Chapter Eight
The mid-June weather was becoming ever more mild with green buds bursting on trees, and the scent of blossoms perfuming Haverstone’s gardens.
Charlotte felt quite settled into the daily routine.
If she and Dorothea were not staying in to receive visitors, they made calls to some of the more prominent families around the county.
Sometimes they went to visit a few of Haverstone’s more needy tenants, bringing baked goods, eggs, cornmeal, or preserved fruits to them.
“With planting still so new, my dear,” Dorothea had explained, “some families find these months are among the hungriest, if they were unable to put up enough food themselves to provide through the winter and into these first warm months. And should they not have chickens or ducks enough to keep them going, well, it can be difficult. I find a simple basket of some of the more necessary items can be quite beneficial until their own gardens start producing.”
With these few exceptions, Dorothea had kept her sister at home and out of the sight of eligible gentlemen until the new wardrobe she had ordered for her was complete.
Charlotte now had six new dresses—four morning and visiting dresses and two elaborate gowns for formal dinners.
The gown on order for the upcoming Haverstone ball was due to arrive soon, and while Charlotte felt her sister was being far too generous, when she brought it up, Dorothea simply replied that more might be ordered.
It all depended upon how many summer assemblies might be held.
Charlotte thought she would have been happy enough to just keep to the day-to-day routine at Haverstone and not attend any assemblies at all, but she knew it was not to be.
When there were no outings to be made and the weather was fine, Charlotte would ride one of Reginald’s horses around the countryside.
Although not a terribly good horsewoman—she almost never went at a full gallop—she did enjoy being able to travel farther afield than she could on foot.
Haverstone was such a large estate she felt she could only walk so far before knowing it was time to turn back.
Dorothea did not approve of Charlotte missing the midday meal.
One morning, Charlotte had awoken early, just as the sun was coming up.
Feeling unable to return to sleep, she decided to dress and go to the stables to ask that her favorite mare be saddled for a ride before breakfast. Soon, she was trotting across the fields on Nessie, moving toward the narrow road through the woods that divided the Haverstone and Brentwood estates.
Slowing her horse to a walk, Charlotte breathed in the rich, earthy odors of new growth.
Aside from an occasional bird call, it was quite still, and the silence of the forest felt like a comforting blanket as she rode along.
She wondered how anyone could be happy living in London with all the noise, dust, and unnatural scents.
Should she be successful and manage to avoid saying yes to any marriage proposal, Charlotte could imagine herself quite content shifting between Clayton House and Haverstone for the rest of her life.
As she came up to a blind corner, Charlotte heard the sound of a galloping horse but could not immediately discern whether the sound was coming from behind her or ahead of her.
She pulled on the reins to stop the mare and glanced back, seeing nothing.
She had just turned her attention forward when a large black stallion came rushing directly at her.
Unable to move her own horse in time, Charlotte gripped the reins and heard herself scream as the stallion came so near to her, her own horse shied and reared back, throwing her from her saddle onto a patch of thick ferns next to the road.
Charlotte lay still, trying to catch her breath.
Her mind raced as she took a quick inventory of her body.
Then, she moved a bit and felt no sharp pain anywhere—that must be a good sign.
She had not hit her head, either. It felt as though she had landed mostly on her right hip.
Still a little reluctant to try to rise just yet, she heard a voice.
“Good Lord, Miss Kendall, what on earth are you doing riding about at such an hour?”
She shifted her gaze to see Mr. Robert Morton standing above her, hands on his hips, and a disapproving expression on his face. A surge of anger flooded her and she spoke before thinking.
“A most peculiar kind of apology, sir, from one who raced so fast headlong into an utterly blind corner.” My word, where were the gentleman’s manners?
“I did not anticipate anyone would be on the road so early.” He continued to stand immobile, staring at her.
Charlotte shifted an elbow and forced herself to sit up. Would a true gentleman not have knelt beside her and tried to assist her? Or at least asked whether she were injured? She glared at him.
“And yet, there I was,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Which would be why one does not ride at such a pace through a blind corner. If this is your idea of good horsemanship, I would beg that you please advise me in the future as to your riding plans so that I may stay at home and avoid any risk to life and limb. To careen so recklessly on another man’s property is beyond belief. ”
“In point of fact, Miss Kendall, at this spot you are currently on the Brentwood estate. Indeed, it would behoove you to take more care when riding in unfamiliar territory.”
Charlotte’s mouth fell open. She shut it, checking the urge to point out again that he was riding too fast. It was now clear to her that he would not be apologizing in any way.
Nor would he offer his hand to assist her up, it seemed, so she finally pushed herself awkwardly to her feet, unable to keep from crying out as pain shot through her right hip.
There would be a large bruise there soon, she felt certain.
Her gasp at last brought about a slightly more sympathetic response.
“Miss Kendall, are you injured?”
“I hurt my right side when I fell. Or rather, when I was thrown off.”
“But nothing is broken?”
“It would appear not.”
“That is good. You should head back to Haverstone now. You will miss your breakfast.” He bowed curtly then turned to collect his horse, which stood a way down the road, munching on some tall grass.
Charlotte’s own horse was nowhere to be seen. And, it was clear Mr. Morton was either unaware of this, or simply did not care. She felt her anger rise again, and her manners disappear.
“My horse is gone, Mr. Morton—and I have injured my leg. Just how do you suggest I get back without her?” she shouted.
She hoped he might offer to let her have his horse, and yet she also feared the man might insist on riding with her back to Haverstone.
The very thought of having to touch such an odious man was utterly unsupportable.
She watched as he frowned, then mounted his stallion and looked up and down the path a moment.
He turned his steed back toward the direction he had come.
“Wait here,” he said as he rode past her, disappearing around the corner.
Alone, Charlotte gently checked herself for a better idea of her injuries.
The worst of it was her hip, but otherwise she was not too badly off.
Mostly, she was incensed at Mr. Morton’s lack of accountability for his actions—to say nothing of the absence of any sympathy.
He actually appeared annoyed at her for disrupting his ride.
After a few moments, Mr. Robert Morton returned, pulling her horse alongside his. He led the mare up to Charlotte and handed her the reins.
“I wish you a safe trip back to Haverstone, Miss Kendall,” he said with a brief nod. “I trust you can find your way?”
“Oh, I should not dream of imposing upon your good nature another minute, Mr. Morton,” Charlotte said in a voice that was both sweet and dripping in sarcasm. “I shall be perfectly fine, I assure you. Pray, do not give me another thought.”
“Good day to you then,” he replied, not even looking at her. He gave a cluck to his stallion and galloped off.
Charlotte stared after him. He did not even offer to assist her onto her horse.
Her right side was now aching to the point that she knew climbing back on would be near excruciating.
After her first few attempts to use the stirrup indeed proved too painful, she looked around and saw a tree stump by the side of the road.
Leading Nessie to it, she climbed onto the makeshift step to ease her remounting job, though she could not keep from hissing in pain.
She took a moment to collect herself.
“Odious man!” she cried in the direction he had gone.
Then, she turned Nessie around and slowly rode home.