Chapter 9
Charlotte had been hovering listlessly all morning, moving from morning room to drawing room and back again. It had been some weeks since she had last seen James Harrington, and she was a little dismayed to discover how much she had missed him.
Still, he had sent her a message that he was now back with Hector and Lawrence Hanover at the hall and would be pleased if she would receive him for a few hours. Of course, Charlotte had immediately sent a message back to him at Hanover Hall to confirm that she had no prior engagements and would expect him for afternoon tea.
Her father, who had received the Duke’s son now on no less than three occasions, was already comfortable with the whole thing. He was neither hopeful nor concerned. His daughter had a new friend whom she would either take to or not, and that was all there was to it.
Lucas Cunningham had no expectations of this burgeoning alliance, and his daughter could not be more pleased. It was a relief to her not to suffer the same pressures that many other young ladies of her status undoubtedly endured.
That her father made no demands of her, that he did not urge her into his own idea of a good match, was something for which she would always be grateful. And it was something which made father and daughter very close indeed, for Charlotte loved him all the more for his well-developed common sense and his determination that his only daughter be happy and nothing more.
Charlotte often wondered if it was because she had grown up without a mother. She had been a little child when Lady Cunningham had died and had no recollection of the woman whatsoever.
As sad as that often made her, Charlotte devoted herself to treasuring her wonderfully close, always amusing, and often exasperating relationship with the father she adored.
He was loving yet allowed her to simply be, something which might have suggested a certain level of disinterest to the casual observer. But then, casual observers were likely used to watching fathers who plotted and schemed and constantly interfered; all the things which were foreign to the old Baron.
Lucas Cunningham was, in fact, inordinately interested in his daughter; interested in seeing her develop in her own way, within acceptable limits, of course. And in honour of his respect for her as a human being, never mind a young lady, Charlotte was always honest and careful never to behave in a way which would bring any kind of upset to him.
That was why she had very quickly admitted her new friendship with the son of the Duke of Sandford. Whilst she had omitted the element of pre-arrangement to their meeting in the woods, she had told her father about the walk they had shared nonetheless.
She was relieved when he simply accepted the whole thing, likely assuming that she had just happened upon the man when she was out on a solitary walk. But she had not had to lead him to that supposition; she had simply left out a detail or two. And that was as far as she was prepared to go regarding her father. From that point on, she had determined to be open and frank whenever discussion of Lord Harrington sprang up between them.
Just as predicted, her father’s concentration when it came to fully entertaining the handsome young man had waned very quickly. It was her father’s way to drift a little without appearing at all rude or dismissive.
He just had a nature which was easily distracted, and whilst he was always polite and took tea with them, often some issue or matter of the household would occur to him, and he would excuse himself to deal with it; more often than not forgetting to return to them at all.
“You are hovering, my dear. Am I to take it you are all fluttering nerves and romantic notions as you wait for your young suitor to arrive?” Her father appeared so suddenly in the drawing room that Charlotte gasped. “Oh, I am sorry. I did not mean to startle you whilst you were so deep in daydreaming.” Lord Cunningham laughed warmly.
“Papa, you must not tease me,” Charlotte scolded lovingly. “And no, I am perfectly myself. I am as sane and sensible as ever I was,” she lied.
Her father’s knowing smile was enough to let her know that he had already perceived otherwise, but she was determined to hold her ground, hoping all the while that she would not blush.
“If you say so, my dear. But having spent the last hour trying to concentrate on the household accounts in my study to the accompaniment of your little feet pacing from morning room to drawing room, I could only conclude that you have been peering nervously out of windows on every elevation of the house. Obviously, I was mistaken, so please forgive me.” His amusement was clear, and Charlotte, despite feeling embarrassed, could not help being amused by his little piece of comedy.
“You are not teasing me anymore, Papa; you are mocking me,” Charlotte said with a laugh.
“Only gently, Charlotte.” Her father came further into the room and kissed her cheek.
She was, indeed, standing by the window and peering out expectantly, and her father made much of joining her and looking out for the Duke’s son also.
“Papa.” She sighed and scowled at him.
“Alright, alright,” he said and held his hands up in surrender. “But do come away from the window and sit for a while. Allow yourself to relax, Charlotte. Your young man is already smitten, and you have no need to turn yourself into a wreck of nerves.”
“You cannot know he is smitten, as you call it. And even if he is not, I shall survive the experience.”
“Ah, now there is my daughter. The sharp little lady I recognize.” He laughed again.
