Waltzing With The Earl. Catherine Tinley

      I’m trying to enjoy this, Papa. And I am trying to behave. But I miss you.

      So far, she had done quite well. She had submitted to having a maid accompany her each time she left the house—apart from her morning ride, when she was accompanied by Joseph. General manners and conversation seemed little different, so she had avoided her aunt’s criticism there. The toughest challenge so far had been a surprising one—she was expected to avoid seeming knowledgeable, and not to hold an opinion on anything of note.

      ‘For a lady,’ Aunt Buxted had advised, ‘must not set herself to be higher in knowledge or understanding than a gentleman. Our weak feminine brains cannot cope with the complexities of knowledge, and to pretend to be well-informed is an unfortunate and unnecessary affectation. There is nothing worse than to be thought a bluestocking!’

      This Charlotte found difficult. She was accustomed to the company of political and military men and women and had a great interest in politics. She also enjoyed reading.

      Still, to please my aunt, she thought, I can try to be dumb and stupid—at least while she is present. Papa would laugh if he saw me.

      Entering the house, she mounted the stairs, intending to go straight to her room to change. On the way, she heard Mrs Buxted’s voice coming from the drawing room.

      ‘Oh, where is the wretched girl?’

      Charlotte hurried inside, her heart suddenly pounding. Mrs Buxted and her daughters were seated in full splendour—the mother on a throne-like winged chair, the girls on matching French chaises. The room had been redecorated recently in the French style, with delicate-looking gilded furniture and in colours of yellow, straw and gold. Faith had an embroidery tambour in her hand, while Henrietta was reading a book of sermons. They looked extremely proper.

      Three pairs of eyes turned to her.

      ‘Ah, there you are—and still in your riding habit. Go and change into something more appropriate. Quickly, girl! They will be here soon!’

      ‘Of course, Aunt. I am sorry for being late.’

      As Priddy helped her don a pretty half-dress of pale blue muslin, with a fashionable hem-frill and satin ribbon, Charlotte wondered aloud why her aunt was so anxious today. ‘For we never had this much fuss for any of the other visitors I’ve met this week.’

      ‘I’m sure I couldn’t say.’ Priddy sniffed. ‘But some of the servants seem mightily interested in the young gentlemen visiting today.’

      ‘Two brothers, Faith said—Adam and Harry Fanton. I know little about them.’

      Priddy began tidying Charlotte’s hair. ‘One should never listen to gossip, but they say Mrs Buxted has her sights set on these gentlemen for her daughters. The elder—called Adam—is for Miss Henrietta—him being the Earl of Shalford, with an estate bordering the Buxteds’. They say he is on the lookout for a rich wife.’

      ‘Oh! I am sure my aunt will be glad to see Miss Henrietta well settled.’

      ‘Hrmphh! Well, your hair will just have to do.’ Priddy stood back to admire her handiwork. ‘Why did you go riding just before meeting visitors? Your face is quite red, girl.’

      ‘Oh, do stop fussing, Priddy.’ She flashed her abigail a quick smile before hurrying downstairs.

      Too late!

      As she approached the room she heard male voices. Pausing in the doorway to take in the scene, she was completely unaware of how fetching she looked, with her cheeks flushed and eyes bright from exercise. The ladies were still sitting stiffly, and had been joined by two handsome men—one in a coat of black superfine that looked moulded to his body, the other in regimentals. They rose immediately, and Mrs Buxted made the introductions.

      ‘Miss Wyncroft, may I present the Earl of Shalford and his brother Captain Henry Fanton? This is Miss Charlotte Wyncroft. Her mother was Maria Buxted—my husband’s cousin. Miss Wyncroft has been living abroad with her father, Colonel Sir Edward Wyncroft.’

      Both gentlemen were tall and broad-shouldered, and it was clear to see they were brothers. Both had thick dark hair and handsome, striking faces. The Earl looked slightly older—maybe approaching thirty. His eyes were a piercing grey, and he observed Charlotte coolly. The Captain, in contrast, was all smiles. He showed a marked resemblance to his brother, though his eyes were blue, not grey, and he was perhaps a little shorter.

      They made their bows, the Earl formally and unsmilingly and the Captain with a decided twinkle in his eyes. He spoke first.

      ‘How long will you stay in London, Miss Wyncroft?’

      ‘I am not certain. My father, you see, is in Paris.’

      At this his brother, who had retaken his seat beside Henrietta, looked up. ‘He is with Castlereagh?’

      The Captain laughed. ‘My brother knows them all, Miss Wyncroft. He has taken up his seat this year and finds he has a taste for politics.’

      ‘I too, have an interest in politics—though I know little about what goes on in the Palace of Westminster. My education has been on the continent—we lived in Austria most recently—and I am sadly lacking in knowledge of our own internal politics, save that which we poor émigrées must pick up from our visitors.’

      She turned to the Earl, who was listening with attention.

      ‘I was with Papa—and Lord Castlereagh—until two weeks ago, when I left for England.’

      ‘My cousin has not lived much in England, Lord Shalford,’ said Henrietta. ‘She is quite the foreigner.’

      ‘You must excuse her tardiness,’ added Mrs Buxted. ‘She was out riding and has yet to learn the importance of being ready for expected guests.’

      Charlotte, unusually, was for a moment lost for words.

      The Captain came to her rescue. ‘Oh, a lady after my own heart, then. I know what it is to enjoy a good outing on a dry, clear day such as this.’

      Charlotte smiled gratefully. ‘Indeed, I enjoy riding immensely, and I miss it when I have not been out for a few days. My Uncle Buxted has kindly stabled my mare.’

      ‘You have brought your own horse, then? From Austria?’ Captain Fanton gazed at her intently.

      ‘Yes, though we got her in Spain. Her name is Andalusia—and she is a darling.’

      ‘I should like to see her. My brother and I ride most days. Perhaps I—or we—could accompany you on one of your rides?’

      ‘You can—if you can keep up.’ She twinkled at him.

      ‘That sounds uncommonly like a challenge, does it not, Adam?

      ‘Indeed.’ The Earl removed a tiny speck of dust from his sleeve.

      ‘I admit I cannot resist a challenge. I shall call upon you tomorrow, Miss Wyncroft, if you are amenable.’

      ‘I don’t think I am amenable at all, but I shall ride with you tomorrow, Captain Fanton.’

      Captain Fanton dipped his head in appreciation, while his brother crossed one muscular leg over the other and remained silent.

      ‘Faith enjoys riding—do you not, Faith?’ Mrs Buxted interjected loudly, drawing all eyes to her younger daughter.

      Faith, unfortunately, had just taken a small bite of cake, and almost choked at her mother’s question. After some coughing, and sips of tea, she recovered enough to confirm that, yes, she enjoyed riding.

      Charlotte refrained from raising a brow. The Buxted ladies’ idea of riding was no more than a sedate walk, from what she had seen. On two occasions, when the family had had no evening engagements, Charlotte and her cousins had gone for an early-evening ride to Rotten Row in Hyde Park.

      The Buxted horses were staid and placid—Papa would have dismissed them immediately as packhorses—and