A tap on the nursery door interrupted Charlotte’s musings. ‘‘Enter,’’ she called.
Beatrice opened the door and peeked inside. ‘‘I’ve brought tea, ma’am.’’
Charlotte nodded and waved the maid into the room. ‘‘I’m certain Morgan will be pleased to have a biscuit or two before his nap, and I should very much enjoy a cup of tea.’’
Beatrice scanned the room as she arranged the tray atop the nearby table. ‘‘Your mother has departed for the day?’’
‘‘Yes. I doubt she’ll return until this evening.’’ Charlotte poured a cup of tea while Beatrice held up one of the biscuits. The moment Morgan spied the treat, he toddled toward the maid with his fingers outstretched.
Why her mother preferred to spend time with the marchioness rather than with members of her own family was beyond Charlotte’s comprehension. For her, the tiresome behavior of English nobility had become increasingly difficult to bear. She attempted to overlook the stares and whispered conversations that took place each time she attended a social event. But much to her dismay, the behavior of the upper class had caused her to react in a less than Christian manner.
Though none of the
ladies
would say to her face what they whispered behind their hand-painted silk fans, their words hadn’t failed to reach Charlotte’s ears, for the servants were more than willing to pass along gossip from house to house. The maids and cooks heard as much tittle-tattle as did their employers, and they took pleasure in passing along the tidbits as much as did the members of the noble class, if such a thing were possible.
When her parents had returned from America with an infant in tow, all of London’s nobility immediately assumed the boy to be Charlotte’s illegitimate child. And upon Charlotte’s return to England, they twittered that their assumptions had surely been correct. The child could belong to no other. Eligible men fawned over her. When she refused their advances, they reminded her that she’d already wandered down the path of impropriety. She was, after all, considered to be a tarnished woman and surely knew what men expected of such a woman. At first she had coyly overlooked their remarks, but none would be deterred.
They’d prepared in advance their outrageous speeches, quick to point out the fact that young Morgan bore a remarkable resemblance to her. With his distinctive blue eyes and pouting lips, how could Lady Charlotte possibly expect anyone to believe the child was not her own? The preposterous story her parents had told of finding an abandoned child while traveling abroad hadn’t been believed by anyone with a whit of sense. At least that’s what the eager young men alleged.
After abiding several such encounters, Charlotte had refused all further social invitations. Remaining at Lanshire Hall with her son gave her much greater pleasure.
‘‘Your ladyship, please come quickly. It’s your father.’’ The servant who had been assigned to sit at her father’s bedside waved Charlotte toward the door before hastening back to her post.
‘‘I’ll not be gone long, Beatrice. Please remain with Morgan until I return.’’ She called the command over her shoulder and raced down the hallway.
Fear gripped her heart. Hadn’t her mother reported an improvement in her father’s health only hours ago? She tried to calm herself with that thought as she entered the bedchamber. The nurse had propped her father upright on his pillows, and he forced a smile as she came to an abrupt halt near his bedside.
She clutched a hand to her bodice. ‘‘When Wilda came to fetch me, I thought your health had taken a downward turn.’’ Sighing, she dropped to the chair beside his bed. ‘‘I’m pleased to see you wish to visit.’’
He signed for the servant to leave the room and then waited for the familiar click of the door. ‘‘Move your chair closer so I need not exert myself while speaking to you, child.’’
She did as he bid and then settled back in the chair. ‘‘When you’re feeling well enough, I shall bring Morgan for a brief visit. Would you like that?’’
‘‘I should enjoy seeing him, my dear, but you and your mother must accept the fact that my health is not going to improve.’’ His voice faltered. ‘‘I need someone in whom I can confide. It should be your mother, but she has suddenly taken to acting like a foolish young woman. I fear my news will send her plummeting into one of her bouts of hysteria.’’ He glanced at the coffered ceiling. ‘‘And perhaps I couldn’t blame her.’’
Charlotte gently grasped her father’s hand, once again surprised to feel how frail the fingers were that nestled within her own. ‘‘What is it? Surely nothing can be as difficult as you’re thinking.’’
A tuft of white hair drooped across his forehead. ‘‘I fear it’s worse than either you or your mother could imagine, my dear.’’
Charlotte steeled herself for what she might hear. ‘‘Please don’t withhold anything from me, Father. I promise I can withstand whatever it is you need tell me.’’
