Chapter Nine
By the time Charlotte returned to the great house, she was aching all over. The butler, barely able to disguise his shock over her disheveled appearance, informed her the family was in the breakfast room, and she reluctantly proceeded there, knowing the sight of her would upset the morning.
She saw Dorothea’s eyes widen as she limped into the room. Before anyone could speak, Charlotte said, “Pray, do not worry, I am well. I just took a tumble off Nessie on my morning ride.”
Her sister was at her side in an instant, leading her to a chair. “How did this happen? Nessie is the mildest of creatures. She would never bolt, would she, Reginald?”
“Never,” he replied, staring at Charlotte with concerned eyes. “Something must have spooked her.”
“Yes, that was it exactly, dear brother,” Charlotte said, attempting a light tone.
“A deer—yes, a doe jumped out right in front of us, and when Nessie reared back, I fell off. Fortunately, a bed of moss and ferns was my landing place, else I might have truly been injured. As it is, just my pride and my right side is affected, and I shall soon recover. I do long for a bath, though, Dorothea.”
“At once.” Dorothea went to the bell pull and gave a firm yank. When a footman appeared, she instructed him to tell Becca to order a hot bath for Miss Charlotte, as she assisted her sister out of the room.
“You needn’t leave your breakfast. I shall be fine,” Charlotte tried to assure her. The last thing she wanted was for Dorothea to see what was likely a large and already darkening bruise on her hip.
“Nonsense,” came the brisk answer. “Becca will be busy preparing the bath, so I can help you out of these dirty clothes and get you into your dressing gown. Perhaps we should send for our physician?”
“No need for that,” Charlotte said quickly. “I have no broken bones, I am certain. A few days of quiet here at Haverstone and I shall be right as rain.”
Upstairs, Charlotte steeled herself for Dorothea’s reaction as her dress and undergarments came off. As she had feared, Dorothea gave a shriek of dismay at the angry bruise on Charlotte’s hip and thigh.
“Oh, my dear—are you in terrible pain? That looks dreadful.”
Charlotte moved to the mirror standing in the corner to examine her injury. “It just pains me when I walk, or move, or stand,” she joked. She donned her robe and lowered herself onto a chair, unable to keep from wincing. “Add ‘or sit’ to that list. But, I shall be fine in due course, have no fear.”
“You will spend the day in bed to assist your recovery—possibly tomorrow, as well. Do not even think of contradicting me. I’ll have tea, toast, and marmalade sent up after your bath.”
At that moment, Becca poked her head into the bedroom to announce the water was ready.
“Get the witch hazel, too, Becca,” Dorothea said.
“It will help with the bruising.” Offering an arm to her sister, they moved into the dressing room.
“Where did this fall occur, Charlotte? How it pains me to think of you having to chase down Nessie, remount, and ride all the way back to Haverstone while so injured.”
“I was near Brentwood estate, I believe.”
Dorothea gasped. “So far? What if you had been more seriously injured? I shudder to imagine your striking your head and being rendered unconscious all alone out there. You might have gone unnoticed far too long at that hour in the morning. You must promise me never to ride alone so early again.”
Knowing a full explanation of her accident and who had caused it would simply make her sister fret even more, Charlotte simply murmured her agreement and stepped into the large, copper tub to soak away her pain.
*
Later that afternoon, Charlotte was in bed, reading to her niece, Lucy, when there was a knock at the door.
Before Charlotte could even speak, Dorothea entered, followed by a maid, holding a bouquet of hothouse flowers so enormous that Charlotte could not even see the face of the girl carrying them.
Dorothea directed the servant to set the flowers down on a table near the fireplace and dismissed her with a nod. She turned to Charlotte, hands on hips and a curious expression on her face.
“I believe this requires an explanation,” she said. “Lucy, dear, go to the nursery. It is nearly time for your bath.”
The girl kissed her aunt, slid off the bed, and walked to the door, but then ducked behind a chair as Charlotte replied, “I do not have the pleasure of understanding you, Dorothea. Explain what? Thank you for the flowers—they’re lovely.”
“Oh, these are not from our hothouse.” Dorothea crossed the room and sat in a chair next to the bed.
“They just now arrived from Brentwood Manor with this note.” She pulled it out of a pocket and read aloud: “My sincerest apologies for any harm I may have caused you by riding too fast near your horse this morning, Miss Kendall. I do hope you will be recovered enough to dance the first with me at the upcoming assembly in two weeks. Sincerely, Robert Morton.” She handed the note over and pressed her lips together a moment, her disapproval evident.
“You said you were alone this morning. Now, I find out Mr. Morton was the cause of this mishap?”
Charlotte glanced over the message, noting the elegant handwriting. Then, she gave her sister a wry smile. “Actually, I never said I was alone. You made that assumption, if you recall. You never gave me the chance to fully explain.”
“Perhaps you would like to do so now?”
That was, in fact, the last thing Charlotte wished to do, but she took a deep breath and related the entire incident with Mr. Morton.
The flowers and note must have worked some magic upon her mood, for she found herself softening the retelling a bit in order to make Mr. Morton seem not quite the ogre she had initially felt he was.
When she finished, she gestured to the bouquet. “It was kind of him to send flowers to me, do you not think?”
“By way of an apology, I would say it is just barely adequate,” huffed Dorothea.
“But, at least, it shows a sense of gentlemanly behavior. But, why did he abandon you in your time of need? He should have accompanied you back to Haverstone. You say he just left you there? It is nothing short of shameful.”
“He was clearly in a hurry. I agree—I certainly do not think he comported himself with perfect manners, despite the flowers and note.” She reread the card.
“And now, it appears I must dance with him. Since you are determined I shall fall in love with him and persuade him to propose, that must bring you some satisfaction.” She giggled.
Dorothea sniffed and raised an eyebrow. “Well. I shall try to give Mr. Morton the benefit of the doubt, although I must say his conduct disappoints me greatly. But, you may be correct. There must have been some urgent estate business which demanded his immediate attention.” She stood.
“You will write him a thank you note for the flowers and accept his offer for the first dance at the upcoming assembly. No doubt, he will be less rushed and exhibit more charm toward you there.” She leaned in to kiss her sister’s brow and left.
Lucy popped up from behind the chair. “I thought maybe the flowers were from the other Mr. Morton. The one I saw in the library. He’s nice.”
“He is, dear heart. But, he is not the one who caused the accident so he would have no cause to send me flowers. Now, were you not supposed to go have your bath? Run along. We can read again tomorrow.”
Lucy skipped out of the room, leaving Charlotte to study the bouquet. As she fingered the note, she pondered the gesture from Mr. Morton. Was the emotion behind it all completely sincere? She had her doubts.
Why did I not tell Dorothea the full truth of how incredibly rude he was to me after my fall?
Then, there would be no question of accepting his offer to dance—she would insist I refuse him.
But, it appears I am stuck and must endure his company at least for the first set.
Still, the invitation is probably due solely to his feelings of guilt.
I cannot think he has any more interest in me than I hold in him.
Therefore, we shall have our dance and then soon be indifferent neighbors once more.