Chapter Ten #2
“Let us speak of it no more.” She caught a brief, grateful expression on his face before his countenance went back to his usual, imperious manner as the dance continued.
*
After suffering through the second set with Mr. Wincock, who could speak of nothing but the fine hunting on his property, Charlotte danced the third, fourth, and fifth sets with men whom she had seen going up to speak to Dorothea while she was on the dance floor.
All were pleasant enough partners, but she tired of smiling while they talked or, when they did inquire anything of her, answering the same questions: How did she like Haverstone?
How long did she intend to stay? Did she enjoy riding? Was she fond of London? So tedious.
When the musicians finally took a break, Charlotte dashed to the next room where the refreshments were set out in order to quench her thirst. After draining a cup of punch, she turned from the table and found herself face to face with Frederick Morton. She dropped a curtsy.
“Good evening, sir,” she said warmly. “We have not seen you at Haverstone of late—or, at least, I have not seen you in the library.”
“Good evening, Miss Kendall. I have been away to town this past fortnight. One of my favorite professors invited me to come visit.”
“Did you enjoy yourself?”
“I did. London is so large and has many fine attractions. Unfortunately, the main purpose of the visit was to be with my friend. He suffers from failing health, and I fear he may not be with us much longer.”
“What sad news.”
“Indeed, it is.” He cleared his throat. “Miss Kendall, I inquired to your sister whether you were promised for all of the evening, and she informed me that the next set was open. I should very much enjoy dancing it with you but, should you be too fatigued and wish to sit it out, I shall be most willing to oblige you.”
“I am a bit tired, but I would greatly enjoy dancing with you, Mr. Morton.” She noted the genuine smile of appreciation on his face—so different from his brother’s. She set down her punch glass, took his arm, and the two moved into the next room.
Dorothea intercepted them. “My dear, this is Mr. Bellington, just arrived from town. He took note of you on the dance floor and begged me to secure you for the next set.”
Charlotte thought her sister must be getting desperate to marry her off. With a head of hair whiter than her own father’s, Mr. Bellington had to be at least fifty. She turned a smiling face to him.
“I fear I must disappoint you, sir. I have just promised this dance to Mr. Frederick Morton. Perhaps another time?”
Without waiting for a reply, she moved away, forcing Frederick to quickly bow to the gentleman and accompany her.
*
Watching from across the room was Robert Morton. After his dance with Miss Kendall, he had danced but one other time that evening. For the most part, he stood silently, ignoring the hopeful gazes from the mothers of eligible young ladies.
“She is as lovely as she is popular tonight, is she not?” a voice broke his reverie.
He turned to see Mrs. Sanders, whom he knew only slightly. He nodded in her direction but did not reply. His cool demeanor did not achieve his aim, which was to discourage a conversation with the noted gossip. She sidled closer.
“Of course, Miss Kendall cannot be thought as handsome as her sister,” she continued, “but a dowry as fine as hers goes a long way toward securing popularity, do not you agree?”
Ordinarily, Robert would make some curt comment about the inappropriateness of such tawdry talk, but he found himself giving the lady his full attention.
“Oh?” he replied. “How fine…exactly?”
“I have it on very good authority—and by that, I mean, my dear friend, the lady of Haverstone herself—that whoever weds Miss Charlotte Kendall will find himself richer by five…or was it six thousand pounds?” She smiled and fanned herself, keeping her eyes on the dance floor as though the two were not really conversing. “Yes, six. I am quite sure of it.”
“Six thousand, did you say? I had not thought her father’s estate so grand as that.”
“Indeed, it is not, but dear Charlotte has others who wish for her to make a good match. Lord Gillingham has generously contributed to supplement the young lady’s dowry. Oh, yes, whoever wins her hand will gain much more than a charming wife, be assured.” She nodded and waddled away.
As he watched his brother dance with Charlotte, he considered the information Mrs. Sanders had imparted.
Six thousand pounds? That would eliminate all the debt of Brentwood, plus leave extra for improvements.
And, she would be an attractive, intelligent mistress of the estate—he would not have to suffer a homely or a stupid woman.
Perhaps she would not be the most tractable of wives—he had noted her spirited and forthright manner. But, that could surely be tamed.
Six thousand. It all makes Miss Kendall a very viable candidate for a wife whose dowry can bail me out of my present financial difficulties. There is but one problem. She dislikes me intensely. That is quite obvious. Well. I shall simply have to change her opinion of me.
He moved with deliberation toward the dance floor.