Chapter VI
The month of May passed quickly for Charlotte, though she spent much of it looking forward to her coming adventure in Brighton.
Her mother had finally consented to allow her to go, despite the Duke’s insistence that she would go whether the Duchess liked it or not. An invitation to dine for the Marquess’ birthday had indeed been issued and gracefully declined, much to the indignation of the former who considered Charlotte’s presence at his birthday dinner a right rather than a request. Nevertheless, there was little he could do except to curry the favour of other local women who could be more easily bought than the young lady of Langburn.
Finally, the morning of the 17th arrived, and the usual morning ritual was enacted with perhaps a little more gusto than normal, for Charlotte, or Melissa, had always enjoyed a lie in.
‘Good morning ma’am,’ Emma said as she opened the curtains allowing the spring sunshine to flood the room.
‘I’m already awake,’ Charlotte said, ‘I could hardly sleep for the excitement of it all.’
‘I wish I were going too,’ Emma said, ‘to think you shall see his majesty too and Maria’s home there, and of course the sea.’
‘Have you never seen the sea?’ Charlotte said, forgetting that this was not 21st century New York.
‘I have hardly seen anything ma’am, the furthest I have ever travelled is thirty miles from here, and that only to attend my aunt’s funeral. To me Brighton may as well be New York, or one of those other far off places they say exists.’
‘Maybe one day you’ll see it,’ Charlotte said as she began to dress herself.
Lady Carshaw was due to arrive at Langburn at 10 O’clock that morning, they would then begin the carriage drive to Brighton, overnighting at an inn on the way.
‘Now dear, Emma has packed everything you need, hasn’t she?’
‘Yes mother, Mrs. Harlow has checked through everything too.’
‘Well what about extra dresses? You may want a choice, and you do have the gifts for Maria, don’t you?’
‘Yes mother, they are all packed and ready to be loaded.’
‘Well what about a parasol, the sun could be awfully warm there, I remember your father going down on …’
‘Mother,’ Ellen interjected, ‘everything will be fine, Charlotte will only be away for a week, she isn’t going to the colonies.’
‘What’s left of them,’ her mother replied, ‘yes, I am sure everything is in order, but it is a mother’s prerogative to worry about her children, you’ll find out if any of you ever have any, which I must say is looking more and more less likely by the day. Oh, the carriage is here.’
The arrival of Lady Carshaw brought a welcome end to the conversation, she had arrived accompanied by his Lordship who was due to the meet the Duke that morning to discuss the grazing rights for cattle on the estate.
‘Good morning,’ he said as he and his wife alighted from the carriage, ‘I see you’re all set for the campaign’ he continued, pointing at the trunks.
‘A lady must have all that is necessary,’ the Duchess said.
‘Quite so, well is his Grace inside?’ Lord Carshaw continued.
‘I’m here to wave the ladies off,’ the Duke said, appearing at the door, ‘farewell Charlotte, and do give my love to Maria when you see her.’
‘I certainly will,’ Charlotte said, embracing her brother.
‘Ours too,’ her sisters said, standing in line for their embrace.
‘And do take care of yourself dear,’ her mother said, ‘I shall be worrying every day.’
‘Well nothing can be worse than spending the night at the Marquess of Collingdale’s place,’ Charlotte said laughing at her mother’s reaction, and the tittering of her sisters.
‘Come now Charlotte, let’s leave them to it,’ Lady Carshaw said as the two women boarded the carriage and it made its sedate pace, laden with enough luggage for a passage to India, through the parkland.
The Duchess, the ladies, the Duke and Lord Carshaw watched its progress until it was out of sight.
‘’What an adventure she shall have,’ Ellen said, ‘if only such an invitation would arrive for us.’
‘We’ve had quite enough adventure for now I think,’ the Duchess said as they turned to go back inside, ‘I just hope she keeps a level head, Brighton can be quite an intoxicating place you know.’
