A Perilous Perspective (Lady Darby Mystery #10)(6)

I reached out to clasp her hand to still her fidgeting. “That’s all well and good, Charlotte, but you know as well as I do that it’s best for all if you begin as you mean to carry on. If you allow Miss Ferguson to eye you with contempt now, she will take greater liberties later. And her tendency to countermand you in small ways with the children will only grow bolder. There’s no need to be unkind, but you must make it crystal clear what conduct and comportment you expect from her. From all of your staff.”

She nodded. “You’re right. To be honest, given the way she dismisses me, I’ve wondered what things she says about me when I’m not around.”

I’d wondered the same thing. I’d also wondered whether Miss Ferguson held some sort of hopes that Rye would fall in love with her, for she was no more than a score and ten years of age and attractive in her own right. But there was no need to heap more worries on Charlotte’s head. Not when my suspicions were unsubstantiated, and Rye was so clearly smitten with the bride he had chosen.

“Then you’ll speak to Rye?” I prodded.

“I will.”

“Good.” I squeezed her hand once more before releasing it. Sitting back, I scrutinized her pale complexion. Its normally porcelain tone had lost some of its vitality. “But I know that’s not the only thing troubling you.”

A pucker formed between her brows.

“Will you tell me, or must I guess?”

She heaved a mock sigh. “I suppose I only have myself to blame for befriending such an annoyingly observant woman.” She turned to stare at the wide panel of windows glinting in the sunlight across from where we sat. “My father . . .” she began. “You know he’s been abroad.”

“Yes.”

“That he’s due to arrive in a few days’ time.”

I nodded. His absence from the country had been one of the reasons Charlotte and Rye had postponed their wedding until nearly August. The other being concern over Rye’s older brother, Brady, and his family traveling such a distance while the cholera morbus still ran rampant through parts of Britain.

Whereas before she’d carefully smoothed the fabric of her skirts, now she began pleating it into neat rows between her fingers. Rather than stop her, this time I let her continue, hoping the soothing motion would help her find her words. “Father has met Rye just once. Briefly.”

I waited for her to continue, but her tongue appeared to have become stuck to the roof of her mouth, forcing me to prompt her again. “And what happened? I can’t imagine Rye made an unfavorable impression.”

For all that Rye was shy and retiring, he also possessed impeccable manners and knew how to present himself among society so that his quiet demeanor was not seen as odd but rather becoming. It was a talent I had never acquired, though my stilted awkwardness had eased somewhat now that I was more settled. Marriage to Gage and the accomplishment I felt in solving our inquiries had given me a confidence I’d lacked. Even if occasionally I said the wrong thing or missed a cue, my worth wasn’t tied to either.

“No, no. I could tell that Father liked him well enough. But . . . we weren’t engaged to be married then, and Father . . . well, he’s rather a stickler to propriety, to . . . to rank.” She looked up at me after this last statement, and I could see the desperation in her eyes, the desire to make me understand without having to say the words outright.

“You’re afraid your father won’t approve of the marriage,” I stated succinctly for her.

Tears glistened at the corners of her eyes, and I touched her shoulder.

“Oh, Charlotte.”

She sniffed and reached up to swipe away the wetness. “It’s not that it really matters. I don’t require Father’s permission to marry, and I’m certainly not going to let him stop me. But . . .” Her voice choked on a strangle of emotion.

“But he’s your father.”

She nodded.

I rubbed my hand up and down her arm, waiting to speak until she had gotten herself in hand. I knew very little about the Earl of Ledbury, only the few things Charlotte had told me and my own impressions drawn from the facts I knew. When her mother had died, the earl had become somewhat of an absent father, passing her off to his favorite aunt, Lady Bearsden, to manage. Although this wasn’t entirely surprising. Many gentlemen had little to do with the rearing of their children. But because he’d never remarried, even though his wife had given birth to but two daughters, meaning he lacked a direct male heir, I’d perhaps erroneously assumed he was a romantic. That he’d not taken a new wife because he could not bear to replace his first one. Unless Charlotte was the one who was not seeing clearly.

“Maybe you’re putting the cart before the horse,” I told her. “Rye is, after all, a gentleman, and one from a good family. He may not bear a title, or be likely ever to do so, but his father will one day be a marquess. Even the most priggish of individuals can’t wrinkle their noses at that.”

“You’re right.” She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “I’m probably being ridiculous.”

“Now, I didn’t say that,” I countered. “But I am curious what gave you the impression your father might object, for I know you didn’t make it up whole cloth.”

“It was my sister.”

I didn’t bother to hide my adverse reaction to her mention of Alice. I knew my older sister and I had our differences and our fair share of disagreements, but I still considered her my dearest friend, and I knew that she would always be there for me even in my darkest hour. Charlotte could not say the same for her older sister.