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Charity smiled. She had never truly considered the Poppy brothers as potential suitors. Mother would not approve for they were neither titled nor in possession of enough wealth to suit her fancy. However, Charity could not deny that their character was pleasing and even their features were the sort that were pleasant to look at.
She accepted the offer of Mr. James Poppy’s arm and wondered whether she might become a permanent fixture there at some point.
More than anything, Charity was attached to James’ sisters. Alfreda, Roberta, and Francesca had long passed letters back and forth between their country home and Charity’s London townhome or her father’s country seat, depending upon where she and her parents were in residence. It was not until the summer of her tenth year that she spent with the ladies that she truly began to improve as a horsewoman. Truth be told, there were few that could match the Poppys in that skill, and it was their eldest sister, Constance who had taught Charity to sit a horse. Charity had learned enough to make her claim to competence, and although she did not enjoy the hunt. She did love a leisurely ride through the pastures or park alongside one of the sisters.
Her knowledge of the Poppy brothers was less extensive. Often they had been away on some business or other on behalf of their father’s estate. They were both educated and successful in the management of their house, though their prospects for improvement seemed to have reached its zenith.
Charity wondered aloud if she might again visit their estate. Lady Shalace, who had joined the young pair as they climbed into the carriage, harrumphed and made a disparaging comment about the dust and wind that whipped through every inch of the countryside. Charity did not mind, for in her opinion, the beauty of the land more than compensated for the dirt.
James assured her that his sisters would be more than willing to host Lady Charity for a month or so and Charity made a note to speak with Francesca on the topic. Besides, Charity thought, it was always a relief to have some time away from the watchful eye of her mother. The Lady Shalace would find some excuse or other to avoid the trip. Jean should accompany Charity as long as she was not yet wed. Charity felt a pang of distress at the thought. After she was wed, she would only visit at her husband’s whim. Of course, she might visit with her husband. Or, perhaps, he might chose that they would not visit at all.
Charity closed her fan and held it in both hands, twisting it nervously between her fingers.
Lady Shalace’s hand snaked out as she rapped her daughter sharply on the wrist. Startled more than hurt, Charity looked up, abashed, for she had not even realized that she had given in to her nervous habit of twisting her fan. She had cracked several of the delicate fans in her first season, but she thought that she had broken the habit. She wondered what worry had reared its ugly head to bring it back. The thought of worry brought a to Charity’s mind picture of Lord Wentwell’s face, though his feature were far from ugly. She sighed wondering if the Earl would be in attendance tonight. It was most likely; no one in Bath would choose to miss the opening ball.
A sharp glare from her mother was all the chastisement that was necessary. The Countess had timed her correction for the moment when Mr. Poppy had been gazing out of the window, and the entire exchange went unnoticed for his part.
~.~
Chapter Ten
As Charity and Lady Shalace, with James Poppy as their escort, descended from their carriage after the short ride, a slight breeze carried the blissful scent of flowers to them. The Assembly Room was where the ball that generally opened the Bath summer season was held. Still the name was a misnomer, because unless it rained, the ball was rarely contained within the room itself, but instead spilled out on to the beautiful grounds and gardens. Charity had been here before, but the venue could not help but amaze. The place was awe inspiring in both beauty and size. Outside in the courtyard were gardens and palisades and arches all reminiscent of the Romans who built much of the city. Pools and fountains and flowers adorned every inch of the place. Balconies lined the outer edge on a second and third floor, where mosaics depicted ancient stories.
Although the smells in Bath were mostly pleasant, Charity touched a perfumed handkerchief to her lips. She was warm and felt she would have a slight pink glow by the time they reached the Grand Pump Room Hotel; no rouge needed, but sweat collecting on her upper lip would be gauche. As she used her own handkerchief to pat the sweat from her lip, she thought of the handkerchief that Lord Wentwell had shared with her at the shops. She found herself glancing around to see if he was in attendance, and then she stopped her wandering eye. She did not care. It could make absolutely no difference at all to her if he was in attendance or not. James escorted her forward and she commented that the refreshment served at the ball would be pleasant. She was parched. There was also a fountain inside where one could drink the medicinal waters, but she found the taste off-putting.
