Chapter 25
What on earth had given him the idea she still wanted him in her bed? Charlotte stared at the thick burgundy carpet, a feeling of dread closing in on her as she tried to reason it out. When they’d met in London she’d been ready to pursue an affair, had even been the one to bring it up. He’d been the reluctant one, seeking marriage instead. But then he’d asked her what would happen if she wanted more than just one night and she’d said she would accept his proposal and be happy. Dear God. So now he wanted to take her at her word and give her the one night. Only when she’d spoken those words, she’d been thinking of Nash.
Charlotte dropped her head into her hands. She needed to find Alan now and plainly disabuse him of her interest in a tryst now or at any other time. Perhaps she should marry Nash just to keep from being accosted by other men.
With a weary sigh, Charlotte rose, intending to return to the drawing room. Her guests should dress for dinner shortly and she would have time to cancel her assignation. She steadied herself with a deep breath and a hand to her stomach. The evening had already assumed an air of unreality.
As she entered the hallway, hysterical sobbing in the foyer caught her attention.
Lord, what crisis now?
Charlotte hurried toward the entry where, to her astonishment, she found Maria Wickley crying brokenheartedly. Fisk stood before her, his unflappable cool shattered as he stared at the weeping young woman, for once at a loss for what to do.
“Maria!” Charlotte called softly to the girl, who turned to her with stricken eyes.
“Oh, Charlotte!” She ran into Charlotte’s arms, burrowing against her like a small animal going to ground. “What am I to do?”
“Hush, my dear. The company is gathered in the drawing room. You don’t want them to see you like this.” Charlotte wrapped her arms around her and nodded to Fisk. “Light a fire in the small receiving room and fetch Lady John, please.” The butler nodded, squared his shoulders, and sped off. Slowly, she walked Maria toward the formal chamber, giving Fisk plenty of time to light the fire and leave before they arrived.
“I am so surprised to see you, my dear. Your note said you were otherwise engaged this weekend, so I did not expect you, although I am pleased you could attend the party. Did your plans change?” Charlotte peeped into the room. All clear. She led Maria to the chair nearest the fire and gently sat her down.
The distraught widow clung to her, tears still flooding down her cheeks.
She disengaged her arms from Maria and sat next to her. What on earth was all this to-do about?
Maria wiped at her streaming eyes with the back of her hand, her face pinched and miserable.
Charlotte rifled her pockets and produced a handkerchief. The girl snatched it up, covered her streaming eyes, and bowed her head. “I just want to die, Charlotte. Just die.”
“My dear, you must tell me what has distressed you so.” Charlotte patted her hand but could not fathom the reason for the girl’s distraught behavior. Had something happened to her family? Had a suitor jilted her? Where was Jane? Surely she would know what to do.
“I am sorry to appear so suddenly after declining your kind invitation, but I didn’t know where else to go.” Maria wiped her eyes and raised her head to stare desolately at Charlotte.
“Well, of course you should have come here.” Charlotte patted Maria’s hands again, peering at the doorway. Drat. Still no Jane. “We are your friends, Maria. If there is something we can do to help you—”
“No one can help me!” Sobs shook her slight frame as she bent forward, her head on her knees.
God in heaven, what could be the matter? What had happened that Maria would think there could be no remedy for it? Well, one thing might help the poor girl. Charlotte rose and paced to the sideboard. She removed the stopper from the cut-crystal decanter and poured a good shot of brandy into a tumbler. On second thought, best pour one for herself as well. This afternoon’s events had shaken her. She needed reinforcements before she pried Maria’s problem out of her.
“Here you go, my dear.” She pulled the young widow into a sitting position and thrust the glass into her hand. “You need to catch your breath. Drink this and then when Jane comes we will puzzle this out together.”
Charlotte took a sip of the amber liquid, relishing the burn that traced a path down her throat into her stomach. She’d never drunk spirits much, only wine at dinner and a sherry now and then. The popular ratafia she had never cared for. Another good swallow and her muscles began to relax. This brandy seemed to fortify her. No wonder men preferred it. She could deal with Maria and Alan much better now.
Maria held her glass in both hands, as if a child with a cup of milk. She had not tasted it yet.
“Here, dear, drink this up. It will make things ever so much better.” Charlotte urged the cup to the girl’s lips. Maria wrinkled her nose and took the smallest of sips. Her grimace told Charlotte she would get no more of the spirits down her. Indeed, Maria pushed the glass into Charlotte’s hand and shook her head.
“Ugh. That tastes nasty, Charlotte. Please don’t make me drink it.” Maria settled herself in her seat, a measure of calm seeming to steal over her.
“All right. But I daresay Jane will say the same thing.”
“What will I say, Charlotte?” Her cousin sailed into the room, going directly to the distressed young woman. “Maria. What a pleasant surprise.” Jane bussed her cheek. “Charlotte said you were unable to attend this weekend.” She took in the red eyes and woebegone face. “But whatever is the matter, my dear?”
The poor child arose and threw herself into Jane’s arms, the weeping recommencing with renewed vigor. Charlotte took another swallow of brandy, then carried the glasses back to the sideboard. The sobbing behind her quieted. Thank goodness Jane had a calming effect on Maria. Charlotte’s patience with the girl had begun to thin.
“Jane, what am I to do?” The pair sat on the sofa, Maria twisting the handkerchief to and fro.
“First, you must tell me what the matter is.” Jane stroked the pale, woebegone face. “Then I will be able to advise you accordingly.” She looked expectantly at her friend.
