Chapter III
‘Good morning ma’am,’ Emma’s voice came from the doorway as she knocked the next morning.
Charlotte sat up in the bed which, she had to admit, had been extremely comfortable to sleep in, and rubbed her eyes, yawning as Emma opened the curtains.
‘It is a bright and clear day ma’am, breakfast will be at the usual time so you have leisure to spend on your correspondence.’
‘The usual time?’ Charlotte said.
‘Why yes ma’am, 10 O’clock, several of the guests have remained the night, and there will be a walk in the park afterward, or so I am told anyway.’
Charlotte had awoken with that sense one often gets when first awaking of remembering nothing that had so far passed, but the reality of her situation had soon returned and now as she sat up she remembered the events of the night before.
‘I have all your clothes laid out for the day ma’am,’ Emma said as Charlotte got out of bed and moved towards the wash basin.
‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘I was so glad to get out of that corset last night.’
The maid seemed a little taken aback by that comment, and so Charlotte quickly changed the subject.
‘Which of the guests remained after the ball?’ she enquired.
‘Why his Grace of course, though they say he returns to town soon, his Grace the Duke of Hareburn and one or two of the older gentlemen with their wives.’
‘Did Maria Fitzherbert remain?’ Charlotte asked.
‘No ma’am, the Carshaw’s are only a short carriage drive from here and returned home last night. I hear it was a most wonderful ball ma’am.’
‘I certainly enjoyed it,’ Charlotte said, splashing water on her face as Emma poured from a kettle into the basin.
Her morning toilet accomplished, though of course Charlotte was used to a power shower for reinvigoration after a night of dancing rather than a flannel wash, she was ready to face the world. Emma had brought her several letters of thanks which had arrived first thing that morning, and it seemed the done thing to reply to them as best she could. One was from the Marquess of Collingdale informing her that he hoped to see her on the morrow at a dinner ‘to be given as a thank you for such gracious hospitality on the evening before.’
As she found her way to the dining room Charlotte could hear the sound of clattering knifes and forks, and the merry chatter of a happy breakfast occurring beyond the door. Stealing herself for this next test of etiquette she went in and was greeted by the sight of her mother and sisters at one end of the table buttering slices of bread, and vigorously applying marmalade on top. At the sideboard her brother and Cecil were helping themselves to kedgeree from a large steaming dish alongside which were other plates piled high with a variety of odd and, in Charlotte’s eyes, decidedly un-breakfast like items. McClusky’s coffee and doughnuts seemed a long way away from here.
‘Oh, Charlotte dear, so good of you to join us,’ her mother said as she crunched her way through a slice of toast.
‘She’s allowed to lie late after her own ball mama,’ Ellen said.
‘After our wedding night your father arose first thing to see to the estate, a birthday need not be an excuse for tardiness, now what are we to do to today? she said, addressing the wider table.
‘We are taking a carriage over to the Carshaws to make a visit this afternoon,’ Ellen and Isabella said in unison.
‘And we’re going riding, mother!’ the Duke said having now seated himself at the far end of the table alongside Cecil.
‘Yes, I can see by the portions of food you’re devouring that some outdoor activity is planned,’ the Duchess said, ‘and what about you Charlotte?’
‘I er, I’m not sure,’ Charlotte said, she had no idea what a lady in the regency period was expected to do with herself all day, wasn’t it just balls and visiting other people in similarly unoccupied circumstances?
‘Oh, why don’t you come with us to the Carshaws?’ Ellen said, ‘Maria Fitzherbert is still there, and you hardly got to speak to her last night, do you say you’ll come?’
‘Yes do,’ Isabella said.
Although Ms. Fitzherbert was just another mistress to then, the chance to meet her once again was something that Charlotte found herself eager to do, and so she readily consented to the adventure which was to take place a little later that day.
‘You’ve had an invitation too Charlotte,’ her mother said, glancing down the table towards Cecil and the Duke, ‘The Marquess of Collingdale has invited us both to dine tomorrow, isn’t that an honour?’
