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‘The Corsican?’ His eyes widened. ‘Napoleon?’
‘The very man. Fact is, he is to be exiled. Elba, you know. All agreed this week.’
‘Yes, of course. The news reached us here in London a few days ago, though we didn’t know where he was to go. Just grateful the war is over, really.’
‘Well, Castlereagh doesn’t like it, but the Czar must be magnanimous. I’m with Campbell, who will stay to see it done.’
‘Er...quite, quite. Important business, that.’ Freddy adopted a knowing look.
‘Indeed—and delicate. Can’t let that little upstart think he actually was an emperor! The thing is—I think it is time Charlotte came home to England. I’m going back to Paris with the Foreign Office chaps. Everything seems to be settling down, but I wouldn’t trust the French—not suitable for her at all.’
‘No, no!’ said Buxted, much struck. ‘But is there no one—?’
‘No one in London I would know and trust like you, Freddy. You’re Maria’s cousin, got two daughters of your own. Seems an ideal situation for my Charlotte.’
‘Yes, I see, but—’
‘You needn’t worry. She won’t give you any trouble, Freddy. She is not one of those demanding females. Quiet little thing, but got a good head on her shoulders, my Lottie. In fact, shouldn’t be surprised if you like her, Freddy—everyone does.’
‘But for how long would we be expected to have her?’
‘Not more than a couple of months, Freddy. You know how it is with these things—hard to tell.’ Freddy nodded sagely. ‘It will be my last mission, though. After making sure Napoleon is safely on his way I’ll need to tidy things up—regimental business, you know—then I’ll be coming home for good. The job is done and I’m looking forward to retirement.’
‘To be sure, yes. But—’
‘And don’t worry, Freddy, I’ll stand the blunt. You won’t have to lay out a penny on her behalf. I shall arrange her pin money, but I will need to stable Charlotte’s mare with your horses, if you are agreeable?’
Mr Buxted, his shoulders slumped, could not object.
‘Then it is all settled! I shall ask Charlotte to write to your wife to confirm the date of her arrival.’
Sir Edward, entirely satisfied, took his leave without further ado, leaving Freddy Buxted with the happy duty of informing his dear wife Louisa of their impending guest. He sank back in his seat as the enormity of his task slowly dawned on him.
‘For this,’ he muttered to the empty room, ‘I shall need the assistance of a power greater than myself.’ He raised his voice. ‘Biddle! Biddle! Oh, there you are, man. Get me some ale!’
* * *
A little over three weeks later, on the date appointed in her polite correspondence with Mrs Buxted, Miss Charlotte Wyncroft arrived at Buxted House. She was accompanied by her groom, Joseph, leading a fine bay mare, her abigail, Miss Priddy—who was also Joseph’s sister—and an enormous number of trunks and bandboxes, piled high behind the coach.
‘Finally, Priddy, we have arrived!’
‘Now, then, Miss Charlotte, no need for over-excitement.’
‘But, Priddy, this is London! You know how long I have wanted to visit England, and especially London. It is hard to call oneself English when England is a distant memory. Ooh, there are my cousins—what attractive girls!’
Charlotte peered out through the carriage window, trying to see everything without making it obvious that was what she was doing. Two young women stood with their mama at the top of the steps. Both looked fair, pretty and elegant.
As the carriage door was opened Charlotte overheard snatches of their conversation.
‘Mama, what a lot of luggage!’ exclaimed the younger-looking Miss Buxted.
Faith was her name, Charlotte remembered from the letters she had exchanged with Mrs Buxted these past weeks. A pretty young lady with blue eyes and flaxen curls, she was a paler imitation of her older sister. She glanced anxiously at her mother and sister as they stood waiting for their guest to mount the steps.
Miss Henrietta Buxted, at twenty, was two years senior, and was stunningly beautiful. Guinea-gold curls, wide blue eyes and a stubborn chin—she would be much sought after among the young men, if Charlotte was not mistaken.
Henrietta sniffed. ‘I hope she will not be an inconvenience, Mama.’
‘Charity begins at home,’ said Mrs Buxted.
