Chapter 11
Eleven
Three songs later, Mr Barton was truly in his stride.
With relief, Charlotte heard the clock chime the hour. Had Hugh done what was required, and was now making his way back?
Could Charlotte keep the present company occupied for another half an hour?
Mrs Glendenning’s eyes had glazed over. And little wonder, for there was a monotony to Mr Barton’s voice that encouraged the wandering of the mind.
Charlotte had allowed herself to be transported into an exciting, fictional world with Hugh.
It was only when Lady Pennyworth gave a delicate cough that she realised with a painful jolt that her world would never include Hugh.
No, he would forge his career in the world of learning while Charlotte was going to marry a decent man who would provide for her.
As Hugh could not.
“Miss Stanbridge, are you all right?”
Charlotte glanced up to see Mr Barton’s concerned look upon her and realised she must have betrayed herself with a small sob.
“Quite all right, thank you,” she said, smiling briefly before pretending that Mrs Glendenning had sought her attention. “Excuse me.” She rose from the piano stool and stood before her mistress. “Catherine was a credit to you, but you look tired, Mrs Glendenning.”
“She was, and I am.” Mrs Glendenning inclined her head. “But I cannot take all the glory. You have been her steady guiding hand these past few years and although I am sorry you won’t be around to guide her through her come-out, I am glad that Mr Ravensby will look after you.”
Charlotte blinked away her tears. Her throat felt thick with emotion.
“You do care for Mr Ravensby, don’t you, Charlotte?
” her mistress asked. “He has been very attentive and you appear to have welcomed his visits. Yet…” She hesitated, a small frown between her eyes, before she said as if realising the futility of voicing her true thoughts, “We women must make practical decisions when it comes to ensuring we are provided for into the future.”
“Yes, Mrs Glendenning,” Charlotte responded woodenly. “That is what I have done. I shall accept Mr Ravensby when he calls tomorrow afternoon.”
Mrs Glendenning patted her on the arm. “And he will be good to you, I am confident of it.”
So was Charlotte, not prepared for her mistress’s next words: “And love can grow over time. You must take comfort from that, for it is true for many women who perhaps enter matrimony with less joy than they would like.”
Charlotte rose. “I’ll take Catherine upstairs. It’s past her bedtime.”
But Mrs Glendenning was already involved in another discussion with Lady Pennyworth, though she made a general sweeping gesture with her hand, which Charlotte took to be an affirmative.
“Your mother thought you were magnificent,” Charlotte whispered to her young charge, who was standing a little apart from the rest of the group looking triumphant.
“Yes, I danced well, did I not, Miss Stanbridge? And Master Christopher could not keep his eyes off me, could he?”
Charlotte agreed, though she’d not noticed Master Pennyworth’s eyes on anything other than the food.
“I do wish you were coming to London season instead of me,” Catherine said as she trod the stairs by Charlotte’s side. “You should be there to see what a success I will be. Oh, why do you have to marry Mr Ravensby when I know you don’t love him!”
Shocked, Charlotte halted on the landing and turned. “How can you possibly know that?”
“So, you admit it’s true?”
“I don’t admit anything. I’m just charging you with fancying yourself a mind-reader when you can know no such thing about a person.”
Catherine shrugged. “You don’t smile when you are told Mr Ravensby is to visit, yet you pinch colour into your cheeks when Mr Kernick is to arrive for his weekly visits.”
Charlotte blushed hotly before she turned away and continued her footsteps.
“You are speaking out of line, Catherine,” she muttered. “Now, here we are at your bed chamber. I shall help you undress, but you are to say nothing more about matters that are none of your business.”
When she had discharged her duties and returned to her room, Charlotte pulled back her own covers and sat down on the mattress, too dispirited to change into her nightdress.
Had she been sufficiently diligent in doing what had been asked of her? She’d waylaid Mr Barton for nearly the required amount of time, but any further attempts on her part would have aroused his suspicions.
Hugh, meanwhile, had been gone much more than an hour.
He was clever and industrious, and he surely had managed what had been required.
He might be a lowly tutor now, but the gentlemen of business and learning who met at the tavern would welcome him into their ranks in the meeting room above the tap bar, she was certain.
He’d have found an excuse to occupy them for the requisite time.
Charlotte had faith that Hugh would always do what was required.
She put her head in her hands.
Except find a way to marry her.
Wearily she rose, about to undress, jerking into awareness as she heard a small pinging noise. A pebble striking the window.
Excitement and energy replaced her lethargy as she leapt up and drew back the curtains, peering into the dark.
Another small pebble struck the window and Charlotte waved, indicating that she’d be down directly. Seizing her shawl from the hook on the back of the door, she ran silently down the servants’ stairs, her heart thundering with excitement.
Hugh had come back. The company had departed, for she’d heard the closing of the front door and the clatter of harness and horse a good five minutes before.
Had Hugh come back to explain how marriage between them might be possible?
Or to persuade Charlotte to wait?
Mr Ravensby had not yet received his answer.
And Hugh was very persuasive.
Quietly Charlotte closed the kitchen door behind her and slipped into the garden, her slippers crunching lightly on the gravel as she made her way towards the shrubbery.
The bushes rustled slightly, then parted, and she increased her pace, her heart beating even more wildly.
Right into the arms of…
“Mr Barton!”
“I hoped you’d come.” His voice was a low growl as he pulled her into his pungent embrace, and with a cry, Charlotte tried to push away.
“No, no! I’ve made a terrible mistake! Please don’t!” she protested, continuing to wriggle, for he was not relinquishing his hold on her. “No, Mr Barton, I didn’t come here for… for….
“For what, Miss Stanbridge? Not for simple kisses? Is that it? You came here for more? Well, I can give you more. I saw the way you smiled at me over the table and then became coy and standoffish. You didn’t want to alert the rest of the party to your dangerous feelings for me and what you want to do with me right now. ”
“No, Mr Barton, you mistake the matter! I didn’t know—”
But her words were drowned out by first his heavy breathing and then his wet, slobbering mouth as it latched itself onto hers.
His hands wound about her like tentacles, feeling her, moulding her curves, while Charlotte continued her struggle..
Clearly, Mr Barton felt entirely entitled to taking what he believed was his right.
A mere smile from Charlotte and her arrival in the dark appeared to indicate this.
No, Barton had clearly decided that Charlotte was a willing participant in the amorous congress and lustful intent which was fast consuming him.