~
Driving through the English countryside in late Spring is a joy whatever your destination, but the experience was made even more pleasant by Charlotte’s excitement at what was to come. She and Lady Carshaw enjoyed the pleasant yet formal conversation so redolent of the era as they passed along the lanes and byways. From the window of the carriage Charlotte saw attractive villages, with the spires and square built towers of the parish church at their centre, they passed through farmland, and saw the labourers in the fields and skirted around a large industrial town, smoke billowing from the chimneys of its factories.
The day passed most pleasantly with a pause for refreshment, which the footman accompanying them laid out on a low table, by a little brook.
‘It’s so lovely here,’ Charlotte said, as she took a bite of cake.
‘England in the Spring is beautiful,’ Lady Carshaw said.
‘Are we making good progress?’ Charlotte said.
‘We shall be at the inn by the early evening, and then tomorrow on to Brighton,’ Lady Carshaw said, ‘are you looking forward to the ball?’
‘More than anything, I wonder who will be there, the King of course.’
‘If he hasn’t died from excess by then,’ the older lady said pointedly.
George IV was well known for the excesses of his court, and his person, Maria Fitzherbert being one such example. His presence at the party would certainly raise eyebrows, given the fact that their relationship was officially unofficial. But these facts would make the entire affair far more interesting, and as they resumed their journey south the thoughts of all that was to come were foremost in Charlotte’s mind.
By evening they had arrived at the small village of St Mary Allington where an Inn, named ‘The Lion and Unicorn’ awaited them.
The building was in the centre of the village, looking out over a green, rather like that at Langburn, the bell of the parish church was tolling for Evensong as the two women stepped down from the carriage and into the little parlour at the front of the Inn.
Lady Carshaw had stayed there often on her journeys to and from Brighton and the Landlady greeted her warmly as the two settled into chairs by the little fire which was burning merrily in the grate, for though it was May the evenings could still present a chill.
‘It is so good to see you again Lady Carshaw,’ the Landlady said, ‘why, it must be almost a year since you were last here, travelling back in the early summer months.’
‘That it is Helen, I was last down in Brighton for the July regatta, travelling with my husband.’
‘And today you have a different travelling companion,’ the Landlady said turning to Charlotte and smiling.
‘This is Miss Charlotte Langburn,’ Lady Carshaw said.
‘Of the Langburn family? The late Duke?’
‘The same.’
‘Well we are most honoured to welcome you here ma’am,’ the Landlady said, ‘most honoured indeed, and I hope you will be comfortable in our humble abode for the time you spend here with us, if there is anything you need then please do not hesitate to ask.’
‘Thank you,’ Charlotte said, ‘it’s a lovely place.’
‘Been in my family for five generations,’ she said, bustling around as the footman took the bags upstairs to the bedrooms.
An interesting variety of people passed through The Lion and the Unicorn, it was a well-known place to break a journey and in fact just the night before had played host to Cecil, Duke of Hareburn, though wishing to keep his affairs to himself he had travelled under a false name, his hand evident in the guest book, signed ‘F. Collins.’
The evening passed pleasantly enough with Charlotte and Lady Carshaw taking a pleasant supper provided by the Landlady before retiring early. It always amazed Charlotte how tiring travelling by carriage could be, and today had been no exception. By ten O’clock she found herself yawning and excusing herself, but Lady Carshaw quite understood and the two women bid one another, and the Landlady, goodnight before climbing the narrow staircase to the rooms above.
Charlotte readied herself for bed and looked out over the village green which was now bathed in the dusky light of a summer evening. Opening the little window, the smell of roses and hollyhocks hit here and she breathed in its scent, life here was so very different from New York. She imagined opening her own apartment window up on the fourteenth floor of her building. Inhaling there would give a lung full of petrol fumes mixed with a smell of fast food and uncollected rubbish, not to mention the noise, which not even the triple glazing kept out. Here though a beautiful and peaceful silence reigned over everything, and leaving the window a little ajar she climbed into bed and fell quickly into a deep and peaceful sleep.
The next morning dawned bright and early and with no lady’s maid on hand, a luxury which Charlotte had rather got used to over the previous months, she washed and dressed herself before descending to the parlour where she found Lady Carshaw already at her breakfast.
