“By opening her heart and putting aside all her fears so she may be ready to receive it. Promise me you’ll at least try to do that much this season.”
“Fears? I’m not afraid of marriage. I want nothing more than to be a wife and mother.”
“But you are so afraid of making a mistake that you’ve closed your heart to potential suitors. And that is a shame because you have so much love to give. No daughter could be more loving to her parents than you. And nothing would bring us more joy than to see you happily married with a babe in your arms.”
Thinking again of her papa lying ill in his bed, Charlotte swallowed the lump in her throat. If something happened to him before he had the chance to know his grandchildren—no, she did not want to imagine such a scenario.
“Perhaps you are right, Mama!” Charlotte turned to embrace her mother. “I promise I will try my best,” she said, even though the thought of enduring another season filled her with despair. If only there were alternative ways to find love that didn’t involve endless balls and empty marriage proposals.
Tea was laidout in the alcove of the drawing room next to a bay window, which overlooked the Roses’ small city garden. The sun had come out after a bout of rain, making for a cheerful atmosphere. Pleased that her fittings for the season had ended, Charlotte reached for a delectable sponge cake laden with fresh cream and strawberries. Just as she was about to take a long-awaited bite, her papa came staggering into the drawing room, wheezing, and pulling at his cravat as if it strangled him. His butler, Evans, fluttered beside his master like a confused butterfly.
“Papa!” Charlotte dropped the cake onto her plate and sprang to her feet.
“Benedict! Whatever is the matter?” Her mother, who’d been nursing a cup of tea, shoved her cup roughly away, not caringthat the tea sloshed onto the table as she did so, and followed suit.
“Blackguard!” Sir Benedict spluttered, his face red as a beet as he continued to wrestle with his cravat.
“Sir, let me help you with that.” Evans danced around his master helplessly.
Charlotte clutched her stomach as she watched her papa rip the cravat from his neck, throw it to the floor, and slump into his chair, breathing hard.
Lady Rose raced to her husband. “Send for the doctor, Evans. I fear it’s his heart.”
The butler scurried out of the room, no doubt grateful that he’d been given something productive to do. “Charlotte, fetch your papa a brandy. Quickly!”
Charlotte raced to the drinks cabinet and grabbed a crystal decanter of brandy. Her hand shook as the liquid splashed from the decanter into the snifter, splattering down the side of the glass and onto the table. Ignoring the spills, she hurried back to her papa, who sat in his chair making grunting noises between sputtering something inaudible. Lady Rose snatched the snifter from Charlotte’s hand and gave it to her husband, who clutched hold of the stem as though it were a rope thrown out to a drowning man, and gulped the liquid down. It seemed to ease his breathing and clear his airways enough to allow him to speak.
“I’ll kill him,” he wheezed between breaths.
Kill?Charlotte blinked. Who could have made her normally jovial papa so upset that he talked of killing?
“Benedict, what on earth is all this about?” Lady Rose looked close to tears.
Papa squeezed the stem of the brandy snifter until his knuckles turned white. “Warsham!” he growled, looking up athis wife. His chocolate-brown eyes, usually filled with love and kindness, had turned black with rage.
“Warsham?’ Lady Rose took a step back, and to Charlotte’s surprise, her mother’s voice turned acrid. “Is that what all this fuss is about? After all these years?”
Warsham—that is the name of the gentleman Madam Rouen mentioned. What can he possibly have to do with Papa?
“The blackguard has returned from India! And he had the gall to insert himself into my card game as though he belonged there.”
“Your game? Really, Benedict!”
“He sat down at my table with a smug smile, but that was before I let everyone know that he—” Sir Benedict seemed to choke on his own rage, and another coughing fit ensued. He clutched his chest and wheezed.
“Fetch your papa more brandy,” Lady Rose ordered.
Once again, her tone and demeanor alarmed Charlotte. She’d hardly ever seen her mama cross.
“Now, Charlotte!” Lady Rose snapped, jerking Charlotte out of her inertia. She raced back to the drinks cabinet, snatched the crystal decanter, and dashed back, shoving the decanter into her mama’s waiting hand. Lady Rose poured a healthy dose of brandy into her husband’s glass, and once again, he downed it like a man lost in the desert for a week. The liquid ran down his chin and onto his expensive shirt as he gulped, but he didn’t seem to care. This behavior was so out of character for Papa that it made Charlotte grow cold with fear.
Just then, a calmer Evans returned and announced the arrival of Doctor Warner.
“Thank heavens!” Lady Rose said.
Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief. Doctor Warner had been the Rose family physician for all of Charlotte’s one-and-twenty years. He was a tall man, at least six feet, with a healthyhead of silver hair, round spectacles, and a bushy beard. He nodded his quick greeting to Lady Rose and Charlotte before turning in consternation to his patient. Sir Benedict seemed to be breathing more evenly, although his face still blazed scarlet, and his brows remained knitted together in a show of rage. Dr. Warner set down his black bag and leaned over his patient, who continued to clutch his chest.
“We’ll wait for your report in the parlor, Doctor,” Lady Rose said, gripping hold of Charlotte’s arm. “Thank you for coming so promptly.”
