The Earl and the Hoyden Page 13

  Charlotte had no idea that Lady Brandon was already spreading the word abroad that there was to be a grand ball at Mandeville. She was not even sure of it herself. Her doubts were centred on whether she could pull it off, whether she would remember everything that needed to be done—food, wine, music, flowers, invitations—and whether anyone would come. It would be dreadful to send out a hundred invitations and have only a handful turn up. Already she had written out a dozen lists and discarded them all. She had not yet had a reply to the letter she had written to her mother’s aunt, asking for advice.

  Great-Aunt Emily, the dowager Lady Ratcliffe, had never dealt well with her father and had never, to Charlotte’s knowledge, visited Mandeville. According to her father, it was nothing but snobbery. ‘She considered your mama married beneath her,’ he had said one day when, as a child, she had asked him about their relations. ‘I remember when we were first betrothed, she called me a fortune hunter.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Your grandfather on your mother’s side was already wealthy and had been knighted for his services to the cotton industry. Emily was his sister. She married Sir Bertram Ratcliffe and that made her think herself too grand for us.’

  ‘She was wrong about you, wasn’t she?’ she had asked. It was important to be reassured on that point.

  ‘Of course. I soon proved I could make more money than ever her brother did. All I needed was a start. Hard work did the rest.’

  ‘No, I meant you really loved Mama and it was not her money that attracted you. You did, didn’t you?’

  ‘Of course. She was beautiful and kind. No one ever said a bad word about her.’

  ‘I wish I had known her.’

  ‘You do not wish it any more than I do,’ he had said. ‘The joy went out of my life when she died.’

  She had found herself in sympathy with her father, but he did not invite sympathy and so she had said nothing and went back to her lessons. But it was strange how Papa had become so isolated. The gentry, who had hitherto tolerated him, would have nothing to do with him after he quarrelled with the old Earl, and even her mother’s family looked down on him. His associates were all businessmen like himself. That isolation had been passed down to her, but she could not be easy with it as he had been. There was too much of her mother in her.

  Mrs Biggs, in her Sunday best dress, brought a pink-scrubbed Tommy to the Hall as arranged. She was thoroughly overawed to be entering the big house and, once in the schoolroom, sat on a chair against the wall, while Tommy was beckoned forward to sit at the desk Roland had used as a child.

  Miles began by talking to the child in signs, trying to find out how much he already understood. Having been told that he had to behave himself and pay attention, the poor child appeared more simple than he really was and the lessons did not go well. It was the arrival of the Earl and Miss Cartwright that changed that. He beamed at them and began making signs so fast that Charlotte had to stop him.

  ‘Slow down,’ she mouthed, laughing. ‘I am not as quick as you.’

  ‘We have come to join in the lessons,’ Roland said, offering Charlotte a half-size chair and finding another for himself. They sat side by side and looked up at Miles expectantly.

  Tommy giggled and his mother reproved him, putting her finger to her closed lips and he subsided at once.

  ‘Ah, he knows the meaning of that,’ Miles said.

  After that the lesson went more smoothly. Tommy was asked what time he went to bed, what time he rose, what he liked to eat, all in signs. When his mother was tempted to answer for him she was gently told not to help him. An hour flew by.

  ‘I think that is enough for one day,’ Miles said. ‘Bring the boy again tomorrow, Mrs Biggs. And help him to practise if you have the time.’

  ‘I will find the time, Captain. And I’ll teach the others what I’ve learned.’

  ‘I think that went very well,’ Charlotte said after Mrs Biggs and the child had left. ‘Do you not think so, my lord?’

  Roland had been amusing himself imagining Charlotte as a mother with a nursery full of children, beautiful, happy children, and her voice startled him. ‘I am sorry, I did not hear the question,’ he said.

  She repeated it.

  ‘Oh, yes, very well. So, what do you think, Miles, will you carry on with the lessons?’

  ‘I think so. The trouble is, I have no notion how fast a child of that age should learn. I do not want to force him. He must want to learn. And later, perhaps, he could be taught to speak, though that is outside the scope of my expertise. We should have to consult others in the field. I have heard of a Dr Masterson who specialises in teaching deaf mutes to speak. I could write to him.’

