Chapter Thirteen
The following day, Charlotte had barely finished breakfast when the first callers arrived.
Mr. Wincock and Mr. Cartwright both appeared at the same time and were clearly vexed to see the other suitor, much to Charlotte’s amusement.
As Dorothea and Charlotte had decided Mr. Wincock was not to be considered a prospect of high priority, Charlotte gave most of her attention to Mr. Cartwright, while Dorothea focused on keeping Mr. Wincock occupied as they settled into the morning room.
“Dear Mr. Wincock, how is your mother? I was most distressed to hear of her recent bout with the grippe. Do come over by me and relate in full her present condition.”
Having no option but to join her, he bowed and smiled at Charlotte, then crossed the room to sit beside Dorothea, who promptly engaged him in an intense and private conversation, leaving Mr. Cartwright to speak alone with Charlotte.
“I heard that you took a terrible fall off your horse not long ago, Miss Kendall,” Mr. Cartwright said, a look of concern on his face. “I sincerely hope you were not badly injured.”
“No, I was bruised in body and ego, but otherwise uninjured. Do you enjoy riding, sir?”
“Indeed, I do. Our property, Wallingham Lodge, is not large, but I do love to ride my stallion at full speed across the fields and jump the hedges. I am told I have quite a good seat.”
“Oh. How nice for you,” Charlotte replied, unable to think of anything else to add.
“I should greatly enjoy a morning of riding alongside you,” he said, shifting a bit closer to her. “Could I persuade you to join me?”
Charlotte smiled and scooted slightly away. “Thank you for the offer, but my sister has quite forbidden me to ride at present. I believe she is fearful I shall break an ankle and thus be unable to attend the next assembly.”
He nodded in serious appreciation. “That would be a hardship, indeed, for all who had the privilege of enjoying your company on the dance floor the other evening. For you are as graceful as a…as a hart leaping over a stream.” He smiled and reached for her hand, which she deftly avoided by opening her fan and holding it fluttering between them.
“You are all flattery, sir. I do not believe I am a whit more graceful than any other lady who danced that night.” She scooted away a bit more and glanced over toward her sister.
Why did Dorothea not rescue her? Mr. Cartwright was being far too familiar for such a short acquaintance.
To her dismay, he leaned even closer in and lowered his voice.
“If you could but see yourself as I do, Miss Kendall, you would surely never doubt your own elegance and beauty,” he said, speaking intensely.
“Permit me to say that you would grace the halls of Wallingham Lodge as well as any member of royalty. When may I beg you and your sister to visit and see it for yourselves? For although we have known each other but a short time, I feel a connection with you that cannot be denied or stilled.”
Now decidedly uncomfortable, Charlotte jumped to her feet and moved swiftly toward the pianoforte.
“Shall we have some music?” she asked in a strangled voice. She shuffled the sheets of music on the stand before choosing a piece, sitting down and beginning to play with concentration.
To her dismay, both Mr. Wincock and Mr. Cartwright took this move as an invitation to join her.
First, Mr. Wincock claimed a spot standing to her left, in order to turn the music pages.
Peeved, Mr. Cartwright found the bend of the piano where he could be directly in Charlotte’s line of sight.
He stood, mooning at her with an expression she found quite ridiculous; she had to bite her lower lip to keep from laughing.
Mr. Wincock then shifted farther down on the opposite side of the piano so that he, too, might gaze adoringly at Charlotte, leaving her to turn her own pages.
As she finished the first piece, both men burst into enthusiastic applause and proclaimed effusive compliments on her talent. Charlotte nodded her thanks and attempted to catch Dorothea’s eye in order to signal her distress, but her sister was not paying attention.
“Oh, Miss Kendall, do play this piece,” Mr. Cartwright begged, holding forth a sheet with a Scottish ballad.
She nodded her acceptance, and he placed the music before her, leaning in uncomfortably close as he did so.
“Your playing is magnificent,” he murmured.
Charlotte, who had never thought herself more than just slightly better than average, stifled a giggle and turned her attention to the music.
It was a simple piece and after scanning it briefly, Charlotte took a breath, placed her hands on the keys and played.
