Chapter subtitle: The heiress attends a party
Charlotte decided that she would never quite get used to the crush of a party that was typical to London’s Season. As she had done in the dozen parties or so she had attended since arriving in the city, she was now standing behind her grandmother as she cast a nervous eye about the rather large ballroom.
The men were all in tails and in the current fashion of dark waistcoats coupled with white ties at their throats. The women were in satin, silk or muslin depending on age and station, each creation looking better than the next. Charlotte could not decide if she would ever get used to this side of English society. Growing up she had heard of the Season from her mother but having visited England only twice in her youth, she had never had to be part of it.
She would still have not been a part of it had her engagement of six years not come to its disastrous end. Her parents had commiserated with her but there was no doubt that they had also been distraught. For, at five and twenty, Charlotte was too mature to be launched as a debutante anywhere and the manner in which the engagement had come to an end, it was unlikely that Charlotte would receive any offers in Boston unless it was from a fortune hunter.
And so, when Grandmama Alice had written that Charlotte must be repaired to London without the furthest delay, Charlotte had found herself on the very next steamer with two spinster aunts and four maids in attendance. The thought of Richard almost brought tears to Charlotte but she had vowed to herself that all the tears that had soaked the linen on board the steamer was enough homage to Richard’s memory. She would not cry for that… that… (she settled for) man anymore.
What kind of American heiress would she be if she shriveled up like the English damsels she read about? She would hold her head high and she would find herself a husband and have a life full of children and love. Charlotte did not have youth on her side. She also did not have favorable looks. Dark hair, dark brows, dark eyes, a complexion that browned easily. Nothing in that department to compete with the golden-haired, rosy-cheeked English misses.
But she had money. A dowry that would make the eyes of any man pop!
Grandmama Alice thought that there must be at least a dozen English aristocrats who were not destitute but who could do with an infusion of American dollars into their estates nonetheless. Like a general at war, Grandmama Alice was strategizing Charlotte’s restoration to polite society. And strategize Grandmama must, Charlotte thought, for she had another granddaughter to think about, didn’t she?
As she was thinking this, Charlotte became aware of a very large man walking towards their party. Tall and broad-chested with a golden head and blue eyes that seemed to shine with some hidden merriment. She saw him because he simply towered over everyone else and he was watching their small group even as he appeared to not be looking. Charlotte knew she should look away but really his form was formidable at the very least. How could one not be arrested by the sight of it. Several paces from them, he turned and looked right at Charlotte.
She felt her cheeks heat as she looked down immediately. She could only hope that he would not come over and make her embarrassment worse. Of course, no such luck favored her for soon enough a pair of gleaming black shoes came into her line of sight. Oh! Three pairs of gleaming black shoes.
A deep voice rumbled over her head somewhere, “Good evening Lady Ware. Sir Algernon has kindly agreed to introduce the Earl of Merton and my dearest friend from our days at school. Lord Merton, Alice, dowager duchess of Ware and a dear friend of my Grandmother Dorothy. The two were, my dear Lord Merton, and correct me, my lady, if I am not wrong to surmise, as close friends as we are.”
“You surmise correctly, Lord Felton,” Grandmama Alice’s voice sounded in Charlotte’s right ear, “I do miss dear Dottie every day of my life. I sometimes enter these parties wishing that her dear old face would greet me from within the crowd.”
Was grandmama’s voice faltering a bit!
Then the dowager was saying, “Lord Merton, it is indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” There was the briefest of pauses and the grandmama Alice was saying, “Lord Merton, Lord Felton, may I present to you my granddaughter Miss Charlotte Billingsley.”
Charlotte’s head snapped up in the most unladylike fashion possible. Why, why was grandmama introducing her to such personages. Wasn’t the agreement for a nice baron or some such?
Grandmama Alice’s eyes were narrowed when they looked at Charlotte, the message in them clear. Behave!
“Charlotte, my dear,” grandmama’s smile was back, “this is the Earl of Merton.”
Charlotte shifted her head a little to the left and held out her hand just as a dark head bowed over it. When Lord Merton straightened he had a slight smile at his lips but Charlotte did not miss the tension in his shoulders and the tightness at his jaw. His murmured, “It is a pleasure” was no indication of any pleasure at all. Charlotte gave him a small smile and curtsied just enough. Then he dropped her hand.
Charlotte could not help but notice that he was not even looking at her any more. He was looking to grandmama’s right where Caroline was standing as demurely as she had been instructed to. Lord Merton was perhaps the tenth man to have come to pay respects in the half hour since they had entered the ballroom and the ninth who had been introduced to Charlotte first but like all the others he had eyes only for Caroline.
