Unstoppable

by dansunedisco

Summary:

As the eldest daughter of a gentleman farmer, it is Charlotte’s duty to marry and, if at all possible, marry well. When the opportunity to accompany Lady Worcester during London’s Season presents itself, she is ushered into a world where only two acceptable roads lay before a young woman: matrimony or spinsterhood.

Sidney Parker is a successful businessman decidedly not in want of a wife. In fact, the only prospect more unappealing would be to become saddled with a witless and unworldly country girl for the rest of his life.

-

As the saying goes, “We plan; God laughs.”

Notes:

Alright, folks.

First, I want to say I have exactly zero self-control.

Second, this story follows the premise that Tom and Mary Parker's carriage did not stumble through Willingden, but instead, the Heywoods have a well-to-do relative by whose doing allows Charlotte to meet Lady Susan.

Third, a HUGE part of this story is female friendship. Like, Georgiana's storyline left me wanting as hell, and I've been desperately wanting to write a better ending than whatever tf we got, so... I hope I will do right by her.

As a warning and as tagged, there is talk (and acts of) racism and prejudice in this story. I am going to try my best to navigate through these topics sensitively, while still doing the story I'm telling justice. Please, let me know if/how I can do better as the story progresses.

Chapter 1: Found Friends

“Miss Lambe,” said Charlotte, “could I tempt you into taking a turn about the room with me?”

The young ladies only recently introduced, Charlotte did not take offense to the skeptical and, truthfully, frosty reception her offer received. 

Amused twittering broke out along the standing wall; ungracious smirks and the delighted flapping of fans.

Ignoring them, Charlotte extended her arm to act as an olive branch. Perhaps in this case the analogy of prodding a hornet’s nest with a stick was more apt. To be refused would have meant a terrible cut, but damage to her own reputation sat secondary to the nagging belief that Miss Lambe was in terrible need of a rescue.

“Nothing could delight me more,” said Miss Lambe finally. She looped her arm through Charlotte’s. With nary a glance back as they proceeded, she said aloud, “The air on this side of the room is stuffy and dour.”

Affronted murmurs followed in their wake.

Charlotte barely concealed her shock. In the group stood more than one titled young lady. The rest were well-bred daughters of aristocrats and well-heeled, wealthy merchantmen -- well-to-do, connected, and likely unforgiving.

However, she could not form the words of warning, or to press a rebuke to her new friend’s ear. 

The ladies had been cruel. Unseasonably so. Under the guise of teasing, they had made several disparaging remarks upon Miss Lambe’s heritage and asked questions they most certainly would not have asked among their own circle. It had horrified Charlotte to see, and horrified her more to remain an ignorant bystander.

Flashes of unbridled anger had peeked through the icy shroud that surrounded Miss Lambe, and something in Charlotte’s own willful nature had spurred her into action. As much as she wished to turn on her heel and march back to the line of ladies and give every single one of them a piece of her mind, causing a scene at one of the first balls of the Season would decidedly not do. She suspected it would only further Miss Lambe’s torment.

“Thank you,” said Miss Lambe, after a moment. The skirts of her prettily made dress swished as they walked.

“It is I who should be thanking you, Miss Lambe.” She pressed her lips together in a tight smile. “I had to excuse myself for I felt I was on the verge of making very unladylike remarks… or three. What’s more, I believe I am now in better company.”

Miss Lambe glanced at her. It was an assessing look, and one Charlotte was sure was well-practiced. The story of Miss Lambe’s life must precede her everywhere she went. Charlotte had in fact witnessed it ripple through the crowd when she’d been announced. Just as some sought to bring her down for callous amusement, certainly there were others who would court her favor for selfish purposes. 

Charlotte couldn’t imagine navigating between that world; trying to find true friends in a sea of smiling faces.

“I was on the edge myself,” Miss Lambe said finally. A small quirk to her mouth revealed a playful smile. “I know I should not listen to the incessant baying of goats, but oh, how they tried me tonight.”

Charlotte choked on a scandalized laugh. “They are jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Yes. You have the most beautiful dress here tonight,” she said. “You’ve outshone them without even lifting a finger.”

Miss Lambe looked down. “You are too kind.”

“I promise you I am not… but I have been called unattractively honest.”

They shared a smile.

During the course of their lap, an easy rapport settled between the two young ladies.

Charlotte dutifully explained how an innocuous invitation for a ball had changed the course of her fate. As the eldest daughter of a gentleman farmer, her time in Society was tightly corralled to Willingden itself. But then, one morning, a post had come from her godmother -- a well-connected widow with no daughters of her own -- and somehow Mama had convinced Mr. Heywood to bundle her up in a carriage with her finest evening dresses and shuttle her off for a fortnight.

“The dance made the assembly hall in Willingden look like a barn in comparison,” she said; and, in truth, the assembly hall very well could have been repurposed from that end for all she knew. “I became so turned around that I stumbled upon another woman reading in a private alcove. Of course, I made to remove myself immediately, but she was-- kind. We sat and talked, and before I knew it, the midnight bell was struck and it was time for me to go home…"

“And then?”

“In three days’ time, I received a letter.” Though it had been months since that elegant fold of paper with its crested wax seal had landed in her lap, it still felt like a dream. “The woman I had befriended was none other than Lady Worcester.”

“My goodness!” Miss Lambe’s hand tightened on hers. “And she is your patroness?”

She hesitated. “Yes. Oh, I can hardly bring myself to say it is so.”

The offer had come as a true surprise. To her and to all the Heywoods.

“Only our little Lottie,” Mama had said distantly. She’d spent many minutes turning Lady Worcester’s letter this way and that, as if she’d expected a new sentence to jump forth in the ink and detail the great jest the offer had been.

Mr. Heywood had remained stonily silent throughout the ordeal, but there was no way to refuse the offer without causing an affront to one of the most powerful women in the ton.

Charlotte had not understood her father’s trepidation until the night she was set to depart.

“With Lady Worcester’s help, you’ll easily find a suitable husband,” Alison had said. As the closest sisters in age, they were also the best of friends, and frank talk came easily between them. “Maybe you’ll even catch yourself a Duke! And if you do, you must secure me his most handsome and splendidly titled younger brother.”

She rolled her eyes. “This isn’t a sordid romance novel you pretend you don't read. Have some sense. I have nothing to offer… No dowry, no title.” Only herself.

“But you’re so beautiful. And accomplished!”

“Not so beautiful or accomplished as to earn a ducal offering, even if I wanted one.”

“Where is your imagination? Just say we’ve some long-lost French royalty in the blood.”

“Which would be a blatant lie.” Their father had always said, in his stoically humorous way, that the Heywood lineage could be proudly traced back to the time of William the Conquerer. “And what is all this talk of catching husbands, anyway? You’re only seventeen!”

Alison’s eyes had shone humorously in the candlelight. “And you are two-and-twenty. Why, I see a wart growing right there on your chin already--”

“Oh, hush.”

But Alison had been right. As the eldest daughter, it was Charlotte’s lot in life to marry and, if at all possible, marry well. Accompanying Lady Susan through the London Season was a great honor; enough that it may induce a younger son to offer for her hand, if only to secure a connection to the Earl of Worcester. It would have been an outstanding showing for a woman so far down on the rung of social status… but the prospect did not excite Charlotte as perhaps it should.

She was not yet close to being called an old maid, but time was tick-tocking away, faster and faster with each year that passed. Spinsterhood loomed with an increasingly overbearing shadow. Though she knew she would never be cast off the Heywood estate, the idea of forever being under her family’s charge did not sit well -- but neither did exchanging the protection of her father to that of her would-be husband. She valued what little independence she had, after all.

What radical ideas...

Gently shaking her head, she came back to reality in the ballroom and Miss Lambe’s curious gaze.

“I’ve decided I quite like you, Miss Heywood,” said Miss Lambe suddenly, yet firmly. “We will be very good friends, I think.”

She flushed. Miss Lambe was rather more direct than any other young lady she’d ever met, bar except for perhaps herself in the heat of the moment. It was rather refreshing. “It would be an honor to be called your friend, Miss Lambe.”

“Then please… call me Georgiana.”

“So I shall, as long as you will call me Charlotte.”

They shared another smile under the golden light of the ballroom chandelier, pleased to have found one another at long last.

Their lap around the room came to an end soon enough, and whatever waves they’d made upon their departure had since settled. They were not blatantly ostracized, but neither were they included in the idle chit-chat. This suited Charlotte just fine. She suspected Georgiana felt the same.

A lively quadrille was struck up by the orchestra, and one by one, gentlemen came to collect their dance partners.

Georgiana subtly snapped her fan open. “Oh, drat. This one belongs to Lord Babington.” 

At that very moment, Lord Babington was fast approaching.

“Shall I feign a broken ankle? Apoplexy?”

“You may swoon into my arms if you must,” Charlotte teased, but sobered quickly as it seemed Georgiana was actually contemplating a bout of vapors. “Oh, please do not. He seems very agreeable. And kind.”

“Yes, but he’s--”

Georgiana’s protests were cut off by the arrival of the lord. He seemed a fair bit older than both the young ladies -- perhaps between five and ten years their senior -- and had a healthy, friendly cheer about him. He sketched a quick bow in greeting, though he remained formally un-introduced to Miss Heywood as no matron was available to make it, and made off with Charlotte’s new friend.

Only she and another young lady -- Miss Esther Denham -- were left along the wall. Charlotte tried not to feel disheartened even as a slew of unattached gentlemen milled about. Her dress was fashionable enough in color and design, but it was very simple compared to the frills, lace and jeweled belts of her peers. At a glance, she was remarkably unremarkable. A sea pebble amid diamonds and pearls.

“Are you fond of dancing, Miss Heywood?” asked Miss Denham. Her tone was almost bored.

“I-- I rather am,” she said. She hadn’t heard Miss Denham speak all night. “I find it to be very diverting.”

Miss Denham’s eyes snapped to hers. “How would you know? You haven’t had the pleasure all night.”

“Then we’re on equal footing,” she snapped, and immediately regretted it.

Instead of acrimony or dismissal, however, a slow smile spread across Miss Denham’s face. She was quite a beautiful woman; auburn hair and hazel eyes. An elegant neck and a clear complexion. She was as close to refined perfection as anyone could be, and her lack of dancing partners was indeed a surprise -- except she had a very clever and bruising way of dismissing anyone who dared try to take her to the floor. In fact, Charlotte had witnessed her rebuff Lord Babington earlier in the night.

“Forgive me,” said Charlotte, but Miss Denham waved her off with an elegant flick of her wrist.

“No, you’re quite right,” she said. “Though I’d say my current state is rather of my own doing, hm? Come, sit with me.”

Charlotte obeyed, settling her skirts with practiced ease.

“I will let you know my secret, Miss Heywood. They are all terribly lacking,” said Miss Denham in conspiratorial fashion. “Mr. Crowe over there could drink an entire estate under-- and there goes Sir Wallace, who’s a lecherous old windbag-- and Lord Peregrin in the corner is the youngest son of the Duke of Kingston. He acts as if he owns half of Wiltshire but he will be lucky enough to be housed in the rectory behind their drafty, dreary castle with how he gambles.”

The list of offenses continued on, and very few gentlemen were spared. 

“Oh my,” breathed Charlotte. It was all very shocking talk.

“That is why I decline. I cannot suffer fools.”

“How do you manage it?”

Miss Denham smirked. “Why, the same way you managed all the ladies here with Miss Lambe. With discretion… and barely veiled contempt.”

Charlotte flushed. “Was it that bad?”

“No, I enjoyed it very much,” she replied. “You’ve established yourself well.”

For a moment, Charlotte thought Miss Denham meant to give offense, but realized that she was in fact quite sincere. “Thank you.”

“I’ve been waiting a very long time for Lady Pandora and her insipid circle to be put in their place,” said Miss Denham. “It’s a shame it took reinforcements from Antigua and the countryside to make it so.”

The music drew to a ringing end, and a jaunty intermission tune allowed for the exchange of partners.

Lord Babington brought Georgiana back, who seemed in much better spirits than when she’d initially left, and Charlotte made the rash decision to intervene on Miss Denham’s behalf. While she had expounded upon all the faults of the gentlemen present in the crush, it did not go unnoticed by her that Lord Babington had avoided her ire.

“Thank you for bringing back my dear friend Miss Lambe, my lord,” said Charlotte, rising from her seat and dipping into a hasty curtsy. “Just in time, I’d say, as my other dear friend, Miss Denham, was just telling me how fond she is of-- waltzing.”

As if Charlotte had conspired with the conductor, the orchestra moved into a waltz. 

Lord Babington, despite the breach of proprietary and protocol, answered Charlotte with a smile. “What a happy coincidence, ma’am,” he said. “I would be delighted to escort Miss Denham during this next set, as long as it is not promised to another.”

Miss Denham’s eyes widened a fraction before settling coolly. Escape was futile. She rose gracefully to her feet as if a string had been pulled from the top of her head. Her gloved hand slid into his waiting one, and she was whisked away by the gentleman, but not before shooting a scaldingly betrayed glance back into the gallery.

Georgiana’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly. “Are you secretly Lord Babington’s minder? A plant by his aunt to ensure he is married by Season’s end?”

“No,” she said, and watched with curiosity and wonder as Miss Denham and Lord Babington swept around the dance floor. Her instincts had been correct. There was no denying the shine in Miss Denham’s eyes, nor the soft way Lord Babingon looked at her. “But perhaps I should approach this aunt of his. I’m beginning to think I may have a future in matchmaking.”

Though Charlotte did not dance a single round all night, her newly established friendships with Georgiana and Miss Denham -- who, after some trite remarks, forgave Charlotte for tossing her in the mix -- more than made up for that disappointment. 

By the end of the evening, all three of them sat together, wilting like flowers left a little too long in the sun.

Georgiana was the first to perk up. Her trademark flash of annoyance twisted her mouth. “Ladies, guard yourselves. My warden is come to take me away.”

Charlotte scanned the crowd and saw a man indeed come in the line of their trajectory. 

He cut a fine figure in the standard black-and-white attire of the evening; dark brown hair, straight nose, and a sharp jaw rounded him out quite nicely. It did not pass notice that the young ladies twittered at his approach. He was another who had escaped Miss Denham’s list of fools, but something told Charlotte that this was due more to his absence than his innocence.

He came to stand before them, hands clasped behind his back. He sketched a bow. “Miss Lambe.”

“Good evening, Mr. Parker,” she replied. Ice dripped from every syllable. “These are my friends-- Miss Denham and Miss Heywood.”

He inclined his head to them both, but his gaze remained firmly on Georgiana. He seemed an overbearing type and lacking in humor. “Mrs. Griffiths and the Misses Beauforts are waiting for the carriage to leave.”

“And what does that mean to me?”

Miss Denham and Charlotte exchanged looks. They couldn’t escape their seats, just as they both knew the altercation between Mr. Parker and Georgiana was not to be witnessed either.

“Miss Lambe,” said Charlotte, a sudden and terrible wildness taking hold of her senses. Much in the same way it had in the moment with Lady Pandora. She touched her hand to Georgiana’s forearm. “It was such a lovely night, and I am so pleased I was able to make your acquaintance. Perhaps we can make plans to go on a walk tomorrow, if… if Mrs. Griffiths consents, of course.”

Interjecting as she had was beyond the pale of rude, and Georgiana seemed to understand the position Charlotte had put herself in. She stood, and the other two ladies rose as well.

“I look forward to tomorrow’s adventure, then. Miss Heywood, Miss Denham.” She did not wait for Mr. Parker’s arm, nor did she spare him a passing glance. Instead, she took a direct line to the exit, weaving through the throng of surprised partygoers.

Mr. Parker’s previous neutral expression had turned dark and stormy.

“Miss Heywood, was it? How presumptuous of you to intervene on Miss Lambe’s behalf,” he said, voice low and trembling. “Though she may have found your friendship pleasing, I must say you’ve proven your character to be an ill-fit for her. I bid you: do not seek any further social calls. If you persist, I will most vocally deny your requests.”

There was a controlled viciousness in his speech that nearly unraveled her; and if not for prying eyes, she would have let the tears come free. But she would not let Mr. Parker, nor anyone else, have the satisfaction of seeing her break apart. She had done the right thing in standing up for Georgiana, and his reaction to it solidified her vindication all the more.

He dismissed her with a turn of his heel and quickly disappeared into the crush. Charlotte took a shuddering breath. An arm came around her shoulders in a surprising move of comfort from Miss Denham, who looked both sympathetic and curious.

“I must know what is in the water in Willingden,” she murmured, “to make young ladies so foolish and so brave.”

Chapter 2: A Favor

Even as late as it was, the crush still heaved with bodies. Determined anger kept Georgiana moving, but it was slow going, and she hoped to heaven that Sidney was not watching her struggle like a fish against the currents.

Indeed, it was a bit like being in the ocean; being tossed this way and that by the nudge of an elbow, or having to dodge an errant stomp of a heel. She smelled alcohol and cloying perfume, powder and hints of sweat. A pair cut suddenly in front of her, unknowingly impeding her way, and she took a desperate turn--

And stumbled into someone else. She drew back, cheeks burning, to see Lord Peregrin send a stunned expression down her way. She knew it was him, of course, because they had already danced once during the night. He was terribly handsome, and he well knew it.

“Miss Lambe,” he said. “Are you back for round two?”

Her palm itched to slap the amused smirk off his face. “You couldn’t tempt me even if you tried,” she sniffed. Then, for good measure, she leaned in deliberately. “Oh, my lord, I’m so sorry to say, but… it looks like you have something on your face-- no, not there-- there -- ah, yes, you got it. Oh dear, I hope it wasn’t there long.”

Terrible deed done, she left him where he stood.

Georgiana all but threw herself into the carriage behind Mrs. Griffiths and the Beaufort sisters once she breached open air. 

It was a terrible display of impropriety, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She flounced her skirts for good measure and glared out the window to hammer it home, spitefully ignoring Mrs. Griffith’s indignant stammers all the while.

For the first time in what felt like a very, very long time, she’d been having fun. And then her guardian-cum-jailer had thrown mud on it, just like he always did any time he saw her enjoying even a morsel. He was always raving on and on about wanting the best for her and honoring her father’s dying wish, but he seemed to be under the misconception that what was best for her was to not live at all.

Mr. Parker was determined to mold her into someone she did not desire to be. Someone she could not be. She was no delicate lady; fine-boned and quiet and tepidly demure. She had fire in her spirit. Her mother had always said so. But austere cold battered her from all sides on this lonely island, and she was afraid it would consume her whole.

Try as she might, but spending all her days reading hum-drum books, embroidering, and slogging through fifteen minutes of social calls was not how she’d envisioned her life in London. The best part, she could selfishly admit, was the education: Greek, Latin, French. Philosophy and maths. She soaked it up like a sponge. Not once did she quarrel with her tutors. Women were just as capable and smart as any man was, and she loathed the well-ingrained idea that they were not. But it lent to the question: what use was learning all she could, if she’d never be allowed to use any of it? 

Young though she may be, she was not wholly naive. These balls and soirees had a singular purpose, and aligned very much with Sidney’s thoughts on what would and should come next for her: a respectable marriage.

Georgiana’s heart squeezed. It would have been a lie to say she did not desire love or partnership, but the thought that she may find it among the ton was laughable. She was an heiress and held a fortune. Any titled gentleman with a leaky roof to patch surely saw her as a prized pony to woo any time she was trotted out. The state of her dance card said enough. But Sidney wouldn’t understand. He had a heart of ice and had little regard for anyone else’s. Whoever he deigned to make his wife was in for a world of misery. She was sure of it.

She then thought of Charlotte Heywood and Esther Denham. They were both very different in comportment and temperament. Esther’s wit was drier than a desert; Charlotte was sweet and righteously earnest. Even so, the three of them had plunged into the night and emerged new friends. A surprising turn of events from Lady Pandora’s horrible, chirping nonsense at the start.

An uneasy weight of guilt dropped onto her shoulders as she remembered how Charlotte had come to her valiant defense not once but twice. She was sure the poor girl hadn’t been spared Sidney’s mercurial temper after she’d stormed off. Her imagination conjured up a version of the conversation that had followed, and a voice eerily similar to Sidney growled out several vile and mean things.

Shuddering, she vowed to repair the situation, and quickly.

It was the least she could do for a friend.

The coach lurched almost violently as it departed, shaking her back into reality. The Beaufort sisters leaned up against one another, dozing on the bench opposite her own. Even buttoned-up Mrs. Griffiths was nodding off, her sharp chin dropping to her collarbone then bouncing back up like a shot. This was her life now, with no end in sight.

Georgiana settled back against the plush seating with a sigh. There was naught to be done tonight, but at first light, she’d spin her plan into motion. 

 

-

 

Chin held high and back straight, Miss Denham looped her arm through Charlotte’s and walked free from the ballroom. 

Charlotte followed in step, though the air of haughtier was noticeably absent from her comportment. She had, after all, been thoroughly rebuked by a gentleman. She kept her gaze straight, her expression serene. If vindictive words were said of her, the ringing in her ears drowned them out.

“Let me introduce you to my aunt,” Miss Denham declared as they left, but she deftly turned them through a side door and down a long hallway instead. 

Revelers mingled in easy conversation, but none were of their mutual acquaintance, and so the young ladies escaped outside unhindered.

They found solitude on the terrace. A chill in the air had kept most inside all night, despite lit torches that had been stood up to tempt partygoers otherwise, and it was similarly devoid of people now. 

Gooseflesh prickled on Charlotte’s exposed skin as they came to lean against the marble balustrade. The lawn beyond was very dark, and the muffled sound of voices and music made it seem like both she and Miss Denham were world’s away. Despair quickly set in. “What have I done?”

“Come now, Miss Heywood. What’s done is done, and tears in this situation won’t help you,” Miss Denham replied. Her tone was sympathetic, even if the words themselves were harsh. Her gloved hand remained firmly on Charlotte’s forearm. “All will be well.”

Tears burned her nose. “Of that I am not so sure. Everyone saw what happened.”

“On the contrary. It’s near midnight. Anyone worth anything is already soused. And while I grant you that eligible bachelors such as Mr. Parker often do not go unnoticed on our side of the room, the quarrel was quiet and barely done.”

“He may speak of it. I insulted him. Very publicly.”

Miss Denham sighed. “If you insist on taking a forward approach, there is a way to persuade him to keep his thoughts to himself.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“There are three Parker brothers. Tom, Sidney, and Arthur. You had the pleasure of meeting the middle brother. The eldest is attempting to build something of a seaside retreat called Sanditon. Fashions it to be the very next Brighton. This Mr. Parker has been all over London, blathering on about the ‘healing properties’ of sea-bathing and its ‘fresh air’... he is quite in raptures with the place, and I’ve seen him nearly beg the other Mr. Parker to spread its news in similar ways. If I heard tomorrow that he burst his way into the House of Lords during an open session to speak of the place, I wouldn’t bat an eyelash.” Miss Denham’s summary was clipped and precise, and carried with it an undercurrent of derision. “With your connection to Lady Susan… You may be able to convince Mr. Parker that you hold some sway as to where she may spend a fortnight during the summer recess. Where she goes, the beau monde inevitably follows.”

“But I assuredly do not have her ear in such a way.”

“He does not need to know that. You have been sponsored by her as no one else outside of a niece or two has.” Her expression was serenely serious. “You need only imply, gently, and set the cards down.”

“That’s akin to blackmail!”

“Hardly, Miss Heywood. It is practicality.”

Charlotte swallowed thickly around the sickly feeling crawling up her throat. In truth, Miss Denham was not entirely incorrect. Lady Susan had quickly become a dear friend, and she believed the sentiment wholly returned. If Charlotte decided to mention Sanditon and all its purported glory, she believed Lady Susan could indeed be persuaded to visit. But she couldn’t imagine abusing their friendship in such a way. If Mr. Parker decided to approach Charlotte’s chaperone to pass her indiscretion on, then it was her place to take whatever admonishment came her way.

Wasn’t it?

“How have you come to know so much of the Mr. Parkers?” Charlotte asked, turning to a safe subject for the moment.

“My aunt’s seat of evil power resides in Sanditon proper,” she replied. “My… step-brother and I are similarly lodged there during the summers. The Parkers are well known to us.”

“Then it would be foolish to discount your advice indeed.” She took a steadying breath. “And I do appreciate the advice, I truly do; you have been very kind to me. But I can’t do it.”

“Then you give me no choice,” Miss Denham replied. “Lord Babington has Mr. Parker’s ear, and through him I will ask him to stay whatever punishment he had planned.”

Charlotte eyes widened. “Miss Denham, you cannot!”

“I can, and I shall. My actions may encourage Lord Babington further, but it is a small price to pay. You were merely defending Miss Lambe against him, just as you had with Lady Pandora. Improper, to be sure, but well-intentioned, and I shall say as much to him.”

For a moment, Charlotte was speechless. More tears threatened to burn her nose.

“You both have given me more amusement in one night than all of last year’s Season,” Miss Denham explained matter-of-factly, as if sensing an overwhelming feeling of sentimentality and friendship would soon ruin her night. “It would be a shame to see you leave us so soon.”

Before Charlotte could protest, Miss Denham extracted her arm and made off with neat, if determined, steps to the ballroom. Glimpses of her red hair threading through the crush could be seen if she looked, but if Charlotte wanted to see a clear view of Miss Denham’s discussion with Lord Babington, she was not in a favorable spot for it.

As much as Charlotte knew it was wrong to let Miss Denham ask for a favor in her stead, there was something in the way her friend spoke of the gentleman; a touch of frustrated fondness that spoke of flames which could be fanned in the favor of the young couple. Charlotte had seen a similar courting between her eldest brother George and his wife. Yes, she should have halted Miss Denham, or tried to work the situation herself, but she suspected Miss Denham looked forward to the interaction -- at least a little bit, and maybe even despite herself.

In a sense, she was also relieved. Remembering Mr. Parker’s thunderous expression, she shivered and crossed her arms across her stomach. Now removed from the situation, any righteousness she’d had on her friend’s behalf seemed foolish and naive. Charlotte did not know Georgiana well enough to make a stand against her guardian as she did… but it was very hard to feel sorry for doing so, even as she acknowledged the man would deserve an apology if they ever again crossed paths.

With Miss Denham on the case, Charlotte hoped that fate would not soon come to pass.

 

-

 

In all his years, Sidney had never met such an imperious young woman.

Miss Heywood, his mind supplied the name, and his blood boiled again. 

She had some nerve, he’d admit; and a fair heaping of gall on top of that. To come between him and his ward on a private matter and in such a public setting -- it was borderline unthinkable. But it had happened all the same. She’d sat there in her plain dress, looking up at him in defiance as if he’d been in the wrong. She’d meant to reproach him. Before he knew it, he’d taken her measure and unleashed a rapid-fire assessment. The glassy look in her eyes and dimpled, wobbling chin had only made him angrier. She had caused the offense, and her tears would not sway him.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. His head was beginning to ache.

Babington found him on the driveway awaiting his carriage. 

“Parker,” he greeted. “Is Miss Lambe returned home?”

He arched a questioning eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re--”

“No, no, none of that,” he said. “Did you happen to speak to her chaperone--?”

“Mrs. Griffiths was swaying on her feet by eleven o’clock. She wouldn’t have heard a word I said, even if I’d tried.” Sidney remained bemused. “Where are you taking me with this line of questioning?”

Babington’s smile came then; perhaps a little too quickly for a man of his station. “Miss Denham has asked a favor of me and my honor obliged me to accept.”

A feeling of knowing dread rose in Sidney. Miss Denham had sat with Georgiana and this Miss Heywood, and he had a sound suspicion this favor would not please him in the slightest. His family was well acquainted with Lady Denham, and he’d interacted with Miss Denham on occasion. He found her cold, though frighteningly calculating. “I’m intrigued, despite myself. Tell me if I need to sit down,” he said, “or perhaps pour myself a glass of brandy before I hear it.”

“All on the up-and-up, I assure you,” Babington replied. “But I’d prefer to discuss the matter privately.”

Sidney nodded, but his carriage was already rolling up the drive. “If you weren’t planning on staying with your aunt tonight, Bedford Place has room enough for one more. You can ride with me.”

Babington agreed and left to give his parting remarks to host and hostess. He returned quickly enough that it could have been reasonable to surmise he did not, perhaps, say goodbye to all he should, but as the heir apparent to one of the oldest duchy’s in all the kingdom, Babington could do as he pleased -- though he rarely, if ever, flexed in such a manner.

They stepped into the carriage. Sidney sorely wished he had his tobacco pipe or a drink in hand as they settled on opposite benches.

With a click of the driver’s tongue, they were off.

“Miss Denham spoke of an altercation between you and her friend-- a Miss Heywood,” said Babington, cutting straight to the quick.

Barely biting back a groan, Sidney quickly explained what had transpired. 

“I see,” said Babington, after a moment.

“What manner of favor could Miss Denham request in this case?” he prompted. It was clear-cut in his eyes.

“To reconsider your feelings in regards to Miss Heywood. Allow the friendship between your ward and the young lady,” he said. Seeing the displeased twist of Sidney’s mouth, he continued on: “I am assured Miss Heywood is well aware of her misstep, and I was bid to emphasize her actions as truly well-intentioned.”

“Well, you and I both know where a well-intentioned road leads…”

“To very fiery second chances?”

“You are too good-natured, Babs.” He emphasized the sentiment with a sound thump of his walking cane to the floor. “Miss Denham is aware of your little tendre and uses it to her advantage.”

“She is hardly manipulating me into anything I wouldn’t already do,” he said. “I’ll have you know Miss Heywood convinced Miss Lambe to take her set with me, and even shepherded Miss Denham into my arms afterward during a waltz. If anything, I owe her this favor.”

Sidney tilted his head, considering. “To what end do her actions lead, I wonder.”

“Why must everything be a chess match with you, Parker? Can’t a person do a good deed for the sake of goodness itself?”

“In theory, but you can’t expect me to assess Miss Heywood’s innate goodness.”

“Which is why I advise the course of optimism. One brief… encounter… is hardly anything at all. How many friends would you have if you dismissed each and every one after a single conversation?”

It was hardly a meaningless encounter or tepid conversation. “You’re attempting to rewrite history.”

“Damn it, man, of course I am!” Babington cried. “If the Socratic approach won’t work on you, then all I have left is to reference our friendship, and hope it is strong enough that that may sway your opinion. What say you, Parker? For old time’s sake.”

Sidney sighed, and ceded with a wave of his hand. “I hope you’ll make Miss Denham very happy.” 

The implication at both in matrimony and in the matter of Miss Heywood did not go unnoticed if Babington’s laugh said anything.

The ride to Bedford Place passed otherwise in silence. Well enough, Sidney thought, as he’d been cajoled into giving ground he did not wish to give. It made him irritable.

His nature -- protective, and a little explosive -- had gotten the better of him tonight. 

Georgiana was a willful young lady, and he worried greatly about her future. But conveying his worry did not come as easily as he wished. The fact of the matter was that he, too, was a young man; even if he often felt decades older than his twenty-and-eight years, he wouldn’t delude himself into believing he understood young ladies.