  ‘Then do so, my friend. Now, shall we go down and have some refreshment. You will stay, Miss Cartwright?’

  Charlotte had, for the first time in her life, except when she was in Jamaica, absented herself from the mill, and she ought really to make up for lost time, but for some reason she did not want to, and that again was a first. ‘I should be happy to,’ she said, rising from the tiny chair and finding she had pins and needles in her legs and had to hop about to get the feeling back into them.

  Roland watched her with amusement. The more he saw of her, the more he discovered of the woman she was beneath the severe exterior. He had been entirely wrong to call her a hoyden and plain, to boot. It was uncharitable and arrogant. How glad he was she had not heard him. But that did not alleviate his guilt. She was most definitely a woman with a woman’s compassion and gentleness and the more he saw of her, the more he realised she was beautiful, not only her outward appearance, but her inner self. This was in spite of her upbringing, not because of it.

  They went down to the drawing room where Mrs Fields served them with a light luncheon. ‘How is your husband, Mrs Fields?’ Charlotte asked her.

  ‘Oh, he is much the same, but he keeps a cheerful countenance, ma’am, and since I have been working here he is much happier. He never did like me working at the inn.’

  ‘I am so glad.’

  The woman bobbed and disappeared.

  ‘What is the matter with her husband?’ Roland asked, wondering if there was anything Charlotte did not know about the villagers. Mrs Fields had been working for him over a month and he had learned nothing of her family.

  ‘He had a stroke and is confined to the house. He feels helpless and was furious when Mrs Fields was roughly treated by one of the inn’s clients and when she complained to the landlord, the landlord sided with his customer and dismissed her. Her poor husband could do nothing but rant.’

  ‘How do you know so much about the villagers’ lives, Miss Cartwright?’

  ‘I hear things as I go about.’

  ‘Then you are certainly not deaf,’ Miles said with a laugh.

  ‘No, Captain, my hearing is particularly acute,’ she said, looking hard at Roland as she spoke, but he was concentrating on the chicken leg on his plate and did not pick up on the implication of her words.

  ‘I have heard you are going to hold a ball at Mandeville,’ the Captain went on.

  ‘Where did you hear that?’ she asked in surprise.

  ‘My mother had it from Lady Brandon,’ Roland put in. ‘Is it true?’

  ‘I have been thinking about it, but have not yet made up my mind.’

  ‘I hope you do,’ Miles said, smiling at her in a way that irritated Roland, who assumed his friend was trying to make good his boast that he could tame her. ‘And I hope I may be one of your guests.’

  ‘If I go ahead, you will certainly be sent an invitation, Captain.’

  ‘Will it be a society ball, with the men in breeches like they are obliged to wear at Almack’s, or perhaps a bal masque?’

  ‘I know nothing of what they do at Almack’s. I am not, as you cannot have failed to realise, Captain, a society hostess. To me a ball is a ball. And my guests will not be confined to the upper echelons of society.’

  ‘Then may I recommend the masked ball with ev
eryone in fancy dress. It is a great leveller, is fancy dress. Do you not agree, Roly, my friend?’

  ‘Yes, indeed.’

  ‘I will certainly bear it in mind.’ She stood up. ‘I must be going. Would you send for my curricle, my lord?’

  ‘I will go,’ Miles said and disappeared, leaving Roland and Charlotte alone, facing each other awkwardly.

  ‘Will you come again tomorrow?’ he asked.

  ‘I am not sure I can spare the time,’ she said. ‘I have much to do.’

  ‘Of course. A woman who works.’

  ‘We all work in our different ways, my lord. I am not ashamed of it.’

  ‘Heaven forbid that you should be! I, too, have a great deal to occupy me, but I shall try to attend the lessons as often as I can. You are welcome to come whenever you can find the time. You do not have to send word in advance.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord.’

  ‘Would you be more comfortable if I provided some proper chairs?’

  ‘No,’ she laughed. ‘Don’t do that. Tommy likes us to be on his level and that is as it should be.’