A stout lady on the shady side of forty, with a certain hardness about her eyes and mouth, she still showed faint traces of the former beauty that, Papa said, had attracted young Freddy Buxted to offer for her.
Standing stiffly in a burgundy Norwich crepe round gown, she remarked, ‘I still don’t understand how your father agreed to this. To have an unknown girl foisted on me, when I have two daughters of my own to see settled... It is beyond belief!’
Mr Buxted, who had been standing quietly behind his wife and daughters, looked alarmed. Muttering what sounded suspiciously like, ‘Fortitude!’ he stood his ground.
Charlotte glanced at Priddy, who looked shocked. Did Mrs Buxted and her daughters think she could not hear them?
Schooling her features into a polite smile, Charlotte tripped lightly up the shallow stone steps.
‘Mrs Buxted, I am so happy to be here. Thank you so much for agreeing to let me visit. What a beautiful house! And these must be my cousins.’
‘My daughters, Henrietta and Faith.’
The girls made their curtseys.
‘It is lovely to meet you all! Mr Buxted!’
‘Do call me Uncle. I should happily be your uncle. I’m so glad your father agreed to let you visit.’ Mr Buxted, moved by Charlotte’s enthusiasm, gave her an avuncular kiss.
‘Now, now, Mr Buxted—Uncle! I can imagine quite well that my father pressured you into it. He normally gets what he wants.’ She leaned forward, and added with a twinkle, ‘It is what makes him such a good colonel.’
Mr Buxted laughed, at which his wife and daughters looked quite startled. He stepped back and made a study of her.
‘Well,’ he pronounced, ‘you look nothing like my dear cousin Maria.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘She was a famous beauty, was she not? I am thought to favour my father.’
Henrietta sighed dramatically. ‘To live without a mother. It must be so sad for you.’
‘Not at all!’ said Charlotte cheerfully. ‘I don’t really remember her. She died when I was six, you see.’
‘But you have not had the guiding hand which every young lady needs,’ offered Mrs Buxted evenly. ‘Growing up without a mother, you must lack the wisdom only a mother can offer.’
‘Oh, probably,’ agreed Charlotte. ‘I do not think I am very wise sometimes.’
‘Then perhaps,’ offered Henrietta, ‘we may help improve your mind during your visit.’
‘I wouldn’t be sure of that,’ said Charlotte sorrowfully. ‘I was a terrible student. I finished school last month, thank goodness, and I did try to be sensible and obedient, but I admit I found it a struggle sometimes.’
She twinkled at Faith, who—thankfully—returned an understanding smile.
‘Reverend Welford—our chaplain in Vienna—has quite given up on me, but says he likes me as I am. I do find it hard to be good sometimes. But I do try.’
Ignoring Henrietta’s gasp of shock, Mrs Buxted inclined her head. ‘Well,’ she said, her mouth a thin hard line, ‘we shall see.’
‘I am glad,’ said Henrietta to her mother, ‘that our cousin is dark-haired—not fair, like me and Faith.’
‘Why does that matter?’ asked Faith, perplexed. ‘Besides, Charlotte has blue eyes like us.’
‘She will be described as a petite girl, with a good figure, striking blue eyes with dark lashes—the Buxted eyes—and unfashionably brown hair. She is pretty rather than beautiful, Faith.’ Henrietta sounded exasperated at her sister’s dim-wittedness. ‘It means that I will still be known as the beauty of the family—although Charlotte is pretty enough not to discredit us.’
‘And she is elegant,’ agreed Mrs Buxted, her eyes sweeping over Charlotte’s stylish blue pelisse, worn over a pretty figured muslin gown.
Charlotte stood in astonishment as they openly discussed her. In Vienna this would have been considered shockingly rude.
‘Yes, yes,’ said Mr Buxted, ‘I am sure you will all get on famously. My love, I shall leave you to get better acquainted with our little niece. I shall return for dinner.’
With this decisive pronouncement, he left, nimbly avoiding the train of footmen carrying Miss Wyncroft’s baggage into the rapidly shrinking hallway.
