CHAPTER FIVE

The following morning, Charlotte sat at her writing desk, quill in hand, hand poised over her journal. Her mind kept going back to her exchange in the gardens with the duke. When she awoke that morning, a few lines of poetry had appeared in her mind unbidden, and she had attempted to put pen to paper as a result.

It was decidedly difficult to capture. The softness and teasing spirit of the duke’s character seemed to escape her in words. It invoked a feeling more than anything else. She had enjoyed the dynamic between them, the give and take of it.

She reread the lines on the page.

The rose sits idle in the storm

where raindrops mar its perfect form

the sunlight’s glow has long since fled

and here I wait for you instead.

She frowned at it. Have I truly written in such romantic tones this morning? She scratched it out, embarrassed by her wayward thoughts, especially for a man she barely knew and had exchanged but a few sentences with.

There was a welcome knock at the door, throwing her out of her musings, and she bid them to enter eagerly. Sarah came into the room, smiling at her as she advanced, leaving the door open behind her.

“Good morning, Charlotte. Have you forgotten our appointment?”

Charlotte rose, raising her eyebrows. “Was I required somewhere? Oh heavens, I was caught up with my writing. I am not used to the rigours of town life.”

Sarah was all amusement as she hunched a shoulder and gave a telling sigh. “I had a feeling you were not listening to me in the carriage ride home.”

“Nonsense! I always listen to everything you say.”

Sarah chuckled. “Very well. What did I say in the carriage last evening?”

Charlotte paused, watching her companion carefully. Sarah now had a gleam in her eye. “Perhaps that we had an arrangement for today?”

Sarah sighed again and shook her head. “You are a hopeless liar, Charlotte. I thought I had taught you better.”

“Very well, I suppose I was not listening.” My mind was on a certain duke who I cannot push from my thoughts. “Of what have I forgotten?”

“Lady Norwell and Lavinia Norwell invited us to tea this afternoon.”

Charlotte scratched awkwardly at her sleeve, unaccustomed to having such pressing engagements upon her time. Since her mother’s death, she had often bemoaned her lack of social invitations, but now that she was back in society, she rather resented not having her customary time to write.

“Very well,” she said as Sarah smiled at her fondly. “I shall be ready within half an hour. Have you informed me in plenty of time, as usual?”

“I have. I rather thought you would be distracted this morning. I trust you enjoyed the ball?”

Charlotte felt an infuriating blush rise up her neck, making her feel very hot indeed. She glowered at her friend when Sarah tittered happily and left the room to let her get changed.

Honestly, Charlotte thought tenderly, I do not know why I keep her on.

***

On the other side of London, Colin sat at the breakfast table with his mother, trying to keep his temper in check. The Dowager Duchess had actually written a list of eligible ladies who would be in attendance at their next soiree and had brought the list to the breakfast table.

The cook had created some sort of concoction of diced potatoes and shredded kippers, and he had been enjoying it a great deal until his mother had joined him.

She looked pale this morning and a little tired—never having acclimatized to the late nights of society functions. She didn’t travel well, and they had been required to stop on the way home as she felt very nauseous. As a result, she was in a peevish humour this morning and would brook no argument from anyone.

“Who on earth has made this tea?” she asked suddenly as she took a sip and grimaced expressively. “Hawkins!” the housekeeper was at her side in moments. “Dispose of this and make me a fresh pot if you please.”

Colin waited until the housekeeper had hurried from the room before attempting to admonish her. “Mama, the tea had been sitting at the table for twenty minutes before your arrival. It would have been well stewed. It is not Hawkins’ fault that it was too strong for your liking.”

“Nevertheless, the lady of the house should be brought her own pot of tea as soon as she arrives. That is what your future wife will expect. I believe the servants have become complacent at my presence.”

Colin finished his food and laid his fork down with a clatter, attracting yet another glowering expression from his mother as he finished his own cup of coffee.

“Mama, I thank you for your attentions on the marriage mart—there are few who could be so thorough, but I must beg to return to my work. I wish you a pleasant morning.”

He rose from the table, his mother’s irritated gaze following him out of the room. Closing the door, he breathed a sigh of relief, surprised to be grateful to be escaping to the ledgers upon his desk.

But by the end of the morning, that sentiment was long since forgotten. His hair was sticking up at odd angles, and his eyes were aching from reading and re-reading the number of invoices and letters of account that he had found. The one good thing he could say of his father was that the duke kept almost all correspondence, however small it might be. There were receipts for everything, from carriages to candle wax.

Colin felt reassured by the presence of such trivial items. It suggested his father had good intentions for his business dealings—why else would he have kept the evidence of his wrongdoing if he did not believe it legitimate? Any man who wished to conceal the idiosyncrasies of his filing system would have burned the lot so as to conceal its true nature. Colin would be more suspicious if there were not as much paperwork to be found.

Even still, every item he discovered of a new investment or agreement that did not make any profit, or an amount of money lost felt like the ultimate betrayal. It was becoming increasingly clear that the duke had not maintained his affairs in the way in which he should.

Colin not only felt responsible for resolving it all, as well as paying any debts that were due, but was also conscious of the scandal that could follow. If the late duke were found to have been dishonest or investing in untrustworthy schemes, his own investors might pull their support from Colin’s plans for the estate. He was making some significant but overdue changes and had required capital to hire the equipment and labour. He had sought the money he needed from a variety of long-standing investors who his father had known for decades.

He swallowed; his hands clammy with sweat as he stared at the piles of paper before him. His father’s gaze in the portrait did not help reassure him, and Colin was minded to remove the picture altogether. His father’s face looking down on him only made him resent the man even more.

