A Passionate Endeavor (17 page)

“My dear Miss Kittridge,

It is my great pleasure to gift you with this
small token of my family’s esteem. Your gown was ruined beyond
salvation while attending to my horse, Phoenix, and it has been
many weeks since I have promised my family to provide
restitution.

I do hope you approve of the color. My
brother suggested you might enjoy borrowing the hues of a
goldfinch. His reasoning is beyond my understanding, but I do agree
that it will suit your graceful form. But, I would not press this
upon you. If you had rather a different pattern or material, please
do not hesitate to return it with ideas for its replacement…”

Charlotte glanced at the gown. Replacement?
Replacement
?
Why, she would cherish this gift to the end
of her days. It was perfection
.

“If you are partial to the gown, I would beg
of you to wear it tonight. We would be most obliged if you and your
family, as well as your guest, would join us for dinner this
evening.

Thank you again for all your gentle
ministrations to my father, my brother, and to my beloved
Phoenix.

With fondness,

Rosamunde Knightly”

Charlotte lowered the card and reached for
the soft silk, crushing it to her body. Her heart raced as she
again glanced at the letter. This was the best, most wonderful
present she had ever received.

As she whisked herself back upstairs, she
wondered if it was quite proper to accept such an extravagant gift.
One
essayage
of the beautiful golden gown was enough to
force the small grain of vanity that Charlotte possessed into a
veritable pebble. And instead of finding herself agreeing to her
father’s stubborn insistence to return the object of her struggling
shoot of pride, she found herself arguing with her father for the
first time in her life.

“But, Papa—”

“There will be no further discussion about
this unsuitable gift. We are not peasants in need of finery. It is
inconceivable.”

When Alexandre took her part, she was even
more sure that she had chosen the evil course.

“But, my dear sir, you will not find it out
of place for me to tell you that it is not at all out of the common
way for your daughter to accept this gown. In fact, it would be
considered the height of rudeness,
très imprudent aussi
, to
reject this simple act of kindness.” Alexandre ruined the softening
she could see in her father’s eyes by continuing, “And besides, I
cannot deny myself the joy in seeing her dressed prettily. Those
rags she wears are pure torture on the cultivated eye,” he said,
using a toothpick discreetly after nuncheon.

“Papa, you must see that Lady Rosamunde will
be very hurt if I return her present. It is far better to accept it
with grace,” she said as forcefully as she dared.

“And as I see it, it is Lord Huntington who
had a hand in it. I’ll not have a daughter of mine accepting gowns
from a gentleman. It smells of, of, of… well, of actions unbecoming
a lady,” he said, turning beet-red. “And furthermore, I wish to
understand these newfound attentions he is paying you. I understand
that his lordship has been known to skulk about this residence
while I have been at His Grace’s bedside. What is the meaning of
this?” he asked. “Charlotte?”

Charlotte noticed a smile Alexandre was
trying to hide behind a napkin without success. He found vastly
amusing the idea of his lordship fording any interest in a plain
little nurse with little conversation.

“Charlotte,
cherie
, you have not given
your heart to this man, have you? He will undoubtedly dash all your
hopes without the smallest hesitation. And what is to become of my
sensibilities for my dearest
cousine
?” Alexandre displayed
the dimples that seemed to have been inherited by every branch of
her family. But they looked so attractive on his bronzed cheeks
that set off his white teeth to perfection.

“We’ll have enough of that, Alexandre.
Charlotte is a sensible female. She is beyond all nonsense of love.
She has long cherished the joys of duty and science.”

Charlotte was close enough to catch
Alexandre’s sigh and whisper, “Ah, yes, a pity that.”

The subject had run its course with no firm
conclusion, and therefore she approached her appearance before
everyone that evening with not a little trepidation. Charlotte had
no way to judge her overall appearance as she had only a small
mirror that reflected her form above her bosom. But she could see
that the delicate lace, ribbon, and yellow hue made her appear
glowing and bright-eyed. She ran down the stairs when she heard her
father’s insistent call, stopping long enough to accept the shawl
from Doro, who looked well pleased. Her father just stared at her,
saying not another word about the gift.

