Chapter Nineteen
On the following Sunday morning, Charlotte asked Becca to take particular pains with her hair.
The girl rolled her eyes, but complied. “It is just church day, after all,” she said, as she fussed with the thick, auburn tresses.
“Dunno why you want to get so fancy. Your bonnet will mostly cover it, anyways.”
“Yes, I realize that, but today is an occasion of great importance. Mr. Frederick Morton is giving his first sermon at his church. I just wish to look my best so that he may know I am taking note of the event and am happy for him, is all.”
“Seems to me you should be working more to impress the other Mr. Morton—he’s the one with all the money and such, right?
” She gave a little snort of amusement. “’Course, maybe you think you’ve already captured that one’s affections, so it does not matter whether you flirt a bit with the younger brother. ”
Charlotte pulled away from Becca’s combing and turned in her chair to face her. “What do you mean? What have you heard?”
The girl shrugged and made a move to continue her work, but Charlotte held up her hand to stop her.
“Tell me, Becca. What have you heard about Mr. Morton and…and how it may in any way concern me?”
Becca put both hands on her hips and studied her mistress.
“Well, I have a friend, see, Polly—who’s an under housemaid over at Brentwood.
She says it is common knowledge around that house that Mr. Morton—the elder one, that is—has plans to make you the new mistress there.
Polly told me he sent his mother’s wedding ring out this Friday to be cleaned and checked.
I cannot imagine why he would do that unless he were planning on giving it to someone… ” she smirked, “…and right quick, too.”
Charlotte turned back to the vanity table and clutched it with both hands, her mind whirling. He sent the ring out Friday? That was the day after their dinner at Brentwood. She shook her head firmly, as though to shake the very thought of a proposal out of her brain.
“No. No, that cannot be. I mean, yes, Mr. Morton has been kind and attentive to me these past few weeks, but I cannot believe he would seriously declare himself so soon. We really do not know that much about each other’s characters, our likes, dislikes, and so forth.
Marriage is for life, after all, and a couple needs to be much better acquainted with each other before taking such a serious step.
I do hope your friend has misunderstood. ”
Becca shrugged and continued styling Charlotte’s hair.
“I suppose, Miss. Although, many’s a couple been wed with littler acquaintance than you and Mr. Morton have.
My own parents knew each other three weeks before taking the plunge and have been as happy as any two people can expect to be, I’ll wager.
That is why I say—do not waste a lot of time on that poor curate.
I should put all my effort into securing the affections of his older brother, iffn’ I were you.
You can be just as happy with him as the other.
Plus, you will have such pin money. So, to my way of thinking—and you being just about to turn one and twenty, after all—probably best to show even more affection for Mr. Morton than you feel, so’s you can get that ring. ”
She finished her work and stood back, studying Charlotte’s hair with a critical eye.
“Will that do, Miss?”
Charlotte muttered, “Yes, thank you, Becca—that will be all.” But her eyes stared off in the distance, not even seeing her own reflection.
*
All during the carriage ride to the church and throughout the service itself, Charlotte found herself too distracted by Becca’s words to concentrate.
While on one hand, after the firm discussion with her brother-in-law, she had finally accepted the idea that she must marry, on the other hand, she felt herself nearly in a panic over the idea that a proposal might actually be forthcoming.
He is kind, I suppose, and handsome, too.
But, do I want to accept Mr. Morton on so little acquaintance?
And, what does it say about him that he might consider proposing to me under the same circumstances?
Perhaps he is so eager to marry that any well-bred young lady may tempt him.
But, what is the hurry, after all? Should he propose, I shall have to demur without putting him off entirely.
I shall say I am simply not ready or that I wish for a long engagement.
Yes, that is what I shall do. Oh, but what would Dorothea say to that?
Charlotte felt a sharp nudge in her arm and caught a puzzled look from her sister. To her embarrassment she saw Dorothea and everyone else had risen to sing the last hymn while she still sat in the pew. Charlotte quickly jumped up, fumbling with her hymnal to find her place.
As they moved toward the church doors to depart, she realized with a start that she could not remember a thing of Mr. Morton’s sermon.
She felt a surge of shame; she had been so eager to hear it that she might praise his performance and writing, and now she could not think of a word to say that would not immediately be recognized as false flattery.
She took a step behind Dorothea, hoping her sister might impart something helpful to her.
As always, Lady Gillingham was charming and succinct.
“Our heartiest congratulations, Mr. Morton,” Dorothea enthused. “What a charming concept—to tie the very creation of the world with God’s everlasting love for us. And, you wrote this yourself? Well done. I am quite in raptures over it.”
“I thank you, Lady Gillingham. I confess, I found myself a bit nervous. However, once I started to speak, it all seemed to flow just as I intended.”
In response, Dorothea smiled and moved on, leaving Charlotte standing before the curate. She saw such hopeful expectancy in his eyes and again felt remorseful guilt for not having paid more attention. Charlotte took a deep breath, forced a smile, and put her hand out to shake his.
“Yes, I did so enjoy it, Mr. Morton, especially the message of God’s love. I must say you spoke so well. I believe the pastor, Mr. Peabody, can have no reluctance or concerns to ever leave the pulpit in your very capable hands.”
She saw relief flood his countenance and felt him gently squeeze her hand. The touch sent an unusual feeling through her—a bit of a tingle. How odd. Probably just her nerves for fabricating her praise.
Mr. Morton leaned closer and murmured, “Thank you, Miss Kendall. Your approbation was desired by me above all. Perhaps we can discuss my sermon more during Tuesday’s art lesson?”
Cognizant that other parishioners were lined up behind her, waiting to speak to Mr. Morton, Charlotte merely nodded her agreement and moved on. When she joined Dorothea and Reginald, she found Mr. Robert Morton standing with them, chatting easily. He smiled as she approached.
“Ah. Good morning, Miss Kendall. I tried without success to catch your eye and greet you earlier from my pew. Your attention was clearly on higher matters.” He laughed at his own joke.
Charlotte, however, did not join in. After an awkward pause, he continued, “I was just discussing with your sister how I hoped to visit Haverstone this afternoon and entice you on a walk around the grounds.”
Again, Charlotte found herself unable to respond. Dorothea jumped in.
“Of course, we should all be delighted to entertain you, Mr. Morton. Shall we say three o’clock?
Then, after your stroll, you may join us for tea.
I do not wish to brag, but my cook has such an elegant and deft hand with pastries, and I believe she was going to bake some of her special shortbread today. Do join us.”
“Thank you, Lady Gillingham. I look forward with great anticipation to seeing you all this afternoon.” Robert reached for Charlotte’s hand. “Until then, Miss Kendall.” He held her gaze a long moment, then bowed smartly and strode to his coach.
When he was gone, Dorothea turned a stern face toward Charlotte.
“Gracious, I do think you might have been a bit more engaging, my dear,” she said in a harsh whisper. “You barely acknowledged Mr. Morton’s presence. I hope you will show him more consideration when he visits this afternoon.”
“I am not feeling my best, Dorothea. Pray, forgive me,” Charlotte said softly. “I did not sleep well last night.”
Her sister put her arm around Charlotte. “You will feel better once you eat. But, perhaps you should rest a while after luncheon so that you may be in better spirits when Mr. Morton arrives.” She turned to her husband. “Dear, where is our carriage?”