Chapter X
A week after the ball, Rosings was back to its usual state – still grandiose as ever, but darker, quieter, even peaceful.
It was rendered especially so since Lady Catherine and her daughter, along with Mrs Jenkinson and several staff, had decamped to London for a fortnight.
The reason for this was ostensibly for Lady Catherine to see a particular physician, but her true motive was rather more intriguing.
At the ball, Miss Anne de Bourgh had caught the eye of a certain Lord Chartwell – a respectable, genteel man in his forties – and his affections had been returned.
January was not the ideal time for courtship, being outside of the social season, but Lady Catherine wished to move swiftly in the hopes of securing him.
This past year had seen a happy change in Anne’s condition and in her disposition.
How this had come about was not known; she had seen fewer doctors than ever and certainly been bled less often.
And yet, she walked outdoors more and had regained her appetite.
The states of panic that used to rule her seemed to come less frequently, and that, in itself, made her less prone to them.
Anne was on an upward cycle, which her mother was loathe to interfere with but could not help but take advantage of.
Lady Catherine had long grown reconciled to the idea that her daughter would live alongside her at Rosings in respectable spinsterhood, but she had recognised the change in Anne, and acted upon it.
Her design in throwing a ball had not been to satisfy the whim of Mr Smithson, as Charlotte had thought, but to display her daughter to a generation of eligible men yet to meet her.
It was a successful scheme; there was much interest, and, after sifting out the mercenary, the dull and the poor, her daughter had found Lord Chartwell. He was a handsome, wealthy widower, with a fine reputation, three estates and still a good head of hair.
This was an opportunity not to be wasted.
The carriages were packed, their London residence prepared, and they departed within the week with plans to linger – with dignity, naturally – in the vicinity of an eligible man.
Lady Catherine had done it before and it had worked then.
She had no qualms about repeating the scheme for her daughter.
Meanwhile, Charlotte was eager to renew her visits to Rosings to practise the pianoforte.
Preparations for the ball had so far delayed the possibility, but on the day after the household had departed for London, Charlotte headed to the great house and the staff, who knew her well by now, let her in the back door without fuss, as she wished.
As she made her way up the stairs discreetly, she could not help but wonder whether she would encounter the colonel.
She did not think it very likely, her being tucked away upstairs, and he being, presumably, occupied downstairs.
But it was possible, and while it was not her intention on this visit, she found it hard to erase him from her thoughts.
She arrived at Mrs Jenkinson’s room and, making her way to the small pianoforte, she removed her coat and bonnet, placing them to one side. She peeled off her gloves and lay them on the top of the instrument.
Leafing through the music in the cupboard, she found a sonata in C sharp minor by Beethoven, a piece she had enjoyed playing a number of times before.
It was slow and sombre, well-suited to deep winter, but also rich and romantic to her ears.
She placed the sheets on the stand and sat down on the long piano stool, arranging her skirts and making herself comfortable.
Her fingers found the keys as though no time had passed and, as the melody built, she allowed her eyes to close; she knew the notes well enough now not to need the sheets.
She lost herself in the music, her body swaying with the movement of the melody as she felt herself drawn in by something deep and instinctive.
As she approached the middle section, she opened her eyes and saw Colonel Fitzwilliam standing in the doorway, openly watching her. She was not startled by it; perhaps she had felt his eyes on her. She kept on playing, enjoying the sensation of being observed while indulging in this passion.
He slowly moved towards her. She did not look at him but at the keys. He sat next to her on the stool, and she paused.
‘Keep playing,’ he whispered gruffly in her ear as he leant closer towards her. ‘Please’.
She did so, and as her fingers found the keys, he moved closer still to kiss the back of her neck, his arms moving about her waist. She struggled to continue, her breaths coming faster now.
He could sense the growing excitement in her, and it served only to increase his own; his hands gripped her tighter; his kisses became more urgent.
As her hands rested on the final chords, his own heavy hands touched hers, pressing between her fingers, until they clutched together at the keyboard.
She turned to him then, and he kissed her, lightly at first and then with increasing urgency.
A dissonant chord sounded as she mashed the piano keys, before pulling her hands away and threading her fingers through his hair, hungry for him.
They both became aware that a servant could discover them at any moment. Fitzwilliam rose to shut the door, but as he reached the threshold, he paused, looking across the landing and then back at Charlotte. He pointed at a door on the opposite side of the landing.
‘Those are my rooms,’ he said simply. He was not asking but offering.
Charlotte looked at his closed door and then back at him.
He returned to the piano, sitting again next to her.
His blue eyes met hers with a softness that she appreciated.
Where previously there had been fire – an urgency that had guided their hands, their lips, their every movement – in this moment there was something quieter, steadier.
What she read in his expression was a fierce desire but also something gentle and tender.
His eyes seemed to say, There is no rush.
She took a moment to consider, her desire tempered by self-consciousness. ‘It has been a long time since I… practised,’ she said quietly.
He nodded, stroking the hair from her face. ‘Then we can wait.’
He held her tightly for a moment, then left her at the piano, walked slowly to his room and pulled the door to. It was her choice. She could stay here, continue playing and then return to Hunsford. Or she could cross the landing and open a door.