To Charlotte’s embarrassment, all eyes were
upon her as the group from the cottage entered the duchess’s
magnificent drawing room filled with more gold leaf—encrusted
surfaces than Versailles. She was acutely aware of his presence,
but dared not glance in his direction until she knew without
looking that he was in front of her. She glimpsed at Lord
Huntington for the briefest moment, during which he tipped his head
silently, acknowledging her presence.

“Miss Kittridge.”

“My lord.” Charlotte curtsied.

He had an unreadable expression, neither
approving nor the opposite.

Charlotte stopped herself from tugging at the
low bodice. She was very much on display, a feeling she had avoided
her entire life. She retained her faculties enough to speak to the
lady responsible for her present happiness.

“Lady Rosamunde, how can I thank you for this
gift?” Charlotte accepted a glass of ratafia from a servant. “It is
the most beautiful gown I have ever possessed.” Charlotte felt Lord
Huntington’s shadow fall away from beside her and shivered.

“You must call me Rosamunde. I would be
honored by your friendship,” the striking young lady replied. “But,
I wish I deserved your heartfelt appreciation. It is my brother who
merits your gratitude. He is the one who insisted that you must
have a new dress. He requested that my modiste work on the design
he specified before commencing my long list of needs.”

Charlotte turned to glance at Lord Huntington
again when Rosamunde nodded in his direction. She found herself
staring into unfathomable green eyes that made her long to escape
to the wilderness beyond the winding gardens of Wyndhurst and feel
his broad shoulders and long arms cover her with an overpowering
embrace.

She was intensely aware of him. An aura of
natural dominance and integrity radiated from him. Charlotte was
powerless to look away.

The touch of Lady Rosamunde’s hand broke the
moment. “
Mother
is looking your way. I think we are to go in
now.” Rosamunde tugged Charlotte away to the group gathering before
the massive oak doors.

Her Grace was pursing her lips in
disapproval.

It was obvious that Rosamunde changed the
subject to distract her. “Your brother is to take orders very soon,
no?”

Charlotte tried to recover her equilibrium.
“Yes, I am afraid that despite all his dillydallying and attempts
to dissuade our father, his days as a gentleman in white stock and
colored coat will soon be history. Although,” she continued, “he
would much prefer the army life, as you must know. He would… how do
those young gentlemen in town describe it? ‘Boil his lobster’ is
the term, I think, at a moment’s notice if ever a military
opportunity presented itself.”

Charlotte dared not look at Lord Huntington
again. She would not make a cake of herself. The dress was a mere
pittance to a man like Lord Huntington, a simple gift because she
had helped him on several occasions. He was staring at her because
he had only ever seen her with dirt, blood, straw, or clay covering
her.

Charlotte wondered if she was asked to go in
to dinner on the arm of the vicar as punishment, or if Her Grace
had decided that the best method to keep both of the elderly
ladies’ claws sheathed was to remove the so-called mouse, or rather
vicar, from play. Due to the low status of the Kittridge family,
Her Grace indicated to Charlotte a chair at the remote end of the
table next to one of the grandmothers. As far away from Lord
Huntington as was possible. At least she could be thankful that it
was not Lady Susan’s grandmother, whose constant screeching could
produce the headache within minutes.

Delicate porcelain platters and bowls arrived
by many liveried servants dressed in the finest satin. The chef
displayed the enormity of his talents with quail eggs in aspic
followed by fish, pheasant, and lamb prepared a la francaise. But
the piece de resistance was the turtle steaks served with butter
and Seville oranges.

Unfortunately, Charlotte’s appetite had left
her the few precious minutes she had been in Lord Huntington’s
presence. She doubted his stepmother would allow her to speak to
him at all. And she was right. He had been seated between Lady
Rosamunde and the duchess.

The vast display of extravagant food sickened
her. Did not the family realize that there were entire families
starving within a five-mile radius of the estate? It was
shameful.

“Miss Kittridge, may 1 be allowed to
compliment you on your beautiful gown this evening?” The vicar
regarded her with kind eyes. “The color becomes your perpetually
sunny disposition.”