To her horror, Mr. Cartwright, still standing on her right, loudly sang along—quite badly out of tune.
Not to be outdone, Mr. Wincock moved up on the left to join in, attempting to drown out his competition.
“The hills are bare now, and the autumn leaves lie thick and still,” the two warbled, intent on impressing their accompanist. “My heart is so empty. When will you return, my love, o, when?”
So enraptured by their own singing were the two that they did not see Charlotte throw yet another desperate glance at Dorothea, who fortunately did catch it.
She calmly rose from the settee to ring the bell pull, then moved to join her sister.
She stood behind with her hands on Charlotte’s shoulders, and the second the last note of the ballad faded away, brightly spoke up.
“Delightful, my dear, but you must not take any more valuable time from our callers today. Do not forget we have a fitting in half an hour for your new gown.” She turned to the butler who had entered and stood silently awaiting instructions.
“It has been so pleasant to see you this morning—Mr. Wincock, Mr. Cartwright—but for now, we must bid you good day. Dawson will show you out.”
Both men bowed and departed, doing their best to throw admiring glances at the object of their desire.
When Charlotte and Dorothea heard the front door close, they both burst into laughter.
“Oh, Sister, thank heavens you rescued me. I simply could not have kept control of myself a moment longer.”
Dorothea took a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “Have you ever heard such wretched singing in your life?” She dissolved into laughter again.
“To be fair, Mr. Cartwright was at least somewhat on key,” exclaimed Charlotte. “But Mr. Wincock. Dear Lord, I am surprised the hounds in the stable did not join in, thinking he was one of them.”
Dorothea embraced her. “I believe from here on, you may allow yourself to be unavailable to Mr. Wincock.”
“Oh, might I please add Mr. Cartwright as well? He was fairly proposing to me on the settee just then. Why do you think I rushed to the pianoforte?”
“Well, no. Let us keep him on the list—for now, at least. He has a fine estate and a more-than-decent income. But, I believe we can cool his ardor sufficiently to determine whether he is a good fit. And, there are still Mr. Shelby and Mr. Bellington who may continue their suit of your hand.”
Charlotte shook her head. “I simply do not comprehend the speed at which these gentlemen are pursuing me, Dorothea—I have not the beauty nor fortune that usually accompanies such admiration. What could be the reason, do you think?”
Dorothea gave a small smile. “Oh, I think you underestimate your charms, my dear. That is—” She broke off as Dawson reentered the room. “Yes, Dawson?”
He brought forth a silver salver upon which sat a folded piece of paper sealed in red wax. “This just arrived from Brentwood Manor, ma’am.”
Dorothea snatched it up and quickly opened it. Her eyes lit up.
“Excellent,” she exclaimed. “Most excellent.”
“What is it?” Charlotte asked.
“An acceptance from Mr. Morton to dine with us this evening. I sent it first thing this morning and, as you see, he did not decline. Oh, it is going just as I hoped. It is clear that our neighbor is more than a little interested in you, dear heart.”
“Is Mr. Frederick Morton also invited?” Charlotte asked.
“Well, yes. I could hardly slight him. He is a nice enough young man, but not worthy of you. A second son and a new curate? He’ll hardly have money to keep body and soul together, much less a wife at present.
So, be assured, I or Reginald will keep Mr. Frederick occupied tonight so that you may give your full attention to the elder brother. He must be your true object.”
“You make it sound as though I must trap him somehow, Dorothea. I realize he would be an advantageous match, but I would so prefer to actually love my husband and not just marry for convenience of fortune and property.”
“Love can grow upon acquaintance, my dear. Which is why his coming here tonight is so very, very opportune. Give it time, and I am certain you will love him every bit as much as I did Reginald by the time we exchanged our vows.”
Putting her arm through Charlotte’s, she pulled her from the room. “Now. Let us go through your wardrobe at once and choose which dress you will wear—something he has not yet seen you in. A good impression is most important.”
Charlotte allowed herself to be guided upstairs but realized she cared little for what Mr. Morton might think of her attire.
She was more interested in the younger Mr. Morton’s opinion when next they met.
Their Tuesday drawing lesson was still nearly a week away.
She found herself looking forward to it with great anticipation.