‘Mrs Walker, our housekeeper, will show you to your room.’ Mrs Buxted indicated a plump, middle-aged lady, standing by the staircase. ‘I am sure you will want to rest a while after your journey.’
‘Not at all, for I have travelled only a few hours today. We broke our journey in Godalming last night, rather than arrive with you in the evening.’
Mrs Buxted blinked.
‘But of course I should like to freshen up. My abigail, Miss Priddy, will assist me.’
Miss Priddy, who was standing in the background clutching Charlotte’s small jewel case, bobbed a curtsey to the Buxted ladies and joined her mistress in following the housekeeper—and two footmen, laden with trunks—up the wide staircase. She was a thin lady of indeterminate age and wore a plain dimity gown in a sober Devonshire brown, buttoned up to the neck. She had been with the Wyncroft family since before Charlotte was born—initially as maid to Charlotte’s mother.
Charlotte’s room was bright and spotlessly clean, with a comfortable bed and a small fireplace. It was decorated with pretty green hangings and overlooked the street. Charlotte graciously thanked the housekeeper and the two footmen, who then left to fetch more baggage.
Charlotte waited for the door to close before crossing to the window. Down below, it seemed all of London was passing by. ‘Oh, Priddy. I knew it—this will be interesting.’
‘Now, Miss Charlotte.’
‘I declare, I like my Uncle Buxted. And Miss Faith seemed friendly.’ She frowned. ‘I’m not sure about my Aunt Buxted and Miss Henrietta. They are shockingly plain-speaking—but perhaps ladies are different in London. And did you hear what they said as we arrived? They don’t really want me.’
Priddy threw her a sharp look, but said nothing.
Charlotte stretched her arms above her head, glad to be out of the rumbling carriage at last. It had taken over a week to travel from Vienna, by easy stages. Joseph, who had criss-crossed Europe many times, had organised the best inns and the safest routes. Although peace had been declared, there were still pockets of trouble in France, and they had been accompanied on their journey by armed outriders.
Charlotte gazed thoughtfully at her abigail, who had opened one of the trunks and was tutting at the creases in a white silk gown.
‘I have met many ladies of the ton in Vienna, and in Brussels, while their husbands were engaged in meetings, but I do not recall any who seemed so stiff—or so blunt—as the Buxted ladies. And everyone welcomed visitors—always. Are things so different here, or is it me they do not like?’
‘You are in London now, miss. This is the heart of English society. Many things will be different. They have never met you before, so they cannot truly dislike you. Once they learn to know you, they must like you.’
‘Oh, Priddy, I do hope you are right. I am so happy to be in London,’ said Charlotte with a contented sigh. ‘I have waited for this for so long. I’ve had years of parties and dinners with English people visiting Vienna, talking of things I knew nothing about—the English weather, the royal family, the countryside. Now I am finally in my home country. It is a new adventure, and I aim to make the most of it. All will be well, I am sure.’
Chapter Two (#u23f81156-3224-52fb-b847-78f98a744fdd)
Charlotte spurred Andalusia to a canter. The breeze stung her cheeks and the afternoon sun sparkled on the Queen’s Basin as she cantered through the meadow, savouring the exhilaration in her veins. At the end of the open field she slowed the mare to a gentle trot, allowing Joseph to catch up.
‘I’ll say this, Miss Charlotte,’ said the groom who had taught her to ride amid Wellesley’s Portuguese campaign, ‘you know exactly how to handle her.’
‘Yes, you enjoyed that, didn’t you, Lusy? Just a pity we aren’t allowed a full gallop,’ said Charlotte, leaning forward to pat the mare’s neck. ‘I suppose we should be getting back, Joseph. We are to have visitors this afternoon and I am a little late.’
As they moved through the park towards Half-Moon Street Charlotte reflected on her first week in London. The Season was now in full swing, but Mrs Buxted disapproved of the ‘carousing’ involved. House parties, assemblies and balls were only to be tolerated, she had pronounced, in order to find suitable marriage partners for her daughters.