‘How did you sleep dear?’ she asked.
‘Ever so comfortably thank you,’ Charlotte replied, ‘and yourself?’
‘I always sleep well here, it’s so peaceful.’
The two ladies concluded their meal and with food for the rest of the journey provided by the Landlady they were sent on their way. They would overnight there once again on there return home, and so it was that now the carriage took the Brighton road, once more taking them through the pastoral landscapes of the English countryside.
Charlotte felt more relaxed with Lady Carshaw now, and it seemed that the older woman felt the same. They chatted about the weather and the various goings on in the district at home before turning their attentions to what lay in store for them in Brighton.
‘It is a magnificent house,’ Lady Carshaw said, ‘quite close to the pavilion and with the most beautiful gardens attached, you shall love the town too, the promenade and the opportunities to shop and socialise.’
‘It sounds just wonderful,’ Charlotte said, ‘and to think we shall be there so soon.’
‘In just a few hours I hope.’
‘Maria is so kind to have invited me, I hardly know her really.’
‘She took quite a shine to you that day at tea, and in her correspondence your name is always mentioned to me, and enquiries made as to your well being.’
‘I can’t possibly think why,’ Charlotte said.
‘I think you remind her a little of herself in her younger days, such free spiritedness, so happy to speak your mind, your looks too are similar to hers,’ Lady Carshaw said.
‘Well I am delighted to be here,’ Charlotte said as the carriage sped on.
It was the late afternoon when they finally caught sight of Brighton for the first time, its seafront and imposing houses stretching on towards the pavilion. As they travelled down the main thoroughfare into the town Charlotte was impressed by the many fine ladies and gentleman promenading and taking the air. It seemed as though every fashionable person was out that afternoon enjoying the warmth of the sun, and taking time to stop and greet one another to pass the time of day.
At length they came to a halt outside a wisteria clad villa, surrounded by exquisite gardens. It was much smaller than Langburn, but it had a certain charm about it, and if a house could ever be said to personify its owner then this house certainly reminded Charlotte of its occupant who now appeared at the door to greet them.
Stepping down from the carriage Charlotte was met with the scent of roses, warmed in the sun, coming from the surrounding gardens, and as she embraced Maria Fitzherbert she felt immediately at home here in this beautiful place.
‘You’ve arrived in ever such good time,’ Maria said, ‘I trust your journey was a pleasant one? Constance, so wonderful to see you,’ and she embraced Lady Carshaw before leading them inside.
The house itself was furnished with only the best, and most modern, of furniture and Maria led them into a long gallery looking out over the gardens, which also functioned as a sitting room.
‘Now tell me about your journey,’ she said, ‘you must be tired, I always find I am tired after a night on the road, even with the most amicable company and surroundings.’
‘It was a most pleasant journey,’ Lady Carshaw said, ‘we stayed the night at St Mary Allington, the Inn there is most congenial.’
‘Well I hope our hospitality here can be just as comfortable, Maria said, smiling, ‘now Charlotte, you must be looking forward to the ball tomorrow evening.’
‘I certainly am, and to think that the King will be there too, and to see the guests in their finery. I have thought of nothing else since the invitation arrived.’
‘I am so glad it has elicited such excitement on your part, I was eager for you to come, I think you will find Brighton a most evocative place. Now, we shall show you to your chambers and then once you have settled in perhaps we will take a walk before dinner, the gardens at the pavilion are really at their best at this time of year.’
The housekeeper showed them to their rooms, an interconnecting suite with a sitting room overlooking the gardens. The windows had been opened so that the scent of roses once more filled the air, and the warm breeze from the sea, which gently blew into the rooms, reminded Charlotte of her parent’s home overlooking the bay in San Francisco.
‘Oh, it’s so lovely,’ she exclaimed, ‘I love Brighton already.’
Lady Carshaw had indeed tired from the journey, and she decided to take a rest, not understanding Charlotte’s agreement that ‘a siesta’ would be a good idea, nevertheless she settled herself into her bedroom and slept for much of the afternoon.
