Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The dinner passed uneventfully. The conversation was stilted and formal - a clashing of two worlds. Despite the mention of Charlotte's mother's royal connection, they really had very little in common with the aristocrats around them. New money and old did not easily mix, and while Charlotte's father talked of business opportunities in the Orient, it was clear he had little in common with those for whom wealth was merely a matter of birth.

Charlotte sat next to the earl. His conversation was pleasant enough, though somewhat stilted and formal. But it was the fact of Olivia's watchful eye that most disturbed the ease of being in one another's company. She did not take her eyes off the earl for the entirety of the meal, and when at last they retired for coffee to the drawing room, it was with much relief Charlotte escaped her gaze.

"Well, what did you talk about over dinner?" Charlotte's mother whispered as she joined in a corner of the drawing room.

The earl and Olivia had disappeared, and Charlotte could only imagine the daughter of the Earl of Burton-Upon-Trent was chastising him for deigning to choose a woman like Charlotte as his match. It was a curious situation, but as the evening had unfolded, Charlotte had come to the conclusion that there was more between the earl and Olivia than mere friendship, thus deepening the mystery as to why the earl should want to pursue a match with Charlotte herself.

"Nothing much," Charlotte replied, for the conversation had not reached the depth she would have liked - Olivia's gaze had prevented it, and the earl's discomfort had been obvious, even as he had tried hard to disguise it.

"Well… seek him out now. I don't know much about the earl's daughter. But I'd say she's jealous," Charlotte's mother said, and Charlotte sighed.

She had not come to Downside that evening to play games. The earl was not being honest with her - or so it seemed. For once, she agreed with her mother, and nodding, Charlotte excused herself, and went in search of the earl and Olivia. She found them outside - their tones hushed, though heated.

"I just don't know what you think you're doing, Jacob. It's ridiculous. There must be another way," Olivia was saying, as Charlotte approached the pair, who were standing out on the terrace.

It was still light outside, the last of the evening sun casting long shadows across the garden, and a warm glow on the sandstone of the terrace. Her footsteps caused them both to look up, and Jacob blushed as Olivia scowled.

"Forgive me, Miss Davidson, I was just about to return to the drawing room. Olivia and I were just…" the earl began, but Olivia interrupted him.

"We were just finishing," she said, and now she stormed away, glaring at Charlotte as she passed.

Charlotte did not know what she had done wrong - except be another woman. Perhaps that was enough, for she had read enough novels to know the anger of a woman spurned. But if that was the case, why had Jacob led her on in this way? It was all very peculiar, and Charlotte could not begin to understand why Jacob had done what he had done in making the arrangement with her father.

"Was I interrupting something?" she asked, and the earl blushed.

"No… you'll have to forgive Olivia, she… well, we've been friends since childhood. She's… protective," he said, and Charlotte raised her eyebrows.

"She seems more than protective," she retorted, for Charlotte did not think it fair to find herself the object of Olivia's anger and jealousy.

She had done nothing to court the earl's affections. She did not want to marry him - the match was being forced on her by her parents, and if the earl wanted to marry her, he needed to try harder.

"Yes, well… I suppose it's… did you enjoy the dinner?" he asked, and it seemed the subject of Olivia was a difficult one for him.

Perhaps he, too, had feelings for her, but if that was the case, why did he not just marry her, rather than allow this bizarre triangle to emerge?

"Not particularly. Not with her looking at me all the time," Charlotte replied, and the earl blushed.

"I'm sorry, Miss Davidson. This must all feel rather… unsatisfactory to you," he said, but Charlotte shook her head.

It was not unsatisfactory - she had no expectations as to how it should be. Rather, she simply felt confused, not knowing why the earl should want to marry her, nor what his motivations were.

"Not really. I just don't understand why I'm here," Charlotte replied, shrugging her shoulders.

"Well… because your father and I came to an arrangement, that's why," the earl replied.

His tone was almost dismissive - matter of fact - and Charlotte looked at him curiously.

"But… I still don't understand why a man like you should want to marry a woman like me. I'm not titled. I don't come from an ancient family. We don't know one another. And we've spent the whole evening being awkwardly polite, and avoiding the one thing that actually needs explaining. Why am I here?" Charlotte asked.

She knew her mother would not like her speaking in such direct tones, but there was little point in avoiding the question. It had to be answered, and Charlotte had no intention of being backward in coming forward. She wanted a straight answer. That was what Isabella would have done, had this been one of Charlotte's own stories about her shepherdess heroine? The earl looked uncomfortable.

