Her own perception of Alex had never been one of disdain, but ever since he’d rescued Walter, she couldn’t deny how much her heart had opened toward him. She’d found herself forgiving him and then thinking about him and then longing for his friendship. She finally realized how different she felt every time she was near him.
She closed her eyes. Feelings were not actions though. No amount of feelings could usurp the obstacles and prejudices that were strewn in the way between them. She would do well to forget about him.
At least Walter had started to improve. His appetite had returned. He still hadn’t spoken to her yet, but just yesterday she noticed George making a concerted effort to spend time in the nursery with him.
At the faint sound of carriage wheels approaching, Charlotte glanced toward the turret balcony in her room that overlooked the front park as well as a portion of the pond in the garden. Only her room and Walter’s nursery had balconies on this side of the house. As the sound grew louder, she raced to her window and waited for the conveyance to come into view.
Once it turned from the road up the park, Charlotte noticed its plain exterior. It must be carrying someone from the train station. Could it be Christopher come to chide her?
She glanced in the mirror, checking her appearance. It wasn’t flawless, and her gown was slightly wrinkled, but she hoped it wouldn’t overmuch offend whoever came to their house. Worried about confronting Christopher, she drew a fortifying breath, made her way to the front of the house and out the door, and descended the stairs.
George, Joseph, and Walter must have heard the approach, too, for they stood outside, waiting to see who it was.
George leaned toward her and whispered, “Did you write to Christopher about Walter?”
Charlotte tensed. “No, did you?”
Joseph popped his head toward them. “Should I say something?”
“No!” George and Charlotte answered emphatically in unison.
“Okay, okay,” Joseph replied, lifting his hands in front of his face. That boy was always saying the wrong thing at the wrong moment.
The footmen reached to open the carriage door, and Charlotte stood taller, as did Joseph. But when the door opened, it wasn’t Christopher at all.
“Mother!” George exclaimed as he rushed toward the door and handed her out. Walter and Joseph approached her, and she hugged them both.
“Oh, my dear boys!” She looked them all over and kissed the air next to George’s cheek as Charlotte joined them.
“And Charlotte.” The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I came through London, of course, and spoke with Christopher, and I am not pleased with your actions.” She scrutinized her daughter. “But, as always, the Northumbrian air has done excellent things to your beautiful complexion.”
“We were not expecting you,” Charlotte replied.
“Yes, well, the longer I was in India, the more I worried about you all. Then, when I received Christopher’s letter assuring me there’d be one or two matches soon, I knew I had to return home forthwith.”
Christopher had written her a letter? Based on how long it took for a letter to travel and for Mother to return, he must have written to her months ago. How presumptuous!
Mother drew another breath and continued. “Your father could not be spared, of course, as his business dealings are flourishing, but I thought I’d better come be part of the goings-on!” She started toward the front door. “I am very pleased with what Christopher has accomplished in the last two months regarding his future, but you”—she shot a scathing look at Charlotte—“you need supervision and instruction; that is clear.”
Charlotte steeled her countenance and pinched her lips together to hold back the trembling response that threatened. Having her mother back home would complicate everything and hinder all her freedom, and it was all she could do not to scream or burst into tears.
Once inside the vestibule, her mother divested herself of her gloves and hat, handed them to her maid, and pressed one narrow hand along the tight waist of her gown. Charlotte found the elaborate brocade and decorated bonnet a little too ostentatious for traveling but thought better than to say something. It seemed the older she grew, the less she cared about the fine things of rank like her mother did.
“Now, we cannot waste a moment of time before we commence preparations.”
Charlotte looked at George, who was listening just as intently.
Her mother stared at her. “I am not sure, Charlotte, if your brother has informed you of his brilliant plan, but things are going ever so well with the Duke of Chelsea’s daughter, Lady Eloise, that Christopher has promised her and at least half of London, I daresay, a masquerade ball here.”
Normally Charlotte would have erupted in raptures at something as medieval and cultural as a masquerade. But knowing it was of her brother’s design made her instantly wary. “How wonderful,” she responded evenly. “When is this to occur?”
“In just over a fortnight.” Her mother clapped her hands together. “He was delighted to see me, and when I passed through London, we hatched the plan right away. Come, Charlotte. We must begin assigning rooms and choosing menus immediately. Your brother must think me some sort of magician to expect me to accomplish this feat in that time frame.”
“Yes, Mother.” This would be the first of hours during which she be doing her mother’s bidding. Nothing stood between her mother and a proper party.
They were halfway into the parlor when Mrs. Roylance continued. “Later this afternoon you must go straight to the mantua-maker and order yourself a gown. And a mask. Something spectacular—spare no expense. You know these kinds of balls are all the rage in London. Prince Albert and the Queen herself find them in vogue. Of course, we don’t rank highly enough to invite them, but Christopher has confirmed that several people of title will attend.” She withdrew what appeared to be a list of guests from her waistband. “And just imagine the novelty of a castle! All of Town will talk about it! Everyone will be wishing for an invitation to ride the train to Northumberland!” She analyzed the walls around her. “It is fortunate I’ve recently had the tapestries redone.”
A maid entered the parlor and handed a stack of paper and a vial of ink to Mrs. Roylance, who began writing more lists. After flourishing a line under the menu, she glanced toward Charlotte. “And your blessed brother has assured me Lord Ainscough will be among those attending.” She squeezed Charlotte’s hand. “You must do everything in your power to win him over. Christopher tells me Lord Ainscough was quite distraught that you left Town, and you must use that to your advantage. Now is the time to secure the match.”