Meanwhile the maids assisted Charlotte with her unpacking and once this was accomplished the young lady made her way downstairs where she found Maria Fitzherbert seated once again in the long gallery completing some correspondence.
‘I do hope the rooms are to your liking Charlotte dear,’ she said.
‘They’re just perfect ma’am,’ Charlotte replied.
‘There’s no need for such formalities with me,’ the elder woman said, ‘Maria will be just fine, I’ve answered to worse over the years.’
Charlotte didn’t like ask any questions as to what was meant by Maria’s words but she knew that the lady had not been treated kindly, her Catholicism and her love for the King could not go hand in hand and thus she had been always on the margins of acceptability, though now her life was somewhat quieter than it had been in the past.
‘Shall we take a little walk?’ Maria said, ‘I fear we shall not see dear Constance until this evening, but you and I can take the air without her, I am sure she would not mind.’
‘That would be lovely,’ Charlotte said.
They made their way out into the gardens and took a turn around the house, the sun was still warm and the formal beds were a mass of colour, the gardeners having worked hard in preparation for the ball.
At length they made their way into the gardens of the pavilion and it seemed that most people walking there knew Maria Fitzherbert by sight, many greeting her and wishing her the best of the day. The gardens here were also spectacular, laid out according to the King’s own direction, exotic looking plants, and intriguing patterns of flowers, brought an air of mystery and excitement to the grounds of what was an astonishing building in its own right.
‘Does the King spend much time here?’ Charlotte asked.
‘He likes to escape here when the affairs of state become too burdensome,’ Maria said, ‘the parties he hosts can be most lavish.’
‘I can only imagine,’ Charlotte said, ‘and tomorrow at the ball, will there be many of the aristocracy present?’
‘Indeed,’ Maria said, ‘some of which you shall know well,’ and she smiled.
‘But I hardly know anyone,’ Charlotte said.
‘Well you know the Duke of Hareburn I believe.’
Charlotte failed to disguise her delight at hearing that Cecil would be present at the ball, it had been some weeks since she had seen him when he had last visited Langburn for a weekend back in April. The two had been inseparable throughout his time there, leading her mother to remark on several occasions that it seemed as though the Marquess of Collingdale was rather losing her daughters’ affections, despite the fact that he had never had them. When Cecil had departed each had written to the other expressing their sorrow at having been apart, with Charlotte’s sisters suggesting that a proposal was imminent.
‘I am glad that news of his presence brings you joy, dear, I thought it would.’
‘Thank you for engineering our meeting in this way,’ Charlotte said.
After almost six months amongst her Regency friends Charlotte’s demeanour and turn of phrase had become almost that of her contemporaries and except for the occasional slip up when Melissa’s New York twang, or turn of phrase, emerged without warning she had largely found herself able to converse in a manner suitable to the setting.
The two women now returned to the house, Charlotte herself was tiring by now and the fresh air had given her over to yawning. Dinner would not be served until eight O’clock giving her time for a ‘siesta’ (as her mind insisted upon calling it) before the maids assisted her and Lady Carshaw in their preparations for dinner. It was to be a quiet affair, with no additional guests, the excitement of tomorrow night’s ball enough distraction for now.
Dinner was indeed a simple affair, a soup followed by Dover Sole in a parsley sauce served with new potatoes and to follow the most exquisite jelly that Charlotte had ever tasted.
The dining room of Maria Fitzherbert’s home, which Charlotte had now learned was called Steine House, was, like the rest of her abode, beautifully furnished. The long-polished table, now laid for dinner, was surrounded by exquisite chairs with gold leaf arms and legs, along one side of the room windows looked out onto the garden, whilst along the other long wall a set of sideboards in mahogany sat beneath paintings of Maria Fitzherbert herself.
The paintings seemed to tell the story of her life with her fashionable youth depicted alongside portraits of her in her riper years.
‘I keep my most valued objects in this room,’ she said as they sat finishing the dinner, ‘some are gifts from abroad, that little box there a gift from the German ambassador.’
