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Charity shuddered at her mother’s machinations but there was no help for it. The Ton had despised her mother in her youth, and she viewed them all through those wounded eyes.
“Mother,” Charity protested. “I cannot really disguise the fact that I am an heiress. Everyone in the Ton already knows that. I wager they will only see my money anyway…” although she herself could barely tear her eyes away from the apparent ludicrous size of her bosom in the glass. Charity shot a small smile to Jean, her maid, who waited patiently. Jean would help her to fix this.
“And that is exactly why you want them to seeyou, Charity, dear.” Her mother pinched some color into Charity’s cheeks, because, according to her, paint on the woman’s face was gauche. “And not just your father’s money,” her mother concluded with a smile.
Is this really all that I am?Charity mulled over the thought as her mother attempted to tug the neckline of her gown ever lower. Thankfully she had been laced to an inch of breath and the garment would not budge.
“Ah well,” Lady Charity sighed. “It shall have to do.”
Charity stood in obedient silence as her mother instructed her to laugh more and scowl less.
“Your face shows every moment of disapproval,” her mother tweaked Charity’s chin and enacted a perfect example of false laughter. “You must learn to hide some of it. You’ll not fully approve of any man, though they must never learn the truth of your thoughts.”
Charity sighed. Agree always, fawn, and be ever in need of some service or another. Those were her mother’s strict instructions. In all, Charity determined that she must be anything a man might desire of her. Anything, that is… but herself.
Charity was not sure it was an improvement to have the man drooling over her breasts instead of her money. At least, a gentleman who wanted to marry her for her money would be honest in his aims. There was little he could do to hide poverty. It was a scent that carried far and wide among theTon.A lecher was in Charity’s opinion, harder to bear, and certainly harder to ignore.
But, Charity gave in to her mother’s ministrations with the understanding that as soon as she could excuse herself, she would scrub the rouge off of the tops of her breasts, or Jean would help her to camouflage the paint with powder. This was a ritual that she and Jean had perfected.
Mother would take no notice once they had made their departure. Too busy she would be making her flirtations to men nearly half her age. ..On Charity’s behalf, of course.
“If you shall not make yourself appealing,” her mother would scold, “then I shall cast the hook by singing your praise.”
She couldn’t really blame her mother. Lady Shalace had begun life as a poor somewhat distant relation to a Peer, and used her own bountiful assets to catch Charity’s father. She had never been accepted by theTon, and she wanted more for her daughter. Her mother was convinced that no one was truly who they said they were, and in that, Charity supposed she was right. Truth was hard to come by in theTon. Charity certainly knew that gossip distorted every bit of news, but she longed for honesty in her own marriage, honesty and love; even her mother had that. She knew her father loved her mother to distraction, and she thought her mother loved her father too, in her own way even if it was only caring and mutual respect. There had never been a question in their devotion to one another, even when her father’s illness had bound him to the house. Her mother remained faithful and had simply directed her energies toward their daughter instead.
“I want to marry for love,” Charity had once said when she was very young.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” her mother had retorted. “Do you wish to be poor as well?”
Charity didn’t think it would be awful to be poor, not if you had love. It seemed rather romantic to her to have nothing but one another and told her mother so. Only once more had she broached the subject. When Lavinia married, Charity had been overcome with happiness for the lovers. Mother had said that Lavinia, who often spoke in wistful fancy, was naïve and childish. Perhaps it was so, yet her friendhadmarried well, and for love. Was it really such an impossible dream?
Mother had laughed heartily in a most unladylike manner, the picture of coarseness that the Ton despised in her, and Charity had never again brought up the subject of love with her mother. Charity had however spoken with her father, before his mind began to wander.
She loved the easy comradery that existed between herself and her father, and wished at least that regard from her husband: Someone she could talk to. Someone that required no rouge or guise. Someone that could see the truth behind the trappings and still want Charity for who she was inside.
“I want to say good night to Father before we leave,” Charity told her mother as she completed her own toilette. They were off to a private concert held by her mother’s dear friend, Mrs. Thompson, one of the greatest gossips in Bath. Charity knew there would be little chance of escaping the plotting of the two older women. The night would be a bore at best for even the musicians were little more than local names.
“Hmmm,” her mother had said, as her maid came into the room carrying one of the gigantic turbans her mother loved so well. Lady Shalace put the monstrosity on her head and began to pull out artful curls to frame her face. The turban was turquoise and had several large diamonds studding the front of it so that her mother could show off her wealth. It was beautiful if a bit ostentatious. Charity supposed her mother had inured herself to the gossip of the Ton and decided to give it a path to follow. “Don’t be long, dear,” Lady Shalace muttered as Charity exited the dressing chamber. “I shall wait for you in the carriage.”
After her last minute ablations to remove some of the rouge her mother had applied, Charity hurried to her father’s room. She hoped he wasn’t asleep already. He usually was abed early, but he liked to look at her before she went on an outing. Charity was of the opinion that her father, was at one time, and perhaps still, deeply in love with her mother despite the discrepancy in their ages. Now, however, his mind was failing and he sometimes mistook Charity herself for her mother. Still, the best part of many a day, was spent at his bedside reading to him or doing needlework while listening to his stories.
“Father?” she whispered as she visited his sick room.
“Come in, Charity. Oh, you are a vision of loveliness. You look so like your mother when she was young,” he told her and she smiled as she twirled before him. His skin was thin, but not without color. It was the look of a man who rarely ventured out yet was not so far gone that his mortality was of immediate concern.
“Only the best for you, dear one” he said, clasping her gloved hand with his liver spotted one and bringing it to his lips for a kiss. “Only the best; do you hear me?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Has a man been chosen for your fancy?” he asked with a gleam in his eye that made Charity giggle. Her father often teased about her mother’s goals, knowing full well that Charity would not be pressed.
“Not yet,” she winked. “For, as Mother says, not all the gentlemen have arrived for the summer. We must view the whole selection before we set our mind.”
All of a sudden, her father’s expression lost its humor and turned serious. “Find a man who can look past all the trappings and see the woman inside; as I did your mother.”
Charity wasn’t altogether sure that was true, her father seemed blind to her mother’s flaws, but she took him at his word.
“Yes, Father,” she said as she kissed him on the cheek. “Tomorrow we will take the waters,” she said. “Rest well.” She hoped the healing waters of Bath would make her father feel better. She blew out the candle and let him to sleep in peace.