Why Lambe had thought Sidney was the man to bring his daughter to London, he hadn’t a clue. But duty dictated he did, and he wouldn’t let his late friend’s memory be besmirched by a lack of care. Georgiana would have the best in all things, if he had any say. Including friends. And Sidney, by law, had all the say in the world.

Miss Heywood, he thought again. He would have to pay close attention to her; and, for her sake, he hoped her nature was indeed as good as everyone claimed it to be.

Notes:

FWIW, I'm pretty positive this story will end up over 10 chapters long as I haven't even dented my outline. :\

Chapter 3: Letters and Cards

By the time Georgiana made her way down the stairs the next morning, a sizeable gathering of flowers had accumulated in the foyer of Mrs. Griffith’s boarding house. They ranged in color and type, and one or two could only have been recently cut from a well-kept greenhouse. She leaned down to pluck the card from the most beautiful arrangement -- purple wildflower in a ceramic vase -- but Mrs. Griffith’s snatched it away before she could discern its sender or to whom it had been sent.

“On to breakfast now, dear,” Mrs. Griffiths said, but her gaze flicked down to the card she now held, and she gave a little gasp. “My goodness.”

The card trembled between Mrs. Griffith’s bony fingers. It was made from an off-white cream paper, its border embossed with shiny gold inlay. Even with quick examination, it was clearly an expensive card to make and to keep.

Georgiana wanted to stamp her foot in indignation. Curiosity gripped her. The flowers were either for her or the Beaufort sisters, and so she saw little value in withholding information. Food, in her opinion, could wait.

“And who is the sender?” she asked. “I will go straight-away to breakfast and behave all day if you tell me.”

Mrs. Griffiths pursed her lips, undoubtedly hearing the lie for what it was, but the card must have shaken her constitution very much. “It is from Lord Peregrin,” she replied, “with a peculiar message.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she gave it to Georgiana.

“Oh?” She flipped the card over absent-mindedly. As eager as she was to know its contents, she did not want to seem overly so. “I don’t remember either of the Beaufort sisters dancing with him.”

“They didn’t.” Mrs. Griffith’s words were flat.

Her eyebrows furrowed at the implication. That Lord Peregrin had sent her flowers. Perhaps it was a mistake. Mrs. Griffith’s had said the message was strange, and they resided on a block specifically reserved for young unmarried ladies. The error seemed impossible for a man of his station.

Again, she flipped the card over. Her thumb swiped over the hand-written note and the pre-printed name as she read:

LORD PEREGRIN

To Miss Lambe,

I humbly accept your challenge.

“What does he reference, Georgiana?”

“I couldn’t possibly know,” she replied, but that was another lie. 

Shock was the word for what she felt. After making haste to leave the ball the night previous, they had bumped into one another. Rather, she had bumped into him. She hadn’t responded to his goading remark of a second dance very eloquently. Surely he meant to mock her. There was no doubt the entire block overflowed with similar sentiments of his. Beautiful flowers or no, she would not allow herself to overthink.

“Lord Peregrin is known for his oh-so humorous jests, is he not?” To Mrs. Griffith’s horror, she folded the card in half and tucked it back into the bouquet. She looped her arm together with her chaperone’s and chaperoned the woman along, and continued on breezily: “Now, on to breakfast, just as you said, Mrs. Griffiths! And actually, ma’am, since I have your ear… I was hoping we all might partake in a walk in Hyde Park this afternoon with my dear friends… a Miss Heywood and Miss Denham? Mr. Parker had the pleasure of making their acquaintance last night and I’m sure--”

 

-

 

Charlotte woke so early the next morning she preceded her housemaid. The fireplace remained unlit; the curtains drawn closed. She remained dutifully under warm covers, though she wished nothing more than to leap from her bed and rush to tell Lady Susan every single horrible thing that had transpired the night previous.

Though Miss Denham had assured her all was well in hand, she could not quell the notion that the trouble had only just begun.

The morning dragged by slowly, and so distant was she that her lady’s maid asked her thrice if she was feeling well enough to go about the day. She hadn’t the heart to tell her that she may as well start packing Charlotte’s belongings back into her chest of drawers. That it was only a matter of time before the mercurial Mr. Parker stormed their doors and demanded she be cast out for her crimes against polite society.

But no such threat arrived, and breakfast came in due course.

Lady Susan was already seated when Charlotte arrived. 

The breakfast parlor was simply set. A pang of longing shot through Charlotte at the sight. Mornings at the Heywood estate were lively. Half the meal could pass by corralling the children to the table.

“Lady Susan, good morning,” greeted Charlotte, though she felt very little of the morning could be called such. She dropped into a curtsy.

“None of that now, my dear,” said Lady Susan kindly. Though they had both stayed up late, the mistress of Worcester Hall looked immaculately put-together. A stack of newspapers were folded to her right. To her left, a place-setting had already been made. “Come and join me. I must hear all of the fun you had last night.”

A servant appeared at her elbow to push her chair in behind her, and was off before she could thank him -- though she knew the sentiment was not needed, nor appreciated.

“It was… interesting,” she said. “I made two new friends. A Miss Esther Denham and Miss Georgiana Lambe.”

“Lovely. Lady Denham’s niece is very elegant… though I must say her nephew is a bit high in the instep.” Lady Susan hummed. “I can’t say I am familiar with this Miss Lambe.”

“She is an heiress from Antigua, ma’am.”

“Oh. Interesting indeed! How did you come to meet?”

Charlotte’s hands tightened in her lap. Once, as a little girl, she had forgotten to close the enclosure surrounding the Heywood barn; worse yet, she’d lied about doing so when asked. Three goats had escaped, and their herd of heifers had trundled off grassy lawn and dale to better prospects. Charlotte remembered the agony of keeping the secret inside herself; caught between wanting to be honest and avoiding her father’s surefire disappointment.

In the end, the truth came out as it always did with her: rapidly, and with little detail spared for her own sake. Charlotte had had to chase down and retrieve every last goat and cow.

A similar pressure was welling inside her now.

It began to bubble over, and before she knew it, she was telling Lady Susan everything from beginning to end. Lady Pandora; her multiple and varied breaks with proprietary; Sanditon; Miss Denham’s scheme; and then finally, the nail in the coffin, her brush with Mr. Sidney Parker.

“It was dreadful, Lady Susan,” she said, “and I am so very sorry if I have caused you any embarrassment as your guest. I, of course, will beg his pardon--”

Lady Susan placed her hand atop Charlotte’s, but where she thought to find horror or anger or even pity, found only sparkling, laughing eyes. 

“There is nothing to fear, I assure you. You are under my protection. This Mr. Parker will have to accuse you of much more than a mild misstep in protecting your friend to offend me,” she said. “And Lady Pandora earned her cut, if I may say so… I promise, your tête-à-tête may seem like a great battle now, but tomorrow someone will spill a glass of punch on someone else’s waistcoat, and all will be forgotten.”

“Is it really so easy?”

“Why of course. It’s just a small tilt of the wrist.”

Charlotte laughed. Being so soundly reassured brought her appetite roaring, and they ate in companionable silence interspersed with discussion on the latest in the papers.

It seemed so very strange how quickly her circumstances had been altered. She was eating breakfast in a designated breakfast parlor with a countess when not even a month ago she’d had to fight for a buttered roll.

In Willingden, Charlotte had dreamed of the outside world. Books from her father’s study had given her glimpses through the years. For though Mr. Heywood gladly kept to his five-mile parish, he did travel into town to settle his affairs on occasion and often brought back with him novels and prints. But books never did tell the full story.

Lady Susan read three separate papers every morning, and she seemed to know everything about everyone. If she wore a certain color, then it rippled among the crowd like a pebble in a pond. If she laughed, everyone laughed.

London was different. Its people were different. There was a deliberate artifice around everything; what was said, what wasn’t said. What was done, or not done. It all tied together with a vibrating desire to always be on the proper cusp of the best, the new, the brightest.

Why Lady Susan had plucked Charlotte from the bunch, she didn’t fully understand. But there was something in her which Charlotte was beginning to see reflected in herself as the days ticked by. To be surrounded by a sea of admiring people easily turned by scandal would set even the strongest among them adrift. Lady Susan had been weathering the storm for many years.

At the end of the hour, it was announced that a letter had come for Charlotte along with miscellaneous post for the mistress of the house. They retired to a separate drawing room to read.

The handwriting on the letter was foreign, but its contents quickly revealed its sender to be Miss Georgiana Lambe. She formally requested Charlotte’s presence for a walk in Hyde Park, and to please respond at her earliest convenience.

“May I go?” asked Charlotte.

“Of course, though I myself have a previous engagement,” said Lady Susan. “But you say Miss Lambe has a chaperone by the name of Mrs. Griffiths?”

“Yes, Miss Lambe is in her charge along with two other young ladies. The Beaufort sisters.”

“Then the matter is settled. You will have a carriage, and a servant to escort you."

 

 

And so she did. She changed into her best walking dress and was quickly ferried off into the streets of London with a member of Lady Susan’s household staff. The ride to Grosvenor-gate was slow-going, and they arrived a few minutes past the agreed time to find Miss Lambe and her entourage waiting; some patiently, others not so.

A group of gentlemen on horseback trotted by. From Charlotte’s vantage point, it seemed as if the Beaufort sisters would have followed gladly behind if they weren’t waylaid by their stern chaperone.

“Miss Lambe!” Charlotte called out, waving. 

Upon seeing her, Georgiana waved heartily back. Mrs. Griffiths could be heard remarking on the overzealous and improper behavior of the two young ladies, but they paid her no mind, and came to link arms with wide grins upon meeting.

“Miss Denham agreed to lend her company as well,” said Georgiana. Then, low enough so only Charlotte could hear, “I thought it best that we are evenly matched against Mrs. Griffith’s tyranny.”

Charlotte stifled a laugh. “She can’t be so bad. You are here, are you not?"

“Indeed, though you would never believe the falsehood I had to spin up to ensure it came to pass.”

“What do you mean?”

“I told her Mr. Parker absolutely loved you and insisted upon our continued friendship.”

“Georgiana, you didn’t --”

“I am not sorry for the lie, but I am sorry that I put you in his way. I wanted to goad him, and did not think he might turn his bite on you. Forgive me, Charlotte.”

“There is nothing to forgive. His callousness is not your doing. Though you must know I will owe him an apology as I acted quite out of turn.”

“In that case, there is another matter I must address,” said Georgiana, after a moment. “After I wrote to both you and Miss Denham, Mrs. Griffiths insisted I send one off to Mr. Parker as well… as a show of good faith.”

Charlotte paled. “Oh?”

“There is not a single chance he will arrive, I promise you that,” she replied. “Though he seems to control my every move with gleeful domination, he rarely seeks the pleasure of my company.”

Before Charlotte could worry further, Miss Denham arrived at the head of the path. 

She wore a very elegant walking dress and was escorted by a gentleman who she introduced as her step-brother, Sir Edward. The odd round-robin of formal acquaintanceship proceeded as such: Miss Denham first introduced Mrs. Griffiths, who then introduced the young ladies to the gentleman as if they hadn’t been standing there the entire time.

Upon first glance, Charlotte understood what Lady Susan meant about Sir Edward. He seemed to carry himself without an ounce of humility. An air of arrogance clung to him like a strong, undesirable perfume, though its ill effects seemed to only hinder her.

Almost immediately after formal acquaintances were made, he detached himself from Miss Denham’s side and began to lavish attention on the Beaufort sisters, as well as Mrs. Griffiths. 

The ensuing twittering quickly became tiresome.

“Shall we?” said Esther. She cut a reproachful look to her step-brother.

The three ladies took the front, while Sir Edward and his admirers took the secondary row.

The Park was quite beautiful, and the fresh air reminded Charlotte of home.

“Well,” said Esther. “How did you lot fare this morning?”

“Miss Lambe had over a dozen vases on the stoop,” one of the Beaufort sisters interjected, then quickly dissolved into giggles.

“As she should,” said Sir Edward. “Our Miss Denham has several admirers as well. She is far too shy to boast on such things, of course.”

“A few lawn clippings,” Esther drawled. “Nothing to catch the eye.”

Sir Edward cleared his throat. “And what about you, Miss Heywood? Surely you couldn’t make it out your door.”

She blushed. In fact, she had only received one set of flowers. Whoever had sent it had left no note or card, and she strongly suspected Lady Susan had arranged it so as not to let her be embarrassed after such a poor showing. As she hadn’t danced with a single gentleman the night previous, the deception was all too obvious. “I’m afraid your assessment is very far off the mark, sir,” she replied. “I am not yet so well-regarded.”

“But why?” It was one of the sisters.

“You are from a small village, are you not?” asked Mrs. Griffiths, though she did not wait for Charlotte’s answer before barreling on: “I find there is a lack of refinement to be found when one is so far away from London, and surely Miss Heywood has not yet captivated those so inclined. We are in very polite society, after all.”

The sisters whispered among themselves, and Sir Edward cleared his throat again.

Charlotte’s cheeks burned. The urge to stand up for herself rolled to the tip of her tongue, but Georgiana beat her to the punch.

“I must say I disagree most strongly, Mrs. Griffiths. Miss Heywood has twice the character of anyone I’ve met thus far,” Georgiana ground out. “It is not her lack of refinement that is the cause of her misfortune, but the idiocy of everyone else!”

Mrs. Griffith gasped.

By fortuitous intervention, they came then to a crossroads. The three ladies in front strode quickly across, and the way was soon impeded by a stampede of phaetons and other such conveyances. It held Mrs. Griffith and her admonishments at bay, and Sir Edward seemed perfectly happy to stay under the attentions of the Beauforts.

Despite their need for a chaperone, the three young ladies proceeded onward.

“Let us enjoy the view and the fresh air,” said Georgiana, “as I fear once the tale of my language is sent on to my warden, I will quickly be thrown in my room and shackled by the ankle.”

“I wish you hadn’t spoken to Mrs. Griffiths like that,” said Charlotte. She looked over her shoulder to the dusty overstuffed road. They were quickly coming to a more populated promenade opposite the Serpentine River. “We should wait for them. Besides… she is not wrong. My dance card didn’t have even one name to scratch out.”

Esther clicked her tongue. “The woman could have had a care with her choice of words, but indeed there is merit among them."

Georgiana scoffed.

“I have my family’s title, and you, Miss Lambe, have your fortune.”

“And you suggest Charlotte holds little appeal in any other regard?”

“Oh, don’t be so combative. Men are pigs who aren’t able to see beyond their--”

“Ladies, please,” Charlotte interjected. “Georgiana, I most thoroughly regard your defense of my person as the highest form of kindness; and Miss Denham, I absolutely understand your meaning and take no offense. I am the daughter of a farmer, and I am not ashamed to say so.”

“But that is so-- wrong.” Georgiana turned to Esther. “Charlotte as Charlotte herself should be the entire appeal, don’t you think? She is accomplished, beautiful, educated--”

“You know that isn’t the way of the beau monde.” Esther’s tone was sharp. “Not all of us can marry for love. An advantageous marriage rarely rests on such silly feelings. Any man will see your coin purse before all else. Any man sees my name. That is all there is.”

Georgiana remained silent.

“Please, let us not quarrel. It’s such a fine day, is it not?” Charlotte rallied. She gave them both cheerful smiles in an attempt to smooth over ruffled feathers. “Soon the pair of you will be eating off gold breakfast trays as great ladies of great houses, and won’t have a single moment to spare for me.”

Georgiana and Esther exchanged an indecipherable look.

“Gold trays? How gauche,” said Esther.

“Yes, how could you imply such a thing, Miss Heywood?” Georgiana pressed a hand to her chest with a mocking sigh. “Indeed Lord Babington would never have such utensils in his mansion.”

 

-

 

The curtains were tossed open and bright morning light stabbed through Sidney’s eyelids.

“Parker!” It was Babington.

He was already shaved and dressed. Where and how a valet had entered Bedford Place, Sidney hadn’t a clue. His own man, being in possession of good sense, was not yet due to arrive for several hours.

Any indignation at being interrupted in his own chambers melted away, however, as he sat up and found himself not in his own bed but in his offices. He tilted his neck for a crack, and groaned as his tender muscles righted themselves after being so horrendously twisted on the small sitting couch.

“You are far too cheerful for my tastes,” he said. His temples pounded. The ticking of the German cuckoo clock affixed to the wall kept time with his pulse.

“My man is here to take my arrangement requests,” said Babington, thoroughly ignoring Sidney’s not-so-subtle dismissal. “Give me the names of your conquests and we may be on with our day.”

He scrubbed a hand across his face. He’d spent most of the night embroiled in business discussions. Avoiding young ladies and their trappings was his general practice. He did not have time or the inclination for marriage. If he needed a distraction, he found it elsewhere. “Send him away with nothing from me.”

“Not even one?” Babington thought for a moment, then said, “How about Miss Heywood?”

“Who?”

“How much did you have to drink after I left? Miss Heywood. The young lady with whom you quarreled.”

The memory swam back up to the present; ah, yes. The plain girl in the plain dress who’d stood up to him. “Why would I even consider--”

“I discovered more about her,” said Babington. “She is dear friends with Lady Susan. In fact, she is sponsored by Lady Susan. She’s holed up in Worcester Hall as we speak, undoubtedly eating bonbons and regaling the countess of your scathing retorts.”

It was far too early to contend with both Babington's energetic disposition and a plot that could ruin his life. Though Sidney wished the name wasn’t enough to change his perspective, it did. Lady Susan was one of the most powerful women in the ton, and her influence was as far-reaching as one could be. She headed fashion, art, and any other number of things important to those in Society; what she said was au courant... was. And, he was sure, she held similar sway to the opposite. “This is extortion,” he growled.

Babington looked far too innocent. “They’re only flowers.”

“Fine. Send her a love declaration for all I care.”

A rumbling groan came from behind the settee, and both Babington and he jumped to their feet. 

Before either gentleman could reach broadside or pistol, a mop of familiar hair popped up. Bony fingers clutched at the back of the settee and the man hauled himself up.

“Crowe!” Babington cried, tone jovially surprised.

Sidney was less inclined to happiness. Where Crowe went, the fine brandy and expensive liqueurs disappeared. His cabinets were surely ravaged by now. “Where the hell did you come from?"

“Hell itself, surely; my head is splitting. Like the Devil himself is hammering a pick right--” He tapped his temple. “Damn. Don’t you have a bottle at the ready in this room?”

Babington laughed. “A little hair of the dog, eh?”

Sidney envied the man. Babington could keep up with the best of men, and he never seemed to suffer for it the next day. Crowe, too, would soon recover.

“I’ll leave you both to it,” he said, and retired from his own offices to freshen up.

Bedford Place had remnants of the Parker family strewn about, but he was its only permanent resident. Arthur and Diana were still abroad on the Continent. Tom came and went as he pleased; Mary and the children sometimes came along for the ride, but they seemed perfectly happy to stay in Sanditon during London’s active social season. As much as he enjoyed the diversions and entertainment within the city, he couldn’t blame them at all.

He drew the bath himself and washed quickly. He forewent a shave, and dressed. His mind whirred from topic to topic: his varied investments, the connections he still had to cultivate, the men of import he would soon need to call on. He was a wealthy man and growing wealthier by the minute, and he needed to spin the globe faster and faster. He did not intend on losing momentum.

Babington’s reveal of Miss Heywood’s sponsor was a worry, though he wouldn’t yet be sure of how much until it was, perhaps, too late. Lady Susan had the power to sever ties if she so wished, but damn him if he would ever go crawling to Miss Heywood for a groveling apology when he was in his rights.

A time later, he descended the steps and found a handful of letters waiting for him. He sorted them quickly, and one gave him so much pause he tore it open right there in the receiving hall.

To Mr. Parker,

I apologize for my behavior last night and humbly request your pleasant company for a walk at the Park this afternoon, if you so wish. We will meet at Grosvenor-gate at 4 o’clock.

G. L.

He could almost feel the spite infused within the ink. He imagined Mrs. Griffith’s standing over Georgiana at her writing desk, then carefully inspecting her work for malice or foul language before posting it. Her lack of desire for him to come could not have been more apparent.

He read the letter again. We, he thought. We will meet...

Sidney tapped the edge of the paper against his chin. He hadn’t yet told Mrs. Griffith’s to stop any friendship with Miss Heywood. In fact, Miss Heywood had been the one to suggest a walk this very day. Despite himself, he felt the tug of a smile. It was not kind.

He found Crowe and Babington where he’d left them; Crowe, reposed on the settee with an arm thrown dramatically over his eyes; Babington, dutifully penning letters. They stirred at his sudden appearance.

“Let’s go for a walk, gents.”

He’d once been told his spontaneity was his greatest flaw. It was how he’d found himself on a ship sailing off to the West Indies, after all.

Chapter 4: Rotten Row

Notes:

*plays yakety sax on repeat*

Babington left with an iron-clad promise to return. Crowe followed his lead shortly thereafter with a much vaguer promise, though all three men knew he would undoubtedly pull through for he always did; and thus Sidney’s morning passed in an uneventful, if distracted, fashion.

Though he had plenty to do, his thoughts circled back to Miss Heywood more often than not. Ruined correspondence laid crumpled at his feet, spotted with ink. The pile grew by the hour. 

Why had a respectable countess chosen her, of all the young ladies who would have gladly pitched one of their own into the Thames for a chance to rise above, when she was plain and in possession of a dowry of little consequence-- a fact he would wager on with absolute certainty, as he’d never heard her name, and just as the Society Book trussed gentlemen up for the slaughter, their more sensitive counterparts were known in similar fashion. It was an anomaly. A bump in the straight-line order. And, despite himself, Sidney was drawn to the mystery, curious to know what must have made her special.

In the logical vein, he also needed to assess the damage.

Lady Worcester was not one to be trifled with. As he would for Miss Lambe, he had no doubt she would come to her charge’s defense with similar fervor, if with a lady’s delicate, though no less devastating, touch.

As everyone knew, the ladder of Society was precarious at best, and a deadly hazard as its worst. The Parkers were a well-bred family from a blueblood line, but beyond a knighthood, they hadn’t a single title to the name. By a stroke of luck, his eldest brother had married up a rung with Mary -- Tom had been and could still be disarmingly charming, when needs must -- and their parents, God rest their souls, had left a comfortable inheritance for each brother and a dowry for Diana. They were settled and well-liked.

Long ago, Sidney had decided his sights were set much higher than settled. Perhaps it was the madness inherent in all younger sons that had clutched him tight, but he’d balked at the idea of turning to clergy or commission for a bettering foothold. And as he’d long ago lost his appetite for matrimony, his ambitious climb rested solely on his shoulders through merit and merit alone. By this fact, he was all too aware that it would take only a singular misstep to fall.

While his friendship with Babington had opened doors he hadn’t known existed, he wasn’t clueless nor a fool. His ability to make money hand over fist mattered very little to the peerage. They would gladly deal in business with him in their private parlors, and, in the very same night, happily slam the door to their dinner party in his face. No invitations would come his way, and he could forget about White’s altogether. If he wanted more -- and he always wanted more -- he had to play by the rules. Even if he suspected landowning gentlemen and their tight hold on the way of things would one day go the way of serfdom: as a footnote in history.

But his station and its shifting nature wasn’t what truly unsettled him. 

Always and forever, it seemed the specter of Sanditon was fit to loom over him. 

For years, Tom’s dream of building the village up to rival Brighton had been just that. A passing fancy he would press on during Christmastime, or birthdays, or when the brandy flowed too freely. Sidney loved his brother, but he saw little return on investment in Sanditon, as did most investors or bankers Tom had met with-- his foot in the door, in part, because the name Parker meant something. Then, his brother had gotten his hooks into Lady Denham and her fortune, and the dream had crystallized. It was a ramshackle idea built on silt and sand. Sometimes Sidney felt he was the only one who understood that one swoop of a mighty tide would bring it crumbling into the sea; a realist among idealists. He wanted no part in the venture, but neither did he want to see Tom in a sponging-house, Mary and the children in dire straits, or Arthur and Diana made to pick up the pieces.

He did what was asked of him. Promised to lure friends once summer chased society out to the fringes, and introduced Tom where he could. But the knowledge that the enterprise could crash down on them all at once was staggering, and Sidney knew he didn’t have the means with which to withstand the churn. It was a bitter tonic, but he was not averse to swallowing the truth when he had to. 

No, he wouldn’t grovel to Miss Heywood; but he would tread lightly. At least until he knew what he was facing.

A time later, Sidney’s butler alerted him to Babington’s arrival. “And he offers use of his conveyance,” he said.

Which was well enough. A finely-made carriage with the crest of an earldom would speed them along the cobblestones.

After cleaning his hands of ink and gathering his coat, hat and cane, Sidney walked out the front door of Bedford Place to find the Earl of Babington’s carriage on the pavement. The door swung open by the earl himself -- an incredible feat, to be sure, as most doors that were meant to be opened by footmen and porters had no handle on the inside.

“There he is!” said Babington as Sidney clambered in.

“My apologies, Babs,” he replied. “Time got away from me.”

“Don’t trouble yourself on my account,” he said, and after passing a word on to the driver that they were all settled, the carriage lurched and they were off. He turned to Sidney, “You know I’m not one to pass up a stroll down Rotten Row when I’m in such fine company, but the invitation was rather sudden.”

“Miss Lambe asked me to avail myself.”

He leaned forward and laid scrutiny. After a pause, he declared, “Horse shit.”

“Indeed?”

“Utter horse shit. I’ve known you since we were lads in Oxford, Parker, and you’re anxious. Who else is a part of this walking committee?”

Begrudgingly he named Miss Lambe’s usual accomplices, and admitted his suspicion that Miss Heywood and Miss Denham would be in company.

“Miss Denham you say?” Babington murmured, though the carrot Sidney had dangled to distract from the other young lady’s name wasn’t quite enough. He refocused and pounced. “Tell me you don’t mean to call out Miss Heywood in the streets?”

“‘Call out’? Come now, I’m a bastard but I’m not quite a rat bastard, Babs.”

“Then her connection to Lady Susan’s shaken you.”

“You imply me missish.”

“I imply you’ve sound judgment. Though perhaps not… if you’ve deceptively carted your bosom friends off to make a scene on the promenade. What a spectacle that’d be, eh?"

“Worry naught, the young maidens are safe from my dastardly wiles.” 

The implication that Crowe and Babington both were meant to be the young maidens was met with the earl’s good-natured laugh. His ability to parody himself just as well as he did others marked him as a different peer of the realm, and a better man than most.

“I’m not much afraid for her as I am afraid for you, my friend,” Babs teased. “I’ve sent my man on a mission to unravel this mystery miss’ connection to the countess. Shall we make a wager? I’ll throw a note down for a long-lost cousin.”

“Plausible, but you don’t think…”

The two gentlemen shared a look as Sidney’s sentence tapered off, as well it should. It was a known secret Lady Susan and the Prince Regent were very, very close acquaintances in the sense that a royal by-blow could have been a consequence. While quietly speculating within oneself was acceptable, frankly speaking it into existence was very poor form indeed.

“Cousin, you said?” asked Sidney.

The ride through the city was slow-going. It wasn’t yet the fashionable hour for the ton to pollute the streets in search of diversion, but as London grew ever larger, the ability to travel even a mile grew ever harder. By the time they reached Grosvenor-gate, it was twenty minutes past the hour. Clearly Miss Lambe and her entourage had not waited, as they were nowhere to be seen.

They might have otherwise altered course, but Babington was determined to see Miss Denham and Sidney had his reasons, and so they pressed on with wordless nods.

An onlooker would have set their pace as ‘brisk’ vice ‘leisurely’ and thus it did not take long at all for the gentlemen to come upon a scene with very familiar actors.

The path that led from the gate was bisected many times through the Park, but the first from the northerly led from Cumberland, notoriously known for its dangerous passing; men on horseback and in other modes of transport thundered through on their way to elsewhere, and accidents sometimes happened. Luckily, it seemed no one was hurt in this case -- physically, at least -- but gentlemen prides were smarting.

“I do say, you nearly rode us down!” a gentleman cried out, and to neither Babington or Sidney’s astonishment, the bellowing was directed at none other than their friend Mr. Crowe who sat within a handsome curricle pulled by two chestnut geldings.

“I hulloed a far distance back,” Crowe retorted, and waved his riding crop to a point behind him. “Perhaps you should have gathered--”

At this point, Sidney and Babington had come upon the crowd. To Sidney’s dismay, he saw that they had indeed caught up to Miss Lambe’s party -- Mrs. Griffith was clutching the Beaufort sisters as if they’d actually been trampled by hooves -- but Georgiana was nowhere to be seen.

“Mrs. Griffiths!” he called out. Her response was a near shriek. The Beaufort sisters jumped together and the man who’d been waving an angry fist at Crowe turned around to reveal himself as Sir Edward Denham. The scene would have been quite comical if Sidney wasn’t steadily becoming enraged at all its absurdity. He stabbed out his hand. “What is the meaning of all-- this?”

“Oh, Mr. Parker, thank goodness you’ve arrived!” cried Mrs. Griffiths. A handkerchief was rapidly produced from her reticule and she waved it about tremulously. “Only by the grace of God did we not meet our end! This gentleman -- if we may even call him such -- almost… almost-- oh, I cannot bear it!”

As she dissolved into tears, he turned his sights onto Crowe -- who looked woefully bored, even as he was being accused of negligent murder -- and Sir Edward. He gave them both a pointed look that demanded an immediate explanation.

“Mr. Parker,” said Sir Edward, “I wish our meeting was under better circumstances, but Mrs. Griffiths is --”

“Come now, gentlemen,” Babington said, clearly and correctly interpreting the situation to be in desperate need of resolution. “Though I am sure Mr. Crowe gave notice of his goings, perhaps the party was so enraptured by its own very splendid company that it-- well, went unnoticed.”

Mrs. Griffiths’ tears seized up immediately and she sniffled into her handkerchief. Rightfully assessing the compliment, however saccharine it was, it still came from an earl, and thus made her near-death experience much easier to handle. “Yes, yes, that must be it!”

Sir Edward boggled. “But--”

“You heard her,” said Crowe, “my fair--”

“Mrs. Griffiths,” she said.

Crowe grinned roguishly. “Mrs. Griffiths. Of course. Now, I do apologize for giving you and your lovely charges a fright. Perhaps I may have your permission to take them for a turn as recompense?”

Sir Edward sputtered in disbelief, Babington sighed in relief, and the ladies among company fairly melted.

Sidney, on the other hand, thought he was going insane. “And speaking of charges, Mrs. Griffiths, where is mine?!”

She jumped. “Oh-- oh! Miss Lambe is--” She stared down the path. Her lips trembled. “She is-- well--”

His skin prickled and he gritted his teeth. “Is she alone?”

“No, dear Heavens, no, sir, she is with her dear friends Miss Heywood and--”

Sidney stormed off before she finished her sentence. Of all the hair-brained, foolish things Georgiana could have done, being one of three unchaperoned ladies in the middle of Hyde Park quickly jumped to the top of the list. It might have been too much to ask for her presence to go unnoticed -- the promenade in the direction he was stomping was gradually growing busier, and he caught a few surprised glances to his person as he went -- he hoped their lack of chaperone did. Anger crackled in his blood. He’d promised Lambe he would look after her; help her fit into her proper place in Society. Didn’t she care that one scandal could ruin her chances?