‘So many beautiful objects, it’s impossible to take it all in,’ Charlotte said.
She was enchanted by Maria Fitzherbert, and by her home, it was such a seemingly magical place, full of beauty and happiness. Yet Maria herself was a figure whom she knew to have suffered tragedy in her life, but it was perhaps that suffering which now gave her the gifts of empathy to others, and she had clearly taken a shine to Charlotte whose company she delighted in.
The party retired early to bed that night, the expectation for tomorrow’s ball and all that it would bring ensuring that it took Charlotte some time before she drifted off to sleep. She thought of Cecil and how it would be for them to spend tomorrow evening together at the ball, away from her mother’s watchful eye and the ever-possible presence of the Marquess of Collingdale. Even her sisters could, at times, intrude upon her privacy, but she felt certain that tomorrow would be different, and that she and Cecil would finally have the chance to speak what their hearts longed to say.
The maid did not come in until a little later in the morning, Maria Fitzherbert had instructed that the household was to sleep late that morning in preparation for the ball that evening and so it was 9 O’clock when Charlotte was disturbed from her slumber by the curtains being drawn back.
Immediately the smell of the roses and the fresh scent of the box hedge hit her as the sunlight poured in through the open windows.
‘Good morning ma’am,’ the maid said, ‘it is a beautiful day.’
‘It seems Brighton is beautiful always,’ Charlotte said.
‘In the winter, when the sea mist comes in, and the waves crash against shore it can sometimes be a hard place to live ma’am, but on a day like today, why I would not be anywhere else.’
‘Particularly today,’ Charlotte said, ‘what time do the guests arrive?’
‘I believe for 7 O’clock and thirty minutes past the hour ma’am, though some will no doubt arrive earlier, they always do.’
Charlotte was already up and dressed by the time Lady Carshaw had readied herself and the two made their way down to breakfast where a light collation had been laid out. The lady of the house had already gone out on business leaving the housekeeper to explain that she would return soon from town.
In the meantime, preparations for the ball continued at a pace. In the centre of the house was a fine, though quite small, ballroom whose carpet had been rolled back and chairs placed at intervals around the side. The ballroom led out onto the terrace at the rear of the house, looking out over the gardens where birds sang, and the sunlight cast its favour over the mass of flowers and greenery.
Charlotte watched as the servants began to prepare the room for the evening’s celebration, huge bunches of freshly cut flowers were brought in to adorn the tables, and polished glassware was laid out ready for the punch to be served in.
The day passed uneventfully and at length Maria Fitzherbert returned from town where she had been seeing to her correspondence, and ensuring that final preparations for tonight were in hand, for now she had a surprise for Charlotte.
‘Now dear,’ she said as the three ladies sat on the terrace in the early afternoon fanning themselves and drinking elderflower cordial for refreshment, ‘I am sure you have bought a selection of dresses to choose from tonight.’
This was indeed the case, her mother having insisted on her taking four possible outfits to ensure she didn’t clash with whatever wall paper Maria had installed for that season.
‘But I’ve taken the liberty of purchasing a little gift for you,’ she continued, ‘I believe that it is arriving now, I’m sure I heard the bell just now, come and see.’
With great excitement Charlotte and Lady Carshaw followed Maria through the house. The bell had indeed rung and the housekeeper was escorting a most fashionable looking young man into the long gallery. He gave an exaggerated bow when he saw the ladies and addressed Maria.
‘Your Ladyship,’ he said, ‘it is my honour and pleasure to bring this dress to you, I will say it myself, but the fabrics are just fabulous, such exquisite choices as ever.’
‘Charlotte this is Mr. Dawlish’ Maria said, ‘he runs the most wonderful outfitter down on the promenade, and has been making dresses for me for the past ten years. I asked if he could take on this little project for me and he graciously obliged.’
‘It has been my pleasure ma’am,’ Mr. Dawlish said.