He gave her hand a feeble squeeze. ‘‘We are financially ruined, Charlotte. There is no easy way to divulge this, but I cannot die without making you or your mother aware of the consequences you will face upon my death.’’
Her jaw went slack. How could this be true? Her father must be hallucinating.
He tightened his hold on her hand. ‘‘I can see your disbelief, but what I’m telling you is true. Even Lanshire Hall will be lost. I’ve borrowed against it, and there’s no possibility of repayment. Those who hold outstanding notes against me will come calling soon after my death. It won’t take long for them to discover there isn’t enough to cover what I owe.’’
‘‘But how is that possible?’’
His brows furrowed above his rheumy eyes; he shook his head. ‘‘Foolish investments and even more foolish wagers. I had hoped to recoup my investment losses at the gaming tables. I didn’t succeed.’’
He broke into a raspy cough. Turning to the bedside table, Charlotte poured him a glass of water. ‘‘Here. Let me help you.’’ After slipping her arm behind his back, she lifted the glass to his lips. ‘‘You must concentrate your efforts upon regaining your strength. You need not fret about Mother and me. We will find some way to manage.’’
He pushed away the glass and settled back against the pillows. ‘‘The best thing would be for both of you to take young Morgan and throw yourselves upon the mercy of Lord and Lady Chesterfield. They have an obligation to take you in. After all, Lady Chesterfield is your mother’s half sister.’’
Charlotte grimaced. The thought of living with Lord and Lady Chesterfield at Briarwood was enough to cause beads of perspiration to form along her forehead. She retrieved an embroidered handkerchief from the pocket of her dark blue skirt. Since keeping to the grounds of Lanshire Hall, she’d begun to dress in her most basic attire, the plain clothing she’d worn while performing her duties at Marshall Field and Company when she had lived in Chicago. Even the narrowly folded satin rows of trim seemed somehow overindulgent.
‘‘Oh, Father, I don’t think—’’
He held up his hand to silence her. ‘‘It is your only choice. You have every right to rail against me. I know your mother will do so when she hears this ugly piece of news.’’
Charlotte lifted his hand to her lips and kissed the paper-thin skin. ‘‘The past is behind us. Neither of us can change it, so we must look to the future. I fear you have given up on life.’’
‘‘Not at all, my dear. Life has given up on me. If I live beyond the week, we will both be surprised. You may speak to the doctor. He will confirm what I’ve said.’’
A single tear slid down his cheek, and Charlotte hastened to wipe it with her handkerchief.
‘‘I’ve let you down where young Morgan is concerned. That wasn’t my plan, you know. I had hoped to rear him as my heir, to leave this estate to him and allow him every advantage. Instead, he will be destined to a life of poverty. Your uncle Henry will likely force the boy to work in the stables. You must not permit that to occur.’’
Charlotte shook her head. ‘‘You need not worry on that account, Father. When the time comes, I believe I’ll find another alternative for Morgan and me. And Mother, too, if she’ll hear of it.’’
‘‘What alternative have you thought of that I’ve overlooked? Do you have some wealthy suitor you’ve not told me about?’’
‘‘No. But if things turn out to be as dire as you indicate, I will arrange passage and return to America. I would rather earn my own way than be reliant upon our reluctant relatives for handouts. We both know how that sort of arrangement turns out.’’ She shook her head. ‘‘In America Morgan will have the same chance as the next man to succeed in life. He won’t have that opportunity if we remain in England.’’
‘‘That’s true enough, yet I worry that your mother wouldn’t adapt to the American way of life. She’ll be forlorn if she’s forced to give up at least the pretense of nobility. There are wealthy men who would be delighted to marry you. Of course, you’d be required to never divulge that Morgan is your son.’’
Charlotte wouldn’t tell him that the gossipmongers had already declared her Morgan’s mother. Her father would be devastated to learn that no member of nobility would consider asking for her hand in marriage. ‘‘Please, Father, you must quit worrying yourself and instead concentrate on regaining your strength.’’
He shifted in his bed. ‘‘If you locate a kind suitor, he might be willing to accept responsibility for the boy. You could say your mother isn’t up to the task of rearing the young fellow. That much is certainly true.’’ He wheezed the final words.