  ‘Brought down to size, eh?’ He laughed too. ‘Very well, I will leave things as they are and look forward to our next lesson together, whenever that may be.’

  Miles returned to say the curricle was at the door and she took her leave of both of them. Instead of going home, she drove straight to Scofield. She could not afford to neglect the mill, especially as she had heard there was dissent in neighbouring manufactories and she did not want it spreading to her workforce.

  As she drove expertly along the lanes, she found herself thinking about her ball. Catherine Brandon had jumped the gun, telling the Countess, and no doubt every other of her bosom bows, about it, so if she wanted to save face, she must go through with it. If Aunt Emily accepted her invitation to come and stay, it would be a great help and give her a little standing in the community. Suddenly she wanted it to be a success. She had never minded her isolation before, but now it irked her. And for the first time, too, she realised that it was the Earl of Amerleigh she wanted to impress, not in a spirit of competition, but because, in spite of everything, she had come to like and respect him. And what an admission that was!

  Having conferred with William Brock about their latest orders and made sure everything was running smoothly, she returned to Mandeville to find her great-aunt had arrived and made herself at home. Lady Ratcliffe was sitting on one of the sofas in the drawing room, with a tray on a low table at her side containing the remains of tea and cakes. She was in her late sixties, very upright in her carriage. She had on a full-skirted gown of mousseline, a short pelisse and a wide-brimmed bonnet with a huge curling feather. Her gloves lay on the arm of the chair.

  ‘Why did you not let me know when you were arriving?’ Charlotte asked, hurrying forward to kiss her ladyship’s powdered cheek. ‘I would have been here to greet you.’

  ‘Your letter gave me to understand the matter was urgent,’ her ladyship said, looking Charlotte up and down through her quizzing glass. ‘I can see I was right. Wherever did you get that strange habit?’

  ‘It is not a habit, Aunt, it is what I wear when I am doing business. I shall go up and change at once and then we will have supper. How did you come? Where is your luggage? I hope it has been taken to your room.’

  ‘I came in my own chaise and I believe my trunk has been put somewhere. I have been waiting for an age for someone to conduct me to my room.’

  ‘I am so dreadfully sorry, Aunt, but I did not expect you today.’ She went to the hearth and gave a good tug on the bell rope beside it. ‘I will take you up myself.’

  A servant arrived promptly in answer to her summons and was instructed to take hot water up to the blue room and to tell Mrs Cater to delay supper for half an hour, then Charlotte conducted her ladyship up to the main guest room, apologising again as she did so.

  The luxury of the room and its adjoining dressing room mollified her ladyship to some extent, especially as her maid was already there and had unpacked her trunk. Charlotte left her and went to her own room to change.

  They had not made a good beginning, she decided, as she flung off the frogged jacket and grey skirt. She would have to work hard to change her aunt’s poor opinion of her as a hostess, though why she should keep apologising, she did not know—her aunt should have sent advance notice. Perhaps she had been waiting for an excuse to come to Mandeville and do something about her motherless great-niece, and the arrival of the letter had brought her post-haste.

  An hour later, they were sitting together in the small dining room enjoying a repast of roast lamb, pork cutlets and every kind of vegetable imaginable, followed by exotic fruits from Mandeville’s own hot houses. Charlotte had changed into a green taffeta evening gown trimmed with bands of velvet and Meg had forced her hair into some sort of order, so that her aunt had looked at her with more approval.

  ‘That is much better,’ she said. ‘I cannot think why you must wear that strange garb you had on when I first saw you. It was not even clean.’

  ‘I only wear it for business and it was clean when I went out this morning. A mill is a dusty place, Aunt, and anything better would be ruined in no time. My workers would not respect me if I arrived in silks and furbelows.’

  ‘Do you mean you actually go into the mill?’

  ‘Of course. I must keep track of what is happening to the orders and oversee the work.’

  ‘Nonsense, of course you don’t. I never met a lady yet who would stoop so low.’

  ‘I am not thought of as a lady.’

  ‘Then it is about time we changed that. Why, you will never make a good marriage going on the way you do.’