At this point Freddie snorted into his kedgeree and looked towards Charlotte who had now settled herself at the table.
‘Collingdale?’ he said, ‘that frightful bore? Mother, really, taking poor Charlotte to sit through that? She should come out into the parkland with us for the day, forget his dining, he’s awful.’
Cecil had remained silent throughout the proceedings but he kept glancing at Charlotte with a nervous smile, a fact which she found quite endearing.
‘I have already replied by the first post,’ his mother said, ‘the Marquess is most gracious with his invitation and devotes himself to much higher matters than the pursuit of the horses, a pastime which appears to occupy the two of you much more readily than the affairs of state, Charlotte will do as she is told.’
And with that the matter appeared settled, though Freddie continued to grin at his sister as Charlotte devoured several more slices of toast and marmalade, causing her mother to remark that her appetite that morning was unbecoming of a lady and that if she wanted to look like the reigning monarch she was going the right way about it.
With breakfast concluded and the plans for the day now firmly fixed Charlotte decided to spend a little time exploring the house and grounds before the carriage left at 1 O’clock. She walked through the ballroom, still in somewhat disarray from the preceding evening’s festivities and down several corridors, up flights of stairs and through doorways eventually finding herself in the kitchen to the surprise of the staff who were clearing away the breakfast items. She discovered that the house was split into two wings and that the upper floor was largely devoted to bedrooms and small sitting rooms, some belonging to the occupants of the house. She discovered her sisters’ apartments, and those of her mother and brother; but at the end of one corridor she chanced upon a door which was ajar, and from which emerged the sound of singing, albeit rather badly.
She had no idea of the song, but it sounded like something a soldier might sing as he went off to war, the voice was that of Cecil, Duke of Hareburn. For a few moments she stood listening but despite herself she could not hold back the giggles. The singing really was exceptionally bad, albeit offered with gusto. As her laughter erupted there was a pause and the occupant of the room crossed to the door. There was no where for Charlotte to hide and as the door was opened wide she came face to face with Cecil who looked decidedly embarrassed at having been overheard in the full throes of song.
‘Oh, Charlotte,’ his face turning scarlet with embarrassment, ‘I was just, er —’
‘Having a good sing?’ she said.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ he said, ‘a good sing, were you looking for me?’ the hope in his voice was palpable.
‘Not exactly,’ she said, ‘I was just exploring the house.’
‘But you’ve lived here for the past 21 years,’ he said, a bemused look on his face, ‘don’t you know it rather well?’
‘Well, yes, of course, but sometimes it’s nice to refresh your memory, it’s such a big house that you can often forget parts of it, why I haven’t been into this room for, er, ten years or so.’
‘Wasn’t this your nursery?’ he said, the look of bemusement becoming more pronounced, ‘that’s what Freddie said.’
‘You know,’ Charlotte said, forgetting her attempts at disguising her New York accent, ‘I was looking for you, I just wanted to say that I hoped you had a pleasant time and I hope you will have a comfortable journey home.’
The smile which spread across his face indicated the effect which this remark had had, the amusement at her apparent lapse in memory now gone.
‘Why thank you,’ he said, ‘I do hope it’s not too long before we see one another again, in fact I’m sure it won’t be, Freddie has asked me up again for the Boxing Day hunt, and I’ve already accepted.’
‘Oh, how splendid,’ Charlotte said, ‘then we shall see each other very soon.’
‘Enjoy your carriage ride, and your dinner tomorrow,’ he said, attempting to disguise another smile arising on his face.
‘I’m sure I shall,’ she said, ‘anything for a free lunch.’
Once more he looked bemused at her turn of phrase and blushing as she realised her mistake she turned to leave.
And with that she left the young Duke to his singing and headed back towards the main part of the house where her sisters were awaiting her.
‘Oh, there you are Charlotte, come now we shall be late, where have you been?’
‘Just looking around a bit,’ Charlotte replied.
Her sisters were in too much of a rush to notice the odd turn of phrase and now, clad in a thick woolen coat, gloves and a bonnet she was escorted by the two elder ladies towards the waiting carriage outside the house.
