Knowing a full explanation of her accident and who had caused it would simply make her sister fret even more, Charlotte simply murmured her agreement and stepped into the large, copper tub to soak away her pain.
*
Later that afternoon,Charlotte was in bed, reading to her niece, Lucy, when there was a knock at the door. Before Charlotte could even speak, Dorothea entered, followed by a maid, holding a bouquet of hothouse flowers so enormous that Charlotte could not even see the face of the girl carrying them.
Dorothea directed the servant to set the flowers down on a table near the fireplace and dismissed her with a nod. She turned to Charlotte, hands on hips and a curious expression on her face.
“I believe this requires an explanation,” she said. “Lucy, dear, go to the nursery. It is nearly time for your bath.”
The girl kissed her aunt, slid off the bed, and walked to the door, but then ducked behind a chair as Charlotte replied, “I do not have the pleasure of understanding you, Dorothea. Explain what? Thank you for the flowers—they’re lovely.”
“Oh, these are not fromourhothouse.” Dorothea crossed the room and sat in a chair next to the bed. “They just now arrived from Brentwood Manor with this note.” She pulled it out of a pocket and read aloud: “My sincerest apologies for any harm I may have caused you by riding too fast near your horse this morning, Miss Kendall. I do hope you will be recovered enough to dance the first with me at the upcoming assembly in two weeks. Sincerely, Robert Morton.” She handed the note over and pressed her lips together a moment, her disapproval evident. “You said you were alone this morning. Now, I find out Mr. Morton was thecause of this mishap?”
Charlotte glanced over the message, noting the elegant handwriting. Then, she gave her sister a wry smile. “Actually, I never said I was alone.Youmade that assumption, if you recall. You never gave me the chance to fully explain.”
“Perhaps you would like to do so now?”
That was, in fact, the last thing Charlotte wished to do, but she took a deep breath and related the entire incident with Mr. Morton. The flowers and note must have worked some magic upon her mood, for she found herself softening the retelling a bit in order to make Mr. Morton seem not quite the ogre she had initially felt he was.
When she finished, she gestured to the bouquet. “It was kind of him to send flowers to me, do you not think?”
“By way of an apology, I would say it is just barely adequate,” huffed Dorothea. “But, at least, it shows a sense of gentlemanly behavior. But, why did he abandon you in your time of need? He should have accompanied you back to Haverstone. You say he just left you there? It is nothing short of shameful.”
“He was clearly in a hurry. I agree—I certainly do not think he comported himself with perfect manners, despite the flowers and note.” She reread the card. “And now, it appears I must dance with him. Since you are determined I shall fall in love with him and persuade him to propose, that must bring you some satisfaction.” She giggled.
Dorothea sniffed and raised an eyebrow. “Well. I shall try to give Mr. Morton the benefit of the doubt, although I must say his conduct disappoints me greatly. But, you may be correct. There must have been some urgent estate business which demanded his immediate attention.” She stood. “You will write him a thank you note for the flowers and accept his offer for the first dance at the upcoming assembly. No doubt, he will be less rushed and exhibit more charm toward you there.” She leaned in to kiss her sister’s brow and left.
Lucy popped up from behind the chair. “I thought maybe the flowers were from the other Mr. Morton. The one I saw in the library. He’s nice.”
“He is, dear heart. But, he is not the one who caused the accident so he would have no cause to send me flowers. Now, were you not supposed to go have your bath? Run along. We can read again tomorrow.”
Lucy skipped out of the room, leaving Charlotte to study the bouquet. As she fingered the note, she pondered the gesture from Mr. Morton. Was the emotion behind it all completely sincere? She had her doubts.
Why did I not tell Dorothea the full truth of how incredibly rude he was to me after my fall? Then, there would be no question of accepting his offer to dance—she would insist I refuse him. But, it appears I am stuck and must endure his company at least for the first set. Still, the invitation is probably due solely to his feelings of guilt. I cannot think he has any more interest in me than I hold in him. Therefore, we shall have our dance and then soon be indifferent neighbors once more.
Chapter Ten
Although Charlotte hadseriously doubted her sore muscles and bruises would be gone by the night of the assembly, her sister’s insistence on applying arnica jelly on her hip each morning and night had done the trick. Her largest bruise—now a greenish hue—would be covered by her gown and just the merest shadow of bruising could be seen on her arm. Becca assisted Charlotte in putting on one of her new dinner dresses that Dorothea had chosen for that night. Charlotte knew that her sister wanted to reserve the most sumptuous and elegant gown for the ball she had persuaded Reginald to host later in the summer.
Somewhat reluctantly, Charlotte allowed Becca to style her hair. The maid pulled it flat on the sides, with a bun of curls at the back of the head, interwoven with a strand of pearls. In the front, she fashioned waved curls, which framed Charlotte’s face nicely. Becca had tried to add a single long curl down one side, but Charlotte overruled her, saying it would be bothersome, which made Becca give an annoyed sniff. Although Charlotte still did not care that much for Becca’s attitude, she had to admit the young woman had a way with hair. As she turned her head from side to side, studying her face in the mirror, she had to admit she looked very well indeed. Charlotte had always given the minimal amount of effort with her hair, never being greatly interested in fashionable styles. With an appreciative nod, sherose from the dressing table and Becca then fussed with the flounces and puffed sleeves of the cream silk gown with tiny hand-embroidered rosebuds on it until Charlotte finally had to order her to stop.
There was a knock at the door and Dorothea entered, already dressed and primped for the assembly. She was holding a small, velvet jewelry box and, as she moved closer, Charlotte could see the approving look in her sister’s eyes.
“Oh, you look quite lovely, my dear. Truly, you will not be in want for dancing partners. Let us hope your new shoes are comfortable for I predict you will be on the dance floor quite a bit this evening.” She turned to Becca. “Thank you, Becca, that will be all for now. You’ve done a lovely job with her hair.” The maid curtseyed and left the room.
Dorothea opened the jewelry box and pulled out a cross made of four sizeable, rectangular-cut rubies dangling from a shiny gold chain. She held it out to Charlotte. “I thought you might wish to wear this tonight—the color will go quite well with the roses on your dress, do you not think?”
“How beautiful—is it yours?” Charlotte sat at the dressing table again so Dorothea could fasten the clasp.
“Yes. But before that, it was our mother’s. Papa gave it to me at my wedding.” She gave a nervous laugh. “He probably has saved something else of hers to give to you when you marry, do not fear.”
Charlotte reached up and touched the cross, an odd sadness washing over her. “I…I wish I had known her. I wish my coming into the world had not been the cause of her leaving it. I see the resentment in Papa’s eyes every time he glances at me.” She dropped her gaze. “Well, perhaps I imagine it. But, how didyouever look at me with any satisfaction knowing I was the reason you lost your mother?”
“Now, now—none of that,” Dorothea said briskly. “I absolutely forbid you to be sad about an event you had no control over. I shall always miss my—ourmother—but, at least, I have memories of her,while you have none.”
“True. I only know she was beautiful.” Charlotte smiled up at the reflection of her blonde, classic-featured sister standing behind her. “Like you. Instead, I am…dull looking. I confess, I do not share your optimism of my having many dances this evening.”
“You do not favor our mother in looks, but that is no reason to think yourself unlikely to make a match. Your features are dark like our father’s, and I could wish those few freckles away, but be assured that tonight, my dear, you cannot be thought anything but lovely. Do not forget, you will have the first dance with Mr. Morton. Make the most of it. Perhaps he will favor you more than once during the assembly, which would be a signal to all of his particular interest.”