The room was a crush. Even spilling out of doors, the place was full to overflowing. Hundreds of ladies and gentlemen were gathered around pools and fountains. The place was lighted as if it were daylight with lanterns hung everywhere. In a daze, as her eyes skimmed over the heads of the crowd before her, she wondered if somewhere in that crowd was her future husband. The thought gave her pause. One glance over toward her mother revealed a similar line of thought in the lady’s head. Pursed lips with a slight lift that the corners meant that the Countess was pleased with the sheer number of gentlemen in attendance. Charity would be expected to be accommodating to someone or other. If she played her cards right, she might be able to hide amongst the crowd outside of her mother’s range of influence. Then, she might actually enjoy the evening in the presence of her friends.
Her mother’s whisper in her ear naming several introductions that she must wheedle out of the crowd left Charity feeling less excited for the evening that she had hoped. There were tasks to accomplish, despite the heat, that would take all of her focus and charm to achieve.
Still once inside the ballroom, Charity and James slipped away from the Lady Shalace, who was caught up by a snare of busybodies recruiting for some philanthropic venture. Mrs. Thompson was in the midst of it, so Charity thought her mother would be some time extricating herself. Charity found some friends of her own, including the Poppy sisters, among the crush of people. The Poppy sisters greeted Charity with a warm embrace and they began to share plans for the rest of the summer in Bath.
Lady Beresford joined their number, while several other ladies scanned the crowd for prospects. Charity didn’t comment on the subject until Patience prodded her gently. “And you, Charity? Has a gentleman caught your eye?”
Charity startled at the innocent question, as if Patience knew she had been thinking of The Earl of Wentwell. Charity would have quizzed Patience upon her companion for the strange bit of shopping they had done, but Reginald appeared at his sister’s elbow, and Charity felt uncomfortable talking about Lord Wentwell with the gentleman’s acquaintance here at hand.
Instead, she changed the subject. “Is your Lord Beresford still not arrived in Bath?” she asked of Patience.
“My husband just arrived earlier today with his brother, Samuel and the fleet. Lady Amelia has also come with her Aunt Ebba.
“And my own Captain Hartfield,” Lavinia added as she appeared at Charity’s shoulder. The former Miss Lavinia Grant had married the dashing Captain Johnathan Hartfield of the Royal Navy.
Charity smiled brightly at her friend, and turned to see that she had also arrived in the company of Julia, the newly made Baroness Fawkland.
Charity barely suppressed a squeal at the pair’s arrival.
Julia greeted Charity warmly and asked after her mother.
Charity grimaced.
“Still quite the same then, Lavinia teased, her laughter bubbling from her. All three women had to smile. The young Mrs. Hartfield resembled nothing so much as a small blond China doll. Lavinia had traveled to Bath with Charity to await her husband, but Charity had not seen Julia since her wedding and she had missed her quiet friend these past few months.
“Married life seems to agree with you, your ladyship.” Charity said with a grin.
Julia blushed shyly still not used to her new title as Baroness Fawkland.
Julia was quite tall with a vast quantity of dark locks which normally tumbled to her shoulders in unruly curls. Still nothing could dispel her stately beauty. Today her hair was caught up in a more matronly style. It still curled, but it was pulled up in jeweled comb. Charity always wondered how long it took Julia’s maid to arrange the curls just so. She must have to sit for hours. Charity shuddered at the thought. She was glad that Jean was deft and quick with her own locks.
“Why didn’t you send word you were in Bath?” Charity continued. “We might have had tea and talked.” The girls had always had tea together when Julia arrived in Bath, and they talked about their plans for the summer. It was practically a tradition.