“You’re muttering,” said Babington, who must have followed on Sidney's heels as he’d fled.

“I may as well let it out now before I unleash it in full force in front of every man, woman and child. And horse.”

“Mrs. Griffiths assured me it was an innocent mistake, and they were all separated after Crowe came along. They can’t have gone far.”

It was true enough, as they came around a slight bend in the path and three young ladies indeed appeared. Miss Denham’s red hair was unmistakable, and Georgiana’s infectious laugh pierced the air. And Miss Heywood-- 

He pulled up short. She swept a fall of chestnut hair to the side at the exact moment he looked to expose the line of her neck. A strange flash of feeling he attributed to his mood shot up his spine.

“Where did you say she came from, Babs?”

Babington, who had eyes only for one lady, turned to him in a daze. “Hm?”

“Miss Heywood,” he prompted.

“How am I to know? I don’t have a primer on every female in England.”

“No, but your aunt does.”

“And now I’m an expert by proxy. You ought to be wearing a powdered wig for this cross-examination,” Babs replied. He shot Sidney a bemused look. “Don’t tell me you’re taken with the girl after one look at her in the daylight?”

“Perish the thought,” he answered sardonically, though they both knew it wasn’t the full truth. 

Done with lagging behind, they both put on speed, and when they reached an appropriate distance for calling out, Sidney did so.

If the scene at the crossroads was fit for the stage, then the one that unfolded now would have been a full-on production made for nightly repeats. Georgiana whipped around on her heel in a decidedly unladylike fashion, and, as her arm was linked with Miss Heywood’s, she too was dragged along. Newton’s laws being what they were, they tumbled to a graceless heap, arms pinwheeling as they went. 

With a thump, dust lifted into the air. 

Miss Denham took a poised step backward to avoid it.

“Good God,” Babington murmured. It was a sentiment with which Sidney heartily agreed.

They hurried forward, each gentleman taking care to upright the ladies in questionable repose.

Once on her feet, Georgiana gave him an incredulous once-over. “You came,” she said faintly.

Anger had fueled his warpath, but he was finding it hard to keep a hold of the emotion now that he was in front of her. Perhaps her fall had knocked it temporarily away, but the general feeling of dislike towards him seemed to have gone. He’d have to give her a stern talking-to about escaping Mrs. Griffiths, but… perhaps not right here, right now. “Well,” he said stiffly, “you did ask.”

Babington cleared his throat -- a poor attempt to choke back laughter -- and Sidney’s gaze swung to his friend, who still had Miss Heywood by the elbow. Dirt and dust ruined her skirts, and her shoulders were shaking. For a moment, he was concerned she was about to cry or faint, but the comedy wasn’t yet over, it seemed, because she began to laugh instead. It spread to Georgiana, and even the stoic Miss Denham cracked a smile.

“Ho, Babington! Ho, Parker!” a voice bellowed, and right on cue, Crowe’s curricle careened around the corner. Reins were pulled and hooves went flying. The conveyance came to a screeching halt. Miss Beaufort -- though one couldn’t be quite sure which sister she was -- sat passenger. She gave a little moan, green around the gills.

“Crowe,” both gentlemen chimed in response. 

Georgiana and Miss Heywood’s laughter had subsided into sniggering giggles at this point, but it was clear Crowe’s arrival was threatening to bring them back into hysterics.

Mrs. Griffiths then made her appearance, huffing and puffing, handkerchief flying aloft. “Oh, sir, Mr. Crowe! Please! Do halt! Miss Beaufort please come down from there this instant -- oh, my life flashed before my eyes!”

Babington went to assist the Miss Beaufort. As she stepped shakily down, Sidney caught the industrious gleam in Georgiana’s eyes.

“I think I shall take Miss Beaufort’s place,” she declared. “What say you, Mr. Crowe?”

“I say it would be my pleasure,” he replied.

“Absolutely not,” Sidney said, but Georgiana was already handing herself up into the death trap and he couldn’t very well grab her bodily out of Crowe’s curricle without causing yet another scene. He had no doubt the gossip papers would already be having a field day as it was: an earl coming to the rescue of maidens and their chaperone at the Cumberland crossing; unaccompanied, unmarried ladies falling and laughing hysterically in the midst of gentlemen.

“Fear not, Parker,” said Crowe. He doffed his hat. “Miss Lambe is in my hands.”

“That is what I’m afraid of,” he gritted out just in time to be left, quite literally, in the dust.

Thankfully, the comedy of errors drew to a final end: Mrs. Griffiths and her charges, plus Sir Edward, were quickly wrapped up in Babington’s unerring charm. It did not go unnoticed by Sidney that Miss Denham did not exactly shy away from his attentions either, and even took the earl’s arm when offered as the group proceeded along the path as if nothing at all had recently gone amiss.

Which, unsurprisingly, left Sidney with Miss Heywood. 

“Miss Heywood,” he greeted.

“Mr. Parker,” she replied.

They shared a look -- hers rather more shrewd and assessing than he thought it had any right to be -- but there was naught to be done but for him to offer his arm and her to take it.

They walked in stony silence. Genial chattering from Babington’s brood ahead of them stabbed at them periodically, but the longer they remained unspeaking, the harder Sidney found it to start. Any gentleman worth his salt could hold and lead a conversation; being good at it was almost considered an artform. He was performing very poorly in this case.

“Are you--”

“Can I--”

He looked down at her; she looked up at him. They locked eyes and just as quickly broke apart.

After a moment, she gave a small sigh. “Mr. Parker,” she started carefully, “I owe you an apology. That is-- I wish you’d let me explain my behavior last night before holding further judgment on my character.”

“Go on,” he said, surprised despite himself.

“Though I’ve only known Georgiana -- I mean, Miss Lambe -- but a short time, I am already very fond of her. And just as quickly, I’ve become… protective.”

A flicker of indignation flashed inside him. 

Before he could reprimand her for any assumptions she may or may not have, she continued on, “There were others last night who were very unkind to Miss Lambe. They said dreadful things. Horrible things. I wanted to-- I wanted so badly to…”

“Yes?”

“I wanted to spill punch on their fine muslin gowns,” she said darkly, as if that punishment wasn’t quite all of what she wanted to do. Her color heightened and she sent him a sideways glance. “I didn’t mean to insert myself how I did after you came, and for that I am sorry.”

“But you’d do it again.”

“If I thought Miss Lambe needed a rescue, in a heartbeat.”

“And who were these people you spoke of, Miss Heywood?”

Her mouth opened and closed. “I’m not sure…”

“If you believe yourself so protective, then surely you’ll feel obliged to tell me so that I may prevent her from encountering these miscreants ever again.”

“Then you may as well shutter her away forever,” she replied sourly. 

“Surely you don’t imply you heard every person--”

“Of course not, sir. But Lady Pandora held court on the subject and, as I am reliably told, all the young ladies of the ton follow to the beat of her drum. Georgiana -- Miss Lambe -- will be unfairly judged.”

“But not by you.”

“Nor Miss Denham. ‘The eyes are more exact witnesses than the ears.’”

His eyebrows shot up. “Heraclitus.”

She gave him a look that could only be described as smug. “I know.”

“Hm.”

She gave another sigh. “If only they’d give Miss Lambe a chance. Set aside whatever… notions… they have.”

“It’s not so simple,” he replied. “We live by society’s rigid rules, and those who make the rules cannot stand to see the pecking order changed. Miss Lambe is--” He cast around for an explanation, but there wasn’t one suitable for an appropriate conversation with a young lady. He couldn’t very well tell her that the ton was prejudiced beyond belief, even though they were, and had no qualms airing this fact, which they frequently did. Fortunes had been made off sugar and cotton; but, more to the point, the vile industry of buying and selling of human beings. No one would admit the vulgar truth, even as they reveled in its successes. “Miss Lambe is undoubtedly going to bring a very suitable gentleman up to scratch, and I’m sure this Lady Pandora is livid over her change in fortune.”

Miss Heywood eyed him dubiously, but gamely pressed back, “But what if Miss Lambe doesn’t want to marry a man with a title? What if she doesn’t want to marry at all?”

“Why would she not?”

“As you know, anything a woman has upon her marriage becomes her husband's. Her children are his property. He is the master of the house, of her. I can’t imagine Miss Lambe would ever be satisfied taking orders from any man.” Again, she glanced his way. “She is very independent.”

“Independence is expensive to maintain, Miss Heywood. A living is wages earned, and respectable women do not work.”

“A respectable woman can indeed, sir! I must mention Mrs. Siddons, or Miss Angelica Catalani.”

“Goddesses of the demimonde, to be sure.”

“Then what of female authors? Surely that must be a genteel enough occupation for you.”

“If she’s too busy writing, then who will rear the children?”

Miss Heywood’s mouth snapped open, no doubt to impart some reproach on his person, but his teasing grin must have dissuaded her. She huffed and the squeeze of her hand against his arm became very hostile indeed. 

“A woman should be able to invest in any business she chooses, or take up any respectable profession, just as a man,” she said. “If she chooses to marry, then so be it; but it hardly seems fair to say: spinsterhood or matrimony. Pick one, young lady, and be happy to burden your family until they turn up their toes, or become window dressing for your husband.”

“Upon my word, Miss Heywood. You have very liberal ideas.”

“Go ahead. Tell me I’m wrong. You don’t have to think of marriage at all. You could go to your grave an unmarried man and it would-- it would be perfectly acceptable, whereas a woman is considered ancient at thirty, and ‘left on the shelf’ two years before!”

Her points were fair, so he gave them to her. “I aspire to give Miss Lambe the life she deserves,” he said, then, more wryly, “Preferably with a titled husband.”

“Everyone wants a duke or a viscount, but there’s hardly enough of them to go around or they're ancient. Cannot there be a concession for love? Perhaps even affection, or friendship?”

“Haven’t you heard, Miss Heywood? There isn’t such a thing.”

“And what do you know of love, sir?”

More than her, he’d wagered, but he batted her pointed question away. “You yourself are in Society to husband hunt, are you not?”

“Husband hunt!” Her cheeks turned more blotchy than prettily flushed. “As much as you are looking for a wife, I’m sure. I haven’t found a single gentleman I would happily call ‘husband’. Not a one.”

Seeing that he’d made her well and truly angry, Sidney did not reply, and decided it was best to remain silent for a long while. 

The walk -- despite his current companion and the distant, whooping cries of delight from Mr. Crowe and Georgiana -- was serene and lovely. And it gave him time to think. 

Miss Heywood was not at all what he’d imagined. With her connection to Lady Susan and their brief encounter, he thought she’d be haughty or manipulative; throwing Miss Denham at Lord Babington to weasel her way to him so as not to rock the proverbial boat. But it was clear she was good-hearted, if extremely unconventional, and-- well, he didn’t quite know what to do with her now.

It was good for Georgiana to have a companion who was so steadfast and couldn’t be swayed by the Lady Pandoras of the world, but he did want his ward to take her proper place in Society; meaning, no radical talks of remaining marriageless and, heaven forbid, working. Miss Heywood stood as an influence, but a true friend was a rarer find indeed.

“So if you are not in Society for a husband, why are you here?” he asked, finally.

“To see a greater part of the world,” she replied. “I’m from a small village and a large family. Before last year, I’d never been beyond the parish walls. Though… I must confess with much embarrassment on my part… that the idea is for me to marry.”

He arched his eyebrow in good humor. “I see.”

“But I’m not hunting,” she hastened on to say. “It’s simply that I’m the eldest daughter, and believe it or not, I do know my duty. ‘To marry, and if at all possible, to marry well,’ to quote the Lady Society’s Monthly Journal. But I have little to offer. Beyond myself.”

Sidney, who long thought he’d lost in heart many years ago, felt it flutter at the bald misery in her words. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I’m not fishing for pity, Mr. Parker,” she said. “My dance card remained empty all night at the ball, and I received but one flower this morning.”

His pulse jumped in his throat. “You didn’t like them?”

“They were exquisite,” she lamented, “but how can I truly come to love them when they were so clearly arranged by my patroness?”

Wrestling with the idea of confessing that the flowers were, in fact, sent from him via Lord Babington, he instead wondered if his friend had taken his suggestion at face value and wrote an idiotic love confession on the card. Clearly not, as Miss Heywood hadn’t punched him on sight. “Then perhaps I can solve the dance card problem, and promise to take you about the room-- if we are ever again at the same assembly hall. If you’d like.”

For this, he earned a surprised look from Miss Heywood. “If you insist,” she said, after a moment. “I rather do like dancing.”

The rest of the walk continued on. He learned a little more about Miss Heywood’s circumstances and found, once they weren’t arguing, that she could be quite nice company. And just as that thought popped into his head, he also had to admit she wasn’t quite as plain as he’d thought the previous night-- even if she lacked conventional beauty. Her eyes twinkled when she smiled, and she rather smiled a lot. By the time Crowe and Georgiana rejoined the walking group, all limbs and appendages intact, Sidney found he rather didn’t mind Miss Heywood at all. It was a rapid amendment of his esteem which, in his experience, always meant trouble.

Notes:

Angelica Catalani

Sarah Siddons

Chapter 5: The Waltz

“--and it is noted with much interest that Mr. Sidney Parker, lately of London, was seen in company with a recently unknown Miss Heywood after the aforementioned near-mishap at the Cumberland Crossing,” Lady Susan finished reading the gossip spot by fluffing it with great flourish and then setting it aside.

Charlotte wanted to melt into her seat. Only a day had passed since the walk in Hyde Park. It felt impossible that anyone -- especially a notorious gossip columnist -- would take note of her comings and goings, or who she’d been seen with, but there it was in print. Two decades in Willingden had passed without much fuss. How had so much transpired in only two days now that she was in London? “Lady Susan--”

“My dear Charlotte,” she said, “how many times must I insist on dropping the courtesy when we are dining en famille?”

“At least once more,” she replied with a smile, but even she could tell it didn’t reach her eyes. It was the second breakfast she sat having to explain her actions of the day previous. Surely Lady Susan had not expected a country girl to be such trouble. “I can’t even begin to express, yet again, how sorry I am if I’ve embarrassed you--”

“You did no such thing,” Lady Susan interrupted firmly. “We’ve all been the subject of idle and inane scrutiny at least once. Is it, after all, what happens when you push all us busybody aristos together.”

If Charlotte had had tea, she would have choked on it. “Please, I do not deserve a defense.” Not at your expense went unsaid.

“Fear not, it is for my benefit and mine alone. I must make fun of myself at least once a week, otherwise I fear I will succumb to my own hubris,” she said, and leaned in to whisper sotto voice, “I keep a very tight schedule, if you must know.”

“And it coincides neatly on the morn I grace Lady Society’s column.”

“Strange, isn’t it?” It was clear she would allow no further self-castigation on Charlotte’s part. “You walked with a gentleman in a public park in view of a chaperone and in good company. Tongues will wag and eyebrows may rise, but you haven’t discredited yourself nor me by any means. If anything, Society is on tenterhooks for what you will do next.”

Her stomach clenched. “Me?”

“You’ve befriended two very interesting young ladies with a cut of another,” she replied, “and have been seen twice now with very popular gentlemen, to include Lord Babington--”

“He’s very nice,” she murmured dazedly.

“Quite right, but he also happens to be in line for a duchy. All this without mentioning your friendship with me. Forgive my vanity, but I am the Countess of Worcester. Your arrival has made a splash, my dear, and the Season’s barely begun.”

Charlotte took a nice, long sip of her tea. Now that Lady Susan had laid out the pieces, she was able to see the outsider’s perspective: she had unwittingly made herself popular. Perhaps not in a good sense -- or in any other sense but making others curious, for now -- but her gut feelings had somehow guided her toward the front-and-center. Spurning the most popular lady at the ball had indeed made a statement. For the London set who wanted to see a scheme play out, she may as well have painted herself as the cunning villainess for them.

“I didn’t mean to draw attention to myself,” she said, finally and awkwardly. “Even when you and I first met, I could barely keep myself from spilling my thoughts. I often act at the behest of my emotions.”

“We all do, at some point or other,” said Lady Susan.

“Yes, but in Willingden I have very few people to offend, as everyone knows my nature well enough.” She barely restrained herself from chewing on her bottom lip. “Perhaps… Perhaps I should go home.”

“Absolutely not. No. You mustn’t, Charlotte.” Lady Susan moved to hold Charlotte’s hand. “Your adventure has barely begun. Don’t you remember what you told me at Lady Smythe’s ball? You said your greatest wish was to see the world for yourself. London is only your first step, my dear, and I will not let you run away from your destiny so soon.”

She couldn’t speak, her throat clamped tightly together with the urge to cry. Lady Susan had been so very kind to her from the start. The fact that she’d remembered Charlotte’s rambling monologue about her dreams of Italy and France and beyond poked and prodded at the little, quiet voice inside of her that told her she was unworthy of such attention. Ridiculously lucky was what she was, to have found such a dear friend. She sniffled, and dabbed at the corners of her eye with the cloth hastily offered forth by a nearby footman.

“Thank you, Lady Susan,” she replied, after she’d comported herself.

“Susan.” Lady Susan patted her hand. “Now that I’m relatively sure you aren’t going to run… let us have some fun. What of this Mr. Parker?”

Again, Charlotte was very glad she’d left her teacup on the saucer. “Mr. Parker?” she squeaked.

Lady Susan’s eyes gleamed. “The very one.”

“There is-- well, what can I say?” She cast about for a quick escape, but there wasn’t one readily available, lest she wanted to feint a swoon. “He arrived suddenly at the Park--”

“Oh?”

“Because Miss Lambe asked him to!”

“I see.”

“And I thought he was going to confront me--”

“Ah?”

“But he didn’t. Well. I suppose we did argue a bit. He had this very annoying idea that Georgiana must marry a titled man, regardless of her wants or affection toward said man, which is preposterous -- marriage surely can’t lie directly on the foundation of one’s ability to wield a banknote! And when I asked him about love, he said it didn’t exist and then accused me of husband-hunting!” 

She drew in a sharp breath, the memory of her conversation with Mr. Parker having unlocked a spark of indignation she’d tried to bury under good cheer. He really wasn’t so bad, on the whole, but the way he’d breezily countered her statements picked at something inside of her. On the exhale, she realized Lady Susan was looking at her thoughtfully.

“I have never seen you quite so… lively,” said Lady Susan, “when speaking on a gentleman.”

“None had yet given me cause,” she said, but she saw immediately that her reply had tumbled her into an easily-wrought trap.

“Passion and anger are different sides of the same coin, my dear. Similarly to love and hate.”

“Oh, Susan, you can’t possibly be trying to say… to say that…”

“No, no. Of course not. Two encounters don’t make a match.”

Charlotte nodded slowly along, but Lady Susan’s easy dismissal did not offer her any relief for some instinct told her the missing end to the statement was: But it could.

 

-

 

Unbeknownst to Charlotte or Lady Susan, Mr. Sidney Parker was making his way across town at that very moment. Had he known he was the topic of discussion, he would have been able to explain the worrisome itch of his ears which had started the moment he’d stepped foot in the hackney and he might have left it alone. As it was, he was sure he’d left the driver thinking he had some incurable ear-related malady.

Augusta Griffiths' Boarding House for Gentle Ladies was wedged between other similar boarding homes, and sat not too far from the Bloomsbury district and Bedford Square. The walk wasn’t terribly far, but the grey overcast promised rain and the less time he strayed here, the better.

As soon as he stepped foot on the cobblestones, curtains split open and curious faces gathered at window panes to watch him walk by. He felt like prey. A gazelle amongst lionesses. Worry of being hunted down by an ambitious mama nipped at his heels and hurried him up the steps to relative protection.

Mrs. Griffiths answered his summons with a cry of surprise, as though he hadn’t sent a note with his intentions of coming by and hadn’t received a reply with her full support.

“Mr. Parker, how nice of you to visit!” she said the words loudly enough that he was sure the entire street was now privy to his arrival if they hadn’t been before, and summarily dragged him inside.

A row of floral arrangements were lined up in the small foyer, but it otherwise lacked ostentatious decoration. He’d employed Mrs. Griffiths due to her decent reputation and word-of-mouth recommendation, but this was his first actual visit to the boarding house itself. He was glad to see it was clean, and if not swathed in finery, well-maintained.

He followed Mrs. Griffiths to the parlor room, which wasn’t far down the hall at all, and found Georgiana and the Beaufort sisters therein. Only one of the ladies seemed unshaken by his arrival, and he and Georgiana shared a brief -- and, truth be told, unusual -- moment of amusement as the Beauforts began stabbing their embroidery with extreme and dangerous haste.

“Miss Lambe,” he said, and sketched a quick bow, “and the Misses Beauforts. Good day.”

“Ouch!” one of the sisters cried, and Georgiana rolled her eyes.

Sidney sent her a cool look of warning. She gave a tiny shrug of her shoulders in reply.

After ensuring no permanent damage had come, the sisters were ushered from the parlor room, and Mrs. Griffiths busied herself with arranging tea and refreshments.

Alone at last, ward and guardian faced off.

Though it would have been proper to remain standing, Sidney took a seat in the armchair across Georgiana and removed his hat. “You know why I’ve come, I’m sure.”

“No doubt to march me to the guillotine,” said replied, chin tilting up in defiance.

“Imported from France, to be sure.”

“It must have cost you a fortune, Sidney.”

Now he wanted to roll his eyes. Georgiana held herself straight-backed and still, as if he was truly going to march her up a platform to meet a sharp end. He reminded himself, gently, that she was but a young woman, in a relatively strange place, and it was indeed possible to have a conversation without letting her goad him into anger. He was an adult. “Can we not be civil with one another?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why? What’s happened?”

“Nothing’s happened. Civility is the way of the world. You and I are both too… mature… to converse any other way.”

“Too mature? I don’t believe you. Something’s happened.” Her eyes narrowed further. “You’re in a good mood.”

He didn’t think Georgiana paid him enough mind to know him so well, but she wasn’t entirely wrong. Though the more she harangued him, the less true it was becoming. “You accused me not one minute ago of threatening you with the guillotine, and now you say I’m in a good mood.”

“It’s precisely because you didn’t react that I have no other choice but to think so.” Her suspicion smoothed away all at once, replaced instead with a look of mild resignation. “You’ve found a way to rid yourself of me, haven’t you? That’s why you’ve come. Placed me here with Mrs. Griffiths permanently--”

“Georgiana,” he interrupted forcefully. Her demeanor had swung entirely to the left of morose, and as usual, he had no guide with which to smoothly navigate. He was neither father nor friend, and knew she would balk at any of his attempts to fill those roles. More softly, he continued, “You will not be rid of me so easily, no matter what it is you do or say.”

He saw her hands relax from fists, but disbelief still colored her expression.

“I want us to come to an understanding. That’s why I’ve come today,” he said. “Neither one of us could have foreseen our current circumstances, but they are what they are… and until you marry, or come into your majority, they won’t change. I am your guardian, and I want to see you settled. I want to honor your father’s last wish.”

He couldn’t bring himself to say the words: I want to see you happy. But his words were otherwise direct, and he hoped they would be enough to bridge the gap between them, if only momentarily. Silence hung between them for a long while, and Georgiana’s scrutiny of him intensified. 

Eventually, her defiant gaze cut away to the fireplace. “And what about what I want?”

He thought then of Miss Heywood, and her radical ideas of remaining unmarried; of choosing one’s own fate without regard to society’s rigid structure. “What is it that you want?”

“You’ve never asked me that before,” she said. “Not even when you came to collect me. Not even when you brought me here. You only ever tell me what to do, or where to go, or how to behave. Forgive me if I haven’t an answer to give you now.”

“Forgive me for not asking sooner, then.”

Her eyes swung back to his. “You’ve gone mad.”

“No, Miss Lambe, I want you to stop driving me mad. Clambering into dangerous curricles and running off in Hyde Park unchaperoned-- it’s not done.”

“Well, I did it and I sit here unharmed still.” Her lips twitched up into a barely-there smile. “Though I must admit Mr. Crowe took a turn or two that had me holding onto my bonnet for dear life.”

“I’d assumed those screams were from delight.”

“Oh, they were,” she laughed, and sobered quickly, as if realizing she had just shared a moment of humor with him. “It’s not like you’d care either way.”

“There you go again with your assumptions, Miss Lambe. I care very much. D’you think I would insert myself into your life as often as I do if I didn’t?” 

As he spoke, the realization formed; of course the girl didn’t think he cared a whit about her. Beyond a few moments of warmth at the very beginning, he’d done what he thought one did with a ward, and placed himself thoroughly at arm’s length away. Distancing himself might have ordinarily worked, but Georgiana was not ordinary. This was the first time he’d visited her at home. Yesterday was the first time he’d taken up her offer for a walk. There had been no disguising her shock at his arrival. 

As if allowing him his cruel epiphany, Georgiana did not comment.

He took a breath. “Asking us to be allies may be too much, but let us not be enemies.”

“You’re asking for common ground. Asking.” She made a show of pinching her forearm. “I must be dreaming.”

“It’s rather more of a negotiation,” he replied dryly. “Now, if you’re quite done with the dramatics...”

As far as terms went, he and Georgiana spent a better part of an hour talking and, ever the daughter of Mr. Lambe, she drove a hard bargain. To his surprise, the majority of her demands were, more or less, that he take a vested interest in her Season; attend more functions, and come to know the men who, as she claimed, he was so ready to shackle her with.

“If you want me properly settled,” she said, “then it’s only fair you experience the same torture.”

“A ball can hardly be compared to a pillory.”

“Then you shouldn’t have any complaints attending one with me.”

He nearly groaned. “I’m busy.”

“I have six invitations thus far. Surely your schedule can fit one of them,” she said innocently. Said invitations were conjured from her notebook, and she spread them out like a deck of cards. Her grin reminded him altogether too much of her father. “Take your pick, Mr. Parker.”

A week and three days later, Sidney found himself attending the Duchess of Kingston’s ball. Without asking, he’d been informed that it was to celebrate her youngest daughter’s coming "out", and promised to be one of the Season’s finest parties.

He arrived at the palatial manse fashionably late so as to avoid the parade of announcements. Anonymity in such a well-traveled crowd wouldn’t last long, but the current crush allowed him to procure a drink and scan his environment in peace. The receiving room was enormous; its ceiling painted in the trompe l'oeil style. Music mingled with voices, and either hallway was packed.

Too soon, he was intercepted by a fellow, who introduced Sidney to more fellows, and talk turned to nebulous remarks on business and quickly proceeded into meatier gossip. Though women often held the title of being nosey, Sidney had it on good authority to say that men were worse.

“Say, Parker,” said a man who Sidney was reasonably sure was named Cummings, “weren’t you just talk of the town a fortnight back?”

“I couldn’t say,” was his dry response, though the group toasted with hearty cheers as if he were playing at coy. He truly hadn’t a clue. From time to time, Babington sent him a clipping in the post with a personal note, but to his knowledge none had been recently received.

“Right, right,” Cummings said. “That Miss Heywood looks like she’d give a man a good thrashing if he kiss-and-told, eh? A little rough around the edges but nothing a little polish couldn’t fix up!”

The group again burst into laughter and side comments, and Sidney had the sudden urge to grab Cummings by the cravat and shake his brains loose.

“I beg your pardon, sir?” he snapped, his tone sour enough Cummings held his hands up in a placating manner. The comment begged for a proper set-down, but the night had barely begun and he was far too sober for an altercation. “I’ll remind you that Miss Heywood is a young lady.”

“Quite right, quite right,” someone else said, and Sidney quickly excused himself.

As soon as he was free, he could have hit himself. No matter what asinine rumor had been floating among the masses, he had all but declared it true. The lady doth protest too much, after all, and he’d nearly fought a man.

Even so, he couldn’t begin to wonder what Cummings referenced. The last time he’d seen Miss Heywood, it was departing her company at the Park. Though he knew Georgiana and her made frequent social calls with one another -- and apparently attended a tea party or some such with Miss Denham -- he hadn’t again crossed her path.

In a way, he felt like he knew her like he knew a character in a favorite novel. Georgiana had taken his olive branch and ran with it, and thus had taken to writing him alarmingly detailed accounts of her activities; and, like a very clever punishment, quizzed him at their next meeting to ensure he’d read them. Miss Heywood was a frequent personality, saying and doing very clever things.

Eventually, either he found Babington or Babington found him and he was able to privately ask for an explanation, but whatever sordid affair he’d been imagining turned out to be, quite literally, a tepid walk in the park.

“Damn,” he cursed. His reaction had been well and truly overblown. “Cummings made it sound like we’d gotten on in the hedgerows.”

“I keep telling you to read the blasted papers yourself,” Babington said. “Source material and all that. What’s the harm, eh? You defended the girl’s honor. Besides, Cummings is a slimy windbag and no one listens to him anyway.”

Sidney lifted his glass and they clinked a toast.

Soon after, the sea of people ahead of them parted and Babington gave him a swift elbow to the side. “There she is,” he whispered.

For a moment, Sidney’s mind jumped to Miss Heywood, but a flash of red hair across the room dashed his hopes. Hopes? He blinked at his glass of traitorous ratafia and quickly tamped down his unwarranted reaction. “You don’t need my permission to approach,” he said dryly.

“No, but reinforcements, especially when advancing upon Miss Denham, are preferred. Come, she can’t say no to the both of us.”

“She can,” he started to say, but Babington was already gone.

The wall of young ladies preceded the alcove of watchful matrons and ambitious chaperones. They were not quite hidden by two large ferns, and Sidney wearily made his way towards them, cursing his friend all the while. Where was Crowe when he was needed to take the fall -- or any other living, breathing gentleman for that matter? 

Fans and eyelashes fluttered. He couldn’t be entirely certain, but he was sure he saw one young lady shoved mercilessly forward.

His first stop was Georgiana, who barely hid her wide grin behind her fan. It seemed his discomfort was still her greatest joy.

“You should have heard the heaving sighs as you and Lord Babington crossed the floor.” She threw a dramatic wrist against her forehead. “All in company were fit to swoon. ‘Oh, here he comes!’”

“Cease the theatrics, Miss Lambe.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Indeed that’s the whole point of a guardian.”

Next, he drifted by Babington and his efforts with Miss Denham. It seemed to be going well enough, and so he did not flank the enemy.

Thus he dutifully let himself be introduced to a handful of young women and made his inquiries on open dance cards. He felt almost bad as accomplishments were succinctly rattled off: watercolors, pianoforte, singing, French and Latin and sewing, and so on. He was half-expecting to be shown haunches and teeth next.

Just as he earned his freedom from one mother-daughter duo, another woman caught his eye. He noted with some alarm that he recognized her, and that she was the Countess of Worcester. 

She made a motion to the young lady who stood beside her, and Sidney nearly swallowed his tongue as she turned around.

It was Miss Heywood. Sparkling flower buds were interspersed throughout her coiffure. Her dress was trimmed with delicate lace and a splash of matching jewelry hung at her earlobes and neck. A pretty flush dusted her cheeks, and he realized with minor mounting horror that during the inspection he’d walked right up to her and the countess.

“Good evening, Lady Susan,” he said with a deeper bow than strictly necessary. They had met a thrice before, but he’d broken form by his uninvited approach.

“Mr. Parker,” she replied, inclining her head with an unreadable smile. “I believe you know Miss Heywood?”

