A Particular Circumstance (9 page)

Charlotte was awake early the next morning and was
somewhat
startled to be served her morning chocolate not by Phoebe but by a young girl she had never seen before. She blinked at the handsome country girl, with her rosy cheeks and fine black eyes.

‘I do not think I know you,’ she said as she sat up and took the cup from her.

‘Nell, Miss Grayson,’ the girl said briskly. ‘I got a place wi’ your mama and very glad I am, miss. I worked for Squire Perkins’ wife for three years, but it were dull, Miss Charlotte, them being elderly, like. Your ma says I’m to wait on you and Miss Kitty and I’m pleased about that. I hope as I shall give satisfaction.’

‘I should not think you will find it dull with my mama,’ Charlotte said. ‘She is a positive whirlwind of activity and there is always so much to do when you move to a different house.’

‘Yes, miss, I’ve noticed that; it’s why I’m so pleased to get a place here. And no gentlemen in the house to be a nuisance, either,’ she added as an afterthought. ‘I shall go and get your water now. I were not expectin’ you to be up and ready, see, or I would have done it sooner. Are you wishing to get up now, miss?’

Charlotte decided she liked young Nell and got out of bed straight away. It was a peach of a morning and she
determined
to go for a walk before breakfast.

Twenty minutes later, dressed in her newest and most becoming blue walking-dress, she crossed what had once been the laundry court in days gone by and walked over the crescent lawn to a little creaking old gate, set snugly in the mellow brick wall, and then she was out in the green lane which led directly to the village. She wondered how Lucy Baker did. She knew Lucy had recently had a new little brother and she’d taken care to put a bright gold sovereign in her reticule for the latest Baker child. Perhaps it was a little early to call at the Bakers’ cottage, but if she saw Lucy
playing
out on the lane….

Thoughts of Lucy immediately put her in mind of Hugo Westbury. How she detested him, especially when she remembered the arrogant way that he had stepped forward with his handkerchief to stem poor little Lucy’s tears. Still, the child had seemed to trust him and had accepted a ride on his huge black horse without appearing to be nervous—

Her train of thought was cut off abruptly and she gave a start of horror as she neared the Bakers’ cottage. Coming towards her was none other than Hugo Westbury himself and beside him Aurelia Casterton, simpering up at him and then turning to wave with smiling condescension to little Lucy Baker and her beaming mother who both stood at the cottage door. Aurelia’s maid trailed behind them, holding a little bundle of clothes suitable for a new baby. It was too late to turn and go back and so she was forced to greet Aurelia and her companion as calmly as she could.

Hugo Westbury bowed politely and wished her ‘good morning’ but Aurelia, triumphant at managing to gain such a handsome and eligible escort, smiled patronizingly on Charlotte and said with false brightness, ‘Miss Grayson. Good morning. Is it possible that you have the same errand as ourselves? Mama heard about the Bakers’ new baby and discovered that they are tenants on the Westbury estate. She has prevailed on dear Mr Westbury to escort me to the cottage
to offer a little christening gift.’

Charlotte noticed that ‘dear Mr Westbury’ was gazing at the Bakers’ yew hedge with studied indifference as though he wished to be elsewhere and she quickly cast about in her mind for some way of escaping from her situation. It was impossible. She couldn’t meet two of her neighbours at the Bakers’ cottage and pretend that she wasn’t visiting the family.

There was a tense silence, which even the gushing Aurelia seemed unable to break. Hugo Westbury now turned his sardonic gaze on Charlotte, fully understanding her
discomfiture
and waiting to see how she would resolve it. She seemed determined to avoid his company but at the same time to carry on some semblance of politeness and good manners. In spite of his unwillingness to admit it, he found her completely lovely. Her hair, under the brim of her
charming
little straw hat, curled round her face in a way that made her grey eyes seem softer and more luminous. Her blue
walking
gown clung enticingly to her slender curves, its rather severe style accentuating rather than hiding her femininity. Compared to the dumpy and girlish Miss Aurelia Casterton, with her round face and rather indefinite features, Charlotte was a coolly beautiful and extremely desirable young woman.

