Chapter Twenty-Nine
It seemed to Emma that Lucy’s presence brought an immediate improvement in the disposition of all the residents of Brantmoor. With the addition of a stranger, both Charlotte and Mr. Brydges seemed less overt in their bickering, and John seemed less determined to avoid the ladies at all but mealtimes. He made no effort to excuse himself when the entire group—less Charlotte—set off for a ride through the estate the following afternoon. The ride had been Mr. Brydges’s idea—no doubt inspired by the desire to prick Charlotte, who did indeed seem irritated.
Emma was, for once, not at all irritated by his suggestion. She had no regular companion for riding. To do so with the company of her husband and her newly arrived friend was a rare treat, and she intended to take full advantage.
The greater surprise had come after the ride, however. Once the party had returned, the gentleman had retreated back into their estate business, but Charlotte had appeared in her riding habit of all things and declared herself ready for a lesson. Unable to see the wisdom in allowing the opportunity to pass, Emma had refastened her hat and returned to the stable, musing that Mr. Brydges’s manipulation—mean-spirited or not—had unarguably produced results.
In truth, as she sat in the drawing room with Lucy and Charlotte the afternoon following the somewhat questionable riding lesson, Emma’s perspective was more hopeful than it had been in the weeks since she’d come to Brantmoor.
“Ah, there you ladies are.”
As though in proof of Emma’s hope, John sauntered into the room with an easy smile, and greeted the ladies one by one. As always, he was followed closely by Mr. Brydges.
“Duchess,” he said with a nod in her direction. “You look in particularly fine spirits today.”
“I am, thank you.”
He smiled warmly at Lucy. “Miss Betancourt. A lovely addition to our party, if I may say.”
When Mr. Brydges turned to Charlotte, he did so with a twinkle in his eye, and Emma had an awful premonition that her peaceful harmony was about to be broken.
“Ah, Lady Charlotte. I see you’re wearing a new dress. Has the duchess finally found a modiste able to fit a dress for a woman she’s never seen?”
Emma cringed, waiting for Charlotte’s reaction. Notwithstanding the man’s inexcusably rude manners, his comment had been dangerously close to the truth. Though Charlotte had finally consented to a dress fitting, Emma had very nearly resorted to stealing one of the girl’s worn dresses and suggesting the dressmaker use it as a pattern to measure a dress for her sister-in-law.
True to form, Charlotte snapped back at Mr. Brydges. “You cross the line, Mr. Brydges. I expect men of greater consequence than you to be noticing things such as my gowns.”
“Well done, Lady Charlotte,” Mr. Brydges said with a deferential nod, but a teasing tone. “Or should I call you Lady Godiva? I understand you’ve taken up riding of late.”
Charlotte’s face took on an immediate flush.
“My, how news travels,” Emma cut in, hoping to avoid an escalation. “We did begin riding lessons yesterday afternoon, so we must thank you again for our lovely mounts, Mr. Brydges.”
She was not certain how Mr. Brydges had become aware of Charlotte’s riding lesson—if it could be referred to as a lesson—but she certainly didn’t want it to become the topic of discussion. The full extent of progress they’d achieved in nearly an hour’s time had resulted in Charlotte sitting atop the horse, petrified in fear, as the stable hand held the animal’s bridle and Emma held Charlotte’s hand. It had convinced Emma she might be wise to encourage Charlotte away from accepting the suit of any enthusiastic equestrians once they returned to London.
“I did begin my riding lessons,” Charlotte finally responded, with a haughty lift of her chin. “I thoroughly enjoyed it, though I’m sure that will disappoint you to hear, Mr. Brydges.”
His expression became more cunning and Emma knew he was somehow fully aware of Charlotte’s bald-faced lie.
“Now, now,” John interjected. “The two of you bicker like siblings.”
Siblings? Bitter enemies would be more accurate. Emma’s suspicions were true. John was completely ignorant of all matters concerning Charlotte.
Charlotte looked appalled at her brother’s comment. “Please. If Mr. Brydges behaves as a sibling, it is as a child of no more than five or six, I assure you.”
“I’ve still the advantage of age on you, my dear,” he returned. “As your tantrums are better suited for an infant.”
Red-faced, Charlotte glared back.
Emma sighed. The calming effect of Lucy’s presence as an outsider had clearly expired after only a few glorious days. In truth, they were both behaving as infants, but to say so would only inflame them. She had no choice but to side with Charlotte as her charge. In this instance, and indeed in many instances, Charlotte’s lack of decorum was instigated first by some rude comment from Mr. Brydges.