“I do,” he said. He turned his gaze onto Miss Heywood now. “I was hoping to make good on my promise.”

She blinked up at him, then gave a little jerk and said, “On the dance, of course.” 

Her fan snapped open.

He leaned over, and saw that she still had three spots left; for a young lady who’d told him she hadn’t danced a single round a week prior, it wasn’t a bad showing at all. “If Lady Susan will allow it, I would take the next waltz.”

Sidney was sure the countess was laughing at them behind her flute of champagne. “I wouldn’t dream of getting in your way.”

“Then the matter is settled,” he said, but Miss Heywood frowned up at him.

“What if I said I preferred a country dance or a quadrille?”

A few gasps erupted around them.

“Then I shall of course defer to your preferences,” he replied, and a warmth he attributed to the ratafia settled in his stomach at the teasing gleam in her eyes. Clearly she hadn’t forgotten their heated talk about choices and was not about to let him easily off the hook.

With a satisfied nod, she scribbled his name down. “A waltz will do, sir.”

He cleared off with Babington on his heels, the hair on the back of his neck standing up as he fled.

“I barely escaped with my life,” Babington said in ridiculously high spirits, “but it was worth it. She is thawing yet, Parker. I think I’ve found my match.”

“Don’t let anyone hear you say that, lest your aunt begin preparations for St George’s.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Really?” They pulled up to an empty swath of wall, and he glanced over at Miss Denham. To his surprise, he caught her doing the same. He was certain he did not mistake the tender look in her eyes, but it was shuttered away in a blink. “Honestly, she isn’t who I would have imagined for you. She seems so… cold.”

“She is, and she isn’t. There’s more to her than meets the eye, and I swear I will uncover it before Season’s end.”

“If you say so,” he said, and time passed in a wave of dancing and drinking. He collected his partners, one by one, and made idle talk where he could; most of the young ladies did what they were taught to do when in conversation with a gentleman and neatly reflected his own opinions back to him. It was dreadfully boring; and he realized, by the time the waltz was announced, that he was actually looking forward to hearing Miss Heywood’s free and vocal thoughts.

She met him at the edge of the dance floor, and he wordlessly led her to its center. Her hand felt small in his, and warm even through their gloves. They faced one another; he bowed, she dipped into a curtsy. They stepped together, and the music started. She easily followed his lead; and where his other partners had focused their gaze to a point near his throat, she looked him straight on.

“I’m glad you humored me with the waltz, Miss Heywood,” he said.

“I couldn’t refuse.” Her mouth twitched into a smile. “It would have been very embarrassing for you.”

“True enough, but I wasn’t at all worried.”

“Oh?”

“You haven’t had the pleasure of my company in a fortnight.”

“I’ve yet to ascribe the word ‘pleasant’ to you, Mr. Parker.”

“For accuracy’s sake, I must note that I used the word pleasure.” As her color heightened, he continued on, “Surely you did not want to lose a single ‘pleasant’ minute of conversation with me to a quadrille.”

“Is that what that was?” she rallied. “You know me so well.”

“I feel like I do.” At the quirk of her eyebrow, he elaborated, “Miss Lambe writes to me at frequent intervals. Your exploits are highlighted with alacrity.”

Her mouth popped open. “They are not. She does not.”

“She does, but that is as much as I will say on the matter. Even under duress.”

“I will step on your toes,” she threatened him.

“I can’t believe that.” He let her go into a neat spin, and caught her easily on her return. “You’re too graceful a dancer.”

“I’m not a biscuit to be buttered, sir,” she laughed. “I am not so vain that I cannot admit your talents are the only reason we haven’t careened off into the refreshments table. I do like dancing very much, but alas, I am not so accomplished to be considered very good. However, I applaud your efforts to avoid betraying Miss Lambe’s confidence.”

“It’s been hard-won, if I’ve won it at all.”

She shrugged her shoulders a bit. “It’s not for me to say.”

“Of course,” he said. He turned them to avoid another couple and she indeed trod over his foot with a surprised gasp. He hissed in pain but soldiered on. “Ow. How have I angered you now, Miss Heywood? I concede in every respect.”

“Good, my plan is working,” she said, though her bright expression of worry undercut her deadpan words. “Will you ever walk again?”

“I can’t yet be sure,” he replied, and turned her in a much slower four-step.

“I am very sorry,” she said, the perfect picture of sincere. “Forgive me.”

“You did warn me,” he replied. A thought came to him then: “And it would be remiss of me to let your apology in Hyde Park hang, yet accept this one wholeheartedly. As I understand it, we were too busy discussing acceptable, genteel professions for women.”

“You are generous to call it a discussion,” she said lightly, “as if we were scholars combing through Shakespeare or-- or--”

“Heraclitus.”

Her smile broadened. “Indeed.”

“Who else have you read?”

“In keeping with the alphabet, Homer comes to mind. The Iliad, most recently. ‘Any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed.’”

“‘You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.’”

They shared a moment of quiet together, perhaps reflecting on the quoted passage.

Miss Heywood looked away, then suddenly back. If the light wasn’t tricking him, he swore her eyes were glassier than before. “You’re very familiar with it.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I wouldn’t have marked you as a lover of Greek poets, that’s all.”

“One will read most anything when on a month’s long voyage with nothing to pass the time but nibble hardtack and salted meats. I was never a more voracious reader.”

“Salted meats.” Her nose scrunched up. “Then-- do you have a library?”

He did. “A few shelves.”

“If it’s not too forward of me, perhaps you can recommend me your favorite.”

“Has Lady Susan already barred you from her books?” he teased.

“No, but I have a theory; that a man’s preferred title will reveal his true nature.”

“And you want to know me.”

“It would be only fair.” She did not look away. “No one writes to me detailing your exploits.”

The music drew to a close, and Sidney found that he was actually lost for words.

They exited the far side of the dance floor, and he offered his arm to escort her back. As he left her in the care of Lady Susan, dismissed of the responsibility of fetching them both lemonade, he knew with dreadful certainty that he was dancing dangerously close to a feeling he hadn’t felt in many, many years.

Chapter 6: A Villain or Two

Notes:

i just want to say thank you to everyone reading and commenting; you are the best, and i hope you stick around for this rom-comedy of errors <3

As soon as Mr. Parker had wrangled a satisfactory promise of good behavior and departed to submit himself to ambitious mamas, Georgiana was rapidly set on by company she desired even less: Mr. Cummings. She looked to the left, then to the right, but his sights were set directly on her. Escape was indeed futile. Mrs. Griffiths was introducing the Beaufort sisters to a pair of bored-looking gentlemen, Miss Denham was pretending to rebuff Lord Babington, and Charlotte was making the rounds with her friend the countess. It seemed she had no choice but to bear her burden. Painting a pallid smile on her face, she snapped open her fan, and prepared for the tedious smalltalk to come.

“Miss Lambe,” Mr. Cummings said, “I am pleased to see you’ve graced us with your presence yet again.”

“Good evening, sir,” she replied coolly. Though they weren’t yet a full hour into the ball, he reeked of whiskey and his cheeks had taken on an unattractive, florid redness. She had been introduced to the man at Season’s start, and Georgiana had thus been warned, on multiple occasions and by multiple persons, that he was a lecherous old windbag in want of a wife to continue feeding his slew of vices. Even with a previous acquaintance between them, his slide into her space was rather insulting and, she suspected, purposefully lowering. Perhaps he thought her easily manipulated, but more likely he thought too highly of himself. He was precisely the type of man Georgiana wanted to point to when Mr. Parker talked of marriage: This is who you would settle me with? No, she wouldn’t entertain Mr. Cummings for all the world… but she had promised Sidney she would behave.

“What a pretty dress,” he said, and his hand lifted as if he wanted to touch her, “and such a unique coiffure. Is the style French?”

Her throat tightened. “I would not know, sir, as I have never been.”

“Such a shame. You should travel, Miss Lambe.” He leaned in. “I have several estates in France, and a lovely terrace house in Paris. I can almost picture you there with me now.”

It was absolutely the most forward a man had been with her, ever, but where she thought she would find anger or a clever retort, she saw only the yawning, dark abyss of the months to come opening before her. Men like Cummings rarely took no for an answer. She’d seen it before. He would only think her vehement denials as demure, coquettish play. 

“I’ve traveled enough for a lifetime,” she replied stiffly. “And even if I had not, I certainly would never impose on your hospitality.” 

He smiled at her bare hostility. “Surely the young lady will give me leave to convince her otherwise.”

Her fanning grew more vigorous as she looked again for an escape. “I doubt very much we would have the time required to make it so.”

“Nay, I should think during the next dance would do very well.”

“I disagree most ardently, sir--”

He inched closer.

And just as Georgiana was beginning to believe the wretched man was preparing to drag her bodily, consent or no, out on the floor, a throat was cleared to their left, and a deep voice said, “Quite right, Miss Lambe. Apologies, Cummings, but the next set was promised to me.”

Lord Peregrin there loomed large, and Georgiana was obliged to continue the ruse by taking his proffered hand. Cummings, clearly not wanting to scuffle with the young lord whose manse they were now in, backed off, and Georgiana let herself be led away. 

“Are you alright?” he asked after a moment. His gaze was aimed to a point over her shoulder.

“I had it well in hand, my lord,” she replied, but saying so made her feel rather ungrateful. “But I appreciate your assistance. Mr. Cummings was…”

“Ungraciously persistent.”

She inclined her head. “That is a tactful way of putting it.”

“How would you put it?”

“I’d say he was being a boorish ass.”

Instead of emitting a scandalized gasp at her unladylike language, Lord Peregrin laughed. “An accurate description indeed. You don’t mince words, Miss Lambe.”

“No, only men.”

He grinned then and offered her his arm. “Come, you owe me the dance.”

A merry reel began and gave no room for further talk. By the end, Georgiana had to admit that the lord was indeed an adept dancer partner, just as he’d been the first time they had done, and her spirits had lifted.

He led her off the floor as the music ended, and she noted with some happiness that he’d chosen an exit far away from Mr. Cummings’ current post at the refreshments table. To her consternation, however, he did not immediately take his leave of her.

“So, what is my prize?” he asked. At her questioning look, he continued, “I’ve won your challenge for a second dance.”

She scoffed. “That is hardly fair, my lord, and you know it. Under the circumstances, it would be ungentlemanly of you to ask me to count the wager won. Contracts made under duress are inadmissible in the law courts, and so should an agreement between two people and a proverbial handshake.”

“You ought to read law, Miss Lambe,” he said, “for your logic is sound and above reproach. I will withdraw my gloating post haste. Next time I will come about the dance fairly and without your need of a rescue.”

A stubborn unwillingness to let him charm her made her turn her face away so as to hide her smile. “Then to the matter of the rescue -- how did you come upon us?”

“Their Graces insisted I mingle with the young ladies tonight,” he explained. “No skin off my nose, you see, as I am deeply entrenched in the saga between my friend Lord Babington and his Miss Denham… therefore, I was in the vicinity.”

“You amuse yourself at your friends’ expense and eavesdrop? My, my.”

“Badly done, I know.” He smiled. “Or perhaps you might believe I was making my way to converse with you.”

“I don’t know you well enough to choose your narrative, my lord,” she replied. There was something in the way he was looking at her she didn’t quite like -- or, rather, she did like and was unsettled by the passive thought. Lord Peregrin was known as a scoundrel, but, more to the point, he was a handsome young lord who had no proper business engaging in anything, friendship or otherwise, with an heiress from Antigua. She had a place in Society, but they both knew it could not be with him. Whatever he wanted from her, if he wanted anything at all, would not bode well for either party. “I see my friend now, and therefore it is only right to free you from my company so that you may continue saving other damsels in need. Good evening.”

He bowed, she curtsied, and they parted ways.

The room was suddenly too hot. Though she had told Lord Peregrin she’d seen her friends, both Charlotte or Miss Denham were engaged in conversation or a dance, and so she went in search of peace on the terrace.

It was cool outside, and quiet, though she quickly realized she wasn’t alone. 

None other than Lady Pandora there stood on the lower level, arms wrapped around her middle.

Georgiana pulled herself into the shadows, gripped with sudden curiosity. It was evident Pandora was-- waiting. On what or who was yet to be seen, but Georgiana did not have to wait long to discover she’d accidentally stumbled upon an amorous rendezvous.

A gentleman ascended the steps.

Georgiana strained to see his face amid the shadows. There was something familiar about him, but she could not quite put her finger on where she’d seen him before.

After a kiss -- which did not involve lips brushed chastely over gloved knuckles -- the man and Pandora began to speak in earnest. Unluckily for them, and luckily for Georgiana, their voices drifted up over the balustrade and right into the echoey alcove Georgiana had made her perch.

I should leave. As much as she despised Pandora, it did not feel altogether right to witness her ruination. But just as she made to flee, a name was spoken and stopped her dead.

“Edward, you must ruin her,” said Pandora. “You said you would! You promised!”

“My dear,” he crooned, “you must understand--”

“No, you must understand that I cannot abide a single moment more of that insipid heathen running free among us like she belongs here!”

“Miss Lambe is protected,” came the reply. “Her guardian is a formidable foe and rather more established among his betters than I’d thought. I’m afraid I cannot move against him without much peril to my own position.”

Georgiana clutched a hand to her chest, heart hammering wildly. Her legs threatened to fold.

“A craven lie,” spat Pandora. “You do this to protect the heart of your dearest Miss Denham. Surely she couldn’t stand to see her one and only friend cast out of Society.”

“Now, now,” his voice had cut low in warning, even as it dripped with sweet saccharine honey, “I would remind you to not speak ill of my sister.”

“Sister? Ha! Such a brotherly turn of phrase,” sniffed Pandora. “Why, just last season you were readily wielding the ‘step’ relation between you two like a sword.”

Now Georgiana clapped a hand over her mouth. Her breath came rapidly. She’d been overcome only twice in her life, but she feared she was now well on her way to a third swoon.

“Jealousy does not become you,” he said. “Esther is none of your concern.”

“You haven’t seen jealousy yet,” came the tart reply. “I am tired of waiting for you to make a move, and so I am irritable. That’s all. As you know, my dearest papa will not see our union fit until you come into a suitable situation.”

“And I might remind you that tainting Miss Lambe’s prospects will not help my chances of amending my esteem -- or pocketbooks -- in your dearest papa’s eyes.”

“Indeed not. He said you were a penniless rakehell,” was Pandora’s barbed reply. There was a hint of tearful sniffling in the insulting silence that followed as if to soften the hearts of man. “I thought-- well, I thought if you were to dispatch Miss Lambe, then you and I might--”

“Might?”

“That I may be able to lead Papa to believe you are indeed a worthy match,” she said. “ I know you to be so, and I am utterly sure Papa need only see the contents of your heart to give us his most ardent blessing.”

Sir Edward gave a light laugh. “My lovely, sweet… vindictive Pandora. If I agree to do what you ask of me then I’m afraid there will naught be any good left within me.”

“Then there must be another way. If only to preserve your golden honor.”

“You discredit me to think I hadn’t thought of an alternative--”

But whatever plan Sir Edward Denham had meant to expound upon was interrupted by the clatter of the terrace doors swinging out. A bundle of drunken gentlemen cavorted into the open air, laughing and japing amongst themselves, and the pair of conspirators took their leave not a moment too soon by darting off into the dark.

There Georgiana stayed in the shadows until her heart calmed and her legs no longer shook, which, in truth, took quite some time.

 

-

 

Charlotte watched Mr. Parker’s figure retreat into the crush. 

Though the waltz had ended, she felt as if she’d remained spinning on the floor. 

“Goodness,” breathed Lady Susan. “Are you sure you and Mr. Parker have only ever met the three times?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I am sure.”

In the circle of his arms, however, this fact did not feel true. Without meaning to, she’d spent the entirety of their dance... flirting. There was no point in denying Mr. Parker’s good looks, but she knew his comeliness had little to do with her current feelings. There was an ease she felt around him that no other man had ever inspired. He was alarmingly charming. After being rebuked by him and told to cease her friendship with Georgiana, she’d expected him to regard her in further poor light after escaping Mrs. Griffiths’ clutches in Hyde Park; but, instead, they had come to an impasse. He’d listened to her; even seemed to concede points in her argument’s favor. Then he looked at her tonight with a warmth so unlike their thunderous first pass, and she’d fallen into a thrall. She still felt the heat of his hands against hers, and she knew there was no use in feigning disinterest. If only Alison could see her now, the great hypocrite she was.

As if to test a hypothesis, she tried to spark the same reaction in her next three dance partners. She couldn’t quite bring herself to look directly in Lord Greensmere’s eyes, and the other two gentlemen kept asking her about the splendid weather or how she liked London no matter what other topics she tried to broach thereafter. They smiled politely at her. They were genial. They were in possession of good looks. None were avid readers. None cared for Homer or Heraclitus. None of them made her heart race or her blood pound.

By the time she again returned to Lady Susan, she was thoroughly flummoxed. “I think I’m in trouble.”

Upon the explanation, Lady Susan fixed her with a sympathetic, knowing look. “Indeed it sounds like a young woman falling in love.”

Charlotte looked about them, but it seemed they were alone enough to speak so freely; the next set had started, and only a handful of wallflowers remained. “But I can’t fall in love with him .”

“Whyever not?”

“It’s complicated,” she said, wondering how best to lay out the obstacles. He was Georgiana’s guardian, for one; and while the frost surrounding their relationship seemed to be thawing day by day, Charlotte knew it would pierce her friend’s heart to know she’d fallen for Mr. Parker. Georgiana had few friends and less privacy. She would surely view any courtship between them as a betrayal on both sides, and a muddying of confidences. “As you know, Miss Lambe is a dear friend, and I’m afraid -- well. I do not wish to be made to choose a side, if I ever must.”

“You could ask Miss Lambe for her thoughts on the matter,” said Lady Susan. “Though perhaps it is best to let the river run its course. I have strong suspicions otherwise, but the match may not play out.”

It was sound advice, Charlotte decided. Mr. Parker was a worldly gentleman, and she hardly knew him well enough to envision herself walking down the aisle to meet him -- and especially not at the expense of a friendship. “You’re right. There is all the chance he’s singularly unaffected, and in that case, I shan’t have to worry about hurting any feelings but my own.”

The look she received was dubious and perhaps a touch exasperated, but the countess made no further comment. 

They took seats, as Charlotte had no further promise of dance partners, which suited her well enough. Her new slippers pinched the toes ever so slightly.

At the end of the next set, Georgiana reappeared. “Charlotte! -- oh, good evening again, Lady Susan.”

“Miss Lambe,” Lady Susan replied. Perhaps sensing the need for a private moment between friends, she said, “I see some acquaintances desperately beseeching my presence, and so I will leave you young ladies to it.”

With that, she stood and floated away.

“What happened?” asked Charlotte as Georgiana took the free chair with a shaky breath. As quickly as Lady Susan had, she’d ascertained her friend was agitated or upset in some way.

“Nothing good.” Georgiana looked over her shoulder into the crowd. “Let us find a private place.”

“And Miss Denham?”

Georgiana looked even more troubled now. “I suppose we should.”

They did. 

Miss Denham had come to the ball with Lady Denham -- who Charlotte had met only once and, in the short span, was insulted twice -- and was more than happy for a reason to escape. 

The ducal manse was tremendously large, but the revelry was kept to the main areas, and finding a spot for the three of them to confer wasn’t as difficult as one might imagine. The room they found could be called such because it had four walls, a door and a ceiling, but it was large enough to enjoy two lit grates on either end.

“I’ve never been in a library this big,” Charlotte said.

Both Miss Denham and Georgiana had taken seats on the couches by the closest fireplace, but she still circled the room. Shelves upon shelves were lined with more books than she could possibly count. 

“This isn’t the main,” said Miss Denham, looking about. “I believe Lord Peregrin intended on fielding a book lending subscription from his personal titles this year.”

Georgiana groaned. “I cannot escape that infernal man!”

Both Miss Denham and Charlotte exchanged glances.

Georgiana took a deep breath. “Tonight has been--” Her voice trembled. “Tonight has been awful. Remember that tradesman I told you both about ages ago? Mr. Cummings? As soon as I was alone, he set upon me like a dog on a bone and made all these vile inferences to whisking me away to France and nearly grabbed me in front of all and sundry. As if he actually has a terrace house in Paris, ha!”

Georgiana proceeded to recount the story of Lord Peregrin’s rescue, but, more worryingly, Mr. Cummings’ sudden attachment to her. 

Mr. Cummings’ nature was known to Charlotte, as he had once approached her, but no harm had come as he’d departed just as quickly upon discovering her unappealing dowery. The way ahead was entirely clear. “Georgiana, you must tell Mr. Parker. He will protect you.”

“I know, I know,” she said, but the wetness in her eyes was evident, and so both Charlotte and Miss Denham came to sit on either side of her. 

While Miss Denham offered use of a delicate handkerchief, Charlotte placed her arms around her friend. Quiet sobs pierced the quiet office, and it went on like that for a time. Charlotte sent Miss Denham a worried look over Georgiana’s head, but there was naught to be done but let the tears flow and give comfort where it was needed.

When the worst of it abated, and Charlotte’s heart thoroughly torn apart to see the pain of her friend, she said, “Tell us what’s going on. No matter what it is, we can help you.”

“No, you can’t. There is nothing to fix. Miss Denham was right,” she replied miserably. “My money makes me a target to the lowest of men wanting to rise above, but the color of my skin makes me undesirable to those who would otherwise fit my station.”

“That is not true!” Charlotte cried. In a way, she understood; but in the same thought, knew she never truly could. Just as she was from the country, she was also a gentleman’s daughter. She could therefore marry up -- with a scandal attached, of course -- but the tender feelings of Society could be smoothed over in time. In the eyes of those so prejudiced, their thoughts on Georgiana would not change. She thought then of her comment to Mr. Parker on such an idea, and felt very foolish now for it.

“It is,” Georgiana replied. “By the blood of my father, I belong here. But it doesn’t feel like it. Not at all. This Mr. Cummings thinks he has the right to approach me any which way, and-- and then I overheard--”

Miss Denham leaned in, eyebrows drawn together. “What did you overhear?”

A long, tense silence stretched out.

“I overheard Lady Pandora beseeching a gentleman to ruin me,” came her faint whisper. “After the dance, I went to the terrace for solitude and fresh air, and-- I stumbled upon their tryst. No doubt Pandora believes herself to be the queen of manipulation, weaving an asinine tale that bringing me ruin would prove him worthy of her hand.”

Georgiana recited the conversation between Lady Pandora and the gentleman quickly, and she was met with silence at its shocking conclusion.

“And who was this gentleman?” asked Miss Denham, after some time. “You must have recognized him.”

“I cannot say,” said Georgiana miserably.

Charlotte’s stomach knotted together. “While I’m sure we all appreciate your delicacy in the matter--”

“Even if Lady Pandora deserves none of it,” Miss Denham sniffed.

“We promise to maintain steadfast in your confidence, and to tell no one else,” she finished, though all emphasis was directed purely to Miss Denham, whose dislike of Lady Pandora was quite well known among them all.

“It is not Lady Pandora’s virtue I am concerned with,” said Georgiana wryly. 

“Then name the rake and be done with it,” said Miss Denham.

“I can promise you nothing good will come from my honesty.”

“And the better for it.”

“If you insist.” Georgiana wrung her handkerchief for a minute or two. “It brings me absolutely no joy to say this, but the accomplice in this story is… well, he is… a familial adjacent…

“Surely it was not Mr. Parker!” said Charlotte, though he could not have been the suspect as she herself was his alibi. 

But the only other male family member among them was-- 

Miss Denham was already on her feet, a look of stricken horror on her face. “You can’t possibly mean to imply…”

Charlotte bit back her gasp as the realization hit her like an arrow; why Georgiana had been reluctant to include Miss Denham in these private talks.

Georgiana leapt up then, and Charlotte came to her feet, too.

“I saw him and heard him, Miss Denham,” said Georgiana, her tone firm yet sympathetic. “I’m sorry to say it was your step-brother, but it was him. I will admit he did not go brainlessly forward with the scheme, but not out of the goodness of his heart, but because he fears Mr. Parker’s retaliation. What’s more, I firmly believe he has not persuaded Pandora away from chasing my ruination.”

Charlotte watched as Miss Denham’s horror morphed into an icy reserve, even as it was clear hot tears trembled to fall from her lashes. Beyond her aunt, Charlotte knew Sir Edward was the only close relation Miss Denham had left; it could only be a shock to hear he’d been cavorting with the proverbial enemy, and conspiring to ruin a young lady for no other benefit than causing pain.

“You must have misheard,” said Miss Denham, finally. “Neither of you know Edward like I do. I will admit he loves his flirtations, but what you speak of is unspeakably... vulgar. And horrid. He knows you are a friend to me.”

“But it happened." Though Georgiana’s conviction remained firm, she reached out to hold both of Miss Denham’s hands in a kind grip. “And… I think I understand why this hurts you so.”

A tear slipped down Miss Denham’s cheek and she gave one tremulous sob, “I can’t, I can’t listen to this.”

With that, she withdrew her hands, picked up her skirts, and made a hasty retreat. 

Charlotte made to follow, but Georgiana shook her head.

“I believe it’s best I go alone, Charlotte,” she said, a determined tilt to her mouth. “Forgive me, but Miss Denham and I need a frank talk right now.”

“Yes, of course; go,” she said, and Georgiana did without hesitation.

Now alone, Charlotte sunk down onto the couch with a trembling sigh. 

Volatile emotions, conspiracies of ruination, friends in a dubious row, and now a terrible secret. She felt like a side character in a terrible gothic novel. London was proving itself to be quite exhausting and, not for the first time, she was overcome with homesickness for Willingden’s gentler tempo.

 

-

 

For Sidney Parker, the night wore on. 

Where he would normally have retired to the men’s parlor for a smoke or harder drink and easier talk, he remained on the edges of the ball room; he could not deny what kept him rooted in place, and that she stood across the room and, occasionally, danced with another gentleman.

It had been a very long time since Sidney had felt the cold stab of jealousy, but there it was.

“You’re staring,” said Babington, who’d recently come away from his second dance with Miss Denham with altogether too much pep in his step.

“I’m mingling,” he replied.

“With the potted ferns?”

“Better conversationalists than my current partner.”

“Ah, a stinging barb.” Babington clapped a hand to Sidney’s shoulder. “You should approach the young lady once more before the night is through.”

As per usual, Babington proved to be far too observant.

“We’ve danced already,” said Sidney. “Twice would speak too loudly.”

“There is such a thing as talking sans dancing.”

“Don’t think I don’t know you’re only lecturing me because you’ve had recent success,” he said. “For what it’s worth, I have not yet decided what my intentions are and therefore do not wish to give false hope.”

“Y’gads, you’ve had two conversations with the girl. By all accounts, she is level-headed and will not take your attentions to mean anything beyond -- as Auntie H would say -- a seed of friendship.”

“A seed meant to blossom into a beautiful flower of love, no doubt,” he said sardonically. He could almost imagine Babington as a young lordling receiving such advice. In this way, love among the peerage was treated much like a fairytale. “You know me, Babs; I am not marriage-minded.”

Before he could offer further derisive comments, however, he saw Georgiana approach Miss Heywood with speed; Lady Susan departed their company quickly thereafter, and the two young ladies went to collect Miss Denham. An instinct -- born from his own mischievous youth -- told him they were up to something. Soon enough he was proven correct as they walked calmly towards a side door, opened it, and slipped away.

Cursing Lambe for the umpteenth time and the duty he’d been saddled with, he excused himself from Babington and skirted around the room. He was waylaid by several gentlemen of his acquaintance, and he was obliged to engage in smalltalk, though he might have agreed to anything for all the attention he’d been giving the conversations.

By the time he stepped through the door where his ward and her friends had disappeared into, the hallway was empty.

Where anger had pooled in his gut as he’d made chase in Hyde Park, it was fear that settled on him now. Three ladies galavanting unchaperoned in public was a trifle compared to being caught in a closed room with a man... and there were enough rogues in attendance tonight that the possibility was real enough. Why couldn’t Georgiana -- or Miss Heywood, or Miss Denham -- seem to understand that? 

Skulking about in a duke’s home wasn’t, strictly speaking, good form, but he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t seen them. Alerting Lady Susan and Mrs. Griffiths would have been the sensible thing to do, but he hadn’t seen either woman on his way, and he didn’t want to lose time finding them in the crush.

He proceeded onward. 

He was not wholly ignorant to the duke’s not-so-humble abode; nevertheless, the hallways stretched on, and he was loath to open any old door for fear of stumbling on someone else’s scandal in pursuit of preventing them.

The search was cut short as he turned a corner and heard the faint sounds of female voices.

It would serve Georgiana right for him to burst in unannounced, but he took a pause at the door. They were speaking too softly for him to properly hear all which was said, but the longer he eavesdropped, the more incorrect it felt to intrude.

The choice to stay his righteous fury was unlike him, he thought; and, perhaps, a sign that he could take Georgiana’s wants and feelings into consideration. To the point: why had she snuck off with her friends for a private word?

Miss Denham suddenly burst from the room. Though Sidney there stood by the doorway, the young lady seemed to be in mild hysterics and paid him no mind as she flitted by. He drew back just in time to see Georgiana hasten out as well, chasing her friend down the hallway with impressive speed.

So nonplussed was he that by the time he remembered young ladies did not run nor dabble in shows of public tears, they had already disappeared around the corner; thankfully, they went in the direction of the ball.

That left him, of course, to wait for Miss Heywood’s sobbing departure.

Exactly three minutes ticked by on his pocket watch before worry settled on him as Miss Heywood neither ran nor sobbed her way past him. Obviously -- obviously -- neither Miss Denham nor Georgiana would leave their friend if she were in trouble, but worry niggled at the back of his neck; and, despite literally coming to rescue young ladies from rogues and roués trapping them indoors, he was overcome with the need to at least verify Miss Heywood hadn’t indeed collapsed.

Miss Heywood was, as far as he could see, in good health when he stepped inside. 

The fact, however, did not remain true for long.

He cleared his throat to announce his presence, and the large tome the young lady was perusing tumbled from her fingers and landed, quite heavily, atop her slippered foot. 

She cried out in pain and he rushed forward to offer his assistance.

“Mr. Parker!” she said through gritted teeth and holding onto his hand with remarkable strength. “I did not expect to see you.”

“Indeed not or else you may have held your grip,” he said severely, which earned him a grimace in response. “Come now, let’s get you seated.”

He led Miss Heywood to a nearby chair. With a hiss of pain, she lowered herself into the cushions.

“I will fetch help,” he said, but she gasped out a pained, “No!”

“As long as the foot is still attached, I think I shall survive it,” she said to his startled look. “I do not want to cause any more fuss than I have already.”

Her attempt at humor in the face of her pain unsettled something in him, as did the fresh tears in her eyes. Talking on body parts, as a general rule, wasn’t entirely proper; but, he remembered with some fondness, that she had already threatened to and accomplished trodding on his toes earlier in the night, and no real harm had come of it then. “Would you like me to take a look?”

It seemed his attempt at humor sailed over her head -- or perhaps she was in quite a bit more pain than he’d realized -- as she bit her lip and said, “If only to confirm it hasn’t been utterly flattened by Shakespeare’s Collected Works.”

