The Captivating Lady Charlotte (Regency Brides: A Legacy of Grace #2)(20)

Mama sniffed. “Love! What is love but an indistinct feeling that muddles a girl’s heart and mind, only to grow cold soon after?”

Charlotte stared at her mother. “Did you not love Father when you married him?”

“Of course.” Mama waved a hand. “But I soon came to see my mother was right to insist I marry someone of our rank and substance. If I had not listened and had married someone other than your father, then my life—and yours, too, I might add—would have been very different.”

Despite Charlotte’s outraged feelings, her mother’s absurdity tickled her sense of humor. Did Mama ever hear her nonsense?

Mama sighed the sigh of the very aggrieved. “Very well then. If you refuse to visit Great-Aunt Violet, then I suppose the only other person is Lavinia, much as I despise that family she married into. She, at least, seems willing to take you.”

The words pressed against her soul like a bruise. Did nobody want her?

“There is no need to come the tragedy with me, my girl. Such dramatic airs you take on! You would not need to remove from London if you had behaved with just a little more decorum. As it is, I’ve had more than one lady of my acquaintance whisper something of their concern for you. And you cannot know how unsettling all this is to my nerves.”

“I’ve got some idea,” she muttered.

“Charlotte! I might be nearly prostrate with worry, but I am not deaf! Your actions in walking off with Markham were unconscionable! How a daughter of mine could think such behavior appropriate I do not know.”

“It was only for a few moments—”

“A few moments is all it takes for the whispers to begin, and then your chance at a splendid marriage is irretrievably lost!”

She lifted her chin. “Not if Lord Markham wishes to marry me.”

“Oh, my dear, no!” Her mother’s eyes nearly fell from her face. “You cannot be serious!”

“Why not?”

“Why not? The man has nothing! His title is but the veriest wisp, he has little in the way of finances, less in the way of estates. No, no, you cannot marry him.” She frowned. “Never tell me he has made you an offer?”

Charlotte bit her lip.

“Charlotte? Good heavens, has he made you an offer? Oh!” She sagged against the settee. “The room is spinning.”

“Mama?” Concern tugged at her. Perhaps this time she really was ill …

“Tell me,” her mother continued, in a weak voice, “has he made you an offer?”

“He has not.”

Her mother pushed herself upright, with strength surprising for one ostensibly weak. “Then I forbid you to marry him, do you hear me? Forbid it! He is not the man your father and I have picked for you. I will not have my daughter throwing herself away on such a man as he.”

Heat pricked Charlotte’s eyes. She clamped her lips. Protest was useless.

“Now, such talk is injurious to my health. Go fetch my smelling salts. All this talk of scandal is making me quite light-headed.”

With a swish of skirts, Charlotte exited the room, stomping up the stairs until she found Ellen and passed along Mama’s request. She hurried to her room, locked the door, then threw herself onto her bed. Fire danced through her chest. How dare Mama make such accusations? How could she think so low of her own daughter? Was smiling at a young man such a crime?

She swiped angrily at the tears leaking onto her cheeks. Staying with Lavinia was one good thing, but she could never like the separation from Lord Markham. Never! She released a shuddery breath, her mind ticking over the other thing Mama had said. Had Mama truly picked someone for her to marry? Why, the idea was positively medieval!

And just who might that someone be that Mama had selected instead?



Hampton Hall, Gloucestershire

Early June


Late-afternoon sun baked William’s neck, the heat relieved a fraction by the light breeze eddying the scent and dust of earth. “So the addition of peat and lime should bring about decided improvement.”

Hawkesbury crossed his arms. “Is it expensive?”

“The cost is high regardless. Would you prefer the price of diminished yields over upcoming years? If you do nothing, in ten or twenty years’ time you will see the land fit for nothing but grazing.”

“But if these Corn Laws take effect as I fear they will—”

“The price will matter not if the land cannot sustain crops.”

The earl sighed. “I suppose it should not be terribly difficult to access lime, seeing as we have a lime works on the estate near Hawkesbury House.”

“Transportation might prove the bigger expense,” said the third man with them, Hawkesbury’s estate manager, whose prim appearance belied his aptitude for the sciences of the land.

William studied the far blue hills as the others continued their quiet discussion. Well he could understand the countess’s preference for this pocket of England. The advent of summer had sprinkled a gold-tinged beauty across the tranquil landscape, inducing a sense of calm he had not realized he’d needed until his arrival four days ago. Since then, his visits to the fields and farms of the Hawkesbury estate had been interspersed with convivial conversation and meals fit for a king. How long since he’d stayed with like-minded people who shared his faith along with his interest in bettering the lives of those dependent on their estates?