Charlotte had many gay friends back in New York City and she couldn’t help comparing Mr. Dawlish to one of her closest friends Joshua who was a fashion designer and lived with his partner Alistair in an apartment in Manhattan. It was not just his mannerisms but his looks too. Indeed, she had encountered many people, not just the Marquess of Collingdale, who reminded her of people from back home in New York City.
But her attention now turned to the dress.
‘Isn’t it just stunning,’ Mr. Dawlish said, as he opened the box containing the dress and drew it out, holding it up for them to see.
Charlotte had to admit that the dress was indeed fabulous, it was golden with a white satin sash, the embroidery was exquisite, and it looked as if it would be her exact fit.
‘How did you know my measurement?’ Charlotte said.
‘When you’ve been doing this for as long as I have you get an idea for lady’s sizes,’ Mr. Dawlish said, ‘aristocratic ladies are essentially all the same size. If you don’t mind me saying.’
‘I’d love to try it on,’ Charlotte said.
‘Then you must. I’m sure Mr. Dawlish has brought his sowing kit in case any last-minute alterations are required.’
‘Pins at the ready,’ he said, smiling.
Charlotte took the dress and changed in the small ante-room off the gallery, there was no mirror there but looking down at the folds of silk and satin she knew it fitted perfectly. Whilst in New York she had hardly ever been seen in a dress, her sensibilities offended by the mere idea that women should dress in one way and men in another, here in this time and place she felt entirely comfortable by the social expectations. Maria Fitzherbert’s kindness overwhelmed her, and as she stepped out into the gallery the gasps of delight from the assembled gathering confirmed to her that the dress did indeed fit perfectly.
‘Oh, Charlotte,’ Lady Carshaw said, ‘if only your mother could see you now, why you look like a princess.’
‘I feel like one,’ Charlotte said.
‘No pins required,’ Mr. Dawlish said.
‘None whatsoever,’ Maria said, ‘you look beautiful Charlotte, and tonight all of Brighton society shall see you.’
‘If the King asks where the dress is from,’ Mr. Dawlish said.
‘The King knows that I get all my dresses from the finest tailor in Brighton, Mr. Dawlish, I can assure you of that,’ Maria said.
‘Perhaps one day I’ll even get an invitation.’
‘Perhaps you will, now we must be getting on.’
They bid goodbye to Mr. Dawlish with Maria’s assurances that she would see him soon, and with the afternoon now drawing on, it was time to make ready for the ball that evening.
Charlotte had removed the dress and was back in her day clothes whilst the maids fussed round preparing hot water and her dressing table. Things always seem to take longer in a strange place, and it required Lady Carshaw’s assistance to ensure her hair was just as it should be. At length she put the dress back on, and now stood to admire herself in the long mirror in her room, the final addition of the necklace given her by Cecil for Christmas adding a crowning to the final look.
‘You will certainly turn the gentleman’s heads this evening,’ Lady Carshaw said as Charlotte stood before her. But her mind was interested in only one gentleman, and unbeknownst to her, a short distance away, that certain young man was preening himself, nervously anticipating his meeting with Charlotte. For despite his personal prowess the Duke of Hareburn was still terrified of women, and though he was deeply in love with Charlotte the knowledge that soon he would be in her presence gave him a feeling in his stomach far worse than any he had had on any battlefield or great state occasion.
The time for ball to begin approached and Charlotte and Lady Carshaw awaited their summons from the footman. They were to be in position to greet his majesty at seven and thirty minutes O’clock, the King would enter, and they would curtesy and speak with him if spoken too. Only a select number of guests had been granted the privilege of meeting the monarch in this way, the rest would be in the ballroom awaiting his presence, and upon his arrival the ball would begin.
At 7 O’clock the footman knocked ceremoniously on the door and announced that they may proceed downstairs, which they duly did. At the foot of the stairs Maria was waiting for them and she wasted no time in lining Charlotte up next to herself. It was at that moment that the Duke of Hareburn arrived, he and Charlotte exchanging smiles as he was nervously placed in line too. As the half hour passed by the two made eye contact several times, a fact was noted by several of the young ladies present who had already commented behind their fans at the exquisite cut of Charlotte’s new dress.