Perhaps in a day or a decade, Sidney would be able to look back and understand why he hadn’t simply departed the room for a doctor. However, in the present, it felt like the gentlemanly course of action to proceed with the help he’d already offered, jest or no.

He knelt down, and as soon as his knee touched the carpeted floor, he knew he’d made a grievous error, but there was nothing more to do but proceed with the examination and push aside the thought of what position he was in, and with whom he was with. Perhaps the brandy he’d been imbibing all night had quite gone to his head, but he took a gentle hold of her neat ankle instead of running clear from the room, and he drew her appendage forward for inspection.

A sizable lump had already formed atop the delicate curve of her foot, but he suspected women weren’t so delicate as to break bones from a mere collision of books and flesh. He’d wager she would be sore for a few days, but hardly more than that.

“We may need to amputate,” he said gravely, and almost earned a kick to the head for how quickly Miss Heywood yanked her foot away with a choked-off laugh.

This was, of course, how they were found. From the outsider's perspective: Sidney with his hand nearly up Miss Heywood’s skirts, and her shrinking away from his touch with a shriek.

As far as situations went, Sidney had indeed been in worse ones, but not by much.

Notes:

*tropes and cliches intensify*

6 chapters in and we're finally getting to my outlined conflict :') obviously i won't have this wrapped up in 4 more chapters, but. we'll see.

Chapter 7: The Scoundrel

Notes:

I want to give a huge shoutout to Emily for helping me beta this chapter! Without her help, it might have never seen the light of day. <3

Again, thank you to everyone who is reading! I hope you enjoy this one.

It was Sidney’s strong belief that every man, at some point or other, was forced to face the harsh truths of his character; the good, the bad, and all matter in between. 

Rarely, however, was a man made to acknowledge these veritable facts by a duke.

“Scoundrel!” cried the Duke of Kingston. His bejeweled finger pointed and trembled in the direction of the accused. “Blackguard!”

Sidney stood with a stunned calmness rarely seen except for men marching to their fate at the gallows, and turned to address the party that had stumbled upon him and Miss Heywood. No matter what he said, or how he explained it, there was no escaping the noose tightening rapidly around his neck.

Almost a decade had passed since he’d boarded the Eugenia and sailed to the West Indies after being thrown over for Mr. Campion. The decision to embark on the voyage had been borne of drink and foolishness and heartache, and if Mr. Lambe hadn’t caught him during his great fall, Sidney had no doubt he would have been sent home to Tom and Mary in a casket or, more likely, buried in a paupers grave on the rolling hills of Antigua. Indeed it was on that lonely island where he’d decided Virgil was wrong, that love conquered nothing, and he would remain love-less and wife-less for the remainder of his days.

In the years that followed, he’d held strong to his convictions. Bachelorhood had come easily enough. Well-bred though he was, he hadn’t the heavy pursestrings to tempt pursuit by the ambitious mamas of the beau monde. With sweating labor and time, however, his coins had rolled in. By the time he’d reached the shores of Polite Society once more, remaining unattached became a perilous battle all eligible, wealthy gentlemen fought: carefully avoiding all manner of matron, clever chaperone, and matrimonial scheme.

Finally, it seemed, he would have to lay down his arms and concede, with bitter acceptance, to a fate that was all of his own doing.

The duke there stood: luminous, majestic, and furious. He was indeed a remarkable man, dressed head to foot in splendor best left to a time where men wore powdered wigs and buckled shoes. Somewhere, Sidney was sure, Beau Brummel was sweating and trembling to know his fashion decrees hadn’t yet settled on this house. Next to him stood Her Grace, equally splendid though far less ostentatious. She was arm-in-arm with a shocked Lord Babington, who just so happened to be her loving nephew.

“Wastrel!” the duke growled. “Your name, sir! Out with it!”

“Mr. Sidney Parker, Your Grace,” he replied evenly. He held still. A deferential bow in this heated moment could only be taken as mockery and he would prefer to escape the worst of ducal wrath. 

“And who is she?”

“Uncle,” Babington interrupted, gaze casting back and forth between the duke and Sidney in alarm, “I can personally attest to Mr. Parker’s good character and sense, and I am sure we may find a reasonable explanation for this-- this--”

“Flagrant display of impropriety?” The duke was fairly bellowing now. “A young lady molested! In my own home, no less!”

“Indeed I was not!” cried the aforementioned young lady, who leapt to her feet... and promptly stumbled directly into Sidney’s arms.

Clearly, this further break of decorum was too much to bear. 

The duchess cried out. “Oh, her poor nerves! My nerves!” 

The room erupted and chaos reigned. The duke discovered his sideboard and poured himself a snifter of brandy, laying accusatory blows upon Sidney’s character and the becursed ball as he went. Lord Babington ushered his aunt, who had begun to complain heavily of heart pangs and breathing problems, to the aptly named fainting couch.

“What have I done?” asked Miss Heywood, though it seemed the question was posed to herself vice anyone else. She looked up at Sidney, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “If I’d let you go--”

“None of that now,” he replied, pangs of his own battering at his conscience. He’d known better. He knew better. He couldn’t allow her to shoulder any responsibility. Especially not for his choices, ill-begotten as they’d been. “All will be well.”

Her lips trembled, but still she did not succumb to hysterics. “You can’t possibly be sure of that.”

Looking down at her face, the sense that he’d never been surer before in his life sprung forward. 

Ever since Eliza had jilted him, his heart so bruised he’d sailed half-way around the world to lick his wounds, the idea of shackling himself to another was an appalling one. Not because he viewed women as evil or conniving -- though there were plenty in that category, just as there were men -- but because he was, simply put, afraid. Despite Georgiana’s vehement denials to the contrary, he had a heart. When he cared, he did so deeply. When he was hurt, he felt it immensely. A gruff demeanor had thus guarded him. So few had dared to pierce the armor. Fewer still had managed to dismantle enough of the wall he’d built to peek inside. Miss Heywood, in a short span and with little effort, had revived the tender embers of affection he’d long thought lost to the sea.

Indeed he would have preferred to come to the conclusion in his own time, and in his own way; but, just as his spontaneity propelled him onward, a clobbering from the universe itself could do just as well. Matches had been made on less sure footing and worse terms.

Bedlam continued on for nearly a quarter hour. Eventually, the sensitivities of Their Graces were smoothed over by their doting nephew, but the damage had been done. Perhaps the pair could have been persuaded to hold the secret if they’d merely come across Mr. Parker and Miss Heywood standing six feet apart, but the kneeling -- and the proximity in which the gentleman did it -- was altogether too much. Considering the kick-ups their heir caused every turn of the season, their protests erred on the side of an absurd parody, but neither Babington nor Sidney had the means with which to dissuade them from upholding what honor demanded.

Thus, Lady Susan was summoned.

Certain he was soon to be skewered upon a pike of righteousness, Sidney said his prayers.

“I’ve been informed sal volatile is in order,” she declared upon her arrival. Her cool gaze swept over Sidney like he was simply another piece of furniture which was, admittedly, much worse. “To whom shall I administer the first dose?”

The fever of impending scandal flared once more and Lady Susan descended upon her quarry.

 

-

 

Yet again Charlotte feverishly wished for the calm, rote life of Willingden. If she were home, she would not have found herself deeply enraptured by Lord Peregrin’s personal collection of books. If she hadn’t been so fascinated, she would have known Mr. Parker had stood behind her without the need of him announcing himself by means of a cleared throat. And if he hadn’t startled her, Shakespeare’s dratted Collected Works would have remained in hand, her instep wouldn’t be throbbing, and she would have had enough wits about her to not ask a gentleman to tend to her alone. Would, would, would. But there was no use in wringing her nerves into a tangle over what might have been. It had happened. It was. Charlotte only wished she knew why.

Like all gently-bred ladies, she had been raised to be careful and covetous of her virtue. The way Willingden’s knowing matrons spoke sometimes made it seem as if brigands and libertines waited around every dark corner, diabolically plotting the fall and ruination of all the young maidens. No such man had ever snatched her up, but she watched more than one friend fall into holy matrimony after a not-so-secret kiss behind the assembly hall. No young man had ever made her so befuddled. She’d never understood how deeply stupid the desire to steal a secret moment could make a person. Until now. 

She blamed her anomalous conduct on the after-effects of the waltz. The lingering thrall of Mr. Parker’s smile and the low timbre of his voice as he’d rushed to render her aid. Reconciling the man who delivered a scathing set-down at their first meeting with the man who tenderly minded her ankle must have thrown her brain for a loop. There was no other explanation for it. Not that any sort of reasoning would free them from this trap. It did not take Lady Susan’s presence, nor the flicker of disappointment in her eyes, to tell Charlotte that her poor choices would lead both her and Mr. Parker to the altar, just as it had the girls in her village.

“Heavens,” the duchess murmured weakly. A handkerchief was pressed to her mouth for but a moment before she drew it away to say more strongly, “You are remarkably resilient, my dear. Incredible fortitude. Why, any young lady in your place would have succumbed to a swoon!”

Charlotte now sat with Lady Susan and the duchess. In a farcical separation of the sexes, the gentleman had retired to a separate office to hold a conversation much the same as the one the women had now -- though there was strong reason to believe their talks were far less hostile.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she replied, though there was no doubting the rude implication behind the duchess’ comment. Focusing on the pain in her foot, she resigned to remain fully composed no matter what else was said.

“Swooning is dreadfully tedious,” Lady Susan said breezily. “One is always in need of a soft place to land and therefore one would find herself never stepping a single slippered foot outside. Besides, Miss Heywood does not suffer from delicate nerves when there is naught need of them."

“Not in--?” Eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the duchess’ lips twitched up into a placating smile. “Of course you would think so, Lady Susan. We did not apprise you fully to the extent of matters.”

Lady Susan’s smile in return was equally docile. “I am not in need of edification, Your Grace. I am fully aware of Miss Heywood’s nature and am absolutely certain that whatever was seen, explained in the proper context, would assuage all thought of impropriety.”

So regulated was Charlotte’s comportment presently that she was sure the only outward show of her shock was a slight tightened of her folded fingers. It didn’t seem possible, but it seemed Lady Susan was not only determined to defend her from the duchess’ cutting remarks but from the consequences of her actions as well.

The duchess tutted. “It is my understanding certain… relaxations… of modesty are afforded to those in your circle, but surely even you can admit a young lady and a gentleman so far away from the revelry cannot possibly be held wholly innocent.”

“Indeed I must if the facts of the case support such a verdict.”

“I see. Well, then I must stand even more firmly in my convictions. Excuse me, Lady Susan,” she said, and hardly afforded Charlotte a glance before she rose from the fainting couch as if she hadn’t required great assistance settling herself there. She departed to the side office.

Now alone, Lady Susan came quickly to Charlotte’s side. “Her Grace is a prickly pear indeed. I hope you are not overly offended by our jabs.”

“I cannot be. I am embarrassed to admit Their Graces and Lord Babington indeed have cause to hold my feet to the fire,” she said, and explained in detail exactly how she’d found herself in such a predicament.

“Not even a kiss?” Lady Susan sat back. “By Jupiter, the way the footman prevailed upon me to hurry, I had assumed you and your beau had been found in flagrante delicto.”

Charlotte’s cheeks burned for more than one reason; the implication of Mr. Parker being her beau, as well as the easy way Lady Susan referenced certain acts. Another wave of abject misery washed over her. Once more, she had settled herself in the middle of a scandal. Once more, she had imperiled more than her own reputation. At least this time she did not have to explain the cause and effect in the breakfast parlor. “You are far too kind,” she said. “You must be furious with me.”

“Furious? Dear girl, I could not be further from,” she said. “Indeed I wish we could have resolved the matter of Mr. Parker in due course, but he is a superb match. Well-regarded, well-bred, and wealthy. And there is all the reason to believe we shall avoid a nine days’ wonder.”

“But Her Grace…” 

“Is truly not as vicious as she makes herself out to be. She is a lady of discretion, if direct. A duchess can afford to be whatever she chooses, after all. The problem lies here in the current company, you see. Lord Babington is her nephew and, by all accounts, she sees him as one would a son. She would thus view any taint to his character as the greatest affront.”

“But-- Lord Peregrin is-- I thought…”

“Indeed the heir is quite the rascal.” Lady Susan’s smile turned sad. “But Lord Babington’s late mother was the beloved sister, and, I suppose, Lady Helene is all the more protective of him because of it.”

Charlotte inclined her head. Thinking back to the moment she and Mr. Parker had been caught, she suddenly understood. Despite the theatrical way Their Graces had acted, there lacked a true heat. The duke had hemmed and hawed, but he’d found drink instead of demanding immediate recompense. The duchess had fluttered to the couch, but now it seemed her purpose had been to size up her opposition and ensure Lord Babingon would not come to harm. “You never intended to remove my consequences then,” she said.

“If I could, please know I would,” said Lady Susan. “We women rarely get a choice, do we? Why, if we were in France no one would have batted an eye. Simply trotted on by, I’m sure of it.… Of course, there is the chance Mr. Parker may refuse to do his duty.”

“He wouldn’t. He won’t.” She swallowed thickly. Tears burned her nose. What would she tell Georgiana? Surely she would now believe her guardian to be another villain-in-wait; or, worse yet, that Charlotte as the next great colluder. Or perhaps she would blame herself for leaving Charlotte by herself. It was all so terrible. She could only hope for easy forgiveness. “Oh, I wish he would have thought of Miss Lambe before he-- he didn’t leave! I wish I would have heeded his advice for a doctor. I was so vexed at hurting myself in such a silly fashion I couldn’t bear another witness to it…”

Lady Susan generously did not comment further on Charlotte’s bad decision. Instead, she turned curious: “Now that you mention Miss Lambe, it crosses my mind that Mr. Parker being exactly where you were as… odd. In the same vein, what were you doing here by yourself?”

"I cannot account for Mr. Parker, however--" Charlotte gasped and barely restrained herself from slapping her forehead. It seemed she’d lost her mind several leagues back and would never recover it. She closed her eyes for a moment, recalling revelations decidedly more shocking than her own troubles. “I can’t believe I almost forgot,” she said, and recounted the secret meeting between Sir Edward and Lady Pandora.

“Melodrama abounds,” said Lady Susan. “We must keep our wits about us to nip any insidious plot that arises in the bud. I daresay Miss Lambe has more friends in her corner than Edward Denham and Pandora have combined… though I now worry about Miss Denham’s future.”

Charlotte nodded. The thought had occurred to her as well. “Unless he is disowned by Lady Denham, then there is little hope she would escape unscathed if he were to come under proper scrutiny.”

“The easiest way to circumvent directly attacking Georgiana would be to attack her friends.” She frowned. “I wonder if you would have been his next target. You three ladies are rather attached at the hip these days.”

“Sir Edward has never paid me any mind… but the thought he might have turned his charm onto me and for such nefarious purposes chills me to the bone.”

“Then let us console ourselves with the promised heat of future matrimony.”

Surely marriage was the secret which allowed Lady Susan to say such wicked things and not blush for Charlotte’s cheeks burned at hearing them.

 

-

 

While the women conferred outside, the gentlemen had resolved the issue with a bit of shouting, grunting, and calls upon prevailing honor. In less than five minutes’ time, the deed was done.

Babington offered two-fingers’ worth of brandy to Sidney afterward. As poorly done as it was, he slammed the drink back and held out for another dose. Ever the gentlemen, Babington obliged, though not without a mutinous narrowing of the eyes to display his deep displeasure. 

They had been left alone for the time being while the duke conferred with his steward in yet another private office; a solicitor would need to be called on the morrow, and an express post to Mr. Heywood sent. Despite the jolly occasion of the ball, it seemed the Duke and Duchess of Kingston did not let business matters lie idle.

“Go on,” he said, throat burning. “I know you are desperate to admonish me.”

“Someone ought to. Naught an hour has passed since you told me you weren’t marriage-minded, and yet you run head-long into the oldest trick in the book,” he said. “I’d suggested you talk to the young lady. To call on her tomorrow. I know how you love to be contrary, but to this extent?”

“I beg you not to imply my soon-to-be intended tricked me into anything,” he said, though his attempt at a riposte was weak to his own ears. “Believe me, I haven’t a clue what came over me. One moment I was rushing after Miss Lambe to prevent such trappings, and in the next scene, I was the villain.”

“If you’d’ve listened to me, you wouldn’t have been so overcome as to stick your hand up a skirt. God forbid you dance with her twice, eh?”

“Go to the devil,” he said without heat, and placed his now empty glass forward to be refilled yet again.

Babington poured. “At least you will do right by the girl.”

“I haven’t a choice and you well know it. She’s a gentleman’s daughter. If nothing else, I can’t afford to shame myself in such a way, even if your aunt and uncle weren’t calling for a piece of justice to be done.”

Beyond his own duty and honor, he had to contend with those of everyone else attached to him like a tether. Undoubtedly his guardianship of Georgiana would come into question; scandal would tarnish Tom’s efforts with Sanditon; his business ventures would suffer. He hadn’t the idle means with which to weather the storm like some gentlemen with allowances from their sires could. He had too much at stake. Too much to lose. Why in the bloody hell hadn’t he remembered that when he’d rushed toward Miss Heywood like a fool?

“You could have done worse, you know,” Babington said. “Her looks are agreeable and she is pleasant company. Worst yet, I suspect you like her.”

“My feelings are of little consequence,” he said. “Behind those doors, I can only imagine the browbeating the poor chit is receiving from the ladyships. You know how women always bear the brunt of the matter. By now she surely resents me. And if she doesn’t, she’s not half as intelligent as I believe her to be.”

A time later, the duchess joined them in the private room. The duke had not yet returned, but it seemed Her Grace was fully capable of doling out the decree without him. She proceeded to lay out, in no uncertain terms, what she expected to come.

“You will ask tonight and she will accept,” she said firmly. “Unless Miss Heywood’s father can provide sufficient objections to the match, I expect a formal engagement announcement will follow -- with a dinner party to celebrate, if you wish to be kind.”

Logistical quibbles such as when and where the wedding would take place would come in time, Sidney was sure, and he had no doubt the duchess and Lady Susan would soon negotiate over these facts. He felt like a young man again, and not a fully grown gentleman of import.

He and Babington were dismissed, and Lady Susan took their place.

From here, there was little else to be done but approach Miss Heywood. He expected her to turn her nose up at him, but she met him with a small, nervous smile. Only a touch of uncertainty lingered in her expression, but he was sure that was to be expected when one’s future hung in the great, delicate balance of Polite Society. How he had ever called into question her character after his own poor showing tonight, he would never know, and shame thus held his tongue beyond the obligatory greeting.

“Worry not, Miss Heywood,” said Babington. “Lady Susan is a formidable champion.”

“And who fights for Mr. Parker?” she asked.

Babington cut Sidney a surprised glance before settling a more affable one on Miss Heywood. “I suppose I stand as his woe-begotten defender. I’ve enough experience in the post to tell you you have nothing to fear. As long as I’ve known him, Parker’s been getting into and out of scrapes, tussles and knockdowns all in one piece.”

“Parker is stood right here,” said Sidney begrudgingly.

“And truth be told,” Babington continued on as if Sidney hadn’t spoken, “as loudly and vigorously as my dearest uncle barks, his bite is far less severe. I believe the normal… restitutions will be in order.”

“Well, then. If it’s only the usual punishment.” Miss Heywood’s sigh was entirely self-deprecating. “I shan’t worry too much.”

Not a minute later, Babington was called away.

By design -- and not a clever one at that -- this removal gave Sidney a private moment with Miss Heywood. He knew there was yet much to discuss, letters to write, a father to beseech and contracts to draw up, but it was clear now was the time allotted to do his duty and ask.

He cleared his throat, which suddenly felt much too dry. “How fares the instep?”

“Throbbing, but the pain is quite bearable now,” she replied. “The initial hurt was quite surprising. For a moment, I’d truly believed you; that we’d need to find a surgeon and--” She made a sawing motion.

“Good God,” he said, aghast. “Shakespeare couldn’t possibly be so heavy.”

“I hadn’t had the pleasure.”

He rolled his eyes. “Even so printed Collected Works , ‘All’s Well That Ends Well’ to ‘Winter’s Tale’, and however many sonnets--”

“--One-hundred and fifty-four--”

“I doubt there would be cause to summon the butcher.”

“Indeed I am not so delicate,” she admitted, “to be parted foot from ankle.”

There was a moment of good humor between them, and Sidney realized he was mooning down at her as she mooned up at him, all in view of Her Graces, Her Ladyship, and Babington, who he was sure all remained dutifully away from the cracked-open door and were not at all spying upon them.

In an unintentional parody of his earlier action, he again kneeled before her.

Twice he had made the mistake of thinking her plain. He’d been a fool. Firelight danced across her face, her coiffure. She was arresting. Beautiful. Full lips meant for laughter and kissing; strong eyebrows over expressive brown eyes; a cleft in her chin he was beginning to consider quite dainty rounded out a smart jaw. It felt wrong to examine her so closely, and yet he couldn’t draw away from doing it. An unnamed need to see her cheeks flush tugged at him. He wanted to vex her, charm her; to know she regarded him in a similar fashion as he did her.

“Miss Heywood,” he began. His hands began to sweat. Ten years ago, he had asked Eliza to make him the happiest of men. Not long after, she had ripped his heart clear from his chest and left him to the vultures. As silly as it might have seemed, the fact that Miss Heywood hardly had a real choice in choosing him did not soothe his fraying nerves. He hesitated, dearly wishing for a truly private moment yet understanding why it could not be given, and so plowed on: “Surely you understand the cause of all this calamity, and the ramifications of my actions on us both. It is only… correct… that we conclude this act to its natural end and that I ask you to marry me.”

Thus far, Sidney had been operating under the notion that they were two people like-minded and understanding of what was expected of them. Miss Heywood’s wide eyes quickly liberated him from this idea. His was not a horribly romantic speech, he knew, but he felt saccharine words would have rung false. Perhaps she had expected something more tender -- or perhaps she had not expected him to ask at all. Silence stretched out between them, and he saw the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

“You are opposed,” he said. A dark despair began to settle over him. His heart thumped wildly in his chest, but any motion for him to stand -- and flee -- was forestalled by Miss Heywood reaching for his hand. She squeezed it desperately. A great wave of relief crashed against him.

“I am not, sir,” she said, voice shaking. “I will be your wife.”

Her eyes glimmered and seeing her so ill-at-ease struck the wild, romantic chord inside of him he’d long ago buried. With that, an unintentional truth fell from his lips unbidden: “There was all the reason I would have found myself on a bent knee before you at Season’s end. I fear I will spend the rest of my life begging forgiveness for causing our current circumstances, even if I cannot bring myself to dislike them.”

“Then I must disabuse you of the idea that you are wholly at fault,” she replied, “and tell you I had every hope you would ask. Eventually.”

“Tomorrow will be a hectic day,” he warned her. “I will write to your father, as well as Lady Susan, with all discretion. I am led to believe Mr. Heywood won’t have any objections.”

Finally, a hint of the teasing sparkle returned to her eyes. “Having never met you, I am sure he will not. However, knowing his nature in full and yours but a little, it is best his blessing comes in a sea of ink,” she said. A moment later her certainty faded. “Will we have time to… to know one another before we are--”

A loud harrumph cut through her question. No doubt the Duke of Kingston had returned from business-doing and was now impatiently waiting to be released to make merry.

“I will endeavor to make it so,” said Sidney quietly, and gave Miss Heywood an encouraging smile he didn’t himself quite feel. It seemed rapidity was on the docket for Their Graces and there was all the chance they’d be expected to wed after the banns were read.

They rose together and accepted lukewarm congratulations from their audience. With that, it was done.

Notes:

also, i literally just jointed the twitter 'verse since apparently that's where all the cool kids talk about sanditon?

i'm @dansunedisco if you want to, like, slide into my DMs?

Chapter 8: Two Gifts, Two Households

Notes:

Many thanks again to Emily without whom this would be a much hotter mess than it is. <3

A million thanks also to all who are along for the ride. Thank you for reading and all your incredible responses. Hopefully you dig this one, too! :)

Dearest Alison,

I will cut to the quick. Undoubtedly you’ve already heard the news via the express post Lady Susan sent Papa this morning and thus this letter will not catch you unawares, but I am to be a married woman. Indeed I can hardly myself believe the news. I know you wanted a viscount for yourself and a duke for me, but I undershot terribly and collected one of the wealthiest gentleman in the beau monde instead. I hope you are not too sorely disappointed in my choice.

His name is Mr. Sidney Parker

A droplet of ink trembled on the tip of the quil and she quickly struck it against the blotter. 

Normally, composing a letter to Alison flowed as easy as talking, but it was exceedingly difficult to collect her thoughts and put it to paper. She wanted to display a happy front and provide answers to the questions her sister would certainly ask about her intended, but the fact remained that she knew very little of him. Other than what Georgiana had told her -- which, in truth, was not all wholly flattering -- and feelings gleaned from their few conversations, Mr. Sidney Parker was an enigma. 

Biting her lip, she took up quill once more, adding a perfunctory period to the previously unfinished sentence. She continued on:

I know you are overflowing with questions about Mr. Parker and so I will leave it to you to respond with them so that I may answer all at once, otherwise I fear I will miss one in my presumption and will never hear the end of it from you.

How are you et. al? I feel as if I’ve been gone for a year instead of a month…

After a rambling description of the ducal manse and the ball which she hoped would satisfy Alison’s curious nature, she finished the letter off with all her love, scattered a handful of sand across the paper, and carefully folded the squares. Perhaps by the time Alison’s response came, she would have satisfactory means with which to answer all her questions.

It was another early morning in Worcester Hall. This time, she hadn’t waited for her maid to arrive to light the grate. She knew she’d never hear the end of it -- Anna could not bear any of Charlotte’s protests that basic household chores were not foreign to her -- but she’d wanted the room warm and toasty to write. She didn’t, however, dare go in search of water or a basin to complete her morning ablutions, but she did wish she had something else to occupy her mind.

Her current state could, in a word, perhaps be best described as frazzled.

After Mr. Parker had asked for her hand, Lady Susan had declared the night complete and whisked her away. She hadn’t had a moment to find either Georgiana or Miss Denham to discover the result of their conversation, or tell them of the absurd turn in her night. Another anxiety was the lingering threat of Sir Edward and Lady Pandora’s schemes, as well as Mr. Cummings’ ill attention. As far as she knew, Mr. Parker remained unaware of everything and all. Indeed there was no saying if Georgiana had heeded her advice to seek his aid, or even if she planned to do so.

Her stomach swam with worry. Worst of it all was that she no longer knew where she stood. As both Georgiana’s friend and now Mr. Parker’s betrothed, her loyalties were keenly split. If Georgiana wanted to handle her dilemmas herself, a part of Charlotte believed she should be afforded the opportunity to do so -- but not telling Mr. Parker would only earn her his ire, and could lead to further ramifications for her friend. Or, blushing deeply at the thought, the detriment to marital bliss.

Either way, any interference on Charlotte’s part would surely be viewed as a treachery by one party. It was an impossible spot to be in, and from one which she did not yet know how to navigate. Unfortunately, no clear resolution presented itself. She could only hope Mr. Parker had taken care with announcing their engagement to Georgiana or, better yet, had thought to allow Charlotte herself to do the deed.

A time later, her maid Anna arrived who tutted as she changed the spent coals for fresh ones and helped Charlotte dress. Hooks were hooked and buttons were buttoned, and petticoats and layers of muslin were draped to give her the columnal silhouette currently au courant.

“You look very lovely, miss,” Anna said, stepping back to admire her work.

Charlotte smiled. “Thank you, Anna -- you always know which dress is the ticket for the day.”

Just as quickly as she’d helped Charlotte dress, Anna directed her lady to sit on the stool before the vanity to begin the process of wrangling thick hair into a fashionable updo. The fact that she was able to wield both brushes and hot tools simultaneously while making idle talk showcased her skill: “I’d’ve chosen the blush muslin for you, miss, on account of that it brings out the peachy color in your cheeks -- but her ladyship says a modiste is to arrive today, hence the simpler white.”

A modiste was news to Charlotte. So surprised was she that she turned her head sharply to better see Anna’s eyes in the glass, her ear narrowly escaping the wrath of scaldingly hot tongs.

“Bless me, please stay still, miss!” Anna exclaimed breathlessly. She held the tongs aloft. “I almost burnt your ear right off.”

“My apologies, Anna.”

“Sitting still will be enough for me, miss. I can’t have you apologizin’ now. T’ain’t proper.”

With a quiet sigh, Charlotte sat as requested. “You are sure about the modiste?”

“Yes’m. It’s all the talk downstairs,” she replied. Her eyes widened a fraction and she hastened on to explain, “Not that we’ve been gossiping behind your back, miss. Only that it’s been so long since Lady Susan’s had a guest like you -- that is, a young lady -- and even longer since we’ve had a proper dressmaker in Worcester Hall.”

 

“It’s for your trousseau,” Lady Susan later explained as they ate breakfast, “and I shall not hear any protestation from you, for it is a wedding gift.”

Charlotte did protest. Politely, of course, but vigorously. Yet again, Lady Susan’s kindness and understanding had eclipsed all measure and she could not idly accept.

And so of course it went that two hours later she was being pinned, poked and measured within an inch of her life. 

The modiste was a bespectacled woman a few inches shorter than Charlotte and at least forty years older. She introduced herself as Madame Lanchester, and she’d brought with her three harried assistants who fluttered here and there on silent command. They all gave Charlotte smiles and their happy tidings as they went about their business, but any further attempt at conversation was met with a sharp look over spectacles.

Which perhaps was well enough for Charlotte was soon drowned in a sea of ruffles, lace, and bows; indeed all manner of silk, muslin and cloth were draped across her body, and buttons of various sizes were held up for assessment against her eyes. Apparently it was fashionable to match lip color to flounces as well and she was obliged to scrub her mouth to satisfaction so as to ensure no rouge impeded artistic creativity.

Charlotte bore the treatment as well as she could but soon came to believe this was Lady Susan’s clever idea of punishment.

Thankfully the end came as quickly as it had begun. One moment the room was covered in a riot of colors and fabrics, and the next it was all wrapped up and carted out to leave the room as tidy as if had never been.

“My felicitations to the happy bride-to-be,” Madame Lanchester declared as the chaos was finally put to order. And with a slight adjustment of the spectacles atop her nose and a rustle of smart skirts, she and her three assistants departed Worcester Hall and disappeared into the thick of Mayfair to undoubtedly harass another hapless client.

Charlotte found Lady Susan in her drawing-room afterward, book in hand.

“I see you’ve survived the experience,” she said, giving Charlotte her trademark teasing smile.

“Barely,” she admitted with a small laugh, “and there is all the possibility a pin or needle is yet stuck somewhere. Oh, Lady Susan -- I cannot possibly thank you enough…”

“You may thank me by remaining deliriously happy for all the rest of your life,” she said, “and, of course, by wearing Madame Lanchester’s designs when you are out-and-about. She is a very dear and old friend, and recently re-established in New Bond Street.”

“Oh?"