Before she could offer her thanks, the
dowager duchess took up the bait. “Yes, yes, my dear. So nice to
see you in bright colors for a change. When I was younger, I had a
particular yellow gown that was my favorite. I do believe there was
a time that Mr. Llewellyn thought it rather pretty too.” She gave
as coy a look as possible for a lady with eighty-two years on her
dish.

“My dearest Margarita, that color would look
ghastly on you. It would bring out the sallow tones of your
complexion,” said Lady Elltrope. “What can you be thinking? I am
sure the vicar prefers more refined color such as this purple I am
wearing… truly a royal color, do you not agree, Mr. Llewellyn?”
Lady Elltrope batted her eyes at the vicar.

“Well, I am, I am—” stuttered the vicar.

“Do you have something in your eye,
Hortense?” inquired Her Grace Margarita before the poor beleaguered
man could finish.

“Why, you have the audacity…” Lady Elltrope
began and then stopped, as if unwilling to stoop to unladylike
behavior. Both women looked fit to cast off their jewels for the
catfight of a lifetime.

For once in his life the vicar seemed unable
to resolve the situation in a pious manner befitting his station
without chastising the ladies and causing more damage.

Charlotte felt sorry for him. “You are quite
right, Lady Elltrope. Purple suits you very well, especially with
the lovely gray of your beautiful hair.” She turned to the dowager
duchess. “And this beautiful dress, for which I owe your family
much gratitude, I believe, is very similar in color to the
exquisite portrait I spied of you in the gallery. Was it not by
Jean-Honore Fragonard? Perhaps the style and fashion has changed,
but the colors are very much the same. I could only wish to be half
as well-looking as Your Grace is in that portrait of you
reading.”

Both ladies looked well pleased. However, her
long speech had interrupted the various pockets of conversation at
the table. What had she been thinking? This gown must have
empowering properties, she thought with mischief.

“I say, we must have some dancing after
supper to see the superior qualities of Miss Kittridge’s gown,”
said Lord Edwin, “and of course those of the other charming
ladies.”

“A brilliant idea,” seconded the viscount
with a twinkle in his eye. “I have it on good authority that all
the ladies are dying for a romp.”

Lady Susan tittered. Louisa Nichols looked
hopeful. Her Grace, the Duchess of Cavendish, remained silent.

“I am sorry to suggest otherwise,” Lord
Huntington said in his deep voice. “However, while my father lies
ill, I cannot think of dancing.”

His sister looked pale.

“Oh, my dear brother,” replied Lord Edwin.
“Father would want us to make merry. It has been nothing but gloom
and doom for weeks. I’m afraid your nature has not allowed for the
necessity of entertaining our guests.”

“Perhaps you are right, Edwin. But I still do
not like it.”

“Perhaps you would prefer that we sit about
the fire and read? That is a favorite pastime of yours, is it
not?”

Charlotte sucked in her breath and couldn’t
bear to hear a retort.

James, ignorant of the situation, and always
ready to smooth over any awkwardness, stepped in. “I would enjoy
that a great deal. I have just finished reading last year’s
Annual Register
to fill in the gaps of my knowledge of
events. I suppose you have already read it, Lord Huntington?”

He shook his head, and Charlotte grabbed her
hands under the table to control the shaking.

Edwin chortled. “Why ever not, Nicholas?”

All the eyes at the table were focused on
Lord Huntington—most perplexed, some knowing, all waiting. Lady
Rosamunde committed the unpardonable act of excusing herself from
the room, and left, tears in her eyes.

Charlotte forced the full powers of the gown
into action. She had to raise her voice to be noticed by the other
end of the table. “Lord Huntington, did you, by chance, read more
of the novel you were reading to me this afternoon?” She was not
lying, precisely. He had made remarkable progress ever since they
had unlocked a door in his mind with the clay letters. He had been
reading longer passages, of more complex words each day with fewer
faults and less rest for head pains, though she doubted he had
attempted
Mansfield Park
on his own.