“You may disagree with Charlotte’s behavior, Mr. Brydges,” Emma spoke up before Charlotte could spew the venom she’d been building. “But I can say in her defense that our manners are foreign to her in many ways and that she is allowing herself to be mentored in those areas that will no doubt improve her manners.” She leveled him with a steady gaze. “How, pray tell, do you explain your lack, Mr. Brydges, when you have been an English gentleman all your life?”
He did not answer, so in the hope of restoring peace, Emma reminded them of Lucy’s presence. “What must our guest think?”
“Oh, it’s fine, really,” Lucy demurred. “I imagine most close families engage in a bit of good-natured bickering.”
Since Emma had been thorough in updating her friend on the state of things with Charlotte, she recognized the lie Lucy told.
Charlotte was quick to correct her. “Mr. Brydges is neither family nor close friend, and he has never been good-natured.”
“I am extremely good-natured,” Mr. Brydges declared. “I have remained so despite interacting with an ungrateful viper each day.”
“Brydges.” John’s tone was a warning. “You’d better mind how harshly you speak of my sister.”
Mr. Brydges reacted to his friend’s censure with an immediate reversal of demeanor. “My sincerest apologies,” he said to John, rather than Charlotte. He then turned to Lucy. “Particularly to you, Miss Betancourt, as I did not take into consideration your discomfort when I so brutally attacked Lady Charlotte. I am sure a lady as sweet-natured as you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”
John seemed satisfied with his friend’s theatrical apology, but Emma knew better. He’d not actually apologized to Charlotte. Rather, his particular note of Lucy’s sweet nature was meant to be another veiled poke at his nemesis. And the jab found its mark, judging by the way Charlotte’s face pinched as Hugh gushed over Lucy.
Emma desperately wanted to change the subject, and racked her brain to think of even one topic toward which to steer the conversation that Mr. Brydges could not somehow use to ridicule Charlotte.
John interrupted before she could settle on one. “I understand you play the pianoforte as well as the harp, Miss Betancourt—perhaps you would grace us with a performance while you are here?”
“I am far from a master, Your Grace, but my playing is reasonably tolerated by my family and friends.”
“Nonsense. Lucy plays beautifully,” Emma offered.
As soon as she spoke the words, Emma realized she had delivered to Mr. Brydges another ideal opportunity to highlight Charlotte’s failings as compared with Lucy.
“I am impressed, Miss Betancourt. We learned just yesterday that you are an accomplished horsewoman, we’ve already had a demonstration of your excellent skill at the harp, and we now learn you are an accomplished pianist as well. I believe if we brought you to London, you should be the talk of the town.”
Rather than the simpering pleasure of a young impressionable girl, Lucy’s smile was patronizing at best. “I thank you for your flattery, Mr. Brydges, but I sincerely doubt a vicar’s daughter with no connections or fortune will ever be much to talk of in London. Unless of course she manages to disgrace herself.”
“Lucy has offered to tutor you on the pianoforte, Charlotte. She would be an excellent teacher.”
Lucy addressed Charlotte. “My proficiency at either instrument falls below the expectations of these two exaggerators, but I am reasonably tolerable. I would be very happy to aid in your musical instruction until you have need of a more accomplished teacher.”
Hoping for the best in Charlotte’s response to this kind offer, Emma turned to the young woman and saw immediately she would instead be disappointed. Charlotte’s rising pique was evident in the deepening flush that started in her cheeks and had already crept down to the neckline of her gown.
“As you said,” Charlotte began, narrowing her eyes into catlike meanness, “you are only a vicar’s daughter and have probably never even been to London. I don’t imagine I can learn anything from you that will prepare me for the high society I’m expected to become.”
“Charlotte!” John gaped at his sister, yet he said nothing further.
Emma was incredulous. Lucy was her closest and dearest friend, and Charlotte’s comment was nothing short of hateful. Well, John could choose silence, but she certainly would not.
“You will not speak to Miss Betancourt that way. She is a dear friend of mine and she has done you a great favor by agreeing to share her skill at the pianoforte. She seeks only to provide you with every advantage in your debut, as do we all.” Emma rose from her chair and turned the full measure of her indignation onto Charlotte. “You may be a duke’s daughter, while her father is merely a clergyman, but she is worthy of your respect. Horses, carriages, and dresses are fine indeed, and they are the entitlement of your birth, as is deference to your rank. But true respect, Charlotte, is something you must earn. You earn it in the way you treat others—all others.”
Emma wasn’t certain what sort of response she had expected from Charlotte after that, but she received none—at least not one in spoken words.
Charlotte simply rose from her seat and ran from the room, as she always did. Flight, it seemed, was her primary line of defense.