“Indeed, she was the artiste behind my own ‘coming out’ attire. I’ve always said her innovation was the true reason Lord Worcester was caught all those years ago. Panniers in those days were rather hard to miss, of course. Two ladies in full regalia could barely pass abreast.”

Charlotte was too young to remember the sizable width panniers had expanded over the course of fashion’s history, but her mother still had several magazines wherein prints detailed such extravagant and voluminous styles. As much as she enjoyed a little ornamentation, she was quite content with the straight-cut style of the current day. “Then I will happily wear Madame Lanchester’s more simplified designs, and consider myself fortunate that we can walk side-by-side without issue.”

At that, the butler Jenkins appeared at the door; almost as if he’d been lying in wait for an opportune lull in conversation to make his entrance. He held a calling card in his gloved fingers. After waiting for Lady Susan’s subtle acknowledgment, he calmly announced, “A Mr. Sidney Parker is at the door, your ladyship.”

Charlotte’s stomach promptly plunged to her feet and her heart jumped up to join her throat.

Lady Susan, having nothing at all to fear from Mr. Parker’s sudden presence, brightened sharply. “Good man, of course he is! Please see him in, Jenkins.”

 

-

 

At the same time of Charlotte’s fitting, Mr. Sidney Parker was experiencing similar torture elsewhere, except his was in the form of enduring Babington’s enthusiastic ramblings on the matter of horseflesh. 

At far too early an hour, he’d been wrangled from his bed, thrown into respectable attire, and bundled into a coach bound for Tattersall’s Repository before he could properly fight back. 

The gentlemen’s objective of today’s sojourn was a mare. While the standard auction was not yet scheduled for another four days, Babington was not one to sleep on opportunity; and, as Sidney had been rudely reminded at the wretched hour of nine o’clock, he rather owed his friend more than a morning’s trip scrutinizing fetlocks and hindquarters and thus had been obliged to tag along.

“Give me an hour of your time and we may consider the matter of nearly-impugned honor fully resolved,” Babington had said, and just as quickly shoved a crumpled piece of paper with a sire-and-dam historical under Sidney’s nose as if he could divine a winning ticket by name and name alone.

Located at Hyde Park Corner, Tattersall’s was the premier auction house for the sale of horse, hound and carriage. It was still too early for its usual crush -- the Jockey Club was considered the place to be seen for London’s well-to-do sportsmen -- but a fair number of horses were currently led by grooms for their daily walkabout and so Sidney and Babington took a weaving, meandering route so as to avoid the worst of the muck.

“This horse must be made from golden stock,” Sidney said, “to have caught your interest and so early in the day.”

“Indeed she is purported to be, and I suppose it is only fair I explain the true meaning behind my rousing you,” Babington replied. “Before Their Graces and I found you and Miss Heywood, I was asking Auntie H for her blessing in pursuing Miss Denham’s hand. The mare was meant to be something of a proposal gift. I’ve it on good authority Miss Denham is an avid horsewoman.”

“A proposal gift,” he repeated dryly. Most men didn’t bother once they’d heard yes ; and, as far as anyone knew, Miss Denham hadn’t. “So she has given you reason to believe--?”

“In her own way.”

Sidney cut his friend a wary glance. “You didn’t say anything last night.”

“It was rather hard to get a word in edgewise what with all the swooning and shouting. My matrimonial aspirations were rather set aside for your impending nuptials, weren’t they? -- which, by the by, how is that going?”

“Truth be told, I haven’t yet begun to scratch the surface. Being snatched before the sun even clipped above the horizon does that to a person.” He pulled a small grimace. “Though I must say ignorance is bliss right now. I’m afraid the stink of scandal will soon be impossible to avoid.”

“Perhaps, but avoiding the circus ring isn’t out of the realm. Miss Heywood is good friends with Miss Lambe, and so it could be surmised your acquaintance with the young lady was more strongly forged. Not all engagements must be the result of a Season’s long toil.”

“That is true enough.” He considered his friend for a moment. Babington was clearly in love with Miss Denham -- or very close to it -- and he hoped this damn horse would be favorably fruitful in seeding her affections. 

“Ah, there she is,” Babington said now, bringing them to a stall which housed his to-be prize. The horse stamped her hoof twice in response. Clearly the disturbance was far too early for her as well. “What say you, Parker? How does she look?”

“Let me see.” He considered the animal whilst leaning heavily on his walking cane. “She has four legs, a head, and a tail, which I’ve found when put together in such a fashion to be a most prosperous sign.”

“Come now. Does she not give you a feeling -- some sense of augury?” Babington looked at him with great expectation.

“Hm. Shiny coat; bright eyes.” He regarded the horse more severely. He leaned in and tilted his head for a moment before exclaiming, “Upon my word! This horse just told me I’ve a face of an ass.”

“You’re a fool, Parker,” Babington replied, “a fool and a mind reader, dammit. The horse is quite right about you.”

“She seems a fine one,” he said, seriously this time. “I recognized the name of the sire -- Bucephalus Anew, was it?”

“Say, I’m surprised you actually read my note.”

Sidney harrumphed. “You ought to consult Crowe if you need a mystical opinion.”

Strangely enough, Crowe was the more accomplished horseman of the three of them; that was, to be deliberately specific, he had the best sense for said animals. They loved him for whatever reason -- perhaps sensing a kindred spirit unwilling to be bridled -- and Sidney would not have believed this to be true if he hadn’t seen one of the meanest stallion’s alive obediently nibble a cube of sugar from Crowe’s palm himself. However, as the hour was unfashionably early and Crowe was consistently fashionably indisposed until noon, Sidney had been deemed sharp enough for the day.

Which was sorely untrue for if anyone had bothered to ask him -- which Babington obviously had not upon his kidnapping -- they would have quickly ascertained his wits had left him several hours previous, snatched away by Miss Heywood and not yet returned. 

What sleep he’d had was fitful. After leaving the ball with all the haste of a man being chased by hellhounds -- stopping briefly along his route to ensure Georgiana and Miss Denham had returned to their respective chaperones, of course -- he’d spent a good portion of his night penning missives to Mr. Heywood and steadily growing drunker off a bottle of claret he’d tucked away for such dire emergencies.

Luckily he’d had the good sense to not sign nor seal any of them, lest a well-meaning servant post his incoherent epistles and prompt Mr. Heywood to ride upon London with the purpose of snatching his daughter away from him, citing insanity.

He still had to contact his solicitor, actually send Mr. Heywood a reasonable and sane letter, draw up and review the marriage contract, consult Lady Susan on the matter of specifics of the wedding, submit the engagement announcement, inform his family, break the news to Georgiana, and -- at some point -- actually court his intended. They were doing everything in reverse. His temples throbbed viciously at the thought of what was to come, and what hadn’t yet been done.

As he’d told Miss Heywood the night previous, today was fit to be hectic; if only he’d known that he’d be made to step into stables last night, he might have held back from the one last glass of wine. Presently his stomach roiled at the smell of sweet hay and the stench of fresh manure. The combination was hellishly unbecoming.

“Good God,” said Babington, having finally turned away from his final inspection of the blood bay. The horse gave a whickering cry of agreement. “We ought to leave. You look as if you’re about to toss up your accounts.”

Sidney did not succumb, but knew he was dreadfully close to it. “Fresh air would suit,” he agreed.

“We’d need to get a fair way’s away from London proper for fresh,” said Babington, but having deemed what he’d seen of the mare to be enough to proceed with the purchase next Monday, they promptly made their way back to his carriage.

The ride to Bedford Place was mercifully quick, though Sidney was immediately set upon by his household staff at the behest of Babington, who bid him good-day with a smirk and an off-hand comment about donkeys as he departed. 

Before he knew it, a potent draught was poured down his throat and he was plunged into a bath. It was only the decades of good and loyal service with which his staff had provided the Parkers that prevented him from sending the turncoats to the streets.

After emerging from his chambers, however, Sidney admitted whatever potion his maid Cook had given him had settled his constitution well enough, and the hot bath had taken the feverish chills from his bones.

“Menfolk are always worse when ill,” Cook remarked solemnly as she removed the tray Sidney had cleared of fresh bread and butter from his office, but she was gone so quickly her master’s retort hit only the shut door.

With a beleaguered sigh, Sidney waded into his work.

Some time later, he emerged from the fugue of toil and found a steaming cup of tea placed within arm’s reach. How it had come to be or who had brought it in remained a mystery, but it was exactly what he needed and perfectly made to his tastes.

All his correspondence was complete; in neat order, he had his express to Mr. Heywood and his own solicitor penned, then his less urgent letters to Lady Susan, Mrs. Griffiths, and Tom and Mary -- Arthur and Diana would not cross the Channel for a little while yet, but he had a quick note penned for them as well. The bid in the paper would be sent upon Mr. Heywood’s reply, and still required the flourishes all young ladies seemed to demand in their announcements. He’d also reviewed his accounts to ensure all was in order. Upon their marriage, a new column would be made for the new Mrs. Parker and her expenses.

He remembered then their conversation at Hyde Park and her adamant resolve that women should be able to make their own way instead of relying on their husbands or their families to provide for them. Looking at his accounts, and knowing that soon he would be in charge of all her finances, her decisions, and damn near everything else, he felt a wave of guilt. It was no matter that, by their own admissions, they would have been naturally inclined to one another. He had taken away her choice. Though it was the way of the world, it still did not feel wholly right. 

He stood and went to his bookshelf. She’d asked him to level the playing field between them with a book. Drawing his finger down the spine of one that had kept him sane during the roughest squalls across the Atlantic Oceans, he resolved to do just that. It was the least he could do.

After leaving the matter of posting all business in the hands of his household, he found his carriage had already been pulled forward from the mews and readied.

“To Worcester Hall, sir?” his driver, Mr. Blythe, asked. There was a knowing twinkle in his eye Sidney chose not to address. 

Instead he climbed into the cab with little more than a grunt of agreement.

The Earl of Worcester’s London home sat in prime location and was considered beautifully built; and unlike many townhomes, a driveway to the front entrance looped away from the main thoroughfare and had a gatehouse with which one had to contend with to gain entrance. As luck would have it, Sidney had to contend very little. After a rapid exchange between Mr. Blythe and the gateman, they were waved on through without fuss.

As with the Parker household in Bedford Place, it seemed word of his coming nuptials to Miss Heywood had spread here too like wildfire.

They were greeted at the head of the drive by two footmen -- who Mr. Blythe quickly batted away as he himself leapt down from his seat to open the carriage door -- and Sidney was made to wait in the receiving hall after giving his calling card to a butler by the name of Jenkins.

Jenkins soon returned. After instructing a lower footman to accompany Mr. Blythe on to the coach house, he bid Sidney follow him.

“Her ladyship and Miss Heywood are in the tulip room,” said Jenkins, which meant very little to Sidney -- they passed what looked like three other parlor rooms along the way, as well as a music room and another that looked to be filled with only standing art and portraits.

Finally, they reached said room of tulips, and Jenkins stood to the side to announce: “Mr. Sidney Parker.”

Both Lady Susan and Miss Heywood sat therein, and being confronted with both ladies at once wreaked havoc on his nerves. Such as: how the hell did he court someone who he was already engaged to? After Eliza, he hadn’t bothered with wooing. A flirtation here and there to keep him in practice was all he’d required. Perhaps he should have taken a page from Babington’s book and bought her a horse as well. But he hadn’t thought of it and now, with tight grip on the book he’d brought with him instead of flowers, he felt as if he were again a green boy, unknowing and unsure. Luckily, it seemed as if both he and Miss Heywood were on equal footing in that regard. 

She looked almost pained to see him.

“Forgive my intrusion, Lady Susan,” he said, “Miss Heywood.”

“Not at all an intrusion. Indeed we may call it an unexpectedly delightful surprise,” said Lady Susan. “Why, Miss Heywood and I were just discussing you.”

A very red flush began to creep down Miss Heywood’s neck. “Were we?”

“Talk of the devil and he shall appear, as the saying goes,” he said, but his tone was too stiff and the self-deprecating jest fell flat.

Lady Susan rallied quickly, however, and they three fell into the easy, idle talk that summarized most social visits: weather, vague remarks on health, the latest art exhibit, et cetera, et cetera. It was excruciatingly tedious, and just as the standard fifteen minutes ticked to a close, Jenkins reappeared at the door.

“It seems I am needed elsewhere,” sighed Lady Susan, and forestalled any attempt of Sidney’s to leave by asking him to keep Miss Heywood company in her stead. “I daresay another fifteen minutes alone cannot do any more harm than as already come -- right, Mr. Parker?”

It was a subtle stab that did the trick to stick him in place. With a swish of skirts and a pleasant smile, she made her exit as only the Countess of Worcester could.

Alone again -- and perhaps both remembering what had happened the night previous -- Mr. Parker and Miss Heywood regarded one another once more.

 

-

 

A long silence stretched out between them. In that time, Charlotte felt her heart start and stop several times. Mr. Parker was here. In Worcester Hall. And, by the look on his face, not entirely too pleased to see her. The only explanation was that he dreadfully regretted his being made to tie his lot to hers.

Then, he turned ever so slightly, and she saw he held in his hand a small book. 

Oh, she thought. Perhaps it was not regret that she'd seen, but a reflection of her own anxiousness.

It felt as if an age had passed since their innocent waltz, but seeing that he’d remembered her request -- both in the form of a novel and also striving for a semblance of friendship -- did much to ease the tangle of her nerves. She’d asked him if they’d have a chance to know one another; he’d promised he’d try. She, too, had to make an attempt.

An idea struck her, then, and she joined him in standing. “Would you take a turn about the room with me, sir?”

He did not hesitate to set aside his hat -- which he set atop the nameless book -- and give her his arm. “Are you well?”

“Yes, and no,” she answered honestly. She looked up at him as they slowly began to circle the room. “I spent my morning in befuddlement and cannot seem to shake the feeling. You may laugh at me all you like, but I thought a bit of momentum would… ease the air between us.”

“Momentum?” His eyebrow arched up for but a moment before smoothing out. “Ah. Our walk. Our waltz. Indeed it seems we are at our best when we are in motion.”

“Why is that, you think?”

“I feel as if you are tempting me into a debate -- or discussion -- on Descartes’ Passions of the Soul.”

She laughed lightly. “I would, but I am sorry to say I have not yet read that one.”

“Has he been bowdlerized by Mr. Heywood already?”

“I doubt that. My father does not censure as perhaps they say he should.”

“They?”

“Nearly all our acquaintances in Willingden,” she explained. “We still continue the practice of reading in the family style; brothers and sisters mingling together. I must warn you, sir, that I’ve read and heard all forms of books, pamphlets and lectures, some of which I am sure I should not have. If you thought me outspoken before, I fear I will only grow worse and more volatile once I am introduced to your library.”

She saw with satisfaction that her gentle teasing had taken root -- implying that he was already worse than her for all his own reading -- as he gamely fought away a smile.

“And what of your family, Miss Heywood?” he asked. “Will you tell me about them?”

“I have rather a lot to speak on,” she replied, but at his gentle prompting, she named everyone from the eldest to the youngest. Though Miss Denham had painted a fair picture of the Parkers already, she responded with what was polite: “And your family, sir?”

“Two brothers -- an elder and a younger; Tom and Arthur -- and my sister, Diana. Tom is married to Mary, and I’ve been blessed with two nieces and nephews apiece.” He paused. “My parents, to my regret, are no longer with us.”

“I am sorry I cannot meet them.”

“As am I. They would have liked you very much.”

Her cheeks heated at this. “Very flattering.”

“Yet very true,” he said. He looked down at her again. “You said you’d like to know me, Miss Heywood, and so I’ve brought you that book.”

The walkabout came to a natural end with a few strides more; and then Mr. Parker presented her with a simply bound book. The cover was worn and faded, and the bottom edge looked discolored, as if the book had, at one point, been partially submerged in water and then later left to dry. Which, according to Mr. Parker, it had.

“I’m not sure what Waverley will tell you,” he said, “but I hope it is agreeable.”

Her stomach fluttered and she fought the urge to hug the book to her chest. “I will read it with all haste,” she replied. 

Completely free of her earlier frazzled nerves and befuddlement, she was able to fully appreciate Mr. Parker’s thoughtfulness and vulnerability in giving her this gift. She was also close enough to appreciate his soft and handsome smile.

That enchantment she felt during their dance -- and devastatingly during their moment in the library -- was beginning to settle over her again, and without truly meaning to, she swayed all the closer to him. He smelled good; clean and fresh, a hint of cologne with notes she could not name.

“You’re happy with it, then,” he said, and she couldn’t very well refute his comment because indeed she was alarmingly pleased -- but that didn’t mean she would let him gloat overmuch.

Pulling a bit of Miss Denham inside of her forward, she replied, “You’ve given me a waterlogged paperback, sir.”

“And yet your smile reveals you.” Which could very well be said of Mr. Parker himself, for his own smile was quite bright indeed. “But I see you are not yet completely won. It would please me greatly if you let me try again.”

“If you must.”

“I must,” he said firmly.

Their conversation had lapsed into a parody of the normal courting back-and-forth she’d witnessed from the sidelines all her life, and Charlotte wondered if a normal couple would have found this an appropriate moment for an innocent kiss. But just as quickly as the thought crossed her mind, she remembered Lady Susan’s reminder to behave. After all that had happened thus far, she did not want to think of what would become of her and Mr. Parker if they were found in an amorous embrace in the countess’ home.

Swallowing thickly, she took a half-step back. It did not break the draw of Mr. Parker away completely, but it did give her perspective. There were words for wanton women, and Charlotte was beginning to think she was well on her way to joining their ranks.

Bringing herself under regulation, she decided to alter course into more serious topics: “Have you yet written my father?”

“Sent this morning; I have all the hope he will respond quickly, though I’m guarding myself for a very sharp response indeed.”

“It is not the traditional way,” she agreed, “but as I told you once, both Papa and Mama bid me leave with a kiss on the cheek to join Polite Society in hopes I would find myself -- perhaps not with such speed -- in the very circumstances with which we find one another.”

He inclined his head. “I believe you may be undervaluing your father’s protective nature.”

“I am not, sir, but only because he knows I am able to protect myself. I’ll have you know I am a very good shot.”

“I can believe it,” he said with no skepticism whatsoever.

“And then what comes next?”

“After I’ve recovered from Mr. Heywood’s scathing response, it will be the usual way. A wedding at some point and then… life, I suppose.”

Barely restraining an eye roll, she pressed him: “Right, but -- the logistics, Mr. Parker. Where will we live? Do you stay in London year-round? Do you leave for the summer? Am I to join you? Will… will Georgiana come to stay with us?”

“All conversations to be had in time,” he replied, perhaps a little bewildered at her rapid-fire onslaught of domestic questions. “Though I am glad you mention Georgiana. After leaving Worcester Hall, I am off to Mrs. Griffiths’ to tell her the happy news. That, at least, I hope will be one less stress for you to bear.”

Charlotte was sure her stressors would be the least of Mr. Parker's concerns once Georgiana told him of the two villains laying in wait. The desire to spill all she knew and preface his visit bubbled up, but she tamped the urge down.

“I am glad to hear it,” she said. “It would be cruel to leave the announcement to be done in the papers. If I may let you leave with one request… I know it is not my place to come between you both, but please: be kind.”

“For your sake?” he asked.

“For hers. Surely the thought has crossed your mind that a union between you and I leaves her with-- well, very few to confide in without worry that the thought will pass to someone else.”

His eyes narrowed, but any further response was interrupted by Jenkins, whose presence reminded all in party that the gentleman had stayed nearly three times as long as was proper.

“There is a fair next week,” Mr. Parker said quickly. “If all goes well with Miss Lambe, I had intended on taking her. It would make me very happy if you were to accompany us. With Lady Susan’s consent, of course.”

The spell of the afternoon compelled Charlotte to agree. As soon as Mr. Parker was gone, however, worry for what was to come next soon set in. Being so centrally involved in trouble and yet being unable to help solve it was a terrible thing indeed.

Notes:

Waverley - a novel by Sir Walter Scott; which, apparently, was not a fact known until a dinner party in 1828.

Madame Lanchester - was an actual modiste!

Tattersall's Repository - is still around!

Chapter 9: Beginning, Middle, End

Notes:

Happy holidays! I'm sorry I've been away for so long... but now we're back to it. Hope you enjoy.

Georgiana made haste after Esther. She called out her friend’s name twice, but earned only purposeful silence in return. Even in her distressed and harried state, Esther did not run. Ladies did not, after all, conduct themselves in such a manner.

Georgiana, however, lacked such reservations even in the best of circumstances, and so she caught up in double-time.

“Do not tell me you are rampaging after Lady Pandora and Sir Edward,” Georgiana remarked lightly, trying to infuse the tense situation with the disparaging humor that always seemed to lift Esther’s spirits.

It worked, if only a little.

“A lady does not rampage,” Esther replied, after a moment. Her gait slowed ever so slightly and her tone had returned to her normal bored drawl as she continued: “I was under the impression you’d said your piece. I did not realize I would be gifted with more.”

“You may lash out at me all you like,” she replied, and pulled Esther to a stop by the elbow. “But I shan’t leave your side until we speak. I know I hurt you with what I said and perhaps even how I’d said it, but I cannot, in good conscience, see you off without ensuring you are…”

“Not rampaging?”

“Indeed.”

The doors to the ballroom were very close. Every now and again it was opened by a reveler or a servant, and a fall of laughing voices and jolly music crept through. Otherwise, the sitting alcove where they stood was quiet. Georgiana could be very patient when needs must, which was well enough as Esther proved to be the toughest nut she had ever tried to crack. While Charlotte fell open like a favorite book, Esther was firmly under lock and key.

“What is there left to speak on?” Esther asked. A hollow feeling grew in the pit of her stomach. “You’ve just informed me that my brother is a monster. Shall we cast aspersions upon my aunt now as well?”

“Not unless the Lady Denham is in the vicinity so she may best hear them,” came the reply, but Georgiana’s tone was devoid of any meanness, and it seemed to Esther that she would need to strike far more fiercely if she wished to tear her friend away from her desire to soothe and comfort.

“I see I must be more clear in my meaning, then: I do wish to hear more. Not by you. Nor Miss Heywood. In fact, it is probably best we throw away all ideas of friendship between us and carry on as if it had never been.”

She expected Georgiana to be, at the very least, annoyed with her dismissal, but she remained unmoved.

“Well said, Miss Denham. However, I must confess I am wholly unaffected. Indeed you must try harder than that to rid yourself of me,” came the tart reply. “You forget I’ve spent some time in London and have therefore been quite inured to all forms of contempt. Attempted or otherwise.”

Without Charlotte to act as conciliator, the personalities of both young ladies naturally clashed. Neither were used to giving ground, though the manner in which they conducted battle was dissimilar. Esther knew it would take far more callousness to dislodge her friend’s attempt to console, but she hadn’t the spirit to do so.

It was said by some that she did not possess a heart. She could say with confidence, however, that she did indeed have one, as well as feelings, and both of them had been hurt terribly throughout the years.

People called her cold. Frigid. Possessing a haughty mien well above her station. Worse words were whispered behind her back, but they reached Esther’s ears all the same. She’d learned long ago to ignore the sting of idle gossip, and thus she could not understand why Georgiana’s story of Edward and Pandora’s meeting struck her so fast and so deeply. Her friendship with the heiress was built on no more than a strong fortnight. It didn’t signify that she would be so injured. Except that deep down -- in a place rarely acknowledged -- she knew all Georgiana had said must be true.

As much as Edward believed he held her under his thumb, Esther was not blind to his nature. He flirted shamelessly, gambled incessantly, and she’d had to help him ascend the steps of Denham Place at the break of dawn as he reeked of drink and perfume on more than one occasion. His spendthrift ways meant a constant rotation of servants. The less loyal would not wait at the door for their master to return and so the footman’s work fell on Esther. By every definition of the word, he was a rake; and his playacting as doting nephew fooled hardly anyone, including Lady Denham. To fall into Lady Pandora’s arms was unspeakable; to discuss the ruination of Georgiana was deplorable… but he was all Esther had left of happier times, and he swore he loved her.

“I cannot choose,” she said quietly. Treacherous tears welled in her eyes. “Either way I am trapped. A false friend or a wicked sister.”

“Believe it or not, I am not asking you to choose between friend or kin,” said Georgiana. “And if you decide to tell Edward that I overheard him and Pandora, so be it -- but above all, I want to let you know you deserve happiness, Miss Denham. Surely you can see Sir Edward does not lie on that path.”

Esther looked away with a sharp inhale. “You… you cannot mean…”

Georgiana’s hands found her friends and squeezed tightly. “While I cannot say I have ever been in love,” she continued, “I do know what it is like to both hate and revere someone. I see you are in pain, Miss Denham, and I see that it is in more ways than one. We can undo this web. I can help you… if only you extend your hand and let me.”

A single tear trailed down Esther’s cheek. “What is there to be done?"

 

The memory of the previous night washed over Esther as she held Lord Babington’s card in hand. It had been nestled neatly amid another beautiful floral arrangement. As she read the words he’d penned, her bare fingers idly rubbed the soft petals of the rose between them, heart thumping wildly in her chest.

LORD BABINGTON

Miss Denham,

Three dances would have suited me best.

B

The fool, she thought. It was as bold a declaration as one could be. One that could trap him. One that would trap him. She closed her eyes.

“Esther,” came Lady Denham’s sharp voice. Her bejeweled hand clutched the stairway banister as she descended in slow, measured steps towards her quarry. “What has you so addled-patted?”

For weeks, Esther had crumpled the cards Babington had sent and discarded them as discreetly as she could. For months, she had turned up her nose at all manner of attention from the other sex. For years, she had lied to herself… Waiting for a love that would burn her before keeping her. But no longer.

Spine rigidly straight, she reached out her hand.

Lady Denham neatly plucked the card from between her niece’s grip and nearly succumbed to a fainting spell upon the reading. “By God!” she exclaimed, and whipped about, quicker than her age would suggest, to command the nearest staff, “A carriage, at once. Esther, you must change, at once. Into your best. And do something about that hair. Quickly, quickly, now…”

 

-

 

“You did what?” spluttered Georgiana. She fairly leapt to her feet and began to pace the room, hands up as if she meant to rake her fingers through her coiffure. “No, no-- forgive me, Mr. Parker, my good senses must have momentarily fled me for I could have sworn you just said… you just said you’ve become engaged . To Miss Heywood. This, of course, is one of your tepid attempts at a jape, and I will assure you, I do not find it humorous in the least!”

Breaking the news of his engagement was, to put it mildly, not going well. “Georgiana,” Sidney started to say, but she did not let him speak his piece.

“Forgive me if I do not give you my full and happiest of felicitations,” she ground out, “but you’ve known Miss Heywood for only as long as my own acquaintance, and you’ve spent an eighth of the time in her presence! How can you now be engaged?! ” 

The volume of her voice came to a tremulous crescendo. And here did Mrs. Griffiths appear, her eyes wide, her expression affronted, her lips twisting and trembling. It was clear she was not used to girls under her charge shouting down a gentleman in her house, and her temperament would no longer abide her sitting idly by while it happened, even if it declared she had been eavesdropping. “Miss Lambe!” she exclaimed, “I must ask that you lower your voice at once!”

“Or else what, Mrs. Griffiths?” she snapped back. “Will you strike me? Throw me out into the streets? Lock me in my room and refuse me my supper?”

Mrs. Griffith’s chest heaved and her cheeks turned a mottled red. “In all my years!” She turned to Sidney, one hand above her heart and another on her forehead, as if fending off both apoplexy and heart trouble brought on by insolence and impropriety. “Mr. Parker, I demand you get your ward under control at once! At once, I say! I have never, ever, in all my years, met such an uncouth young lady, if we may even design to call her such, and never have I housed her under my own roof! Oh!”

Georgiana’s arms crossed and she turned her back to both guardian and governess, but not before Sidney saw the telltale sign of tears glimmering in her eyes. Damn, he thought, damn, damn, damn. Facing down ducal rage gave him less pause than these two. Taking a calming breath, he maneuvered to smooth the situation over, lest every man, woman, child and stray animal in earshot hear the argument soon to ensue.

“Mrs. Griffiths, I assure you that I hear your concerns as they are valid as well as valuable,” he said placatingly. He ignored Georgiana’s indignant snort. “The matter discussed between myself and Miss Lambe is very much delicate and… a private one… which you may have ascertained?”

Another gasp came. The focus of whose behavior was worse shifted ever so slightly to Mrs. Griffiths herself. “Unknowingly, unknowingly… I did not mean…”

“Of course. We are in your domain and therefore under your dominion, after all, and voices do tend to carry.” He procured a handkerchief and offered it, which she took with tremulous thanks. “If I may rely on your discretion one more time. As for the matter of housing…” The implication that Georgiana would live with him and his new wife hung in the air.

Mrs. Griffiths’ eyes snapped to Georgiana, then back to him. “Of course,” she parroted, and, after only a brief wavering hesitation, exited the room, handkerchief in hand.

“Well dispatched, Mr. Parker,” said Georgiana sullenly. “Now what reprimand shall I face, I wonder?”

“None,” he replied. His response must have been so shocking and unexpected, for his ward whipped around to face him, mouth open. He held his hand up, hoping to forestall a continuation of his chastisement. “Now, listen: I have had enough of shouting. It will get us nowhere and I promise it will not alleviate your temper. Plus, I would prefer to not apprise Mrs. Griffiths of all my business, if you please. So if you wish to deliver a proper setdown, for the love of all that is good, do it discreetly.”

“That is not fair. Giving permission undercuts whatever pleasure a person may beget from delivering the barb,” she said. She huffed and dropped into her chair. He waited for a foot stomp or a biscuit tossed his way, but only a prompting wave of the hand came. “Go on then. Tell me what happened.”

Sidney hesitated. The throbbing at his temples earlier tamed by Cook’s potion had returned twofold. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes briefly. What was there to say? He couldn’t possibly speak the truth. Not unless Miss Heywood gave him leave to do so or it was pried from him somehow. Even then, the circumstances were not flattering. He would rather not admit that he, however much it was done inadvertently, was indeed the villain of the story. “It’s complicated,” was what he settled on.

“Gravity is complicated,” she shot back. “The reason the sky is blue is complicated, and what makes us different from all the animals that roam the Earth is complicated. All manner of things are complicated… but how a man takes a woman to wife seems simple enough to me.”

“I never should have let you read those damned philosophies,” he grumbled. He could only imagine what his ward and soon-to-be wife would wonder about and discuss between them, now that he’d given Miss Heywood free rein of his library too. “I must ardently disagree with you, Miss Lambe. ‘Love’ may be the most complicated mystery there is.”

She frowned. “I never said anything of love. Not even affection. I merely referenced marriage.”

A sinking feeling settled in his gut, that a young woman should view those two so separately. “Indeed, love and marriage do not always suit one another,” he said. Matches were often made the way a horseman tended the lineage of his equines. That was, with little thought to feelings and the wants of any party involved except for the one holding the pursestrings. “Is that the issue at hand?”

“As I said, your acquaintance with Miss Heywood is brief and I--” She looked away. She folded her hands in her lap and he watched as she took a deep, purposeful breath. “Perhaps a fortnight ago, I would have accused you of tightening the lock on my cage by removing my one true friend in the cruelest possible way…”

“And now?” His heartbeat quickened.

