Waltzing With The Earl. Catherine Tinley

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      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 they had not even broken into a trot. Both Henrietta and Faith seemed decidedly nervous around horses. Their ride had not been at all energetic, and Charlotte, who had a great deal of liveliness, had found it frustrating.

      Their evening promenades were simply a chance to see and to be seen. Many members of the ton were usually there, and Charlotte had been introduced to some of the Buxteds’ acquaintances. Today, however, was her first encounter with the Earl of Shalford and his brother.

      As Henrietta engaged the Earl in quiet conversation, and Mrs Buxted talked briskly to the Captain and Faith about mutual acquaintances, Charlotte took the opportunity to study the two men a little more closely.

      Lord Shalford—the Earl—was tall, dark and distant. His demeanour was disengaged, verging on bored. His grey eyes had displayed complete indifference to Charlotte, which amused her. He was listening politely to Henrietta, though. Charlotte suppressed a smile. The Earl clearly preferred sedate, dutiful, blonde ladies, who arrived on time and were fashionably pale.

      The Captain seemed much more likeable. His open countenance and smiling blue eyes reminded her of many young officers she had met through her father’s career. Since her seventeenth birthday, when she had been home from school, she had acted as her father’s hostess at dinners, parties and even a grand ball. It felt strange to act the debutante again—although here in London that was exactly what she was.

      Lord Shalford addressed his hostess. ‘We have come today with a specific purpose in mind.’

      ‘Adam, must you be so formal?’ His brother laughed.

      ‘It seems I must, Harry,’ replied the Earl. ‘As you may know, Mrs Buxted, since my father’s death last year I have been busy with paperwork, death duties, and ensuring that my father’s—that is to say, my estate—is well-managed and that I understand its workings. As the eldest son I had naturally already had some dealings with my father’s steward, but I still have much to learn.’

      ‘Indeed—and I am sure the estate is safe in your more than capable hands.’ Mrs Buxted showed a smile which did not quite reach her eyes. A gleam of curiosity lit them, making her look strangely calculating for a second.

      ‘Well, only time will show. But to the purpose of my visit today—’

      ‘Yes, do get on with it, Adam.’

      The Captain made a childish face at Charlotte, whose eyes danced in mischievous response. Their exchange was noted, causing Charlotte a moment’s discomfort as the Earl’s grey eyes pierced her with a keen glance.

      She raised her eyebrows, undaunted, though she was assailed by the unexpected memory of old Lord Carmby, an arrogant diplomat who had crossed Charlotte’s path in Vienna. His caustic put-downs had alienated all who knew him there. He had once called Charlotte ‘a forward, opinionated brat’ when she had daringly questioned his views on a political matter. Luckily, Papa had not been within earshot. Hmmm... She hadn’t been made to feel like a child for a long time. Anger began to burn in her chest.

      ‘Now we are out of mourning, I think it is important for the family—indeed, for everyone at Chadcombe—that we resume normality. My father was ill for a long time, and as you may know my СКАЧАТЬ