The Duke of course had not failed to notice how beautiful she appeared that evening, more radiant than he had ever seen her before, he was so touched that she wore his grandmother’s necklace, his love for her growing by the minute. There was not another woman whom he had ever laid eyes on that had an effect upon him such as she had and here at this ball tonight it was Charlotte who was its Belle.
As the large clock in the hall way struck the half hour a trumpet blast sounded from outside and the sound of horses’ hooves signalled the arrival of the royal personage accompanied by several court dignitaries. Whilst his presence here was officially unofficial it did not stop the King from arriving with the pomp and ceremony which befits the royal person and as Maria Fitzherbert stood waiting to greet the man who, if circumstances had been different, would have been her husband, the trumpets sounded once again.
King George IV was a man of excessive tastes, a fact we have already noted, and Charlotte, having seen him from a distance earlier in the year knew what to expect. But in the months between their being in one another’s presence it appeared that the king had almost doubled in size. His clothes were almost bursting at the seams as he waddled up the steps and into the house, greeting Maria with a tender fondness.
‘His Majesty, King George IV,’ the footman announced as the King entered and those assembled gave the customary curtesy or bow. Having greeted Maria, the King paused next at Charlotte herself who felt a wave of terror go over her at the thought of addressing the reigning monarch.
‘What a terribly pretty dress my dear,’ the King said.
‘Oh, thank you sir, it’s fabulous isn’t it.’
‘Fabulous yes, and you look radiant in it too, tell me who was the designer,’
‘Oh a Mr. Dawlish sir,’ Charlotte said, ‘you can always trust gay men to have an eye for fashion.’
Realising what she had just said she felt herself turn scarlet, but the King only laughed.
‘I suppose tailors are happy in their own way.’
And with that he moved down the line.
Maria smiled at Charlotte as she followed the King down the line of honoured guests, he stopped at Cecil and she heard him enquiring after the estate before he moved on into the ballroom and the music began to play.
Charlotte had composed herself again and she found Cecil next to her asking if he might escort her in, she glanced at Lady Carshaw who gave her approval and the two-walked arm in arm into the ballroom where the King had taken his place on a large velvet covered chair reserved for the royal personage.
‘Shall we dance,’ Cecil said, ‘or rather, may I have this dance.’
‘You may,’ she said.
The dancing was exuberant, despite the warmth of the evening. The doors onto the terrace were wide open, and a warm breeze drifted in, once again bringing the scent of the garden into the room.
Charlotte and Cecil gave each other their favours for three further dances, indeed each had secretly decided that they would only dance with the other so that it was commented by several in attendance that a marriage proposal was imminent.
Maria Fitzherbert was a most congenial host, and the high society of Brighton took their fill of her hospitality, the King in particular enjoyed the ample punch provided, alongside the sweet treats and pastries ordered from the finest bakers in the city.
As the evening progressed Charlotte and Cecil took a break out on the terrace, the sounds of the merrymaking continuing behind them.
‘Oh, Cecil, what a wonderful evening, I never want it to end’ she said, ‘everything is just so perfect here.’
‘I can’t remember ever feeling so happy,’ Cecil said, ‘the affairs of state seem so far away, I never want it to end either. Oh, darling Charlotte, how I have looked forward to being with you once again.’
‘And I you,’ Charlotte said, ‘though I did not discover that you were to be present until my arrival here.’
‘I only found out a day or so ago myself that you would be here too,’ he said, laughing, ‘I think the lady of the house may have been the catalyst for our meeting.’
At that point the lady of the house herself appeared smiling and greeting others on the terrace. When she saw Charlotte and Cecil together she made her way over to them.
‘Well, how are you enjoying the evening?’ she said.
‘Everything is perfect,’ Charlotte said.
‘I hoped it would be, the King was most impressed by your attire, he was speaking of it once again to me just now.’
Charlotte blushed.
‘It is the most beautiful dress I have seen,’ Cecil said, ‘though the wearer is more beautiful.’