“Oh dear, am I really so sharp?” Charlotte sat down on the couch, and her father took the armchair opposite.
“Only regarding your wit, child. I did not mean to suggest you had any sharp ways to your nature. You are perfectly adorable. In my opinion, of course.” He was still teasing her, although she knew he spoke the truth. “And you might profess to such self-sufficiency, but remember that you are my daughter, and I can see a little further into your heart than you might think.”
“Well, I daresay I am a little nervous. Perhaps because it has been some weeks since I last saw him,” Charlotte finally admitted.
“Charlotte, am I right in remembering that you told me Lord Harrington is to come to Thurlow Manor today for afternoon tea?”
“Yes, Papa.”
“I am almost afraid to point out to you that it is but eleven o’clock, Charlotte, and you have at least two hours before any sort of vigil needs to be set up at any of the windows of this house.” He laughed gently. “Why not seek out Ruth and chatter to her for a while. Take some early tea of your own in the morning room; anything to take your mind off your nerves.”
“Goodness, is it only eleven o’clock?” Charlotte winced.
“Yes, my little dove.”
“Then I think I should seek Ruth out for a while.”
“Jolly good. Then perhaps I might be permitted to continue with my accounts without the tip-tap of your feet in the corridor outside?” He raised his eyebrows. “Otherwise, I might only have a few minutes to spend entertaining this young man of yours.”
“Of course, Papa.” Charlotte laughed, knowing that her father, with or without the household accounts being complete, would find some other little detail of huge importance that would take him away from the afternoon tea less than twenty minutes into it.
“Then I shall leave you for now.” He rose to his feet and left her with a warm, fatherly smile.
By the time James Harrington finally arrived, his excitement at seeing Charlotte again was so intense it surprised him.
She looked as beautiful as ever in a simple ivory gown that complemented her creamy complexion and chestnut hair and made him stare at her just a little too long for a polite afternoon tea with her father.
“Good afternoon, Lord Harrington,” the Baron said, already on his feet and smiling as he strode across the drawing room to greet him.
Whilst the two men bowed at one another respectfully, James let his eyes stray to Charlotte once again. How he had missed her these last weeks, and how he silently cursed his father for keeping the two of them apart.
“Lord Cunningham, how very nice it is to be here at Thurlow Manor again,” James began brightly. “And Miss Cunningham, I trust you are well?” He fixed her blue eyes with his own, fully expecting to see some annoyance or consternation for his lengthy absence.
“I am well; I thank you.” She narrowed her gaze, and he realized she was amused.
No doubt she had easily read his concern and knew he was troubled by the idea of a less than welcoming reception from her. How clever she was. How much she observed and perceived.
The three of them settled down nicely, and their tea tray was delivered in very good time. The conversation was light and comfortable, and James found himself pleased once again by the Baron’s company.
As always, the Baron showed an interest in James as a man, not James as a title or a stepping stone to an elevated status of some kind.
“Have you been with Hector and Lawrence again, Lord Harrington?” Lord Cunningham asked conversationally.
“Yes, Sir,” James said respectfully and was gratified to see Charlotte’s pleasure in his mode of address to her father. “I am pleased to be seeing more of my old friend. We spent so much of our youth and educational years together, but the years in between have seen the little distance between our houses seem to grow. I am keen to shorten that distance, for Hector has always been the finest company.”
“Yes, he is a fine young man,” Lucas Cunningham agreed. “Silly as the day is long, of course, but perhaps that is part of what makes him the fine young man he is.” He laughed. “Of course, Lawrence was always a little irreverent himself in his youth. Always had me laughing at some jape or other.”
“Yes, I have always suspected Hector to be a chip off the old block, as it were.” He smiled and became aware that Charlotte was studying him as he spoke.
For a moment, James hoped his appearance was not found wanting. He knew he could be a little vain, but he liked to look smart and knew himself to be a far cry from his father, who was sloppy in his own habits.
He knew he was as well dressed as ever in a dark blue tailcoat and waistcoat with pristine ivory breeches. Jones, his valet, had polished his black knee boots to perfection, and his hair, as always, was perfectly trimmed.
With his confidence restored, James knew himself to possess a certain clean-cut handsomeness which he hoped Charlotte liked. But he wanted her to be attracted to more than that. He wanted her to find the inside as attractive as the outside and wished they could have a little time alone. He was always better able to show her who he really was in those tiny slices of private time they occasionally found themselves enjoying.
He determined that, should they enjoy such time today, he would make it count.
