Chapter 7
Composure and equanimity are significantly underrated qualities in a person. How often are we, who are in royal positions, forced to be such vacant creatures regardless of our personal opinions or grievances? I can assure you, I would not naturally be restrained, were I not forced to be so.
Politeness with former enemies and rabble-rousers—now seeking Our particular favor—is one of the occasions where I am more forced than I should care for. And my husband? He struggles immensely with the same.
Charlotte
“I don’t see why we have to make such a great fuss over a man who a few years ago was a rebel and a traitor yet now is deemed fit to be a minister. The others in attendance this evening, I can understand, but why him?”
Charlotte sighed with the heaviness common to all mothers when forced to behave with more decorum than they’d wish to.
After all, she agreed with Lottie, her oldest daughter, even if she could not say so.
“Because it falls upon us to accept the situation as it is without worsening matters,” Charlotte answered primly, her voice a trifle more taut than usual.
“They won the war, and we lost. Therefore, to the victor the spoils. And now we face it with dignity, grace, and fortitude. And the king was rather impressed with Mr. Adams when he presented himself upon his arrival some weeks ago.”
Lottie smiled almost impishly across her reflection, her eyes meeting Charlotte’s. “Papa is patriotic, scholarly, and frank. Was Mr. Adams the same?”
“By all accounts, yes.” Charlotte shrugged her trim shoulders and adjusted her purple-and-silver gown at the shoulders. “Respectful and without flattery, which the king seemed to enjoy. We are meeting the wife and daughter tonight, and we will not let the king down in our reception of them.”
“Of course, Mama,” Lottie quipped lightly. “I meant no offense to Mr. Adams by my remarks. I bear no ill feelings toward him. I barely paid attention to all that trouble with the colonies, so what offense could I have?”
“No less than I, if you cared enough,” Charlotte muttered under her breath before she could stop herself.
But her oldest did not seem to hear her, blessedly.
Being an example of correctness in all things to a younger generation was not without difficulty.
And it was not as though young Charlotte, as she preferred to be called these days, was flighty or not concerned with matters of state, such as they were.
On the contrary, she was very well educated—something Charlotte and George had insisted on for all their children—and had a good sense of people and occasion.
She had always been remarkably well-behaved and had become someone Charlotte could rely on when needed.
Now that a few of her younger sisters were accompanying them on court occasions, Lottie was truly in her element.
She adored being an example, and it seemed to assist her in settling into her individuality.
Augusta was remarkably shy and could not comfortably speak with guests unless a relation was beside her, and Elizabeth was not technically presented yet, so her appearances were sparse and more for practice than influence.
The younger girls would undoubtedly sit up late in their nursery and wait for the older three to tell them all about the evening’s events, but Charlotte would not be privy to their chatter.
There was too much for her to do to be afforded the luxury of attending the nursery after a night like this.
And thirteen children made for an exhausting life, after all.
When there were only a handful, she would have gone to the nursery to talk silly details and make amusing commentary, but now . . .
Thirteen. She had thirteen children now, not fifteen.
She would take back all the exhaustion and irritation of having that many children to have Octavius and Alfred back.
She would take everything, give anything, sacrifice all—but that was not possible.
She’d tried begging, pleading, yearning, grieving.
She’d spent hours on her knees, desperate to trade her soul for theirs, her life for theirs, and here she remained.
Away from them.
Thirteen children ought to have been enough.
But not when it ought to be fifteen.
“Do I look presentable, Mama?”
Augusta’s sweet, soft voice cut through the haze of Charlotte’s thoughts, and she looked at her second daughter with swift, appraising eyes.
Augusta was the beauty of her daughters, of that there could be no question.
If she had a portion of Lottie’s confidence and half of Elizabeth’s wit, she would be the perfect wife for any dignitary, prince, or gentleman who sought her hand.
As it was, she would struggle to find real connection with a husband, given her shyness.
