Chapter Seven
Charlotte was tucked away in Haverstone’s vast library.
She sat in a comfortable chair in a far corner near a window staring at the summer rain pelting against the leaded panes.
A book lay in her lap, although she had not opened it.
It was mostly her excuse for being here; should anyone discover her, she would say she just felt in need of some solitary reading time.
The truth, however, was that she was hiding from Dorothea in an attempt to avoid any further discussion of her—how had her sister put it?
—“considerable lack of enthusiasm” toward the very eligible match who had joined them for dinner at Haverstone last evening.
She sighed, wishing she could have taken a long ramble around the estate rather than hide in the library, but today’s stormy weather had eliminated that option.
Following breakfast, where Dorothea gently, though repeatedly, expressed her disappointment in her sister’s behavior at dinner, Charlotte asked to be excused from going to the morning room where they usually sat and did needlework while awaiting any visitors who might come by.
“I have letters I wish to write, Sister, so I shall join you later if that is acceptable to you,” she had said. “With this rain, it is unlikely we shall have any callers this morning, in any event.”
The dubious expression on Dorothea’s face showed she was not entirely convinced of Charlotte’s excuse, but she merely nodded and went for her morning meeting with the housekeeper, Mrs. Danbury, to rehash the prior evening’s meal and set today’s menu.
Now, as Charlotte tucked her legs up comfortably beneath her and leaned into the back of the large, upholstered chair, she let her mind wander while she listened to the patter of rain on the window.
Last night’s dinner was not…horrible, she had to admit.
The two gentlemen were polite, good conversationalists, and certainly did not ignore her.
They both made an effort to draw her out—asking how she enjoyed this part of the country, how long it had been since she last visited her sister, and so on.
The younger brother, Frederick, was particularly more open and friendly in his manner, and Charlotte found it easy to smile and banter a bit with him.
Mr. Robert Morton, on the other hand, had been decidedly more standoffish.
Oh, there was nothing in particular he did or said that Charlotte could point to that could cause insult.
Perhaps being so tall and handsome, as well as the new owner of an impressive estate, made him naturally proud and reticent to converse with strangers.
But, Charlotte felt it more likely that he must have seen at once that she was the reason for the dinner invitation, and it had made him ill at ease.
With his reserved manner, he was clearly signaling that he did not wish for her or Dorothea to get their hopes up for any future romance.
Charlotte had discerned that nearly from the moment they met.
Therefore, she had decided she would do her best to temper her own behavior toward Mr. Morton that he might see there was no subterfuge at play, and that he had not been invited to dinner on the sole pretext to meet her.
Charlotte determined she would not give him any cause to think of her as eager to snare him into matrimony.
She would not flatter him or try to charm him in any way.
Indeed, she was careful not to even smile at him too much. His reaction had been a surprise.
She smiled now, recalling how her cool disinterest in him had utterly perplexed him.
It wouldn’t have killed her to be a little charming, she knew.
Perhaps she had gone too far, but at least he could be confident there was no interest on her side.
As for disappointing her sister? She would apologize to Dorothea later.
Lulled by the sound of the rain pattering on the windows, Charlotte’s eyes drooped, and she drifted off to sleep.
*
The book slid from Charlotte’s lap and fell with a loud thud onto the wooden floor, startling her awake. She blinked and glanced out the window to see the rain was still falling, though not as hard as before. What time was it?
She heard a few steps and a face peeked around a bookshelf. Mr. Frederick Morton! He smiled at her.
“Ah—you are awake at last, Miss Kendall. I have been wanting to look at some of the volumes in this particular section of your brother’s library. However, when I saw you sleeping so peacefully, I could not bear to disturb you.” He smiled, showing off his white, even teeth.
Charlotte noted his dark hair was tousled and appeared damp. Had he ridden over on horseback through this rain? Embarrassed at being discovered sleeping, she quickly stood, curtseyed, and smoothed her dress, avoiding his gaze.
“I…I did not mean to—that is, pray, forgive me, sir, for keeping you from your pleasure in exploring Reginald’s library.”
