to London, she had had no idea how awful life could be here.

My splendid adventure.

“It would have been nice to be friends,” she finally said.

Caroline nodded. She glanced down at her hands, then looked up to meet Charlie’s eyes. “Do you know that Mother has secured a place for you as a governess for when this Season is over?”

The breath caught in Charlie’s throat.

“I have heard my parents argue about it.” Caroline returned to studying her hands. “Mother thinks it would be wasted money to sponsor you for another Season. She has persuaded Father that it would be best for everyone if…” She swallowed. “If you learnt how to make a living independent from the family. I am so very sorry.” She looked up again. “After what you did this evening, I felt I ought to tell you.”