It did not diminish her value in her parents’ eyes, but it was a concern.
Tonight, however, she was positively stunning.
“Very presentable, indeed, Augusta,” Charlotte praised with a warm smile.
Both girls were arrayed in black-and-silver silk, and she suspected Elizabeth would be dressed the same, though to a softer degree due to her younger age. The diamonds had been brought out to adorn their hair, which marked them as part of the royal coterie without requiring a crown or tiara.
They looked very well indeed, and Charlotte would be proud to present them to any member of the court or the visiting dignitaries.
“I have found a little lost princess out in the corridor,” George announced as he entered the chamber, his hand in Elizabeth’s.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes but grinned all the same. “Hardly little anymore, Papa. Not with Mary and Sophia and Emily actually being little.”
George beamed at her. “You will always be my little princess, no matter what age.”
Charlotte rose from her chair and curtsied, as did Lottie and Augusta.
Other women may not have to curtsy to their husbands, but Charlotte did.
What was more, she did not mind it. George never treated her like one of his subjects or as some inferior being, and as such, she felt confident in her deference to his throne.
George glanced around the room with a pleased sigh.
“My diamonds. My beautiful, beautiful diamonds. I am so pleased to be facing all our guests in your company this evening.” He clapped his hands, rubbing them together in anticipation.
“Has anyone seen Georgie? I thought we might have the pleasure of his company this evening as well, but no one has heard from him.”
Lottie and Augusta exchanged a quick look, their eyes wide, but they said nothing.
Charlotte watched their nonverbal communication with curiosity, her brow tightening.
It was not like the girls to know something and not share.
Particularly where their brothers were concerned.
The brothers avoided giving the girls any information they did not want passed along to others and had spent their entire lifetimes doing so.
Why should that change now?
“Ah well,” George went on before any further questions could be asked. “Time to show our faces to the masses!” He came to Charlotte and took her hand, bringing it to his lips before smiling against the fabric of her glove. “Care to be on my arm, my dear?”
Charlotte flicked the bottom of his chin with one finger. “I’d never be anywhere else.”
He winked, giving her quick flashes of memory of the eager, striking, passionate young man he’d been when they’d married, the one who had captured her heart and ridden off to the sunset with it.
Heaven must have known what it was doing when it arranged their marriage, for she could not picture any other man suiting her so perfectly.
Another situation in life, perhaps, but not another man.
Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, George led her out of the room, followed by their daughters, and toward the large drawing room they’d had set up for the meeting this evening.
Charlotte cleared her throat. “Am I correct that we anticipate around two hundred guests?”
“Thereabouts,” her husband confirmed. “Quite the tidy gathering, is it not?”
His snickering had her rolling her eyes and huffing a tiny exhale. “George.”
He patted her hand as his humor faded on a sigh. “I know, my love. But we must.”
“I do not care to spend more than a few minutes being cordial with Mrs. Adams,” Charlotte grumbled, dropping her voice even lower so their daughters would not hear.
George tsked softly. “If we can tolerate the French, we can tolerate the Adamses.”
“The French were not our colony that felt snubbed and declared war on us,” she rebutted.
“At least we always know where we stand with them. Why is Mr. Adams here now? To ask us for help? To sweep the disagreement under the rug? This upstart and his little band of congressional traitors want our support now that they’ve won?
They think all is forgiven? Our wounds must heal properly before new ones are lashed upon us, for heaven’s sake. ”
“Shh,” George soothed. “Heavens, Charlotte, you are passionate on the subject. Has anyone ever gotten such a rise out of you before?”
She made a face only he would see, then reined in her ire. “I shall present myself with dignity and decorum,” she ground out through clenched teeth.
Her husband chuckled softly, now rubbing her hand.
“You always do, my love. Just breathe and recollect that they are no longer our enemies. His conduct was very pleasing, and I had no sense of vengeance from him whatsoever. I truly believe he is here with the best of intentions, and I intend to trust that belief.”