Charlotte blinked once, then once again in rapid succession and swallowed against the rawness that appeared suddenly in her throat. She looked away from the handsome face of Lord Merton and upwards, only to be met by the bemused eyes of the blond giant. Lord Felton, was it? Grandmama hadn’t even thought to make introductions with this man; clearly, he was entirely not in the league of gentlemen grandmama intended for Charlotte. Or Charlotte was, according to grandmama’s estimation, much beneath the regard of a man such as Lord Felton.
To her horror, Charlotte felt her eyes become wet. Lord Felton quirked an eyebrow and she hastily looked downward again. The deep rumble sounded again, “Lady Ware, it would be entirely remiss if we did not make introductions of your other beautiful granddaughter if you would forgive me for being so bold as to say that. Lord Merton stands here in anticipation.”
Again, as she had with nine other gentlemen, Charlotte did not miss the beat of silence that followed this declaration. It must be clear to everyone standing that Lord Merton was nowhere in grandmama’s regard for Caroline but Alice Ware was not a dowager duchess for nothing.
Gracious introductions followed. Charlotte kept her eyes on the pair of shining black shoes a foot from the hem of her pale blue gown. She wanted to be grateful, she really did. Grandmama had been nothing but kindness since the debacle with Richard.
Grandmama did not have to take responsibility at all. Her own daughter had run off with an American long before those across the Atlantic were even considered a good match. And even then, Papa was not what anyone in polite English society would consider a good match for a duke’s daughter. Not when a man’s bloodline had both Negro and Indian blood thanks to his grandmothers. Not, when their ancestry at some point included Englishmen and women of dubious reputation who had landed on those shores to escape poverty or prison or both. It did not matter how white the most recent blood was. The duke and the duchess had almost lost credibility because of the actions of Charlotte’s mother. But Charlotte did not remember either of her grandparents being unkind to her whenever she had visited in the past.
Indeed, when Mama had written to grandmama, she had not even anticipated a rejection of help. And grandmama had simply risen to the occasion by saying that Charlotte must be returned to her English roots.
After a dozen dance parties, however, which had ended with Charlotte receiving only three callers as opposed to the almost ten times that number Caroline had gathered by attending those same events, Charlotte had concluded that London, like Boston, was unlikely to spring for her a husband who had at least a modicum of respectability.
Lord Merton was asking Caroline for a dance. Another beat of silence followed and then he was scribbling his name on her cards. Charlotte sighed. She did not have one dance penciled in tonight.
She was an outsider here and English nobility did not think to associate with the likes of her in matrimony unless they were desperate. Tainted blood was tainted blood. No one wanted the possibility of a dark-skinned child springing up amid blooming roses. Grandmama’s insistence that she would not see her granddaughter married to a destitute lord of the realm could very well mean that this season would end for Charlotte without a husband.
By the next season she would be on the shelf and the only recourse would be to return to Boston. Mercifully her sisters had been married off in the years her engagement had stretched out. Her two brothers were affianced and, in any case, would not be impacted if Charlotte remained a spinster. She would ask Papa to convert her dowry into a trust that would give her a comfortable annuity till her death.
With that thought, the pressure inside her chest eased a little. She might as well enjoy the sights and sounds of English society before taking the steamer home in the Fall. She and Mama could probably head over to Virginia to spend the rest of the season at Aunt Maud’s and Uncle Peter’s plantations. She looked up with a smile to herself, her shoulders relaxing, her neck straightening. The music was changing, it was time for the next set. Charlotte turned to her grandmama.
“Grandmama,” she said with a warm smile, “If it is alright with you, I would like to partake a few refreshments for myself.”
She did not miss the surprise in her grandmother’s eyes. The dowager regarded Charlotte for a long moment before saying, “That is quite alright, my dear. I can see your Aunt Sabrina there,” the dowager lifted her hand discreetly in that direction. Then her hand was on Charlotte’s arm, and she said kindly, “You mustn’t lose heart my dear child, everything will be fine.”
“Yes, grandmama,” Charlotte said with a smile and meant it too, “Should I bring you something to drink or eat when I return?”
“That is alright, Charlotte,” the dowager said with a smile, “I shall find a seat for myself and have something brought over. Caroline is dancing the next three sets and I shall have some respite.”
The dowager looked tired when she said that and Charlotte thought it must be a terrible chore for her to shepherd granddaughters around. She was well over five and seventy. But she would not listen to Uncle William and have someone else chaperone Caroline and Charlotte. No, she insisted, only I can have their best interests at heart. I am, after all, their grandmama!
Charlotte gave her an affectionate nod. Aunt Sabrina was by their side and grandmama was telling her that Charlotte wished to get some refreshments. Aunt Sabrina agreed that she was parched as well. Charlotte laughed softly and linked her arm with her father’s sister and the two went in search of the refreshment area.