Sitting between her sisters Charlotte felt considerably confined in the back of the stately carriage which for its time was of course the height of fashionable travel. What I wouldn’t give for a New York cab she thought to herself as the horses set off at a pace and the lack of suspension began to take its toll.
‘How far is it to the Carshaws?’ she asked, forgetting that she had probably been there many times before, as indeed she had.
‘You’ve been going there since you were a child Charlotte, what is with this forgetfulness of the past few days? It’s as if your birthday has provided an excuse for you to divest yourself of knowledge,’ Ellen said.
‘I just wondered if we’d take the shortest route or a more scenic one?’ Charlotte said.
‘It’s all scenic,’ Isabella said pointedly.
It turned out that the carriage ride to the Carshaws took around an hour, during which they passed through the attractive parkland of the Duke’s estate, and through the pretty little village of Langburn which bore the title’s name. It was a few miles further on that the attractive, though decidedly smaller, house of Lord and Lady Carshaw stood in its own small parkland. The house was reasonably new having been a gift from the late king to Lord Carshaw for his work on agricultural reforms, a cause close to George III’s heart, and the two had lived there for the past twenty years, firm friends of the Langburn’s and Godparents to Charlotte, though of course she didn’t remember that.
Lady Carshaw had seen the carriage making its progress through the gates, and she was waiting to welcome them upon their arrival.
‘Are we all well recovered from the exuberances of last night?’ she said as the three ladies stepped out of the carriage, Charlotte feeling decidedly queasy but not due to the effects of the night before.
‘It’s wonderful to see you,’ Ellen said as the women embraced.
‘And you. Maria and I were just sitting in the morning room when we observed your carriage, do come in out of the cold and warm yourselves.’
Charlotte, now recovered, asserted herself as her sisters led the way inside.
‘I saw you dancing with the Duke of Hareburn,’ Lady Carshaw said, ‘your mother prefers the Marquess though I believe, she said as much to me.’
‘Mother prefers him because he has more money,’ Ellen interjected.
‘Why any Duke must have a fair amount of money, if money is one’s only measure for marriage suitability,’ Lady Carshaw said as they entered the morning room to find Maria Fitzherbert awaiting them.
‘My darlings,’ the lady said rising from her chair by the fire, ‘how wonderful to see you again.’
She was wearing her hair in the manner of the portrait hanging in the long gallery and her dress bore a resemblance too it as well, though she had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders for warmth, despite the crackling fire in the grate the house was cool though this was something that Charlotte later resigned herself as being an inevitability wherever she was, except in bed.
‘Come and sit down,’ Lady Carshaw said, ‘I was just asking Charlotte about last night’s dances.’
‘Oh yes, we noticed that your favours were vied for,’ Maria said smiling.
‘The Marquess is frightful,’ Isabella said, ‘he chased me for a little while you know.’
‘Well he’s moved on to a younger model dear,’ Maria said, much to the amusement of Ellen who burst into fits of laughter.
‘But the question is,’ Maria continued, ‘who does Charlotte prefer?’
The eyes of the room now fixed upon Charlotte who stammered a response.
‘Well er, Cecil, the Duke of Hareburn was most er charming, yes charming, I even caught him singing in his bedroom this morning.’
‘You were in his bedroom?’ Ellen said, the shock in her voice only thinly disguised.
‘Well not in his bedroom, outside it.’
‘Spying on him?’ Isabella interjected.
‘No, the door was open and I could hear him singing, it was pretty craz … poor, but I couldn’t help overhearing him.’
‘I think,’ Maria Fitzherbert said, smiling at Charlotte,’ what Charlotte means is that sometimes you can’t help the situations you find yourself in, and it sounds like this was a particularly amusing one, I doubt the Marquess sounds any better when he sings.’
‘Well Charlotte can find out tomorrow evening when she goes to dine with him.’
‘To dine with the Marquess?’ Lady Carshaw said, ‘why that is quite an honour, we have not yet been invited and have been neighbours in the district for heaven knows how many years. They say the dining room is a recreation of that at Versailles.’
