Chapter Twenty-Five
Lord Gillingham comforted his near-frantic wife and sister-in-law and began the necessary arrangements for their departure to Clayton House the following morning.
Charlotte and Dorothea divided up the task of dashing off quick notes to all the invitees of the ball, informing them of the cancellation of the grand event.
A full half-dozen servants were sent out to deliver as many as possible by hand, while others would be sent by post. That finished, the ladies hurried upstairs to supervise packing.
As she entered her room, Charlotte found Becca already placing dresses in the trunk Charlotte had brought with her from Clayton House so many weeks ago.
“My condolences on your father’s illness, Miss,” Becca said with a curtsy and a more respectful tone than Charlotte could recall her ever using. “I sincerely pray he will recover.”
“Thank you, Becca. I pray so, too. Her ladyship and I are both quite worried. But, he is just in his late fifties, after all, and that must be an advantage, mustn’t it?
It is not as though he were eighty and in ill health.
He has always been very robust. I am hopeful that my brother, Miles, sent the express out of an overabundance of caution and our father’s condition is not so dire.
With luck, Lady Gillingham and I shall return within two weeks. ”
“Safe journey to you, Miss. I shall miss being lady’s maid to you,” Becca said.
“I’ll probably be demoted to underhousemaid again.
But, I think I am better suited as a lady’s maid, do you not agree?
And, when you come back, once you accept Mr. Morton’s proposal, I’ll tell you right here and now that I should like very much to go to Brentwood with you.
I’ll be good to you, and you must agree nobody can do your hair half so well as me. ”
Charlotte was so stunned by this inappropriate display that for a moment she had no reply. This was likely to account for the girl’s more courteous manners of late. She hoped to become her lady’s maid permanently. Charlotte took a deep breath to keep her temper.
“Yes, well, all that is well off in the future, Becca, and my immediate concerns are on my trip back home. Now, let me see what dresses you have packed.” She moved to the trunk and leafed through the neatly folded gowns.
Nodding with approval, she said, “Yes, those will do. I certainly will just need my good day dresses and perhaps one other nicer, evening dress should I be, for some reason, invited anywhere for dinner. However, I am certain I shall remain at Clayton House by my father’s bedside for the most part. ”
“Will you be wanting anything else, Miss?” Becca asked. “I packed your spare nightgown and hair brushes and pins and such.”
“No, that will do, thank you.” She rubbed a hand over her forehead. “I…I believe I feel a bit of a headache coming on. I am going for some fresh air.”
*
Charlotte strolled the rose garden feeling the warm sun beat down on her head.
In her haste, she had not grabbed a bonnet.
But, what did it matter, she thought, and besides, who would see?
She was all alone trying to clear her head of the frightening thoughts that kept running through her mind.
What if her father did die? She knew she was being uncharitable, but her initial thought was how Lavinia would immediately remake Clayton House to her own preferences. Charlotte dreaded the thought.
But then, should Mr. Morton propose and I accept him, I shall soon have a home of my own and can manage things exactly as I see fit. Then, I shall not have to give two straws for any changes Lavinia makes.
Thinking of Mr. Morton made her recall his words when they walked the garden together just a few days earlier: “My admiration for you is such that I dare dream our relationship will soon be significant beyond being merely neighbors and close acquaintances.”
Recalling his near-proposal sent a tingle of fear running through her, but as she had assured her sister, she would accept him once he did make his offer.
He is a good and honorable man, and Dorothea is right—we could likely make a very successful marriage.
I truly did not think I even wished to marry, but now I see that it is the best course of action for me.
Although my heart and head are yet not totally reconciled, I am certain that will come in time. We can be happy. I shall be happy.
“Miss Kendall,” a familiar voice called.
Charlotte turned to see Mr. Robert Morton striding toward her, carrying an elegant walking stick. He was dressed in very fine attire, she noted, and approached her with a broad smile.
“Mr. Morton—what brings you here? I must go find Dorothea or my maid to join us.”
Robert merely took her arm, steering her to a secluded stone bench beneath an overarching arbor of roses. He pulled her down next to him, still holding her arm.
“No need for that, dear one,” he said sweetly.
“I shall not stay long, but I must convey to you my heartfelt sympathy upon hearing of your father’s illness.
I had just received your sister’s note that the ball is postponed so I knew I must come see you before it is too late. I assume you are leaving tomorrow?”
“Yes, Lord Gillingham has made all the arrangements for Dorothea and me. He will join us only…should the worst happen.” The emotions of the day caught up with her and, to her horror, Charlotte burst into tears and crumpled into Mr. Morton’s arms.
“Shh, shh, do not cry. All will be well, my sweet,” he whispered over and over as she sobbed out all her sorrow.
Charlotte felt she could stay in his strong and comforting arms forever.
