A sinking weight lodged inside her stomach, and Charlotte couldn’t respond. As pleasant and upstanding a gentleman she thought Lord Ainscough to be, she hadn’t thought about him very much in the past few weeks. Her thoughts had been filled with Alex. His words, his rescue, his unexpected appearances—and how much she still didn’t know of him.
One thing she did know: her mother would loathe the sight of Alex just as much as Christopher did.
At least her mother had been so busy she hadn’t noticed Walter’s silence. Charlotte prayed the boy would continue to improve so her mother wouldn’t notice how peculiar he was.
Not waiting for a response, Mother furiously jotted down additional food ideas. Charlotte took a paper from the stack and swallowed as she dipped her own quill into the ink. “Could I lighten your load by organizing the music?”
“Indeed,” her mother responded without looking up. “If you write a letter today, we can have the best musicians brought up from London.”
Charlotte clasped her hands together and thought of her most persuasive rhetoric. “Mama, I think local musicians would have more time to practice together in so short a time.” Charlotte wanted to employ local people, wanted to have a bit of Northumberland represented to their guests, and music was the best way she knew to do that.
“But these northerners are always playing their own jigs and such. Their music is not refined enough for a ball.”
Charlotte didn’t give up. “The vicar’s wife is familiar with the local talent, and I’d bet using them would even save us some money, not to mention you’d have to find lodging for musicians brought from Town, and I know you already have so much to do. If they were local, it would cause you less strain.”
Her mother rubbed her quill between her fingers. “Oh, all right. But do audition them to assess their skill. I want only the best. And make sure you provide them with some sort of ball-appropriate livery. I don’t want anyone looking shabby or homely. The whole event needs an air of polish, of quality.” She turned her free hand about, adding to her passionate words.
Charlotte nodded. Of course her mother would be concerned about appearances and grandeur. Increasingly over the last few years, it seemed her father and mother and Christopher had done all they could to flaunt their importance. But Charlotte, especially having discussed the local people with Rebekah Laurence at the vicarage and with Alex, wished to be different from her brother and mother.
She and her mother discussed further details for nearly an hour, and when most of the room accommodations for the guests were in place, Mrs. Roylance finally drew a breath. “Now, go procure a maid to accompany you to see Mrs. Dunsdale about a gown.”
Released from immediate duties, Charlotte stood and stifled her sigh until she exited the room. Once out of eyesight she rested her shoulders against the cold stone of the corridor.
A ball. Her brother. Lord Ainscough. Walter’s condition. Everything felt heavy again and, with it, her reprieve in Northumberland had vanished.
Making her way toward the servants’ entrance, she learned Ellen had already been sent into town to employ two more cooks and several more maids for the upcoming weeks. Margaret stood just inside the corridor nearest the kitchen, collecting sheets to take to Mrs. Roylance’s rooms. Charlotte asked if she’d accompany her to the mantua-maker’s instead.
“I’ve never been to a dress shop, miss, but I’d like to.” Margaret handed her bundle to the maid next to her.
“Then, let’s be on our way.”
As Margaret gathered their coats and gloves, Charlotte tried to still the churning in her stomach. Though she’d prevailed upon her mother to let her organize the music, something told her there’d be many more days and circumstances outside of her control and decidedly against her liking. She knew all too well what that terrible, familiar feeling was like.
Chapter 21
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Dunsdale.” Charlottebobbed a curtsy to the modiste. “I thank you for receiving us this late in the day.”
“Of course.” She gathered her tools, and a smile split her mouth just wide enough to expose a cracked tooth. Charlotte’s mother had once lamented that the woman’s smile used to be perfect until her husband, whom she’d since run away from, had been terribly unkind to her. It wasn’t fair that such a wonderful woman had such a horrible past, but Charlotte had always admired her for creating her own successful business and moving beyond her previous circumstances. “How can I help?” Mrs. Dunsdale asked.
“To get right to it, my brother hosts a masquerade ball in just over two weeks’ time.”
Mrs. Dunsdale’s eyes widened. “So soon!”
“Indeed.” Charlotte rubbed her hands together. “I need a Stuart-era costume, complete with a mask. Are you up to the task? We will pay handsomely.”
“For you I am always up to the task.” She rallied, her eyes widening with excitement. “What sort of costume did you have in mind?”
Charlotte pursed her lips as she thought. “Mother wants everyone to be as exotic and medieval as possible.” She patted down her auburn locks. “Perhaps something green and blue because of my complexion and hair—”
“Oh!” Mrs. Dunsdale clapped her hands together and spun in a circle. “What about a butterfly? The wings could be so grand, a gauze with some kind of cheesecloth mixed with—”
Charlotte sighed. “Lady Eloise, a friend of my brother’s, has already declared herself a butterfly. Apparently she had a fabulous dress ordered in London just for the occasion.”
Mrs. Dunsdale tsked. “Well, we can do better than London.” She placed one hand on her waist. “I have it! How about a chameleon?”
Charlotte tried not to giggle. “I fear I won’t quite feel beautiful if I’m dressed as a bulging-eyed reptile.”
“A valid concern.” Mrs. Dunsdale blew an errant bit of hair out of her eyes and hurried to the bolts of her finest fabric. “How about a horse with a grand snout on your mask? Or a dragon? We could conjure up some ribbons and trim as mock fire in your hair. There are some marvelous blue and green fabrics that could do it justice.”