Papa spent his life reminding me of my duty, and here I find him neglecting his own.

In order to distract his mind, he stared at his father’s visage, trying to imagine what he could replace it with. Perhaps a picture of himself, he thought with a wry smile—would that not be the height of narcissism?

Strangely, the image of the moonlit young lady he had met the night before came to mind. He scoffed at the idiotic notion but found that he was unable to dispel the image. Her sharp, bright features had lingered in his mind for many hours after their short exchange. As he stared at the space above the fireplace, it occurred to him that she would look very well there.

She was so very unusual, he mused, remembering the feeling of calm he had felt in her presence.

Her smile had been quite genuine and came easily. Colin could not remember ever feeling so at ease around anyone in so short an amount of time. The feeling was a heady one for an instant, and he frowned at himself, irritated to have allowed his emotions to get the better of him.

I am in no position to be making the acquaintance of any lady with things as they stand, let alone one so pure and beautiful as she.

***

Charlotte and Sarah travelled through London’s streets in their carriage, looking out at the passers-by and the bright summer day unfolding before them.

Charlotte yearned to return to the country, with the rolling English hills around her, sitting on the bench in the sunshine, writing her journal. London was an exciting place to be, with new sights and sounds everywhere she looked, but as she observed the muddled and disordered streets surrounding her, the idea of a quiet library seemed all the more inviting.

It seemed to her that since she had entered the city, her chest had always been flurrying with agitation. She was anxious as they arrived at the Norwells, and that anxiety did not retreat even after they had been greeted by their hosts.

Lady Victoria Norwell was impossibly elegant, as ever, in a dress perfectly matched to the parlour they were led into. The room was mainly decorated in pale tones, with dark wooden furniture and several vases of flowers peppered about the room. The resulting odour was cloying.

Charlotte glanced at her faithful companion, who had never coped well with the advancement of the seasons, only to find her eyes watering excessively as she attempted to stem the flow of her nose with a handkerchief.

They were seated on a large white sofa in front of some high windows that looked out onto a pleasant courtyard below. Lady Norwell and Lady Lavinia Norwell sat down opposite them. They appeared to Charlotte as twins might be, looking identical save for the advancement in years of the mother. Their expressions, too, were the same and had an odd quality where their smiles did not reach their eyes.

“It is such a pleasure to have you with us this morning,” Lady Norwell said expressively. She poured Charlotte and Sarah a cup of tea as Sarah sniffed discreetly behind her kerchief. Some beautiful cakes had been laid out for them to enjoy, and Charlotte took one politely, reminded of how fortunate they were to have such a skilled cook, especially when the sponge was exceedingly dry.

“Thank you for the invitation,” Charlotte said, placing the cake hurriedly on her saucer and looking to Lady Norwell. “Are you in town for the remainder of the season?”

“Indeed we are. Lavinia’s father will return at the end of August at which point we will travel to Derbyshire for the autumn.” Both ladies took a sip of their tea simultaneously. “And you, Lady Wentworth? Are you returned to us for the season?”

Charlotte nodded, trying to ignore the strange phrasing of the question.

“I am, yes.”

“I was so surprised to see you in London,” Lavinia cut in. “I had thought that you might return next season once you were out of mourning.”

There was an awkward pause, and then Lady Norwell leaned forward in her chair. “We were so terribly sorry to hear of your mother’s passing.”

Charlotte’s fingers tightened on the handle of her cup. “Thank you, Lady Norwell.”

“Did you care for your mother for a long period, Lady Wentworth?”

Lavinia seemed to be one of those people who could not absorb the atmosphere of a room particularly well. The tension that had arisen at the mention of her mother should, to Charlotte’s mind, have encouraged a change in topic. Instead, Lavinia’s eyes were gleaming with interest, and Charlotte’s heart sank at the idea of speaking of her mother. She had not grown accustomed to it and tended to avoid the topic for fear of weeping. She swallowed as Sarah moved slightly closer to her on the settee.

“Indeed. Almost three years.”

“Oh!” Lavinia cried, high-pitched and loud in the quiet room. “You must have made many sacrifices to care for her for such a length of time. How old were you when she fell ill?”

“Sixteen.”

“My goodness. Just a child. I am in awe of you, Lady Wentworth.” Lavinia placed down her cup, clutching her hand to her breast in the most ludicrous fashion. “I would never have thought anyone so selfless. So many in this world would not do as you have done. It is of great merit to your character.”

“Indeed.” Her mother said quickly, interjecting before Lavinia could extol Charlotte’s virtues anymore. “You are quite right, my dear. Lady Wentworth is to be much commended. How did you find your first ball following your return?”

“It must have been terribly difficult for you,” Lavinia continued. “I cannot imagine having been so quiet and still in the country for so many years and then to be thrust upon the season? I declare I should have been in a state of nervous disposition for weeks!”

Charlotte eyed Lavinia over the rim of her teacup. Either she was the most artless woman Charlotte had ever met, or she was very clever indeed at pretending she was a simpleton. Charlotte could not decide which it was.

“Thank you for your kindness in asking Lady Norwell. It was an adjustment, I freely admit that, but it was important for me to return before the end of the season. My father was hopeful that coming to town sooner rather than later would allow next season to be less unsettling.”

“Your father is absolutely right. He, too, should be commended for thinking of such things.” Lady Norwell gave her a simpering smile, picking up one of the cakes with her long fingers and chewing on it rather loudly as she smiled at Charlotte.

It was obvious, for the remainder of their visit, that neither lady felt it necessary to speak to or address Sarah at all during the interview. Charlotte was very pleased when they were able to escape into the confines of their carriage, and she could speak freely about how much she disliked them both.