Charlotte blushed an even deeper shade of crimson, and Maria let out a laugh at seeing her in such a state.
The evening passed as it had proceeded, the dancing and merrymaking went on into the night, for Maria Fitzherbert was not one to stand on the usual social etiquettes, and it seemed that the high society of Brighton appreciated this opportunity for revelry away from prying eyes.
At length Lady Carshaw went to her bed, and after the King’s departure the rest of the assembly began to break up.
‘I am terribly sad to be leaving you once again,’ Cecil said to Charlotte as the final dance concluded.
‘We shall see each other very soon I’m sure,’ she said.
‘I am certain that we will, your brother’s birthday approaches, I am sure an invitation to Langburn will be forthcoming,’ Cecil said, ‘there is something which I so wish to ask you, but the restraints of our class and position mean it must be done in the correct manner. I shall make my intentions known in a letter.’
Charlotte smiled at him, she guessed what it was he wished to ask, the idea of marrying someone here seemed somewhat extreme. Much of the time she had felt herself to be merely an observer, her relationships created as part of the experience here. It’s been nearly a year since she last saw Pheobe. She had become accustomed to her life in the regency. Her mannerisms, she had noticed, had changed quite a bit. She was no longer the woman she was in New York City, loud, sometime rude and sometime insensitive. That was Melissa. Charlotte, however, is reposed, gentle in her speech, makes conversation with calculated words to keep a pleasant air, and most of all, carefree in a sweet and charming manner, which Cecil so loved about her and which she has loved about herself. Without that chip on her shoulder, which always got her in trouble with the opposite sex, Charlotte was genuinely happier than she had even been. She no longer cared whether she would return to her modern life but rather looked forward to her life here, with Cecil, her loving family, and new-found friends.
At length he bid her goodnight, and she and Maria retired to their chambers, the ball having been a resounding success. Thar night Charlotte slept with the windows wide open, the warm summer breeze bellowed the sheer white curtains and flooded the room with a garden scent. It did not take her long to go to sleep, and her dreams were punctuated gently by images of all that she had experienced.
The next morning the household once again rose late from its slumber, though with the curtains open Charlotte awoke early as the rising sun flooded the room. She and Lady Carshaw were to spend a few more days in Brighton with Maria before making the journey back to Langburn. She wrote several letters that morning, firstly to her sisters and then to her mother telling them of what a happy time she had had and how Cecil had been present at the ball. She wrote also to her brother confiding in him her love for his friend, and imploring his counsel in the matter.
The next few days passed like a dream, Maria and Charlotte took walks in the grounds and visited the pavilion, there was shopping to do and Lady Carshaw accompanied her on a visit to Mr. Dawlish’s shop to buy gifts for her sisters and mother. Charlotte felt certain that if she had been told she would remain in Brighton for the rest of her life then she would happily do so. The trappings of the 21st century seemed now so superficial, why take a selfie when you can simply appreciate the moment, why send an instant message when a letter expresses your thoughts and love with so much greater eloquence, why be part of a society which wants everything instantaneously when what truly matters is the here and now and the people you are surrounded by?
It was all this and more which Charlotte had learned during her time with her Regency friends, and as she and Lady Carshaw came to leave Brighton she was certain that she would carry them with her if ever she returned home, and if she never did then she would be perfectly happy here.
~
‘Maria, thank you for your hospitality,’ Lady Carshaw said as they came to leave.
‘Constance, it has been my pleasure in all things,’ Maria said, ‘and Charlotte I am so glad you were able to come.’
‘I can’t thank you enough,’ Charlotte said, ‘for everything, for the invitation, the dress, for your company, for bringing Cecil here.’
‘You don’t have to thank me at all, just promise you will return again.’
‘That I will,’ Charlotte said as she embraced Maria before being helped into the carriage by the footman.
As they left Brighton the warm sea breeze was once again covering the town in a sweet scent, and Charlotte could not have felt happier than she did at that moment as they made their way home towards Langburn and the next adventure to come.