"It's not as simple as that. Your father and I have come to an arrangement. That's all. It's… for a mutual benefit. I do want to marry you," he said, the expression on his face changing - as though he was imploring her to agree.

"But I've never shown any interest in marriage," Charlotte replied.

It was not as though the earl might have become aware of her as a potential match. There were women in society who made a point of emphasizing their search for a husband - attending every social occasion possible, asking others to introduce them to potential matches, and even going so far as to seek out eligible bachelors for themselves in the hope of being chosen.

But Charlotte had never done this, nor did she have any intention of ever doing so. There was no reason for the earl to have chosen her over anyone else, and Charlotte had no desire to find herself in opposition to a more suitable match.

"Well… it hardly matters, does it? If we're to marry, then… you don't need to show an interest, do you? You've achieved what you hoped," he said, blushing, as Charlotte looked at him with a confused expression.

He was making no sense, and Charlotte could only imagine there was some further reason for his insistence on their marriage - something she was unaware of.

"But I've always felt I'd be constrained by marriage. I like to read all day, and to write - I'm writing a novel, and I wouldn't want anything to prevent me from finishing it, and writing more, too," Charlotte said.

She knew her mother had forbidden any mention of her novel writing, but if the earl was to marry her - and she was beginning to hope she might persuade him otherwise by speaking of those things she hoped he might find less attractive - he would have to know about her passions. Charlotte had no intention of being a wife who offered no opinion of her own and remained silent when her husband was speaking.

"I wouldn't stop you from writing. You can write all you want - and read, too. Why would I prevent it?" he asked.

In this, at least, Charlotte could take some heart. Perhaps she would find the earl a more agreeable companion than she had expected. But marriage was not a solitary pursuit - by its very definition - and if they were to be together, Charlotte hoped the earl would seek to share her passions and take an interest in those things she did not simply for pleasure, but because they were part of who she was.

"I suppose you wouldn't. I'm glad to hear it, but… I still can't quite believe one can just… make an arrangement. And what about your friend? What about Olivia?" Charlotte asked.

She was no longer holding back. She wanted to know the truth, and now the earl blushed and turned away, looking out over the garden, even as Charlotte persisted in her questioning.

"It really doesn't matter," he said, but Charlotte shook her head.

"But it does matter. Can't I know the truth about the two of you? You seem very much taken with each other . I'd have taken you for a courting couple if I hadn't known better. And it's clear she's jealous of me," Charlotte said.

It was the perfect plot for a novel and had she not been involved in it herself; Charlotte might well have given Isabella the task of unravelling such complexities amid the moors and mountains of the Scottish Highlands. The laird could so easily have any woman he desired, and there were, no doubt, many women who desired him, too.

The earl was the same, and Charlotte kept coming back to the question of why he had chosen her - the bookish spinster, over a woman like Olivia, with her sense of confidence and the aristocratic connections she had.

"Olivia… well, it's not what you think. She's different. I can't explain it. I don't want to explain it," the earl replied, shaking his head.

"Did she spurn you?" Charlotte asked, and now the earl appeared angry.

"I don't have to explain myself. It's really none of your business," he replied, and Charlotte rolled her eyes.

"Very well, I don't think there's much to say then, is there?" she replied.

It seemed futile for them to continue. What was the point if he could not be honest with her? Charlotte did not want to marry a man who was really in love with someone else - or with who someone else was in love, either. As far as she was concerned, there was no point in caring on the charade - whether an arrangement had been made or not.

"Look… please, Miss Davidson. I know this evening hasn't quite gone to plan, but… I'm sure once we get to know one another better, we'll both see the advantages of the match," he said.

Charlotte shrugged. She did not want to be impolite, but the situation was so bizarre - so contrived - as to seem almost impossible. The earl was attractive, and their conversation had been pleasant enough. But as for spending the rest of their lives together…

"I think I'll go back inside. It's getting a little chilly out here," Charlotte replied.

She wanted to go home - to shut herself away in her bedroom and forget all about real-life romance. It was nothing like her novels - there was nothing romantic about an arrangement between her father and a man who so clearly preferred another woman to her. If the match was to work, there had to be a great more to it than this…

"I'm sorry if I've offended you, Miss Davidson. It really wasn't my intention to do so. I hope you understand," the earl said, and Charlotte nodded.

