‘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.’
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.