Carriages rolled steadily into the courtyard throughout the afternoon, bringing neighbours, relations, political acquaintances, and opportunists in equal measure.
Charlotte watched from the hallway with quiet apprehension as footmen hurried to unload trunks and servants darted back and forth with hot water, tea trays, and armfuls of cloaks. Mrs Dent, with what felt like deliberate malice, imposed extra duties upon her wherever possible. In addition to her usual responsibilities, Charlotte assisted guests to their rooms and ensured refreshments were sent up before dinner.
She did not object. It afforded her the perfect opportunity to observe the company as they arrived alongside Lord Stanley and Mrs Wilberforce.
Miss Hill and Miss Underwood—as always—arrived together, as inseparable as shadow from body. The Captain followed shortly thereafter, his affable, gentle manner bringing a smile to Charlotte despite her apprehension.
Mr Wilberforce’s acquaintances—the local gentleman farmers, Mr Smythe and Mr Lionel—stepped from their carriagealready deep in conversation, neither appearing especially concerned with where they were so long as they might continue debating the merits of some new agricultural invention.
The Frasers and Pearsons were already known to Charlotte. But she noted in particular how both Miss Fraser and Miss Pearson looked towards Lord Stanley—the latter with hopeful reverence, the former with smug confidence, as though it were already a foregone conclusion that she would become the next Baroness Stanley.
Then came the guests Charlotte did not know.
Lady Susan arrived next. Charlotte had been informed she was a widow, though one would scarcely have deduced it from the scarlet silk and profusion of jewels at her throat. There was nothing subdued in her mourning—if mourning there had ever been. Before she even addressed her hostess, her gaze swept the room, lingering—just a moment too long, Charlotte noted—upon Lord Stanley’s home. She surveyed the hall as though already taking stock of silver and linen, quietly calculating what she might retain and what would require improvement once she secured the position of his wife.
More carriages rolled into the courtyard.
Mr Payne—a successful local businessman—and Sir Oswald, whom Charlotte recognised as the architect, arrived in quick succession with their families. Both gentlemen brought their wives, along with sons and daughters barely out of the schoolroom, all trying very hard to appear worldly and succeeding chiefly in looking endearingly uncertain.
Then came Lord and Lady Boulton. Much to Charlotte’s dismay, she watched him descend first, leaving his wife to manage the carriage steps entirely unaided. She followed with careful dignity, her expression suggesting this arrangement was neither new nor negotiable.
Lastly arrived Lord and Lady Bainbridge with Mr Hamilton—Lord Bainbridge’s nephew.
Twenty-five guests had arrived.
Only one remained unaccounted for.
Lord Wolverton.
When Charlotte quietly enquired after him, Mrs Wilberforce informed her he had been delayed and would arrive later.
By evening she was already exhausted, yet her nerves would not allow her rest. Wolverton was coming, and she could not afford to lose focus.
She dressed for dinner in one of her newly made gowns—silver-grey, modest enough for her position, yet a marked improvement upon her former wardrobe.
Sarah assisted her with her hair. ‘What do you think of Lady Bainbridge?’ she asked. ‘She looks awfully young.’
Charlotte considered this as Sarah pinned a final strand. She knew Lord Bainbridge by reputation, though mercifully she had not been formally introduced to him in her former life. His only son had died of syphilis some years prior, and he had since been determined to secure a new heir. There had nearly been a disaster the previous year when he had set his sights upon Grace, but Charlotte’s intervention had prevented that particular calamity.
She lifted a brow. ‘Poor girl—he must be pushing eighty.’
‘I heard from her lady’s maid that her family required the funds and agreed to the match.’
‘So, he bought himself a bride,’ Charlotte said flatly.
Sarah merely shrugged. ‘When he dies, she will inherit a fortune. His estate neighbours this one, and his house is said to be like a palace.’
Charlotte muttered, ‘And if he outlives her? Selfish old men have an unfortunate tendency to persist.’
Sarah made a face. ‘Then she will have sacrificed for nothing. If I were her, I’d wait until no one was looking and push him down the marble stairs.’
‘Sarah!’ Charlotte gasped, scandalised, yet impressed.
‘Just one roll would do it,’ She continued without the slightest remorse.
Charlotte pressed her lips together. ‘Well, let us hope she outlives him—and that his estate is not entailed away before she can produce an heir. At least then her sacrifice would not be entirely in vain.’
‘Who would it be entailed away to?’ Sarah asked.