“Now I do not know what to think,” she admitted, settling her gaze back to him. She looked troubled. “I could have sworn you did not feel anything more for Miss Heywood than you would for… for a piece of furniture or a cup…”

Sidney choked on his laughter and reached for his long-abandoned tea. He took a sip. It was cold and bitter, but did the trick to wet his tongue. To admit that he thought of Miss Heywood in innumerable ways beyond a cup -- even a very, very nice one -- would not do, even if he couldn’t quite hammer down the exact way in which he thought of her. “She is quite a bit more lively than a chair,” he said wryly, “or even the finest of crystal flutes.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “I see that my letters may have given you more knowledge on the young lady than perhaps was wise.”

“Georgiana…”

“I am not happy, or pleased, or-- any matter of emotions that may convey you’ve received my blessing. Not until I’ve spoken with Miss Heywood, in any case.” She tilted her chin up. “Tell me though, please, and honestly: Did she come to the decision freely?”

Damn, he thought again. Damn, damn, damn. He set the saucer and teacup on the end table, weighing the consequences of all possible answers. Then, deciding: “There was a choice, yes, but only one that would allow either one of us to come away unscathed.”

Georgiana brought her hand up to her mouth with a shocked gasp. Her eyes were wide and horrified. “Lord Peregrin's library… She did not follow… oh, but you must have and were caught alone.”

At least she hadn’t believed he had forced himself on the girl. It was a sad relief, but a relief nonetheless. There was nothing for it now. “It seems that I am now serving as an example of what I’ve so desperately attempted to shield you from.”

A deep sadness seemed to fall over Georgiana, inch by inch. “As does Miss Heywood.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But this I can promise you: I will do all in my power, for the rest of my days, to see she is properly settled. My word is bond. For whatever it is worth. I hope that that gives you some comfort.”

“It does, I suppose. And this is my promise: I will do all in my power, for the rest of my days, to hold you to it.”

Guardian and ward regarded one another once more, the tenuous bond between them strained to tearing. Perhaps not beyond repair, but the fray’s true damage would yet to be seen. 

 

-

 

The day following Mr. Parker’s visit, both Miss Denham and Miss Lambe called upon Worcester Hall.

Charlotte, fully expecting to receive some form of hellish rebuke from either woman, was therefore surprised to be embraced by both, and then had to sit with the knowledge that her situation must not have reached their ears. “Georgiana, did Mr. Parker not tell you--?” she asked, “and Miss Denham--”

“Esther, please,” she said. “With all we’ve been through and in such short time, the least we can do is call one another by our Christian names, can we not?”

“Finally!” cried Georgiana. Then, to Charlotte, “‘Mr. Parker’ -- or should we say--”

“Your intended,” Esther supplied.

“--Did indeed tell me of your engagement. I cannot say I wasn’t shocked beyond all measure and sense. Mrs. Griffiths nearly fainted for all the yelling that came next, and the Beaufort sisters spent the rest of the day weeping into their pillows upon hearing the happy news.”

“Then you are not…” Charlotte’s sentence trailed off.

“Furious?” Georgiana asked. “However could I be, when the circumstance in which you find yourself is by my doing. I’ve had a full day to regulate myself. Now, you must tell us at once: How did it come to be, exactly?”

 

-

 

Across town, a figure not seen in London proper for exactly one year and one day alighted from a carriage. 

It was a woman. Though her exact age and the extent of her beauty were unverifiable, hidden under layers of dowdy black crepe as she was, her status in the social sphere was unmistakable. Firstly, the freshly lacquered carriage drawn by twin blood bays spoke loudly enough. Secondly, the livery of the footmen; finely spun and fashionable. Thirdly, of course, was the woman herself. A black bonnet covered her hair, as was proper, its bill trimmed with dyed-black lace and adorned with black feathers that draped forward and danced delicately in the gentle breeze of the afternoon. Her face was hidden by way of veil, though her slender, pale neck was accentuated by a high collar. A black overcoat with puffed sleeves and a V-cut front flared out to reveal a straight-cut hem that ended just above black slippered shoes. A single brooch made with jet -- or, more than likely, black amber -- topped off the look. Whoever she was, the lady meant to make a statement, mourning or not.

Madame Lanchester made this assessment in a split second as she peered out the window of her shop on New Bond Street when the carriage had rolled to a stop outside. Thanks to her relationship with her ladyship, the Countess of Worcester, all manner of women, both young and old, miss or mistress, made their way to see this modiste, recently arrived from Paris. And, correctly assuming a new customer was on her way, Lanchester rapped the partition that separated the workshop from show floor with her walking stick to call forth her shop girls. While more delicate beadwork and lacing fell to Lanchester’s deft fingers and well-honed skill, the girls did the majority of the sewing and the fetching, and her instincts told her there would be quite a lot of that soon.

With a call from the driver, the horses started and the carriage rolled away to the mews. One of two servants opened the door. The woman dressed in all black stepped through.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” Madame Lanchester greeted straightaway, having already come around to properly assess her new client. A shrewd eye told her her quarry could not have been older than thirty years of age. Also, the dress had been newly made, not an old one dyed for its intended purpose. “How may I avail myself to you today?”

“Oh, how charming!” replied the woman. Her voice was infused with the light lilt of someone telling a joke, though the words themselves did not bend to humor in the least. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Madame Lanchester. Your humble little shop is all the rage among my friends, as I understand it, and though I am only recently returned to Town upon the conclusion of the mourning of my dearest late husband… A new wardrobe would do quite nicely!”

Not for the first time, and not for the last time, Madame Lanchester thought: Sometimes beauty was beauty, and sometimes it was not. “Then you have come to the correct establishment,” she replied, already motioning this way and that. “Miss--?”

“Mrs. Campion,” came the reply.

The shop girls, previously standing aside, meek and quiet, hurried into action. A riot of fabrics, baubles and beads erupted from chests, and then their work began.

Hours passed. Eliza was measured, prodded, poked, and moved this way and that. If the results promised weren’t what they were, she would have had more to say, but Madame Lanchester was indeed as good as they said. Every bead, button, and stitch was meticulously placed with care. The vision of each and every silhouette was described in such detail she could envision herself wearing them even as the fabric was merely draped over her forearm. By visit’s end, she had ordered three more dresses than she had intended.

Already behind schedule, she forewent the milliner and instead called for the carriage to take her home. It took longer than expected -- the driver made several grumbling oaths about an accident and an overturned cart -- but eventually, they turned the corner and came to a stop outside the townhome her and Mr. Campion had once shared. It was nestled on the southwest corner of Berkeley Square and though fashionable enough on the outside, it was in dire need of redecorating on the inside. Her dearly departed husband had lived thirty years in the past, always, and she tried her best to ignore outdated wallpapering as she entered the front door.

After ordering her household about, she retired to her bedchambers. Her maid, Davis, followed behind.

“Well?” Eliza prompted, patiently enduring the removal of many layers of hooks and buttons trapping her in her hideous dress. The gossip paper of the day had been dreadfully boring. Her friends had also been dreadfully boring. And the shop girls, usually the first ones to chatter incessantly away in front of whomever and good for spreading the salacious word, had remained as quiet as church mice.

“Not much news, ma’am,” replied Davis, already well acquainted with her mistress’ penchant for gossip. She made quick work of the buttons and moved on to the laces. “The shop girls at the modiste said they made Lady Worcester’s niece or some such a trousseau.”

Eliza’s eyes snapped to Davis’ in the looking glass. Lady Susan did not have a niece or a somesuch. This was news indeed. But what was more important was what the news meant; but, more to the point, how she could use it to her advantage. 

Finally free of her corset and stays, she took a deep breath. “The lavender dress tomorrow, Davis,” she said. It best suited her complexion and made for a fine figure. While she did not intend to return to Polite Society with ostentatious fanfare, a tiny splash couldn’t be helped.

 

-

 

A great many things happened in the week that followed the Duke of Kingston’s most recent fete. Some all at once, but most transpiring in the usual fashion of one by one. 

Mr. Sidney Parker received a letter posted from the small village of Willingden. Therein he did find a response to his own inquiry. It read, simply:

To Mr. Parker,

While I did indeed send my Charlotte away from me with the full knowledge and intention that nuptials would follow, the alacrity in which I’ve received a request for such a blessing alerts me to two facts. 

On the first, that my feelings — of which I can assure you are not altogether taken with you at this very moment — are of little consequence to you. To the second, that it will take much more than your penned assurances to settle me on the manner in which you will keep my eldest daughter.

I have no objections because you have given me no leave to have a single one. Therefore, sir, my blessing is merely a formality, but it is begrudgingly yours.

H. Heywood

Messily done but done nevertheless, Sidney’s solicitor drafted the marriage contract. The next appropriate step was then taken. An announcement of engagement was sent to print. It was early enough in the Season that it sent tongues wagging, but whatever scandal Miss Heywood and Mr. Parker might have expected was eclipsed by Mrs. Campion’s resplendent return to Society. Oddly enough, on the very same day, a vicious shriek could be heard from a townhome nestled on the southwest corner of Berkeley Square.

Another letter came too. This time from Mr. Parker’s brother Tom who demanded nothing and everything but, more importantly, informed his younger brother that the Parker brood wouldn’t miss his brother’s wedding for the world and would arrive in due course.

All of this to say: Mr. Sidney Parker had become ever busier, and the days passed in rapidity. Beyond a few calls made to Worcester Hall in the interim, he and Miss Heywood had barely spent much time together. So, then, when the date arrived for him to escort Miss Lambe and her for merrymaking at the week's fair, he went lightly, and with more than a little trepidation in his heart.

Notes:

Inspiration for Eliza's dress

The Official Unstoppable Picsinspiration Board - if you want to comb through the general 'visual vibe' I've been going for, here it is!

Would anyone be interested in me sharing the soundtrack like I did with SFS?

Chapter 10: Foibles of a Man

Notes:

um, hi! it's been a very long time and i'll be back with another chapter very soon

If one left the main thoroughfare of Covent Garden, a man with a hankering for certain diversions need only take an unmarked narrow path to find what he was looking for. Gambling hells, public baths, fallen women in stinking alleyways for twopence a tumble, and a variety of houses of ill-repute that catered to all sorts of needs and wants; all in abundance, and waiting with open arms to entertain any such patron who looked as if they had coin to spend. 

Another few steps through a puddle of what one hoped was water, and they would come upon a row of houses fashioned in the French style. Painted light blue with columnal supports made from cheap plaster, Madame Applewood’s Boarding House could be called such if only because it was indeed a house, and, occasionally, provided overnight lodging. However, patrons in the know -- who came and went in all hours of the day and night -- could attest to the fact that carnal delights bought and paid for were more the speed of its intended purpose.

Cries of pleasure and pain could be heard as Madame Applewood herself, who fashioned herself after the many notorious bawds who’d come before her, stalked the rooms, ears perked for trouble. Not trouble for the girls under her thumb, of course, but trouble for her pocketbook. A week prior, two of her best girls had attempted to flee into the night. Thankfully, one of her guardsmen had caught them before they made it back to the loving arms of whatever family had discarded them.

Tonight was busy. Raucous laughter filled the parlor room. Dice were rolled and cards were thrown down. A jaunty tune played on the piano, and liquor and wine flowed like a rushing river. Coin exchanged hands, and the madame’s girls giggled and batted their eyelashes and played the coquette. All was as it ought to be, and where it ought to be done.

As such, up the staircase on the fourth floor in a room reserved for the noblest of men, an ongoing transaction was taking place:

“Ain’t there somethin’ else we might spend our time doing, milord?” said Sally Jennings, who hoped to begin the proceedings. 

“Must you speak?” The gentleman snorted and shifted angrily, nearly tossing Sally off him completely. “You have been nothing but bothersome! Am I paying to be harassed or am I paying to be pleasured?”

“Apologies, milord; not harassed, milord,” she demurred. “I can be quiet, if you like.”

“Obviously that is what I’d like, since I’m asking for it. You’ll do whatever it is I’m paying for! Isn’t that it?” he snapped. He turned his head and mumbled, almost to himself, “Nothing at all like--”

Sally strained to hear, but his words were drowned out by a rumbling cry of jeers from downstairs. She nodded docilely. What he said did not matter; good or bad, she was immune.

Thus far, it had been a busy day for Sally. Selling flowers in Covent Garden square during the day had turned into a different kind of flower sold in the night. In a sense, she did not mind her current customer’s tarrying since she was off her feet, and warm, and dry. But he did talk quite a lot, and they hadn’t yet made it to the narrow bed for a tumble. Her customer had waylaid her advances for over a half-hour now. Whatever pitiful amount she expected to be paid would be reduced for room and board fees, and time was of the essence. Action was important, and idleness did not pay.

Rubbing salt in the wound, when Madame had brought her to the man for his approval, Sally hadn’t wanted to take him on. He wore a finer cloth than most; and while he smelled of heavy smoke and drink, he lacked the sour, unwashed scent of many others. Plus, he had insisted on a girl with auburn hair, which Sally’s darker red-brown was the closest stock they had. Meaning he was a gentleman, and a gentleman who wanted to pretend his companion was someone else, which always meant trouble. When she couldn’t provide the illusion, he had all the clout to make her pay for it with the back of his hand, or worse. But such was life, and poor Sally Jennings had long made her peace with her lot.

Eyeing the coat the gent had draped over the singular chair in the room and the heavy purse she hoped it contained, she resumed the act of stroking her hand across his chest. “Is there anything you’d… like me to do, milord?”

He sighed angrily. “Shut up. Do you not understand those words? Are you too stupid?”

Telling the gent she hadn’t attended finishing school, or any school, and that Madame hadn’t yet raised her up wouldn’t do her much good. And she wasn’t stupid. She understood his words perfectly well. She just did not understand his reluctance. The men who traipsed through the boarding house were rarely shy in demanding this or that, more than ready for whatever attending Sally gave them.

Thinking on her feet, she reached for his trousers. She hoped it would have a mollifying effect.

He slapped her hands away. “No! Not that… not yet.”

She withdrew, and quickly employed another tactic: “Then… perhaps… a massage?”

With a grunt, he waved his hand as if to say ‘go on’ and Sally went to stand behind him as he sat in the room’s singular chair. It went on like that for a minute or two as she danced her clever hands along his shoulders. It was easy work. She soon felt him relax. Which, to her annoyance, led only to more talking.

“This damnable wench and her bastard of a guardian are ruining all my plans,” he groused. For all he’d gone on about not wanting Sally to speak, it sounded as if he wanted an opinion, and so she murmured a quiet hum of sympathy. He continued on: “The bitch begins the Season an easily dispatched outlier, but before I can do anything about it, she befriends all and sundry -- and now I am left turning the problem over and over in my head, but no solution comes to me… I need her gone, but… I cannot think of a way to make it so.”

Sally paused in her ministrations. Men often talked in circles or about things she did not understand, but this was one topic with which she was familiar. “Gone, sir?” she asked. “As in--?”

“Not dead, you idiot. Keep on,” he spat, and Sally did as he demanded. “Merely far away and gone from Town. Preferably foisted upon another sorry bastard who will take her back to where she belongs… but how? That is the question.”

Sally felt a pang of sympathy for whomever the man spoke of, but giving him the answer he was looking for… for a price… eclipsed those middling and tender feelings. The world ate its young as easily as anything, and she learned early on that striking first was the winner's hand. “I’ve heard stories,” she mused, and when she was not immediately told to hold her tongue, pressed onward: “Stories of women in the way, arranged to be taken…”

The man’s face twisted to look up at her. He could have been considered a comely fellow, if not for the displeased scowl twisting his mouth. “Shall I remind you once more that I am not paying you to speak, or think, or tell me meaningless stories?”

“No, sir, only that I can bring you to a man who has secured a lady gone off to an anvil wedding three times now… if that was what you was meanin’ before, about needin’ someone gone,” she said. Her fingers had stilled their movement and she waited with bated breath for his reaction -- which was, as he’d done before, a hand gesture to go on . As he looked forward, her gaze drifted back to his fine cloth coat. “He is here on Drury Lane…”

After a time of schemes and machinations, Sir Edward Denham left the bawd house in much higher spirits than he had been in previously. As annoying as the spell had been when she had opened her mouth to speak, she had pleased him in other ways, and allowed his mind to clear and formulate a plan.

In his pocket, the calling card of the man named Mr. H now sat, and it seemed an arrangement would soon be made to resolve the minor issue that had reared its ugly head at the start of the Season.

The issue at the root being matrimony, and his aunt’s obsession with his part in it.

“You need to marry and marry now,” the old sanctimonious bitch had told him as soon as he and Esther arrived to Town. Not even a day had passed before she had cut into him, demanding this and demanding that. “If you do not, I will be forced to withdraw your monthly allowance, and that decrepit lean-to you call a manor will fall further into disrepair.”

“If I’d known this would be my welcome, dearest Aunt, I would have stayed in Sanditon,” he had joked lightly, but the Denham matriarch would not be swayed nor cajoled out of her reticence. 

Instead, she held the pursestrings over his head like a guillotine and proceeded to harass him in all manner of ways for weeks. Managing his social outings like a fresh debutante. Accepting invitations on his behalf. Forcing the foulest creatures upon him while he gritted his teeth and bore the brunt of the assault. He was a man grown, but his aunt was single-mindedly determined to infantilize him.

But, to his great surprise, something had happened in the days of endless torture, and Edward was convinced it was something akin to love. It was a tangential feeling that inspired a desire to possess, and he knew having it would lead to what he truly wanted, and he was man enough to admit it. Power, and money, and a life of casual leisure that was his right in life lay ahead of him, if only he rid himself of an obstacle or two. Obstacles his would-be intended set ahead of him. He hated her for it, and craved her for it just the same.

Lady Pandora was exactly the sort of young lady his aunt was desperate to marry him off to. She was well-connected, with a titled father, and a dowry large enough to set Edward back on his feet and then some. Her conversation was acceptable, her wit tolerable. Better yet, the chit seemed ready to accept a proposal after a stolen kiss or three… 

And then Miss Georgiana Lambe had burst onto the scene, upending weeks of Edward’s work and meticulous seduction. If only Esther hadn’t befriended the girl. If only Miss Lambe had relegated herself to her proper place in Society. If only Lady Pandora’s simple mind could see beyond a cutting slight at a ball. If only the task at hand did not fall onto Edward’s shoulders to rectify.

He needed Georgiana Lambe gone in a fast and tidy fashion, and in a way that did not implicate him. He hoped tonight’s action would furnish him with these means…

“Spare a coin for a poor mother?” a beggar woman rudely interrupted Edward’s musings. Her dirty hand was outstretched, nearly touching him.

He curled his lip and flicked back the fabric of his great coat. How dare she ask him for a pittance. If she needed a wage, she needed to work for it like everyone else. To reach toward him, begging, was unthinkable. “No,” he thundered. How dare she.

The beggar woman shied away from him, and he continued on without a backward glance.

Down the narrow path, and through the dirty tunnel, he made his way back from whence he had come. Following the spell’s simple directions, he made his way through the sprawling maze that was the streets of London.

Finally, he came to his destination. It was a nondescript door in a row of squat buildings of business. A wooden sign above the offices swung on its hinges despite the stale night air. Edward rapped his walking stick on the wooden frame. The only sign of life inside was the lighting of a candle and the shuffling of feet on a set of creaking stairs. He waited impatiently outside, casting glances over his shoulder in either direction -- although any acquaintance who found him here would undoubtedly deny seeing him, just as he would them. Such was the vile nature of this district.

A manservant answered the door. Upon seeing who waited under the awning, with his fancy top hat and finespun garments, he ushered the gentleman inside without question. He did not ask the visitor’s name, nor what he came for; for whoever made it here did not need to provide a name, or a reason, except payment in full for the dirty deeds soon to transpire. Without a word, he went to fetch his master.

Chapter 11: Forward Momentum

Notes:

A truly heartfelt thank you, dear readers, for coming back to this story with me.

A little background: parts of this chapter were written at the end of 2021, believe it or not. I've been trying and trying for YEARS to come back to Unstoppable, which I consider one of my favorite stories of all time. I missed the characters, the silliness, and so on, but it was so hard to get back into the groove no matter what I tried. It was right around the announcement of S2 that I lost almost all my motivation for this story, after it was further revealed that TJ wouldn't return AND that the writers decided to kill off his character.

I took a major break, wrote other Sidlotte stories, other fandoms, and finally came back to Unstoppable. It's good to be back.

Also, major love and kudos to MissTMA, who has been nothing but patient with me and without whom this story would probably have never seen the light of day again. <3

Though Mr. Sidney Parker had only intended on escorting Miss Lambe and Miss Heywood to the fair, it hadn’t taken long for word of their outing to reach the ears of friends and many others. 

The miraculously brisk engagement of Miss Heywood and Mr. Parker had no doubt set the tongues of the ton wagging, and more than one person undoubtedly wanted a front row viewing of the spectacle they hoped would come from attending.

Before long, Lady Denham made it known she and Miss Denham would attend alongside, and where Miss Denham was, Lord Babington found cause to follow close behind. Then Lady Susan availed herself for the festivities -- not wanting to miss out on the opportunity of witnessing a shocking to-do, of course -- and as such, Society followed suit.

Denizens had come from every which way, from every which where. The most popular conveyance utilized had been a wherry. Boat after boat landed at the dock, and ladies and gentlemen were handed up the pier by servants to make their way down the walking path to Vauxhall Gardens’ Water Gate.

Two main groups emerged: Charlotte, with Lady Susan; Esther with Lady Denham, and Mr. Parker with Mrs. Griffiths and her charges. The walk was slow going, as the Beaufort sisters had complained the entire trek along the Thames of a discomfiting attack of vapors.

Around them was a mix of Society. All social classes were allowed in the Garden, and the late afternoon air drew everyone onward to the impending festivities.

“If Vauxhall Gardens has seen such a mélange of people descend upon it, then it has long been wiped from memory,” remarked Lady Susan, who, as always, remained the subtle center of the crowd which marched dutifully toward the entrance gate. 

“For good purpose,” harrumphed Lady Denham.

“You do not find it refreshing, ma’am?” asked Charlotte, who should have known better than to engage with Esther’s prickly aunt. She enjoyed seeing the shopkeepers walking to their stalls, tending to their wares and pushing carts of fantastical items along the route.

“The free mingling of all? Why, I couldn’t possibly think of anything worse!” said Lady Denham, who then proceeded to list all the ways Vauxhall Gardens failed in properly segregating the social classes.

Here Charlotte chose smartly to shutter her ears and fall back to walk with her friends instead of the matrons leading the charge. She did not miss Lady Susan’s reproachful glance at the move, but Charlotte knew, if anyone were capable of handling Lady Denham’s bitter tonic, it would be the Countess of Worcester.

“Heaven forbid we rub elbows with paupers,” grumbled Georgiana.

“I am sure it’s not paupers Lady Denham is keen to avoid,” said Charlotte, looking about. 

More than a few familiar faces had joined their walking party now. Ambitious mamas and respectable ladies of marriageable age circled the gentlemen not unlike vultures waiting for their chance to nibble at carrion. With Lord Babington in company, and Esther’s engagement to him not yet formally secured, the prospect of fashionable women who may tempt his attention elsewhere must have annoyed Lady Denham to no end.

Esther gave a small sigh. “Indeed not. Ladies of great fortune are both boon and curse to my dearest aunt. She is desperate for my stepbrother to charm -- or bamboozle -- one with a sizable coin purse into marriage. Yet, at the same time, she fears Lord Babington will lose his shine towards me.”

“But he is courting you,” said Georgiana, “and you’ve accepted his attention… and his intentions.”

“Exactly,” said Charlotte. “If he weren’t steadfast and serious-- well, I would say he would not make such an attempt to be wherever you are, or call on you, or send you flowers. And did you not say just the other day he purchased a prized mare for his stables? He has made every effort to make you comfortable.”

“If buying me a pony is the pinnacle of love, then both of you know very little of the nature of men. It could be said that Lord Babington’s interest remained only because of how readily I rebuffed him. He is a viscount in line for a duchy. My dowry is acceptable, but… it is hardly tempting for a man of his station, even if our marriage would surely turn my aunt’s favor towards me. But now that I’ve played my cards…”

Esther’s voice trailed off.

“You fear the promise of an engagement does not await you at Season’s end,” Charlotte finished. It was a somber sentiment and one she desperately wished was untrue, for as much her own sake as her friend’s.

Though Mr. Parker had gifted her Waverley and promised as much of a courtship as he could provide, he had only called upon her thrice since. They were short consultations; formal, dry, and lacking in romance.

In truth, they felt more businesslike than fairytale, as if they were discussing the sale of a plot of land or a milking cow. Having seen her father conduct such business, Charlotte was well-acquainted with the structure of such meetings. Sidney had even brought with him their contract of marriage for the purpose of Lady Susan’s solicitor to review. And while it seemed as if a rushed march down the aisle between them had indeed been avoided, doubt had started to plague Charlotte in spades. 

If interest could only be held by pretending to not have any, then what became of a betrothed pair when circumstances beyond their control instead of affection was what had brought them together at the start? Would she come to forever despise Shakespeare for his part in procuring her hand in marriage? 

She wrung her gloved hands together nervously. Even now, Mr. Parker remained a respectful distance from her. Every time she glanced over her shoulder -- which she tried not to do too often, lest someone say she had formed a nervous tick -- he was in a conversation with one of their walking party, or looking intently in any direction other than hers.

What made it all the worse was that the reaction from her family to her engagement had finally arrived by mail days prior. 

After the ball, Charlotte had penned two missives and posted them. One to her parents -- begging for forgiveness, and sketching as generous a picture of Mr. Parker as she could without having all the facts of his nature at hand -- and another to her sister, Alison. While she had prepared herself for their stunned reactions, she hadn’t quite prepared for the disappointed sentiment that dripped from the paper.

Her father’s words had held the fiercest sting, as his opinion of her poor choices were wrapped in a gentleness she knew she did not deserve.

 

My Dearest Charlotte,

As I set ink to paper, my emotions are rife with a mixture of concern and disappointment, for I find myself confronting an unexpected circumstance of great consequence. Alas, my beloved daughter, it has come to my attention that you have entered into an engagement without seeking the counsel and approval of your father.

While I am loath to chastise you for your spirited nature, which I must humbly acknowledge to have had some part in cultivating, I cannot help but reflect upon the haste with which this decision has been made. The matter at hand is not one to be taken lightly, and the gravity of entering into matrimony with a suitor unknown to me gives rise to apprehension and unease.

Let me be clear that my disappointment is not born of a lack of faith in your judgment, but rather the unshakeable responsibility that befalls a father when his daughter embarks upon the journey of matrimony. It is my ardent desire to see you happy and settled with a man who cherishes and respects you for the remarkable woman you are. Yet, I cannot help but feel a pang of regret that I was not afforded the opportunity to discern the qualities of the gentleman who now holds your heart.

In times such as these, it becomes imperative to exercise prudence and consider the long-term implications of one's choices. Your happiness is paramount to me, and I only wish to ensure that this engagement is founded on a bedrock of mutual understanding and deep affection.

Daughter, I entreat you to reflect upon the path you have chosen and to approach this union with all due circumspection. In the days to come, let us engage in a candid conversation concerning your betrothed, that I may come to know him better and, in turn, entrust your happiness to his worthy hands.

With a father's enduring love and concern,

H. Heywood

 

Then Alison, cutting to the quick:

 

Charlotte,

Oh, what a whirlwind of emotions has been set loose within me upon hearing the news of your engagement! Confusion, excitement, and a tinge of melancholy, all swirling in a tempest of conflicting sentiments.

Firstly, allow me to extend my heartfelt congratulations on this momentous occasion. How thrilling it must be to have found a love that has prompted you to take such a decisive step! I must confess that my mind is awash with curiosity and eagerness to meet the man who has captured your heart.

Yet, dear sister, I cannot deny the pang of sadness that accompanies this elation. How I long for the opportunity to know your intended suitor, to share in the joy of this newfound connection, and to ascertain the depth of his affection for you. Alas, fate has played a swift hand, and we find ourselves adjusting to this revelation with somewhat startled hearts.

Please know that our family's reaction is borne more from surprise than judgment, and it is a testament to the love we hold for you. The suddenness of the engagement has left us somewhat bewildered, but we are a resilient lot, and in time, these feelings of shock and hurt shall subside.

What truly matters is your happiness. As long as your heart overflows with joy, we shall rally around you, cherishing the radiant smile upon your face. Though we may not fully comprehend the circumstances that led to this engagement, your contentment is the beacon that guides us through this uncertain sea.

In the days ahead, I hope you will find the opportunity to share the details of your journey into love. My ears are eager to listen, my heart yearning to understand, and my arms ready to embrace you with the fervent hope that this chapter in your life is one of boundless joy and love.

With all my love and support,

Alison H.

She had nearly memorized their letters in their entirety in the days since they had arrived. Thinking of how they had opened her missives to find such a startling surprise… it struck a chord in Charlotte’s heart. Worse yet, all their talk of her love and devotion set her teeth on edge. There was no great journey of love. Only the consequences of her actions and choices. Eventually, she would need to be honest with her family, but she did not have the heart to do so yet. Not when her future with Mr. Parker was as foreign in nature to her as the man himself… and his feelings towards her as elusive as ever.

The little voice of reason that sometimes abandoned Charlotte now spoke up, perhaps finally done with her self-castigation, and reminded her that it was too much to ask that anyone fall madly in love with her after a short acquaintance. That there was all the chance that neither party would come to love one another… but surely, she reasoned with that little voice, some manner of affection would be needed between them if they were to wed; if they were expected to spend the rest of their lives with one another. 

But how could affection be cultivated if he did not wish to even walk next to her?

“Lord Babington’s feelings for you are as obvious as the sun in the sky,” said Georgiana, her words guiding Charlotte back to the very real present and problems larger than her own. “He cares for you, Esther. Anyone with sense can see this to be true.”

“Feelings are fickle,” said Esther stubbornly. “They change with the wind; with the tide… I cannot trust in a notion.”

“I feel as if we are no longer talking about Lord Babington,” said Charlotte, sensing Esther’s morose mood had little to do with her steadfast suitor but with the circumstances all three of them had found themselves in, and the secrets they now held close. 

She exchanged a worried glance with Georgiana. It was clear their friend was still reeling from the revelation that her stepbrother Edward was not a good man. A revelation that had forced her to seek protection elsewhere by accepting a serious courtship with Lord Babington and settling her fortune in the hands of her aunt. As such, the topic of Sir Edward Denham and his mysterious absence had been carefully sidestepped when the three young ladies had initially met.

“How right you are, Charlotte,” said Esther. “Though it’s beginning to feel that all roads lead to gentlemen and their foibles and failings, does it not? You, with Mr. Parker. Me, with Lord Babington. And Georgiana--”

“Do not mention a name, pray,” said Georgiana. She clasped her hands together in front of her chest. “I do not need any particular devil to appear before me. Oh, I cannot stand this! We are three intelligent young ladies and all we can talk about is men!”

Esther rolled her eyes. “What else is there? Are we not all forced to marry one eventually?”

