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“Yes, thank you,” he said. “I was merely wondering if Mr. Fitzroy has discovered whether or not the fish bite better at night.”

“I should say so.” Miss Fitzroy grimaced. “It seems to me that we eat fish for dinner almost every day.”

“Then I shall have to speak to him about it,” William said. Along with a few other things, he added to himself.

Charlotte peered out of the carriage window, her excitement mounting. They were close; she could feel it.

“The driver will take us to the end of the road,” Grandmama said. “From there, we should have only a short walk to the beach.”

Upon learning of Charlotte’s desire to visit the seashore, Lady Cheston had insisted upon organizing the outing right away. The fact that they had awoken to clear skies and mild temperatures had solidified the plan. Lady Cheston had ordered the carriage be brought around immediately after breakfast, and although she’d declined to join them because of her difficulty in walking across the sand, she had sent Charlotte and her grandmother on their way with two chairs, a table, a small picnic basket, and an enthusiastic wave.

Charlotte could admit to a little disappointment that Lady Cheston had been the only one to see them off. She’d seen nothing of Lord Cheston since the other guests left Tribbley Hall last night. She had not spoken to him since he’d crossed the drawing room to join Mr. Wellington, Miss Fitzroy, and her. And even that had been a brief interaction. He had moved on, soon afterward, to speak with Mr. Fitzroy. She supposed it was expected that a host float between the small clusters of guests gathered in his drawing room, but she had hoped he would stay a little longer. After her indignation over his earlier behavior had faded, she had enjoyed her interaction with the baron far more than she would have anticipated. But even though she’d felt his eyes upon her more than once after dinner, he had scarcely spoken to her again.

“There! Look!”

At Grandmama’s exclamation, Charlotte ceased her woolgathering to focus on the sight before them.

The dirt road ended at a narrow strip of grass. Beyond that, the grass gradually gave way to a sandy path, which rose over a gentle incline before disappearing between craggy rocks.

For the first time since they’d embarked on this outing, Charlotte’s enthusiasm gave way to unease. “Can you manage it, Grandmama?”

“I am determined to manage it,” she said. “After all, the footman will assist me, if necessary.”

Charlotte should have known better than to ask. Her grandmother rarely allowed obstacles—physical or otherwise—to get in her way. The fact that they were both here a mere four weeks before Margery’s wedding was proof enough of that.

The carriage rolled to a stop, and moments later the footman appeared. Charlotte waited only until he had opened the door before climbing out. She stood on a patch of sand and watched a seagull soar overhead. Its piercing cry was echoed by another bird, and then in the silence that followed, she heard the sea. Like the earth’s heartbeat, the rhythmic ebb and flow of waves filled her ears. She reached for Grandmama’s arm.

“May I be the one who assists you?” she asked. “I’d very much like to have us reach the water together.”

Grandmama smiled. “As would I.” She turned to the footman. “Would you be so good as to follow us to the beach with the furniture and the picnic basket?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She patted Charlotte’s hand. “Very well. I believe we’re ready.”

The grassy tussocks made the terrain uneven, and the sand shifted beneath their feet, but Charlotte guided her grandmother slowly up the path to the rocky ridge. And suddenly, the vista opened up before them. Cliffs, standing like a protective wall around the semicircular sandy bay, and beyond that, water as far as the eyes could see.

“There,” Grandmama said, coming to a stop beside a large boulder. “What do you think of that?”

Charlotte gazed at the sight in wonder. “It is magnificent.”

They stood together, silently watching the whitecapped waves roll in for a few moments longer, and then Grandmama gave Charlotte’s arm a squeeze. “Shall we go closer?”

She nodded, and together they descended the rocky slope until they reached the hard, wet sand. They walked to the water’s edge. Grandmama stood a few feet from the lacy foam, but Charlotte lifted her skirts and dared move a little closer. The water rushed in, touching the tips of her boots. With a squeal, she stumbled back a few steps. The wave receded, and she moved forward again, waiting. This time, as the water approached, she bent over just enough to run her fingers across its surface. It was ice-cold and smelled of salt and seaweed.

“Be careful, Charlotte,” her grandmother called.

She did not heed the warning quickly enough. A larger wave rolled in, instantly wetting the lower three inches of her gown.

“Oh no!”

Backing up farther, Charlotte took hold of the layers of fabric and shook them. Tiny grains of sand rained down. She studied her gown helplessly. Mud one day, seawater and sand the next. She had most definitely not packed enough clothing for a stay at Tribbley Hall.

Turning, she started up the sand toward her grandmother, who was now safely ensconced in one of the two chairs Lady Cheston’s footman had set down in the shade of the cliffs.

“Are you terribly wet?” Grandmama asked as she drew near.

“No.” Charlotte gave her a chagrined smile. “It seems that this young lady from the city has much to learn about the fickle nature of ocean waves.”