Chapter Twenty-Four
Later, after the doctor departed, having assured Lord and Lady Gillingham that Lucy had suffered just a sprain and that a few days of rest would quickly remedy the injury, Dorothea and Charlotte sat in the drawing room having tea.
Dorothea instructed Dawson that she and Miss Kendall would be unavailable to any callers the rest of the day.
“Are you ready to tell me the truth of this morning’s mishap, Charlotte?” she finally asked after a long silence.
Charlotte felt her heart thud in her chest. “Whatever do you mean, Dorothea? Did Lucy report anything differently than I have?”
“No. Her story is the same as yours and Mr. Morton’s.
In fact, it is quite exceptionally the same—nearly word for word, which leads me to believe it was well practiced by the three of you as you made your way home.
And, despite the fact that I was in a bit of a state, going upstairs I did happen to notice your art box sitting in the hallway next to a similar one, which, I am guessing, belongs to Mr. Frederick Morton?
” She set her tea cup down and leveled a gaze at Charlotte.
“Tell me the truth, please. Mr. Morton did not just happen upon you in the woods, did he?”
Charlotte put her own tea cup down and turned away, her face burning.
“No,” she said softly. “Mr. Morton has been giving me art lessons in the early mornings these past several weeks. Lucy went off to the woods to play and, well, the rest is as we told you. She slipped and fell, twisting her ankle. Truly, though, it might have happened even if I had not been going out to sketch, and without Mr. Morton there to assist, what would I have done? We truly owe him a debt of gratitude.”
“So you have repeatedly said. But to place yourself in a potentially compromising position by being alone with Mr. Morton. You did not even have Becca there with you. Can you not see how foolish it was for you to accept these lessons from him?”
Charlotte nodded, shamefaced. “I do, and I apologize. But, he is a clergyman, after all—it cannot be thought so horrible, can it? For example, would it have been better if the lessons took place in the parsonage? No one would have raised an eyebrow over that, as curates often tutor. Dorothea, you know how much I enjoy drawing, and Mr. Morton has taught me so much—I am quite pleased with my progress. I know I should not have done it, but my ego wished for the lessons more than my common sense and propriety could persuade me otherwise, I fear.” She gave her a rueful smile.
“Do not worry, Sister. There will be no more lessons.”
“Thank you for telling me the truth. But, my dear, we must still be so careful of your reputation. Once you are securely wed to Mr. Robert Morton and the younger Mr. Morton is as good as your brother, you may surely resume your lessons, if you wish, for there will be no possible cause for scandal then.” She poured them both more tea, before continuing, “I can see how much you admire Mr. Frederick, but you do not have romantic feelings for him, do you? It is his older brother you care for, correct? Did you not tell me you promised three sets to him at our ball and that during your recent walk he hinted broadly to you of his intention to propose? Please assure me you will absolutely accept him should such an offer be forthcoming. Your actions today confuse me exceedingly. I thought perhaps you were finally falling a bit in love with Mr. Morton.”
“I believe I am, Dorothea, or, at least, I believe it when I am with him. I find myself quite taken in by his attentions, and he is not unpleasant to be with—quite amiable, in fact. But, when I am away from him, my heart is not so fixed. I…I have doubts.”
“How so?”
Charlotte exhaled a deep breath. “I suppose I wonder why he should choose me, of all ladies. I am certainly not a great beauty. I am intelligent enough, although I do not think most men care deeply about that quality. I just keep pondering: Does he truly love me? I do not know why I have doubts. He is all admiration and sweet words, it is true. In addition, he is aware that my dowry is but a mere thousand pounds, so if he can love me enough to take me on as his wife with so little, he must love me, mustn’t he?
And yet, I wish we could have a longer time to acquaint ourselves with each other before he forces me to answer a question I simply do not feel ready to give with my whole heart.
Am I truly worthy to be mistress of Brentwood Manor? ”
Dorothea nodded sagely. “These thoughts are nothing but your own fears that you are not good enough. But, dearest one, you are a lady, and though our father’s estate is modest, you are every bit Mr. Morton’s equal.
I say it again—I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, that you might know your own worth. ”
Charlotte nodded. “I shall try, Dorothea. In any case, I am resolved to accept him when he makes his offer. Perhaps my feelings will grow for him once we are engaged. That has been the case in many a marriage, I know.” Charlotte shook her head, gave a sound of exasperation and reached for her tea cup.
“May we change our conversation? Tell me more about the ball next week. How many invitations have you sent out?”
Her sister clasped her hands and beamed with delight.
“Oh, a great many, and they have all met with acceptance. Many of your other gentleman admirers will attend. Of course, once they see you dance your third with Mr. Morton, they will know any hope for them to claim you is gone. However, I have asked enough young ladies from the county that there may be plenty of choices for the dance floor. But, be prepared—you will be much in demand and shall likely dance the whole of the evening.”
“It has been so long since I attended a real ball. I feel quite nervous.”
“Nonsense. You will have a delightful time. Of course, you will wear the silver-and-white dress we had made specially for the ball, and I am certain Mr. Morton will make a point to admire it. And, I shall loan you one of the tiaras from the Gillingham collection. It will sit so prettily in your hair the way Becca styles it. Oh, and Mrs. Danbury and I have nearly finished the menu for the late supper. I think you will find—”
Dorothea broke off speaking at a knock at the door. She frowned and called, “Enter.” Dawson walked in with an envelope on a silver salver. “Dawson, what is this? I did say we did not wish to be disturbed this afternoon.”
“I know, my lady, but this is an express just come from Clayton House. I thought you should see it directly.” He bowed as she took the note, and left the room.
Dorothea examined the paper. “This is our brother’s handwriting, is it not, Charlotte? But, the direction is so scrawled I should hardly recognize it. What could this mean?”
She tore it open and scanned the contents.
Charlotte saw her sister’s face go white. She reached out to place a hand on her arm. “Oh, Dorothea, you look so alarmed. What is it? Is it Gilbert? It is Lavinia? Has she lost the baby?”
Dorothea looked up with eyes that were filling with tears.
“No, my dear. It is our father. Miles writes he has fallen ill and is quite unwell. In fact—” she broke off with a small sob, “—our dear Papa may not last the week!” She leapt to her feet.
“Where is my husband? We must leave directly.” She paced the room, rereading the missive as though hoping to see different news, somehow.
“Oh, this means we shall have to cancel—or at least, postpone, the ball. I am so sorry, my dear.”
Charlotte ran to the bell pull and yanked it.
She clutched her hands tightly while watching her sister still pace the room.
“Not at all, Dorothea. Of course, we must cancel the ball. I shall help you write notes advising all those you invited. We can leave tomorrow mor—” She turned to the doorway, where Dawson had appeared.
“Dawson, find Lord Gillingham at once. We are in urgent need of him.”
“Yes, Miss Kendall.” He spun around and hurried away. Charlotte crossed over to her sister and took her arm to pull her down upon the settee.
“Do not worry, Sister. I am certain it cannot be as bad as Miles writes. Our physician, Mr. Baker, is highly skilled and will be doing all he can. All will be well, you will see.”
But, even as she spoke the words, Charlotte had a sinking feeling it would be anything but all right.