  ‘I am not thinking of marriage, Aunt.’

  ‘Of course you are. Every young lady does,’ her aunt contradicted firmly.

  ‘No, Aunt. I simply want to give a ball, here at Mandeville, which is why I asked for your advice.’

  ‘And I shall be pleased to give it, my dear, but surely you have had balls here before now?’

  ‘I have been told Mama used to give grand balls, but it has never happened in my lifetime. I do not think Papa wanted to entertain after she died.’

  ‘Have you not been brought out?’

  ‘Not in the usual sense, no.’

  Her aunt sighed heavily. ‘I knew your father was an eccentric, but I did not realise he had so thoroughly neglected his duty as a father.’

  ‘He did not neglect me,’ Charlotte said, fiercely defensive. ‘He simply had different ideas about how I should be brought up. I think he was disappointed I was not a son.’

  ‘He should have married again and begot himself an heir.’

  ‘I do not think he could bring himself to do so. In any case, he was always too busy.’

  ‘Then we must set about a remedy. How old are you now, two and twenty?’

  ‘Twenty-three, Aunt.’

  ‘Almost at your last prayers! There is not a moment to lose.’

  ‘Aunt, I am in no haste to marry.’ Charlotte was beginning to wonder if she had been wise to ask her great-aunt for advice; she was liable to be given far more than was wanted or needed. ‘I have yet to find the right man.’ Even as she spoke, her mind’s eye presented her with an image of Roland Temple, Earl of Amerleigh, sitting on the little nursery chairs, making signs at Tommy Biggs and laughing. That was the man she liked, not the arrogant youth, nor the proud owner of a failing estate. She could marry the gentle, caring man. She shook the picture from her. Whatever was she thinking of? She was not going to marry anyone, least of all Roland Temple, who had called her a hoyden!

  ‘Nor will you, the way you are going on.’ Great-Aunt Emily’s voice broke in on her reverie. ‘But I am here now and we may yet save the situation. Let us repair to the drawing room. You can tell me all about yourself over the teacups and we will devise a plan.’

  Charlotte sighed and led the way.

  Chapter Six

  Lady Ratcliffe was decided
ly put out when she discovered next day that Charlotte intended to go to the mill as usual and she was again wearing the strange dress that had so appalled her. ‘I will try to come home early,’ Charlotte said. ‘We can talk over our plans for the ball then.’

  ‘What am I to do all day?’ Her ladyship was still in bed, sitting up drinking a dish of hot chocolate that Charlotte had brought herself. It was, she averred, an indecent time to be woken. ‘Surely you can give the mill a miss until we have come to some decisions. You will never pass muster as a lady while you insist on racketing about in that dreadful outfit.’

  ‘I must go, but I will be back in time for nuncheon and then I will change and take you round the village. We will call on Lady Brandon and the Countess of Amerleigh. I am persuaded you will deal well with them both.’

  ‘You are on calling terms with a Countess! Charlotte, you never told me that last night.’

  ‘It must have slipped my mind. If you want something to do this morning, you could make shopping lists of everything you think we need for the ball and there is no necessity to spare my purse.’ And with that, she kissed her great-aunt’s cheek and left to drive herself to the mill.

  They were getting low on some yarns, but as everything seemed to be working smoothly, she did not stay long. Instead of going up to the mine as she would normally have done, she went to Amerleigh Hall to take her place in the schoolroom alongside Tommy and Roland. Both expressed delight that she could join them again.

  She knew she was being inconsistent. From doing all she could to avoid the Earl she now seemed anxious to seek his company. It might have been her interest in Tommy and the lessons, but that was not the whole of it. She had had a change of heart. She wanted to get to know Roland, to discover the man beneath the aristocrat, to delve below the facade and understand why he was the man he was and how much he had changed in the course of six long years of war. The lessons were a means of doing that; they had at least one thing in common and that was a love of children. When she was with children she felt different; she could relax with them and forget business for a little while. Roland Temple gave every appearance of feeling the same. He was not above sitting on tiny chairs or even squatting on the floor to be closer to them and they were not overawed by him.