Maria cast a wretched glance from Jane to Charlotte, her eyes so stricken that instantly Charlotte understood this problem to be grave beyond her experience.
“I had hoped, up until yesterday, I had nothing to fear. That I was simply making a storm in a teacup. But I have counted and recounted and I have—” She came to a dead stop, bowed her head, and whispered, “I have missed my courses.”
Charlotte and Jane exchanged a puzzled look. This was the dire circumstance that had brought Maria hurtling into the country?
“My dear, that is not an unusual occurrence,” Jane said, wrapping her arm around Maria’s shoulder. “Some women do miss their time occasionally, with no ill effects. It is only when you have been having marital relations that this event becomes more momentous.”
Maria’s silence sent a shiver of unease through Charlotte. Surely this could not be so. Had Maria had a dalliance with someone? Charlotte would never have believed it of the shy little widow. There must be some other explanation.
“Have you had any distress recently, Maria?” Charlotte asked, praying for some domestic argument with the girl’s parents. “Any grave illness? That will sometimes upset your monthly courses.” Dread filled Charlotte even as she spoke. A sickness of any sort would be a godsend at this moment.
“No, I have been extremely well. Except . . .” Maria studied her handkerchief as if her life depended on it. “Except in the mornings sometimes. I have been ill just after rising from my bed.”
Oh dear God. Charlotte could feel the blood drain from her face.
“And the last time you had your courses was . . . ?”
“In August.”
“So you have missed them twice?”
Maria lowered her head and nodded.
“And you have taken a man to your bed during this time?” Jane, though pale also, straightened her back and seemed determined to face this crisis head on.
Again the young widow nodded.
“When did this happen?” Jane’s voice remained calm, matter-of fact.
The girl glanced fearfully at her hostess and said, “At the first house party here, in August.”
The light in the receiving room wavered before Charlotte’s eyes.
“And was that the only time?” Jane continued her questioning while Charlotte tried not to consider the possibilities of who Maria had taken to her bed. Any of the men she had invited could have been the culprit.
With a hitching sob, Maria shook her head. “No. The first time was here and then later, in London, we met . . . often.”
Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut and clasped her hand over her chest, trying to keep her hammering heart from escaping. What had she expected to happen? Her parties had been designed to throw men and women together for the purpose of seduction. Still, a widow had to have known the risks involved. But who would think of those risks while being seduced? Charlotte had not. If not for the grace of God, she might this moment be with child as well.
Abruptly, she arose and headed for the brandy decanter. Perhaps the fiery spirits would burn away some of her guilt. She poured half a tumbler full and took a huge swallow. It brought tears to her eyes, but she took a deep breath and the slow burn reached through her stomach toward her legs and arms.
“Charlotte.”
Jane’s voice finally penetrated her brandy-fogged mind. She glanced at her glass to find it empty. Had she truly had so much? She shook her head, trying to brush away the cobwebs. Jane might need her yet.
“Yes?”
“You should take Maria to her room and see that she is comfortably settled. She must be extremely tired after her journey. Especially in her condition.” Jane rose, taking Maria by the arm.
Charlotte nodded. A bad idea, that. She held a hand out to steady herself as she walked with them to the door. If only the dratted wall would stop running into her.
At the threshold she stopped Jane to whisper, “Did she tell you who . . . ?”
Jane shook her head. “She wants to confront him with the news first. She says you invited him here this weekend.”
“Dear Lord.”
“I will have a talk with her after dinner and see if I can get her to confide in me. Then I could lend my support if the man refuses to come up to scratch.” Jane peered at Charlotte with narrowed eyes. “Perhaps you should lie down before dinner, dearest. If I’m not mistaken, you are more than a bit foxed. It has been an eventful day and will likely be an even more eventful evening. You will need your wits about you.”
Charlotte closed her eyes and the room started to tilt. She opened them immediately and said, “I think that an excellent plan.” Glancing at the none-too-steady corridor, she grasped the doorframe and asked, “Will you help me get Maria settled? Perhaps I need more rest than I thought.”
Jane stared at her, then raised her gaze to the ceiling. “Of course, my dear. The hostess must be at her best for all her guests. I’ll inform Fisk to send her luggage to the . . . ?”
Charlotte paused, the layout of the bedrooms and their occupants spinning through her head. They had been orderly in her mind only an hour or so ago. “The green room is unoccupied. Or is it the pink room?”
Jane’s eyebrows were dangerously close to her nose.
Whatever have I done now?
“I will ask Fisk.” Now her mouth was pursed as well. “I will take Maria to her room, then announce to your guests that you have had to retire early due to an indisposition.” Jane leaned close. “It will not do for you to appear foxed before your guests, Charlotte. I suggest you go directly to your room, crawl into your bed, and stay there. Tomorrow you will feel exceedingly worse, but with luck you will be able to appear for luncheon.”
“But Jane, this is all my fault.” Tears threatened as Charlotte searched in vain for her handkerchief. Drat. She’d given it to Maria.
“There are at least two others who share a somewhat larger part of the blame, my dear.” Jane patted Charlotte on the arm and escorted her across the threshold. Maria stood waiting, wringing her hands in the corridor. “You cannot be held accountable for their actions. Now, off to your bed. I will make your excuses.”
Charlotte nodded and trailed behind the two women as they climbed the stairs. If only she could lie down and sleep, perhaps when she woke up the world would have righted itself.
She grabbed for the banister as the steps suddenly listed to the left. Would anything ever be right again?