Charlotte had in fact been to Versailles, though not in this period, which was a bizarre thought, she’d trailed round there some years ago with an ex on a romantic break to Paris but all those mirrors and gold leaf weren’t exactly her thing. If truth be told she preferred the idea of catching a Duke singing in his bedroom to being treated like a prize to be won by an ostentatious Marquess with visions of French grandeur, especially given what happened to the French aristocracy in the end.
The visit to the Carshaws passed by pleasantly enough, Lord Carshaw appeared a little later on to offer his thanks to Charlotte for her gracious hospitality; and Charlotte’s sisters regaled them with the latest gossip, though they referred to it as ‘information,’ concerning the goings on in the district.
But it was Maria Fitzherbert whom Charlotte found most fascinating, her character and outlook seemed quite different from the stuffy aristocratic world which she was inhabiting, and knowing a little of her story Charlotte was not surprised. The illegitimate wife of the current king George IV, known for his extravagance or rather his debauchery, a Roman Catholic and no doubt mother to several illegitimate royal children she could hardly be said to have led a dull life. Her home now was Brighton, its pavilion the sight of many a royal party and tomorrow she would return there, though another visit to the district would not be long in coming as she greatly enjoyed the company of the Carshaws and indeed her Godchildren from Hareburn.
By mid afternoon the sun was beginning to set across the chilly landscape and the three young ladies bid Maria and Lady Carshaw a farewell as the carriage bounced them along the drive and back towards the house where no doubt their mother was waiting for them impatiently. If truth be told the Dowager Duchess had little to do except worry about the affairs of her children, and having long ago determined to allow Frederick to find a suitable wife of his own, her thoughts were currently turned to her youngest daughter Charlotte, the older two being far too wrapped up in themselves to ever consider a suitable match.
Several men had presented themselves over the previous year, but it was the Marquess of Collingdale whom she favoured, mainly due to his wealth, said to be some £10,000 a year, alongside his political ambitions, and not to mention his royal connection which the Dowager saw as an opportunity to further her own ends, for she was keen to secure the privileges of court both for herself and her daughters.
But the reader must surely have realised by now that the Marquess was not an attractive man, neither physically, though of course such a fact in itself should not matter, but most certainly not in his outlook and self. He believed himself to be superior to all, and his income allowed for such an attitude to prevail. But despite his good fortunes he was terminally unlucky in that which can make even the poorest man feel the richest in the world: thus far he had failed to find a person to love or rather a person who would love him back, and thus, though his personality fell far short of being desirable he was a pitiable figure, but one who did little to help himself.
That evening passed without much to warrant the reader’s interest, the Dowager was indeed awaiting their return and eager to hear any news they might impart, though Charlotte was grateful to her sisters for not imparting the misdemeanour outside the singing Duke’s chambers earlier that day. The Duke in question had departed for Bath with the promise that it would not be long before he and Freddie were reunited for the Boxing Day Hunt, a tradition which Charlotte later learned, was a highlight of the social calendar.
The Duke of Langburn himself was in the library pouring over various documents and papers for the coming days and so after a light supper the ladies retired to listen to their mother play the harpsichord and to read. Charlotte found the reading matter available somewhat limited, forgetting that the concept of the novel had not yet really emerged, though she found herself smiling as she browsed through a first edition of Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen, a volume which she knew would fetch a small fortune if transported back to her contemporary setting. At length she retired to bed where she found that Emma had stoked a fire in the grate, and turned down her bed.
Reflecting upon the past forty-eight hours she realised what an astonishing amount had happened to her in just a short time. No longer did she feel like a 21st century woman but had entirely taken to her life as it had been presented here. Somehow, she knew that when the time was right she would go home, but clearly there was something special here for her to accomplish, or at least to witness, and the prospect of that gave her considerable comfort as she slipped between the sheets and settled down to sleep, watching the glowing coals in the fire and picturing Maria Fitzherbert, who had been everything she had imagined her to be and more.