In her first two seasons Henrietta had been restricted to small gatherings and an occasional visit to Almack’s. Not this year. Faith had shyly confided to Charlotte that ‘Dear Mama’ disapproved of some large social occasions, but with Henrietta still unmarried—and yet so beautiful—Mrs Buxted had conceded she might have to relax her normal strict avoidance of parties, balls and routs.
Privately, Charlotte had wondered why Henrietta was still unwed, despite being so beautiful. Had she spurned offers of marriage? Surely she had had offers?
‘Mama wants only what is best for us,’ Faith had said, ‘which is why she wants us to beware of heedless pleasure. But I confess I am enjoying the silly vanities of ball-gowns and assemblies.’
‘And so you should,’ Charlotte had replied. ‘For it is wonderful to dress up and go to parties. I declare there is a certain excitement about knowing one is going out, in planning what to wear and getting ready. I think many men feel the same, for they spend a lot of time on their hair, and their neckcloths, and their boots. At least, Papa does.’
Charlotte had been excluded from all the evening outings so far. As Mrs Buxted—a stickler for propriety—had explained, dear Charlotte had not yet been presented at Court. She was therefore to be excluded from large balls and routs, though she might attend small, informal events. Charlotte had heard this with great disappointment. She had been looking forward to many things in London—including ton parties—and had certainly not expected her life to be quite so restricted.
On her first evening in Buxted House, it had been made clear that Charlotte was to adapt to the needs of the family.
‘Miss Charlotte,’ Mrs Buxted had said. ‘I am a straightforward person, and I pride myself on my honesty. We are well thought of in London. You are a Buxted by blood, although somewhat diluted by your father’s family, the Wyncrofts, who were of lesser birth. I cannot imagine what your childhood was like, being raised by a widower in the train of the Army!’
Charlotte had opened her mouth to defend her darling papa, but Mrs Buxted had been insistent.
‘No, I do not wish to hear what you have to say. You are in my charge now, and you will submit to me. I expect the highest standards of behaviour from you. I have spent many years preparing my girls for London society, and no one—least of all a nobody from Paris, or Vienna, or wherever you have been—will risk their future. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes, Aunt.’ Charlotte, chastened, had had no choice but to submit.
Her heart had sunk. Her time in London was to be a more rule-governed existence than the life she had lived abroad. This visit to London—that she had looked forward to with such excitement—would be more of a trial than an adventure, it seemed.
Her hopes of building friendships with her cousins also looked likely to be dashed—Faith was sweet, but slow-witted, and Henrietta seemed proud and vain. Their mother was probably well-meaning, but ruled the household with a will of iron.
Charlotte, unused to being disciplined quite so forcefully or bluntly, reminded herself that as a young person, and a guest in her aunt’s house, she must be ruled by her aunt, no matter how much she hated it. She’d had no idea this would be her life here when she had persuaded her father to let her come. Now all she wanted was for Papa to rescue her from Buxted House.
Her eyes misted as she thought of Papa. There had been many times when they had been apart, but never for three whole months, and never with the sea in between them. He felt much further away than he had ever been. She cried sometimes, when feeling low, but always tried to cheer herself up again.
I’m trying to enjoy this, Papa. And I am trying to behave. But I miss you.
So far, she had done quite well. She had submitted to having a maid accompany her each time she left the house—apart from her morning ride, when she was accompanied by Joseph. General manners and conversation seemed little different, so she had avoided her aunt’s criticism there. The toughest challenge so far had been a surprising one—she was expected to avoid seeming knowledgeable, and not to hold an opinion on anything of note.
‘For a lady,’ Aunt Buxted had advised, ‘must not set herself to be higher in knowledge or understanding than a gentleman. Our weak feminine brains cannot cope with the complexities of knowledge, and to pretend to be well-informed is an unfortunate and unnecessary affectation. There is nothing worse than to be thought a bluestocking!’
This Charlotte found difficult. She was accustomed to the company of political and military men and women and had a great interest in politics. She also enjoyed reading.
Still, to please my aunt, she thought, I can try to be dumb and stupid—at least while she is present. Papa would laugh if he saw me.
Entering the house, she mounted the stairs, intending to go straight to her room to change. On the way, she heard Mrs Buxted’s voice coming from the drawing room.