"I'm not offended. I'm just rather confused. I think you need to discern your feelings for Olivia before anything further passes between us. I don't want to make an enemy of her," Charlotte said, and nodding to him, she turned to go back inside.

But as she did so, Charlotte caught her foot in the hem of her dress and stumbled forward. She would have fallen onto the hard paving of the terrace, but the earl darted forward, slipping his hand around her waist and catching her before she could fall.

"Are you all right?" he exclaimed, as Charlotte's heart skipped a beat, and she looked up at him, nodding, as their eyes met in a gaze.

"I… I must've stumbled," she said, as he helped her to her feet.

"Well… no harm done. You could've broken something if you'd fallen," he said, and Charlotte nodded.

She felt foolish for having stumbled - unable to walk in a straight line without getting her feet caught in the hem of her skirts - and yet the way he had caught her, the feel of his arm around her had brought with it a most unexpected feeling.

Charlotte had never known the touch of a man - not so spontaneously, at least. She had danced with men, but their arms around her waist had not made her feel like this. This was different - a feeling difficult to describe, a sudden rush of feeling, of affection, of attraction…

"Yes… I… well, I'm glad you were here to catch me. Thank you," she said, and he nodded.

"You should go inside if you're feeling cold," he said, and Charlotte nodded.

"Yes… excuse me," she said, and nodding to him, she turned and hurried off across the terrace, being careful to hold up her skirts, lest she should fall again.

Back inside, Charlotte found her parents were readying to depart. The earl appeared a few moments later from another door - tactfully, it seemed, choosing to make out as though the two of them had not just been alone together outside. Olivia was whispering to her father, and the Earl of Burton-Upon-Trent gave Charlotte a hard stare as the party said goodnight to one another.

"We're so glad to have made your acquaintance properly, my Lord. You must come and dine with us soon. And do call at Thrushcross Grange whenever you wish," Charlotte's mother said, as they said goodbye to the earl.

He smiled, taking Charlotte's hand in his and giving a curt bow.

"It's been a pleasure, Miss Davidson," he said, and Charlotte blushed.

"Truly so," she replied, for she had not expected to feel as she had done, and now she followed her parents out of the drawing room and into the hallway.

"Where were you before?" Charlotte's mother whispered.

"Oh… I was just taking the air outside. It was terribly stuffy in the drawing room. Didn't you think?" Charlotte asked, as Olivia and her father walked past them without a word.

The Dawsons called out a cheerful goodnight, and Charlotte's mother now led her out to their waiting carriage, followed by Charlotte's father, who had stayed a moment to talk to the earl.

"I hope you've made a good impression, Charlotte," her mother said, as they climbed into the carriage.

"I hope the earl made a good impression, too, mother," Charlotte replied, for impressions were a two-way matter.

Certainly, the earl had made a better impression than on their first encounter in the garden at Thrushcross Grange, but as for exciting her anticipation at the prospect of marriage, this second introduction had fallen short. Granted, there had been something–an unexpected feeling as he had held her in his arms. Charlotte had not expected it, but as for something more…

"Oh, Charlotte–it's up to you to make the impression. You didn't talk about… writing, did you?" her mother asked.

"And what if I did? Why shouldn't I talk about whatever I want? It's up to him to make an impression on me, isn't it? If I'm to marry him…" Charlotte replied.

‘If' was still the word she used. Charlotte had not made up her mind yet–and she felt certain the earl had not done so, either. It felt to Charlotte as though she had been thrust into a tryst. She had no wish to be a part of–that between the earl and Olivia. She still did not know what Olivia's intentions were–or those of the earl, either. Were they in love? Or was Olivia just toying with him?

And then there was the question of why the arrangement between her father and the earl had even been made–the earl had only told her it was for "mutual arrangement" and that had hardly endeared her to the idea. It was all very unsatisfactory, even as it seemed her mother and father had made their decision.

"You know what your father's said, Charlotte," her mother replied, raising her eyebrows.

But Charlotte had heard enough, and now she excused herself, telling her mother she was tired and was going to bed. But upstairs, shut away in her bedroom, and having sent Sara to bed, Charlotte took out the precious pages of her manuscript, escaping into the world of Isabella and the Scottish Highlands. She felt safe there–in control.

This was her world, and what happened there was up to her. It was comforting, and as her quill flowed freely across the page, and Isabella's story unfolded, Charlotte wished she, too, could have the same freedom as her Highland maid…