He gestured to the book that had fallen from her lap. “Is that the reason for your slumber?” Before she could respond, he bent and picked it up to examine the title. “Sonnets by William Wordsworth. One of my favorite poets. Do you enjoy poetry, Miss Kendall?”
He held the book out to her and, as she took it, their fingers touched briefly. He held the book a moment longer than needed, and she felt her face suddenly grow warm—gracious, what was wrong with her? Realizing he was waiting for a reply, she cleared her throat but kept her eyes fixed on the book.
“Oh, yes, I do. I do enjoy poetry, Mr. Morton. Wordsworth is a favorite. I appreciate how he encourages us to get in touch with nature.”
“Indeed,” Frederick agreed enthusiastically.
“He believes we cannot progress spiritually without being familiar with God’s great creation.
” He closed his eyes, concentrating to recite: “The world is too much with us. Late and soon, getting and spending we lay waste our powers. Little we see in Nature that is ours. We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon.” Opening his eyes, he grinned.
She returned his smile, recognizing his recitation as a means of demonstrating his admiration of Wordsworth and not an attempt to impress her.
There was something sincerely kind and genial about his manner.
Though not quite as handsome as his older brother—he was not as tall and did not have the same high cheekbones as Mr. Robert Morton did—but Charlotte still could find something to admire in Frederick’s light-brown eyes and his even features set in a fine complexion.
“Is that something you would advise your congregation to do, Mr. Morton?” she asked. “Perhaps you should give your sermons out of doors.”
To her surprise, he flushed and looked down.
“Oh, I cannot claim it as my congregation by any means, Miss Kendall. The reverend Mr. Peabody is firmly in charge. I just hope to learn as much as I can and be of use to him.” He shrugged.
“I must do my best, you see. There was a curate opening as I said last night but, truth be known, I was foisted upon him by my brother. Robert holds the advowson for the post, you see—even the bishop had little input. I do not fool myself that I was…that I am Mr. Peabody’s choice. ” He looked up apologetically.
Charlotte felt a pang of sympathy for the young curate and had to restrain herself from placing a comforting hand on his arm.
She tried to find some words of encouragement.
“Oh, but I am certain Mr. Morton would not have given you the position were you not absolutely ready. Did he not mention at dinner that you had top marks at university? You cannot be thought an…interloper, I am sure.” She tilted her chin and stared boldly into his eyes.
“I insist you let us know when you will give your first sermon. I wish to be there, and I am sure Dorothea and Reginald will wish it, too.”
“You are very kind,” he said softly.
Their eyes locked a moment, neither feeling the need to speak.
“There you are.”
Charlotte and Frederick took a startled step back from each other as Dorothea swept around the corner. Behind her trailed Charlotte’s niece, Lucy.
“Lucy and I have been looking for you for some time, Charlotte.” She walked over and possessively tucked her sister’s arm in her own. “How lovely to see you again, Mr. Morton. I was not aware you would be visiting us.”
“Forgive me, Lady Gillingham. After you and your sister left the dining room last night leaving the men to our brandy, I was bold enough to ask Lord Gillingham whether I might spend some time in Haverstone’s fine library.
” He pointed to the book Charlotte was holding.
“Miss Kendall and I were just discussing the poet Wordsworth.”
“How nice. Well, I am sure Charlotte has taken entirely too much of your time, so we shall leave you to your browsing, Mr. Morton. Good day.”
“Good day, Lady Gillingham, Miss Kendall.” He bowed.
Charlotte barely completed a curtsy before Dorothea pulled her swiftly from the room. Lucy lingered a moment, smiling shyly at Frederick, but hearing her mother’s call ran from the room.
Dorothea sent Lucy upstairs to the nursery and guided Charlotte to the morning room. Dorothea closed the door behind them and turned a concerned face to Charlotte.
“Do not waste your time with him, dear, despite his charming manners. I did not bring you all the way out here to attach yourself to a mere curate.”
“I was not…that is, I have no intention of forming an attachment with him, Dorothea,” Charlotte said. She looked down and realized she still held the book of sonnets. “It is just as he said, we were merely discussing poetry.”
Dorothea narrowed her eyes. “See to it that is all you do.”