‘‘You’re taxing yourself unduly with all this talk. You must rest. We will visit tomorrow.’’
He clutched her hand. ‘‘Upon my death, you must immediately contact my solicitor for advice.’’ He removed an envelope from beneath his pillow and held it out to her. ‘‘I’ve enclosed instructions for you. If any of my creditors contact you, send them directly to my solicitor.’’
Charlotte longed to ask how she would compensate a solicitor for his services, but this was not the time. Perhaps she would find the answers to her questions inside the envelope. If not, she would pen a list of questions and speak to her father in the morning.
After she had removed the extra pillows from behind her father’s back, Charlotte remained at his bedside until the wheezing subsided, then tiptoed to the door.
She signaled to the servant. ‘‘My father is asleep. I’m going to return to the nursery. Maintain a close watch, for his breathing is shallow.’’
‘‘Yes, your ladyship.’’ Wilda hesitated and then pointed her forefinger in the air. ‘‘I nearly forgot. Beatrice asked that I inform you she has taken the young master to the south lawn for his playtime.’’
‘‘Thank you. I’ll join them there. Do keep a close watch on my father and call me if his condition worsens.’’
The servant dipped into a curtsy and proceeded to her post.
While strolling across the grounds toward the south lawn, Charlotte decided that a talk with her mother must take place as soon as possible. Charlotte could only imagine what the gossips were saying behind her mother’s back. After all, the rumormongers were keenly aware of the earl’s illness. The cream of London society surely thought it unseemly that the countess was absent from Lanshire Hall so frequently. And they would take pleasure in discussing her mother’s conduct at every opportunity. She prayed her mother wouldn’t later regret her decisions—especially if her father’s predictions concerning his imminent death proved correct.
A smile tugged at her lips as she watched Morgan run toward her beneath a sky streaked with shades of amethyst. A prayer of thanks for the child forced away the gloom that had surrounded her only moments earlier.
When her mother didn’t return home for supper, Charlotte could only assume the older woman had decided to remain at Hargrove for the night. It wouldn’t be the first time. She told herself it was her mother’s way of dealing with a difficult situation and then instructed the staff she would dine in the nursery with her son.
After they had eaten and Morgan was tucked into bed, Charlotte strode down the hall for a brief visit with her father before retiring for the night.
The earl’s wheezing snores lifted toward the heavens in a strained blend of disharmony. She wished she could inhale a clear breath for him. Merely listening to the belabored sounds made her own breathing difficult.
She stepped closer and Wilda looked up from her embroidery. ‘‘He’ll sleep the rest of the night, Lady Charlotte. I gave him his laudanum.’’
Charlotte folded down the coverlet and brushed a kiss on her father’s cheek. She turned toward the servant. ‘‘I’ll stop in before breakfast in the morning,’’ she whispered.
Wilda bobbed her head. The woman had already picked up her needle. If Charlotte’s father didn’t soon recover, Wilda would complete enough items for a bride’s trousseau. But nobody in Lanshire Hall would be in need of a trousseau. Instead, they’d require mourning clothes. Charlotte hugged one arm around her waist at the chilling thought. She dreaded her mother’s reaction to her husband’s death and to the discovery of their financial woes. No doubt there would be excessive histrionics.
Once she’d settled in bed, Charlotte turned to the bedside table and picked up the envelope her father had given her. She slid her finger beneath the seal and carefully removed the contents: several pages of carefully listed creditors, along with a solicitor’s business card. She scanned the pages, amazed by the list of debts her father had incurred. Except for the fact that there would be no charge for the solicitor’s services—due to a debt he owed the Earl of Lanshire—there was little encouragement to be found in the letter.
When she finally drifted off to sleep, she dreamed of angry creditors pounding on the doors of Lanshire Hall. They appeared as men in tall hats with angry eyes and twisted mouths and insisted upon the family’s immediate eviction from the premises.
‘‘Lady Charlotte, wake up!’’ The words filtered into her dreams, but it was the insistent jostling of her shoulder that finally roused her to attention. She brushed back a strand of hair. ‘‘What is it, Wilda?’’
Light from the small lamp cast dancing shadows across the servant’s face, but the fear illuminated in her eyes was evident. ‘‘It’s your father, ma’am. I’ve sent for the doctor. I fear the earl isn’t long for this world. I need to hurry back to his room.’’