Priddy had told Charlotte already that the Buxteds’ Melton Mowbray estate, as well as the townhouse, was entailed on Mr Buxted’s heir—a distant cousin living in Leicester with a wife and a brood of children—so there would be nothing for Faith apart from her dowry.
Charlotte reflected that the Fantons did not look as if they were in need of rich wives—they behaved with the confidence of the wealthy, and their clothes were of the finest quality—but money was certainly a consideration for many men looking for a bride on the marriage mart.
She did not know what her own dowry was to be. The question was not one which had much occupied her. But since arriving in London, and seeing the Buxteds’ preoccupation with weddings and dowries and money, she had abruptly realised she did not exactly know how wealthy her father was. Living in different places across the continent, they had always seemed to have enough money, and she had never wanted for anything.
Her aunt, it seemed, knew more about it than she did herself.
‘I have asked my husband about your dowry, Charlotte,’ she had said bluntly after dinner last night. ‘He tells me that he imagines your fortune will be modest, due to debts from your grandfather. He believes Sir Edward will have put away a little money over the years, out of his soldier’s pay, but he is sure it is not a substantial amount.’
Charlotte had been taken aback by her aunt’s frankness. Papa never talked about money, and it had never been clear to her how much independent wealth he had. There was the family home in Shawfield, which she had not seen since she was twelve, and which had been rented out for many years. She vaguely remembered talk of mortgages, and had formed the impression that her grandfather had not been prudent with money—which fitted with the Buxteds’ conclusions.
In Austria, Herr Lenz, Papa’s man of business, had certainly been exceptionally active on his behalf, but Charlotte simply did not know exactly how things stood. Nor had she thought about it until now. This was the effect of being in England and seeing Aunt Buxted’s blatant manoeuvrings on behalf of her daughters.
Papa had made a banker’s draft over to Uncle Buxted for Charlotte’s pin money and expenses in London, and had offered to pay for the stabling of her horse, though this had been politely declined by Uncle Buxted. Her uncle had written to Papa just before Charlotte had left for England, to say he would not accept a penny for Charlotte’s keep, but would be happy to act as banker for her during her stay.
Charlotte wondered now if her uncle had been trying to be kind, if he thought Papa could not afford to pay. Her back stiffened and she tightened her lips.
‘Oh, Mama! Did you notice how he looked at me? And how he asked me particularly if I should be happy to visit? He had eyes for no one else.’
Henrietta’s excited voice brought Charlotte back to the present. Her cousin was flushed with success, and Charlotte guessed there would be little else talked of today.
Suddenly unable to stomach Henrietta’s glee, Charlotte excused herself, saying she needed to practise her music. Walking lightly down the stairs on her way to the morning room, which housed a fine pianoforte, she was surprised to see the two gentlemen only just leaving. They had clearly been waiting for their carriage to be brought round. The brothers did not see her, but she was able to hear a snatch of conversation between them as they left the house.
‘...guest is a charming girl.’
‘Perhaps—though she is a little impudent. Another silly girl, like all the rest.’
‘Really, Adam, at least she shows spirit. I cannot understand how you can prefer—’
Impudent? Silly? Such was the Earl’s opinion of her? There could be no other possible interpretation.
Oh, I hope he marries Henrietta! she thought, and images of marital disharmony momentarily soothed her wounded pride before she was struck by the ridiculousness of the situation and, laughing to herself, continued on her way.
True to his word, Captain Fanton arrived at Buxted House the next morning on a well-balanced grey stallion. Unexpectedly, his older brother was with him, also mounted on an impressive thoroughbred—though his was all black, and sidling impatiently outside the house.
Charlotte’s heart sank. The Arrogant Earl!
‘Hold, Velox,’ he said, turning the stallion in circles to quiet him.
They had timed their call well, for Charlotte had just left the house for her morning ride with her groom. She was wearing a dashing riding habit in dark blue velvet, finished with fashionable military epaulettes and silver buttons. Her striking outfit was completed by a tall shako set at a rakish angle.
‘You look charming, Miss Wyncroft,’ said the Captain, his eyes full of admiration as she mounted Andalusia with Joseph’s assistance. ‘And your mare is a fine specimen. Do your cousins accompany us?’
‘Not today—though they did express a wish to ride on another morning. I am sorry to disappoint you. They have gone shopping.’
Though if Henrietta had known the Earl would come...
‘Ah, the favourite pastime of females.’
The Earl was all politeness but, remembering his opinion of her yesterday, Charlotte could not ignore the implied criticism.
‘Not me,’ she said, ‘I am most unnatural, I fear.’
Joseph, now mounted, followed them as they moved slowly towards the park.
‘What? Do you not enjoy shopping at all?’ asked the Earl. ‘It seems to me that young women, when they are not flirting or gossiping, are talking about ribbons and hats and fashion plates.’
Charlotte bit back the retort which was on the tip of her tongue, instead asking mildly, ‘And do you not take pleasure in seeing a well-dressed lady?’
‘Of course. A beautiful lady is an ornament to be admired!’
An ornament! ‘And can we be more?’
He looked confused.
Amused, she gave him a sunny smile, and he blinked.
‘I enjoy dressing well, Lord Shalford—as I think you do, too.’ She swept her eyes over his tight-fitting buckskins, well-made coat and highly polished boots. ‘In order for we ladies to be well turned out, we do not rely on our tailor and our valet. We must consider, and design, and choose the best fabrics, dressmakers and milliners, and we also have to worry about how things will match. There is no little skill in it.’
He considered this. ‘So the enjoyment of shopping is a necessity?’
‘In a way. Many ladies enjoy it, but it cannot be described as the favourite pastime of all females, for it is certainly not my favourite. I had much rather be out like this, riding, than stuck in a haberdashery.’
He looked sceptical, but let it pass.
Captain Fanton, as if surprised by his brother’s garrulity, intervened. ‘You are certainly unusual, Miss Wyncroft. Tell me, is it because of your upbringing in military circles?’
Charlotte, pleased with her small victory over the Arrogant Earl, smiled at Harry. ‘I suppose so. I have been around military and diplomatic families my whole life. I was born in Portugal, and I have lived in many different places. It was, I think, a good childhood—though I don’t know anything else.’
‘And you speak Portuguese?’
‘Yes. I’m afraid I can speak French, German, Italian, Spanish and Portuguese. It is a terrible thing, I know, to be