She forced herself to pull out of them and sit up, fumbling in a pocket for a handkerchief.
Seeing her need, he nimbly reached into his jacket and pulled out one of his own, dabbing at her wet cheeks before handing it to her.
“Many a person has made a remarkable recovery even from the very brink of death. I am certain your father will do so.”
After she blew her nose, Charlotte sat, staring at her shoes, embarrassed by her outburst. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I pray you are right.”
“I feel positive I am. In fact, I have an idea that will likely send him rapidly on the course to recovery. May I share it with you?”
She nodded, studying his handsome face. Was this the face she would someday see every day across the breakfast table? It seemed not an unpleasant prospect.
He placed one arm around her waist and pulled her in closer, leaning his cheek against the top of hers.
“Well. I know that your father—indeed, your entire family, wishes to see you happily settled. And, I have certainly made my feelings toward you very clear—right here in this very garden. So, since I believe your hopes and wishes to be the same as mine, here is my thought. I wish to take you away immediately north to Gretna Green where we may marry at once. Then, as husband and wife, we shall drive to Clayton House to attend to your father. Is that not an excellent plan?”
Charlotte jerked back out of Mr. Morton’s embrace and stared at him in utter shock. Her mouth worked, but she found herself unable to speak. Taking her silence as approval, he dipped his head quickly and kissed her full on the mouth. Pulling back, he grinned.
“It is a good plan, is it not? Think how happy your father will be when he learns his dear daughter is now a married woman. Why, it is probably the very joyous news necessary to give him the will to live. Please say you want this as much as I, my sweet Charlotte.” He pulled her close and kissed her again—this time more slowly—his tongue exploring her mouth in a way Charlotte found thrilling and terrifying all at once.
He released her and she gasped for air, unable to reply.
He laughed and lifted a hand to gently stroke the side of her face.
“Say yes, my love, please say yes. Leave a note for your family and come away with me now. My carriage awaits, and we can arrive in Gretna Green in but two days and soon be man and wife. Dearest Charlotte, I simply cannot wait to be your husband.”
Charlotte’s head was swimming. Would such news help her father recover?
She wanted to agree. She wanted more of that tingling sensation when he kissed her, even as she knew he should never have taken such liberties.
She realized with a start that he called her by her given name for the first time.
But then, had he not just proposed? Certainly, it was all right for him to address her in that manner and to kiss her if he was her fiancé.
Charlotte suddenly giggled, thinking of what Dorothea’s reaction would be to learning of the physical acts Mr. Morton had taken just now.
If she was upset with me for just sketching with Mr. Frederick, what would she think of me sitting here hidden in the rose arbor, kissing Mr. Robert Morton and considering his offer?
Then, as though she heard Dorothea’s own voice in her head, Charlotte realized how exceedingly wrong this kind of proposal was.
Run off to Gretna Green? It would cause a scandal from which her reputation might never recover.
Even if they returned as man and wife, such haste to marry would always leave a lingering taint of impropriety over their union.
“No gentleman would ever ask such a thing should he truly love you,” she could hear Dorothea say.
“Should he truly love you…” she murmured.
“What’s that, my angel?” Robert asked, lifting her chin up to stare into her eyes.
Charlotte felt herself weakening again. But, as he leaned in for another kiss, she cried out, “No!” She pushed herself out of his arms and jumped up and stood, trembling, several paces from the bench.
“Mr. Morton. If you truly loved me, you would be willing to wait and…and do things properly,” she said.
“We must have a license. The banns must be read. My sister would wish to plan a beautiful wedding with a breakfast to follow. Go to Gretna Green and elope? How can you ask me to consent to such a scandalous thing?”
He jumped up and reached out for her hands, but she eluded his grasp and stepped farther away.
“No. I cannot do this. I am sorry, Mr. Morton—Robert. My answer to a proper offer of marriage will be yes, I assure you, but I could never run away and cause Dorothea such pain. I beg you to reconsider your unusual offer. Pray, excuse me, I must return to the house at once.”
Charlotte turned and ran through the garden, seeking the nearest door in to Haverstone.
Once she entered, she hid behind a window curtain, peeking out to see if he would follow to apologize for his outrageous behavior.
She longed to hear him say that, of course, she was right and then beg her forgiveness and promise that he would wait whatever time it took for her to return from Clayton House.
Then, and only then, would he make a sincere offer of his hand in marriage, which she would accept.
She looked down at her hand now; she was still clutching the handkerchief he had loaned her—fine linen with an embroidered RM in one corner.
He was so gallant and kind. Of course, he would come after her to apologize. How could he not?
But looking up again, all she saw through the window was the man she thought she loved storming through the garden away from the house, angrily slashing at the roses with his cane, and with not even a glance in her direction.