As if sensing his gaze, Charlotte turned to look at him, slight colour staining her cheeks. Her eyes met his as
challengingly
as usual and a sudden disturbing awareness of desire shot through him. He tore his eyes away from hers with difficulty, wondering what the devil was wrong with him. He broke the uncomfortable silence himself, by saying stiffly, ‘I think we should not impose our company on the family at such a busy time. Miss Casterton and I will not stay longer than five minutes. Should you care to accompany us, Miss Grayson, I am sure Mrs Baker will not think that three is the proverbial crowd.’

Two playful kittens suddenly shot out of the cottage, 
pretending to fight, and he gave her one of his rare,
unexpected
smiles. ‘And if you could use your influence as a Sunday school teacher to prevail on little Lucy not to let her cats claw my coat, I would be eternally grateful.’

‘Yes … yes, of course I will.’ Surprisingly, and much against her will, Charlotte found herself smiling back at him. She heard his sharp intake of breath as their eyes met and she forced herself to look away.

The moment was broken by Aurelia who, displeased at being ignored, took the baby clothes from her maid and flounced up the path to Mrs Baker, who welcomed them into the tiny cottage. ‘Ain’t not much room to sit, my lady,’ she said to Aurelia, and she swept a bench by the side of the fire with her hand. ‘But our Lucy’s that glad to see you, Miss Grayson. Come you forward, Lucy, and bid Miss Grayson “good day”, my dear.’

Lucy stepped forward, smiling shyly, and put a finger under her chin as her mother had taught her and bobbed a charming little curtsy.

‘Why, that was very well done, Lucy,’ Charlotte exclaimed and, cupping the little girl’s face in both hands, she kissed her gently on the forehead. The only other chair in the room was dragged forward for Hugo Westbury and in no time at all Charlotte was nursing baby Billy and Lucy had fetched Bruno, her favourite little kitten, to show to Hugo. Aurelia was noticeably quiet and after giving the baby clothes to Mrs Baker, sat and stared at nothing in particular, obviously bored and wishing to be somewhere else. Lucy danced excitedly round Hugo, reminding him of the ride she’d had on Gypsy and obviously longing to repeat it, and he involuntarily glanced at Charlotte. For some reason, the sight of her
holding
the baby was so extremely tender and beautiful he could hardly bear to look away. But Lucy had by now given him Bruno to hold and as his eyes again met Charlotte’s, he gave her a little comical signal with raised eyebrows and an almost helpless expression. Involuntarily she returned his signal
with an understanding grin and a raised eyebrow of her own. It was as though they were communicating in a secret language across the room which only they understood. She knew exactly what he wanted, which was rescue from Lucy’s friendly kitten. Having put Billy tenderly in his cradle, the sovereign tucked under his blanket, she moved over to Hugo and tried carefully to pick up Bruno, who refused to move. Hugo was acutely aware of her and of her soft perfume as she held the kitten in one hand and began to gently disengage its tiny claws from the expensive superfine cloth of his
fashionable
jacket with the other. Her nearness was so seductive that for a moment he closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her and feeling her gentle fingers fumbling against his chest. He felt the soft flesh of her arm brush against his cheek and opened his eyes again. Amistake. Her lovely peachy face was now so very temptingly near to his own, it would take only a second to move his lips to hers, but beyond her, he could see Miss Casterton, expressing rigid disapproval in every line of her body. He attempted to break the tension by saying, ‘Have I now been finally extricated from Bruno’s wicked claws, Miss Grayson?’

‘Yes, indeed, sir,’ she said. For some reason she felt a trifle breathless. She’d been very conscious of the way her arm had brushed his cheek and of the hardness of his body beneath the smart coat as she’d disengaged the little kitten from him. He had felt in no way tense or aggressive, but utterly relaxed as though he were enjoying it, in spite of not wanting his coat to be ruined.

She gathered herself together with an effort and said coolly, ‘Now come, Lucy dear, and take Bruno to his mama, for we must be going.’

Aurelia sprang up with alacrity, and Mrs Baker ushered them to the door, smiling and waving. Lucy danced down the path ahead of them and looked up at Hugo adoringly. ‘And please, sir, Mr Wessb’ry, sir, can I have another ride on Gypsy?’

‘That depends on whether Miss Grayson is available to accompany us,’ he said gravely.

Charlotte’s eyes flew to meet his, but his face was
expressionless
and for once, she was unable to think of anything to say.

‘We shall have to see, Lucy dear,’ was all she could come up with.