“I think we have an engagement in common in a fortnight, Lord Cunningham,” James said and turned to look at Charlotte, pleased that she looked a little startled to have her secret study of him observed.
So, she had been looking at him.
“Have we indeed?” the Baron said, and James could see Charlotte stifling a laugh.
The Baron was rather a wonderful old buffer, and it was clear to James that he could not bring to mind any engagement at all.
“Yes, it is the summer ball to be hosted by the Earl of Morley. Hector tells me you are acquainted, Sir, and that you will have undoubtedly received an invitation,” James went on and could see the amusement in Charlotte’s eyes.
“Oh yes, indeed,” Lord Cunningham said vaguely, his eyes narrowing as he stared off into the middle distance, clearly wondering if he had remembered to respond to the invitation at all. “Now then, if you will both excuse me for a few moments?” he said and hardly looked at the two of them as he rose to his feet and wandered towards the door. “I shall be back with you shortly,” he called over his shoulder before departing altogether.
“I am bound to say that it is unlikely my father will return,” Charlotte said, and he saw her broadening smile of amusement. “For he will now, as we speak, be turning his desk upside-down to discover the whereabouts of this invitation. You must forgive him; he is a little careless with such things.”
“But he is careful enough that he raised such a fine and beautiful daughter, and so I think he must be forgiven everything else.” James looked at her intently, his sudden desire for her becoming something he could not ignore. “And I am quietly grateful for a little time alone with you.”
“Are you indeed?” Charlotte said in her teasing tone. “Perhaps I should call for Ruth to chaperone me for a while, especially since we are unlikely to be interrupted by my father for the rest of the afternoon.”
“Ruth?” he said and raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, my dear Ruth. She will guard me closely; I can tell you.” She smiled, and he remembered Ruth was very likely the fair-haired young woman who acted as Charlotte’s maid.
“You must tease me, must you not?” James laughed. “And no, please do not call for your maid; I have been suffering all manner of torments not seeing you these last weeks.”
“And now you are playing with me, Lord Harrington, for I shall not believe for a moment that you have suffered torments of any kind.” Her blue eyes were cool and amused.
“Then you clearly do not know how well I regard you. Not to mention how much of my time is spent in pleasing thoughts of you.” He spoke seriously, and he could see that Charlotte was taken aback by his sudden intensity.
She looked so barely flustered that anybody else might not have noticed it. But James had made a study of Charlotte Cunningham and could see she was struggling to keep her composure.
He knew he should rein it in a little, but he wanted her to know his feelings; he wanted to make their moments alone count. Instead of backing away, he stared at her fervently, not releasing her from his gaze for a second.
“You are staring at me again, Sir, just as you did that first day at Hanover Hall,” she said in a voice that was quieter than normal.
“Can you blame me? I stare at you now for the same reason I stared at you then. Only now the compulsion to do so has become so strong that it is truly something I cannot fight.” He was still staring and smiled when she finally blushed.
“Lord Harrington,” she said in a low and breathless voice.
“Can you not call me James, instead? Are we not drawing ever closer, Charlotte?” He knew he was pushing her too far, too fast, but he had missed her terribly and was more affected by her presence than he could put into words.
Before she could answer, the door to the drawing room opened again, and her father bustled in holding the previously discussed invitation aloft rather triumphantly.
“There, you see,” he said as if he had fully expected them to have discussed his forgetfulness whilst he was gone. “I have not only found the thing, but I see from a little annotation I have made here in the corner,” he enthusiastically pointed to said annotation, “that I have responded in the affirmative.”
“Oh, I am pleased. Papa,” Charlotte said and sounded much more relieved than the situation warranted.
James realized that her father’s sudden reappearance had been welcome to Charlotte. He knew he had, perhaps, gone a little too far, been a little too intense, but he was not sure he regretted it.
After all, Charlotte simply looked a little out of her depth, not dismayed or repulsed. Her father’s presence would no doubt give that proud young woman the opportunity to gather herself again, to hide her little vulnerability from James. But he had seen it, and it pleased him a little; she was affected by him.
“Then I shall see you both at the ball?” James returned to his bright and friendly manner with no hint of the seriousness of just moments before.
“Indeed, you shall, Lord Harrington.” Lord Cunningham settled back down into his seat, and James realized, with an inward sigh, that it likely heralded the end of their few moments alone.
Still, he had the ball to look forward to, and he was sure he would manage the next two weeks they were to be apart again. Just.