She noticed Aurelia’s lips tighten angrily and was glad when they reached the turning to Felbrook Manor and she bade them farewell.

When she arrived home, order had succeeded whatever chaos had reigned on the removal day and although it was obvious that her mama was a little weary, she was
nevertheless
in good spirits. ‘Uncle Bertram is to visit again tomorrow,’ Jane Grayson said. ‘And this morning while you were out, we had an invitation from Mr and Mrs West to the betrothal ball for Ann and Robert Thorpe, a week on Friday. We must think of a gift, girls. I am sure I wish them happy, but I think there are those who feel that dear Ann could have set her sights higher than the son of a country squire.’

‘But if she truly loves him….’ Kitty murmured.

Charlotte looked at her. What did Kitty know of love, she wondered? She’d noticed Andrew Preston’s attempts to gain Kitty’s interest at the picnic, but she couldn’t believe that Kitty had developed a
tendre
for the gawky curate. Surely not. She had a sudden mental image of Kitty walking in Lavinia’s garden with Matthew, raising her open, young face to look up at him, just like one of his Aunt Lavinia’s sunflowers, she thought, and she wondered fleetingly if in fact Kitty was in love with Matthew.

Miraculously, Felbrook Manor was now almost straight. The kitchen was arranged to Mrs Palmer’s liking with every pan and dish washed and stowed in its rightful place and the two maids, Nell and Phoebe, had unpacked their modest belongings in the attic bedrooms and were already at home in their new situation. Charlotte and Kitty had supervised the 
disposal of their own clothes and belongings, so that the tireless Jane Grayson could see to the arrangement of the
furniture
and have a bedroom prepared for Uncle Bertram, who was not expected until the early evening. They were now free to relax in a cosy room on the ground floor which had once been a spacious study. It was a light, airy room with several comfortable chairs and a substantial fireplace and after lunch the three of them gathered there to read and sew.

But they were not relaxed for very long. Robert, acting as butler, came in with a small silver tray on which was a card from Sir Benjamin Westbury, presenting his compliments and begging to be allowed to call on the following day at 11 a.m. Jane Grayson was now all of a twitter to check that the house was truly fit to entertain a visitor of such standing as Sir Benjamin Westbury. Finally, reassured that the drawing-room was pristine, that the decanters were sparkling and that there was a good selection of biscuits and sweetmeats with which to entertain guests, she sank back into her chair and resumed her sewing, until such time as Uncle Bertram would arrive. He was rather a mixed blessing, Jane reflected placidly. Although Bertram was still young and good-looking, she realized he was becoming very pompous and self-
opinionated
, almost offensive, in fact. And yet … and yet her poor dead husband had loved him dearly. They had been devoted brothers and though the hard-headed and rakish Bertram had often scoffed at Henry’s idea of taking Holy Orders, Jane knew that he was basically a kind man and had been
inordinately
proud of his brother’s calling. She sighed.
Unfortunately
the girls were both too young and inexperienced to recognize Bertram’s decent human qualities beneath his bombastic exterior. She wished with all her heart that Bertram could find a suitable young woman and settle down. She was sure he would make a kind and loving husband and father, if he met the right one. It was so unfortunate that Charlotte and Kitty were impatient of their uncle’s unsuitable jokes and patronizing opinions. There was always tension when he
came to stay as though they were all just on the verge of a violent argument. She’d just have to do her best to avoid family conflict, she decided, as she cut off her embroidery thread with a decisive snap of the scissors.

Adam Brown arrived at 10.30 the following morning and at precisely 11 a.m. the drawing-room door opened to show Robert bowing lower than usual as he said very respectfully, ‘Sir Benjamin Westbury and Mr Hugo Westbury to see you, madam.’

From earliest childhood, Jane Grayson had known of Sir Benjamin Westbury, who had once lived ‘up at the Hall’ and had heard vague though impressive tales of his wealth and power and the animosity between his two younger brothers, but even her steady grey eyes widened somewhat to behold what had become of this rich nabob, who had built up a second massive fortune in India. The tall, powerful, most revered and respected landowner in the county was now a shambling wreck. The disabilities of his old age were far more pronounced than they’d seemed when he’d entered the village church the other Sunday. His white head was bowed and he leaned far more heavily on his stick than he had done when he’d attended Sunday service. His other hand clasped the arm of the tall, handsome Mr Hugo Westbury.