“Neither you nor Georgiana are being forced to marry anyone,” said Charlotte firmly. For once, acting as the intermediary between her friends did not feel correct. “I, however, did not have a choice… Whatever fears you have for your future, Esther, I understand them. Truly, I do. Relying on someone else for purpose, and comfort, and a place in Society-- it is all so frightening… I myself have had to contend with worry for my-- well. What’s to come for me, in due time. And so if you cannot trust in anything else, trust in our friendship. We three will protect one another. Won’t we?”

A moment of silence hung between the three friends.

Then, Georgiana, who stood in the middle between Esther and Charlotte reached out to grasp their hands. She gave a firm squeeze, then let their hands drop away before Mrs. Griffiths could muster the energy to shriek about impropriety from the back of the pack. “Together, as friends,” she said. “Forever and always.”

After a moment, Esther inclined her chin. There was a delicate color to her cheeks that had absolutely nothing at all to do with heightened emotions. “Well said, you two.”

Charlotte smiled. “And since we are here in the Gardens… perhaps we ought to focus on the fresh air.”

“Yes, and the trees, and the bushes, and how wondrous the weather has been,” said Esther wryly.

“...Not to mention how fine and comely the gentlemen are,” said Georgiana. She bit her lip as if to stake off a giggle, but it broke free after a beat.

Soon, the three friends were laughing together.

For the first time since receiving her family’s letters, Charlotte felt her low spirits lift. Another topic at hand had yet to be discussed, and she knew it was high time to address it. Unfortunately, it would bring them back to the topic of gentlemen. 

“I know this is still a delicate subject,” she started, turning to look at Georgiana, “but have you spoken to Mr. Parker about Lady Pandora and…”

“And Edward,” supplied Esther. Her shoulders squared. “I do not fear saying his name, and neither should you.”

Georgiana shook her head. “No, I haven’t had the chance to do so. And no, before either of you ask, it is not because of some held over spitefulness from Mr. Parker’s engagement.”

It was a small relief, though Charlotte was not entirely convinced. “Then why?”

“She doesn’t want to be locked away with Mrs. Griffiths any longer than she must,” said Esther. “Isn’t it obvious? If Georgiana tells Mr. Parker that the world is out to get her, he will do what he must to protect her, and keep her away from everyone and everything.”

“We all know how he is prone to exaggeration,” said Georgiana. “Plus, we aren’t even sure what Pandora… or Esther’s stepbrother… is planning. Why should I bother Mr. Parker with trifles?”

“My stepbrother scheming is not a trifle,” said Esther. “He may seem dull, but he is not without his ambitions. Now that I’ve thrown my lot in with my aunt, I cannot measure the lengths he will go to acquire what he believes is his right.”

“Have you cut off all contact with Sir Edward then?” asked Charlotte. “Is that why he is absent now?”

“Ever since that night… I cannot look at him at all,” Esther said, shaking her head. “But I doubt that my absence from his life has had any ill effect on him. He was in a delighted mood this morning… though he complained of a headache before we were set to depart. Only he would know if it is false or true.”

Silence hung in the air as they continued on toward the entrance.

“It’s best he stays away,” said Esther, after a moment. “It’s taken every ounce of my willpower to not divulge his secrets to my aunt. As you both know, I cannot go to her without concrete proof. As much as she loathes him… he is family. He has her name.”

“Which is why I urge you to not keep his scheming from Mr. Parker,” Charlotte urged Georgiana. “He cares for you and I am certain he will be understanding-- just as I am sure he would not subject you to more of Mrs. Griffiths’ presence any more than required to keep you safe.” 

What she did not yet dare voice was that she had every intention of asking Georgiana to live with them when she and Sidney were wed.

“Yes, I-- I suppose I should speak with him sooner than not,” said Georgiana. “But what if we’re wrong?”

“I do not know much of Mr. Parker’s nature -- do not jape me, my engagement does not give me free access to his private thoughts -- but I am sure he will be incensed if trouble comes and he was wholly unaware. It is best to seek his protection now, when it is not a dire necessity.”

“And should he prove intractable, you have us-- loyal friends who will break you free from the prison of that wretched boarding house,” said Esther.

“I have been practicing my lock-picking,” said Charlotte thoughtfully.

 

---

Further opportunity to muse and fret ceased as they finally arrived at the garden gates where two shillings apiece was required for entry.

“Miss Heywood,” said Lady Susan, waving her charge over to her. She smiled widely and leaned in to whisper: “You and Mr. Parker have an opportunity to better acquaint yourselves here… do not squander it, my dear.”

“Squander…?”

Lady Susan’s eyes sparkled. “You know what to do.”

Charlotte nodded faintly, though she hadn’t a clue what mysterious instinct Lady Susan insisted she employ.

When payment was complete, a redistribution of the groups was then made. 

At Lady Denham and Lady Susan’s direction, Lord Babington took up Esther, while Mr. Parker finally stepped forward to offer Charlotte his arm. Georgiana went to join the matrons. Before she left her friends, she gave them both encouraging smiles.

“Miss Heywood,” Sidney greeted.

“Well-met, Mr. Parker,” Charlotte returned. 

Placing her hand over his proffered forearm, they began to walk. 

Silence ensued. The knot of unease tightened in Charlotte’s chest and tied her tongue. For days, she had looked forward to this moment -- that was, the opportunity to come to know Mr. Sidney Parker better. The man who would, soon enough, become her husband. A long list of questions from her sister Alison awaited her in her room at Worcester Hall, but not even a simple one to ask came to her mind now.

Thankfully, Mr. Parker pierced the silence. “How have you been enjoying the weather?”

It was as clear a desperate bid for conversation as anything, and one she indulged with a nervous smile. “It has been very pleasant. The air has been… um, fresh. And you? Do you find it pleasing?”

Oh, if the girls could see her now, she thought. Speaking of fresh air and pleasant weather.

“Well enough,” he replied.

“I am very eager to see the garden,” she offered, after another long moment of uncomfortable quiet. “I hear Vauxhall has much to offer.”

“In every which way,” he agreed. “There are the walking grounds, which are known to see tens of thousands of visitors even on the worst of days, and a separate park with vendors who offer more… stimulating diversions.”

“Such as?”

“Hot air balloons, tight-rope walking, fire-breathing--”

Her eyes widened. “Fire-breathing?”

“Yes. I’ve never seen it myself. As I understand it, oil is swallowed and--” He paused for a moment, perhaps wondering if describing the act would be considered inappropriate or indelicate, though he gamely continued on, “--the firebreather sprays it out upon a torch of some kind to create an explosive illusion.”

“How exciting. I wonder how they keep from burning themselves,” she mused. “And these hot air balloons… Are you familiar with Vincenzo Lunardi?”

“Not personally, I’m afraid.”

She flushed lightly. She had almost forgotten how he was able to tease her. “His work, sir, as a ‘pioneering aeronaut’...”

“Unfortunately, yes. In fact, I am very familiar.”

She brightened. “Oh, please tell me you’ve experienced it for yourself!”

“Ah, yes… I was an unwilling participant. An accessory to aeronautery, if you will. My brother is forever on the hunt for the latest and greatest invention of entertainment to bring to Sanditon. That is-- the town he is trying to bring up in the latest fashion of seaside summering resorts.”

“I am somewhat familiar with Sanditon, sir. From Miss Denham.”

“Yes, of course. The Denhams have long lived there, as have us Parkers.” His mouth pulled into a short smile. 

“The hot air balloon…” she prompted.

“Yes, they were one such avenue my brother wanted to use to drum up interest in the town -- until the contraption nearly blew us clear off the cliffs upon our first try.”

“What--? How shocking!”

“No one was hurt,” he hastened to add. “Tom hadn’t yet climbed up into the basket, you see. Beneath the balloon is a contraption made to carry no more than three. He hadn’t filled the ‘sandbags’ as instructed by the seller, and the balloon lifted off the ground with the wind before he was able to clamber in.”

“But then… is that not a triumph? With the balloon meant to fly…”

He laughed. “No, not at all! Unless I wished to see my brother swept out to sea with a cadre of seaside bathers in tow. The science of the balloon fascinates me-- but it is the surrounding winds that is the issue. It is uncontrollable. If we employed the balloon, I’m afraid it would have only been a matter of time before something unimaginable happened… and thus, he was forced to scrap the idea.”

“As dangerous as it sounds, I must admit that I am very keen to experience it… being lifted off the ground, seeing everything from a bird’s eye view… It sounds absolutely exhilarating!”

“Perhaps we might convince Lady Susan to allow you to experience it then.”

She honestly hadn’t expected him to readily agree to her trying something he had deemed dangerous, but his rapid acquiescence pleased her. “I hope you are not eager to rid yourself of me yet, sir,” she teased him. “I am told these hot air balloons are known to blow away.”

He huffed a laugh. It pleased Charlotte greatly to hear it; even more so to have been its cause.

“I will, of course, conduct a thorough examination of the balloon to ensure your safety,” he said lightly.

Much like before, the initial trepidation Charlotte felt around him fell away the longer she was in his presence. She felt comforted, if not comfortable. Seen, yet not laid bare. It was a feeling as confounding as it had been when she tried to explain it to Lady Susan the morning after their encounter at Hyde Park. She wanted him to find her funny, and agreeable; and smart, and all the positive attributes that might make him look fondly at her.

She bit her lip. 

Was this the blossoming of-- no, no, it was much too soon…

She shook away the oncoming thought. Instead, she focused on the present and the man walking beside her. As Lady Susan had said earlier, this was an opportunity to get to know one another. And she knew the only way to do that was to be open. More open than she had been.

Courage, Charlotte, she thought. Have courage.

“I read Waverly,” she admitted, fighting bravely through the blush that began to burn at her throat.

He looked at her. A small smile danced around his mouth. “Already? That was quickly done, Miss Heywood.”

“I didn’t have salted meats and sea storms to stall my progress,” she said. “And… I hope you will not hold it against me that I was eager to finish it.”

“I would never. As I said before, any book I own shall soon be yours.” He cleared his throat. There seemed to be a similar dusting of red creeping up the collar of his shirt. “And so… what is your assessment?”

“Of the book? Or of the man?”

“I believe you said they are one in the same.”

“‘Reveal a man’s true nature,’ were my words to be exact. And if I am to go by my own philosophy, I shall say I enjoyed the book very much, and believe that you are much more sympathetic to my cause of female independence than you had previously let on.”

She smiled up at him, and found a smile waiting for her in response. Not for the first time, Charlotte had to admit that he was very handsome. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a look of curious intensity that sent her stomach aflutter. She could feel the strength of his forearm under her hand, the power in his gait -- though why this observation was so private, and so important, did not yet register.

“I have never decried anyone pursuing their own independence,” he said. “Just as I believe that progress made is not progress at all if it is only for one side of the coin…”

“Hm. Does this belief now extend to Miss Lambe?”

“Believe it or not, Miss Heywood-- it always did. But the fact remains that that is not the way of our world,” he said, “with you and I as its most recent…”

“Victims?” She gave him a wry smile.

“Harshly put, but… not entirely incorrect.”

Charlotte felt herself relax even further. As always, it seemed all they required was forward momentum. “And how are you finding it?” she asked. “Being a man with a betrothed?”

“You first,” he said.

She swallowed back her smile and put on a solemn face. “As I am not a gentleman, sir, I feel that I must refrain from any unseemly assumptions.”

“I will work on my turn of phrase next time,” he said. He looked at her with an expression Charlotte dare not name. “I wrote to your father… and I asked for his blessing.”

Her eyebrows shot up. She knew he had written to her father, but she had expected it to be with businesslike sentiments of marriage contracts devoid of sentiment and tender feelings. What did this mean? “Oh?”

“He gave it, reluctantly,” he said, “and gave me, rather less reluctantly, a setdown that was rather impressive, considering its brevity.”

“Oh… oh yes, he is very good at that,” she said, finding a strange sort of comfort in their similar, miserable situations at the hands of Mr. Heywood. “I, too, received a letter. I must confess that I’ve read it over and over again-- so much so that I am sure I could recite it in its entirety without much effort on my part.”

“Did he… take care?”

“To not whip my tender sensibilities into ribbons? Of course, but only because he knows I’ve done enough self-reprimanding to escape his judgment… for now. I am sure it awaits me when we visit. We will visit them, won’t we?”

“I had hoped there would be time… once we broke for summer… that we may go to your family’s home and that I may formally acquaint myself with them all. If you are amenable, of course.”

The burning in her cheeks returned. “I would like that very much.”

“Then it is settled,” he said. He opened his mouth as if to say more, but closed it without saying anything further.

Charlotte nodded faintly. “So… marrying after the reading of the banns…”

“Has been avoided, by all accounts.”

“And you wish for a wedding at the end of summer?”

“I am told fall nuptials are all the rage.”

“By whom?”

“Let me tell you a little secret, Miss Heywood, and you must promise not to tell a single soul,” he said, voice low. When she nodded her acquiescence, he continued on, “Lord Babington is the foremost expert on marriage.”

“Oh, I knew it!”

He cracked a grin. A beat later, it slid away. “Then… you do not mind. A fall wedding?”

Charlotte looked up at him and saw a similar nervous expression on his face. One she had faced many times in her silver looking glass as of late. Her stomach swirled and fluttered. Heart hammering in her chest, she said, “No… no, I do not think I mind at all. Just as I do not mind being here. With you.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. He exhaled slowly. “Then we are one in the same, Miss Heywood,” he said. “One in the same.”

Charlotte was glad she was holding onto Mr. Parker’s arm, for she was sure she would have tripped over her own two feet. Not for the first time, she wished she was a little more worldly. A little more sure; a little less naive. For maybe if she was, it would be easier to bear the trembling of her heart and the weakness in her knees.

Finally, the walking party came to a stop at the Rotunda, which had been set for refreshments. The green lawn was set for croquet.

The sexes were split under two separate canopied tents, and Charlotte went to join Lady Susan, who held court at one of the tables set with tea and small fare. Esther was sat with Lady Denham at another table, and Georgiana was presently rolling her eyes with Mrs. Griffiths and the Beaufort sisters.

“Well?” prompted Lady Susan. “You and Mr. Parker looked to be in deep conversation the entirety of the Grand Walk. Were there any… profound discoveries?”

Charlotte was split two ways. She looked over at Sidney, who was standing with the other gentlemen a distance away. He was leant on his walking stick, cutting the finest figure in the group. As if magnetized, his gaze snapped to her, and she whipped her face forward -- but she knew she had already been caught looking, if the sound of manly ribbing was to be believed.

“I don’t know,” she said. “When I am in his presence, it feels like… like all will be well, and that I needn’t worry about anything at all. But when I walk away and have a moment to think, I am fraught with this… this nervous worry! I terribly want him to like me, and yet I can’t imagine why he should not! Is that profound enough?”

“I dare say it is,” said Lady Susan. “You’ve come down with a rather serious affliction, my dear.”

Charlotte’s mouth dropped open before she could compose herself. “A serious affliction? What’s wrong with me?”

Lady Susan poured two cups. One for her, and one for her charge. Wordlessly, she pushed the saucer towards Charlotte. There was a knowing look in her eyes, and she sat stern and tall in her chair. 

“Nothing at all, my dear girl,” she said. “Only… I am beginning to think you two are in the throes of love.”

Charlotte grabbed the tea cup and gulped a drink or three with unladylike abandon.

She could hear the low timbre of Sidney’s voice as it carried on the afternoon breeze. The skin on her arms goose-pimpled, and the hair on her neck rose; she felt hot, and cold, and shivery all over. 

Love, she thought miserably. In some ways, it really did feel like a disease.

Notes:

Hot Air Balloon Conspiracy: I wrote the Sidlotte convo about this dang balloon in 2021. To see it actually happen in S2 made me laugh and cry a little because what are the odds?

If you're here, thank you for sticking with me.

& let me know what you think!

Chapter 12: Two Truths, One Lie

Notes:

Thank you again for coming back to Unstoppable with me. It means the world that you guys are reading and (hopefully) enjoying the story.

Warning: Eliza sneaks her way back into the narrative a little bit. As always, she and Edward can be counted on to be my cartoonish villains. Maybe one day I will write a proper anti-hero version of them, but today is not that day, my friends.

“Oh, he is so handsome,” breathed Julia Beaufort. The object of her observation stood across from them under the canopied tent reserved for the gentleman. Her sister, Phillida, engaged in similar rapturous overtures. “Miss Heywood is so very fortunate, is she not? If only I had the chance…”

Phillida sighed with longing emphasis. “Or I!”

“Envy is unbecoming of young ladies,” came Mrs. Griffiths’ swift admonishment. Her gaze wandered over to the tent, and a ruddy wash of color blossomed on her cheeks upon the looking. There was no telling which specimen of the opposite sex inspired such a reaction in her, but there were plenty there to capture it. “Though, perhaps, it is acceptable in small doses… if only to use as motivation for oneself, and swiftly repented upon thereafter.”

“Motivation, ma’am?” asked Julia.

“Are you suggesting that we should be envious of Miss Heywood’s good fortune?” asked Phillida.

Mrs. Griffiths’ expression found its normal sternness once more. “Of course not! I am merely suggesting that a young lady should be mindful of the opportunities that she is presented with in… finer… social circles. Envy, if properly channeled, may motivate one to strive for greater heights than she may otherwise not.”

Phillida and Julia fairly fell into one another with giggles. “Like vying for a duke!”

Georgiana rolled her eyes. It was torture being relegated here. How she wished she sat with Charlotte or Esther instead -- though, by the looks of her friends, neither lady was in better spirits than she. “Mrs. Griffiths, may I suggest not polluting the minds of young ladies with vices, even in the pursuit of matrimonial bliss?”

“Polluting? Upon my word, Miss Lambe!” Mrs. Griffiths withdrew her readily available handkerchief and held it against her mouth. “How deeply I am scandalized! That is absolutely contradictory to what I have been teaching you all these months! Mr. Parker will hear of this, no doubt!”

“You just told us to use another lady’s boon to-- oh, nevermind it,” she said, and excused herself from the table before she could further lay witness to Mrs. Griffiths’ apoplexy of the day. She gave a short bow of her head. “There is no need to follow me, ma’am. I promise I will behave exactly as you’ve instructed me.”

Leaving a spluttering Mrs. Griffiths and giggling Beauforts behind, Georgiana decided to enjoy the beautiful landscape. The Gardens were as resplendent as she’d heard. The air was balmy, the scent of flowers mingling with the laughter and conversation that wafted over the enchanting grounds. Even if the company she kept left her wanting, the environment itself did not.

The Rotunda was a large area meant for all kinds of entertainment. Its wide verdant lawn was set currently for croquet, and was surrounded by smaller sitting gardens and walking paths that diverged in every direction. Everything was, of course, in direct line of sight of the pavilion, where governesses and mamas plotted to set their daughters and charges on a path destined for future marital bliss.

A familiar friendly figure approached from her right. It was Mr. Crowe. He hadn’t come with them on the Thames, and she assumed he had driven here with his phaeton and ponies.

His dark eyes sparkled mischievously as he came to stand in front of her. “Miss Lambe,” he said, “I see that you have shaken off your governess and are attempting to abscond into the gardens alone. Shall I accompany you?”

She looked over his shoulder. Mr. Parker was deep in conversation with a group of his familiars, though she would not have been surprised if he’d asked his friend to make sure she did not succeed in a grand escape. “Did my guardian send you?”

“Which one?” he asked. “You have so many these days.”

His words drew her gaze to his. Mr. Crowe was a notorious rake, charming and irreverent in equal measure -- but there was something about him that made Georgiana feel at-ease. “It’s no matter,” she said. “If you wish to join me, then that is enough for me.”

She took his arm and chose a gravel path.

Mr. Crowe teased Georgiana about the latest gossip circulating among the beau monde. He went on about Lady This or Lord That, but she only gave him vague responses in return. There was something about gossip that felt sour and ill-mannered -- especially so now that she was personally embroiled in such matters, even if they were still secret.

Ever since that night on the balcony where she overheard Pandora and Edward scheme, she felt… vulnerable. It was no secret she was not accepted by the ton ; that her late father’s standing and her fortune were the only reason she was afforded entrance into the upper echelons of Society. If she were poorer -- if her father hadn’t been who he was -- she would not be on Mr. Crowe’s arm, walking in the beautiful gardens, eating small finger sandwiches, or listening to the Beaufort sisters sigh over Mr. Parker and their lost chance at bringing him up to scratch.

While she knew Charlotte’s advice to tell Mr. Parker everything was sound, she found herself stubbornly reluctant. Must he need to know every single moment in her life? Would he trust her, or again lock her away with Mrs. Griffiths and throw away the key? Of course, these were silly worries -- but she was twice-bitten, and all the more shy for it. She did not begrudge Charlotte and Sidney’s match. By all accounts, it had been a grave mistake. But it was still painful. Her guardian marrying her best friend felt like losing to two sides -- and if she did not know Charlotte’s nature well, she would have assumed she had used Georgiana for her own gain. And with Esther surely to marry Lord Babington, who else would she have for herself?

Could she stand on her own two feet in this world?

“... Ah, my dear Miss Lambe, it appears that I am boring you,” Mr. Crowe said, though his words lacked any sort of true heat.

Georgiana shook her head, pulled back into the moment. “Forgive me. I am… merely contemplating all that you have told me.”

“Mm,” he hummed. “With such studious contemplation, it would appear that the world holds no secrets from your discerning eyes. Pray, tell me, how do you manage to stay ahead of the ever-curious grapevine?”

Georgiana smiled faintly, her gaze drifting to the pavilion. It seemed the splitting of the sexes had come to an end, though the croquet match still had not yet begun. She could see Esther and Babington engaged in conversation, though her other friend was obscured by the crush. “It is merely a matter of observing human nature, sir. People often reveal more than they intend through their actions and words."

As they continued on, she felt him studying her profile. 

“Miss Lambe,” he began, his tone uncharacteristically serious, “I have long admired your spirit. You possess a determination and fearlessness that is a rarity in our world. Do not allow anyone’s ignorance to dim your light.”

Georgiana looked at him sharply. His expression was clear of its usual mischief. “Thank you,” she said. The notion that she had been seen washed over her. “Your encouragement has… fortified me.”

Like smoke on the breeze, his solemnity vanished. He patted her hand. A wry smile danced on her lips as he said, “Wonderful -- come, let us explore the darkened grotto. Who knows what mysteries we might behold?”

Despite herself, Georgiana laughed and followed his lead. They found themselves enveloped in a dimly lit alcove adorned with glowing fairy lights. The atmosphere was enchanting, and far too romantic. “If I didn’t know any better, sir, I would say you are attempting to seduce me,” she teased him.

“Perish the thought, my dear. Our Mr. Parker would have my head on a pike faster than I could say ‘fetch me my broadside.’ And I rather like my head where it is.”

“It is a fine head,” she concurred. “And I, too, would rather not court Mr. Parker’s ire towards me any more than I have.”

He gave her a cheeky grin. “Someone must -- and if not you, then I shall be the man of the hour!”

The remainder of the stroll was pleasant, and they returned to the pavilion together to find a rather more robust party than when they had left. It was packed with all manner of ladies and gentlemen, the canopied tents overflowing with patrons freely mingling with one another.

Georgiana watched with wide eyes as servants ran to and fro, fetching chairs, tables, beverages and more food. Then, as the crowd split, she spotted the Duke and Duchess of Kingston in attendance.

“What have we come back to?” she murmured.

“Pandemonium, it seems,” he replied. “Exactly how I like it.”

Now it was Georgiana’s turn to pat his arm. “Then I release you from any obligation to keep my company,” she said, “and I bid you happy hunting.”

Mr. Crowe tipped his hat, and sauntered off to charm another group of young ladies.

Of course it was the moment she was finally free that Lord Peregrin, with his shiny blond hair and enigmatic smile, made a beeline in her direction.

She looked for any means of escape -- a table to duck under or a chair to fend him off -- but there was none.

He bowed elegantly with a teasing glimmer in his eyes. “Miss Lambe,” he said. “It is always a pleasure to see you.”

Drat. She dipped into a practiced curtsey. “Well-met, my lord,” she said. “Your presence is a surprise.”

“Not an unpleasant one, I hope.”

“Pray, you must give me ample time to make this assessment.”

“How much time?” he asked.

Georgiana felt her stomach flutter, and her heart began to kick up speed. Such confounding reactions. “Ample, as I’ve said,” she replied. “Perhaps by Season’s end I will be able to give you my conclusion.”

“Very well. I will wait for your assessment with bated breath,” he said, “though I will admit, Miss Lambe, that I have a reputation for impatience.”

“Among other things.”

He grinned. “Such as?”

“All manner of vices, sir,” she said. “You could hardly expect a young lady to name them all.”

“No, of course not,” he said with mock seriousness. He gestured to the lawn. A group of players had begun a croquet match. “Would the young lady instead prefer to play a game?”

Georgiana tried to school her expression into pure boredom. All the while, her insides did flips. “If it would please you, sir, then I shouldn’t have a choice.”

 

---

Esther watched as Georgiana stood from her chair and departed for greener pastures. 

Mrs. Griffiths’ face turned a florid color, as it usually did when Georgiana said or did anything at all.

“The impertinence of that girl,” said her aunt, shaking her head. “Galavanting off without a single word to anyone…”

“You’ve yourself said Mrs. Griffiths’ company is not long tolerated, aunt,” she said.

Lady Denham’s eyes snapped to Esther. “And it is! However, I have the means and status to do as I please. Miss Lambe decidedly does not. Don’t think you’re any better and less worthwhile a target to receive my castigation, Esther. We’ve been sat here for some time today, and you have yet to entreat upon Lord Babington’s good graces. Do not forget that your arrangement with one another is brittle at best.”

“I have already endured him during the walk here. Would it not be unseemly if I were to approach him again, aunt?”

“I didn’t say throw yourself upon him in desperation, you silly girl. There is a fine line between demure encouragement and bold indifference, and I shouldn’t have to tell you which side I believe you’re on,” she said. “Your attitude has only worsened since being in the presence of those girls you’ve marked as friends. I have half a mind to cease all your social obligations with them.”

“If you believe it best, aunt,” she replied coolly. Since being in the presence of those girls on the end of Lady Denham’s derision, Esther had come to know comfort and friendship she had long thought were fiction and fairytale, but she held her tongue. Rocking the boat now would not suit.

Lady Denham harrumphed. “Between you and your hair-brained brother, it is no small wonder I haven’t yet succumbed to my nerves.”

Luckily, Lady Denham’s constitution needn’t suffer any longer, because Lord Babington detached himself from the gentlemen in company and walked over to them.

He greeted them both, sketching a perfectly deferential bow. “I hope you both have been finding the afternoon refreshments to your liking?”

Esther’s eyes met his, her expression carefully neutral. “Vauxhall Gardens offers a pleasant diversion from Town, my lord.”

“Not to say that my Esther does not enjoy Town,” Lady Denham interjected. “Do you not keep a seat at the House of Lords when it is in session?” The implication being that he maintained a residence in London, presumably year-round, even when they broke for summer.

Babington glanced between the two women, looking like he was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. “I do, madame,” he said. “While I am privileged to call London home, I also enjoy a good deal of sport, and being out of doors at my summer residence, Brewdrey.”

“What fortuitous coincidence,” said Lady Denham. She gave a hard look to her niece. If she had a stick, one might have the notion that she would similarly use it to prod her into loquaciousness.

“I can only surmise Miss Denham also appreciates the fresh air,” he said with good humor.

Finally, a small smile tugged at Esther’s mouth. “Especially so in fresh company.”

“Then… it would be remiss of me if I did not offer you my arm, and respectfully request your company for a stroll,” he said, extending his hand.

Esther felt the world fall away as she reached for him, her gloved hand gripped in return by his. Despite the moment, she was well able to maintain her composure -- she felt great pleasure in drawing capriciousness from her aunt these days, miming her indifference to Lord Babington’s attention -- and allowed herself to be led away.

“I hope I have not been too forward,” he said, once they were in relative privacy.

“Not at all, Lord Babington,” she replied. “My aunt will be most pleased with you.”

“It is not your aunt’s feelings I contend myself with…”

“Oh?” She gave him a curious look. “Then who are we speaking of?”

He looked away with a short smile. “I fear that I shall find myself forward-- but the answer is ‘you’, of course. I care very much to be in your good esteem.”

She inclined her head. “You have done nothing to remove yourself in that regard.”

His smile remained affable, his gaze attempting to never leave hers. “It pleases me to hear this, but… I sense reluctance in your tone. Might there be something amiss? Something that I have done?”

“No,” she lied. Her heart thudded in her chest. Everything was amiss. He had done too much, too soon. “I am merely pondering the ephemeral nature of the diversions in which we find ourselves, my lord.”

His tone was gentle as he said, "Ah, the transience of pleasure. One is never certain how long the feeling may last.”

Her lips curved into a fraction of a smile, an acknowledgment of the unspoken truth between them. She was unsure. He was not. Where it left them, Esther did not know. Even so, she felt the weight of her troubles slowly lifting off her shoulders. Could it be so easy to let herself be protected by him -- to give her heart to him… 

“Well said,” she agreed, “and yet, I find myself here, partaking in such pleasures.”

His gaze further softened, warmth flickering in his eyes. "Perhaps there are moments when even the most reluctant hearts can be swayed to… enjoy one another, and trust the moment to be everlasting.”

Her eyes met his in a mixture of wariness and curiosity. "And what of your heart? Is it not susceptible to the fleeting allure of diversions?"

“I shall endeavor to always be honest with you… and so I shall admit that my heart has known its share of diversions. But among the myriad of fleeting moments, I have found a connection that I believe defies transience.” His smile held a touch of melancholy.

Her gaze faltered, the world around them momentarily forgotten. His words seemed to linger in the air, weaving a tapestry of conflicting emotions that she struggled to untangle.

"Then," he continued, "do you believe that beneath the veneer of society's expectations, there exists a space where two souls can forge a genuine bond?"

Her breath caught in her throat. She looked away. “Your question is fraught with complexities I am not yet ready to answer.”

Babington's fingers brushed against hers, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down her spine and drew her attention back to him once more. “Then it shall remain as one I hope can be answered in time, when you are ready… though I believe you already know my mind on this matter.”

Her heart raced and she struggled to keep control. His earnestness and vulnerability were a sudden revelation, and she felt herself teetering on the edge of a precipice -- a precipice that promised uncertainty and undeniable allure. To be under his sway…

“You continue to intrigue me, Lord Babington,” she admitted, a quiet confession she allowed both him, and her own heart.

If she was not mistaken, his smile held a mixture of relief and hope. “And you, Miss Denham, are a mystery I am eager to unravel.”

Dual disclosure made, they returned to the pavilion just in time to see the Duke of Kingston arrive with another crush of patrons.

“Ah! My aunt and uncle have joined us,” he remarked brightly. “Come, my aunt has been keen to see you again--”

 

---

 

The grand entrance of the garden was a scene of opulence, lanterns casting a warm glow along the pathways and the scent of blooming flowers filling the air. Among the elegantly dressed patrons, Mrs. Eliza Campion sailed forward with an air of regal confidence.

Her gown, a breathtaking display of sapphire muslin and delicate lace, rustled softly with each step. Jewels adorned her slender neck and delicate, be-gloved fingers. It was a testament to her refined taste and undeniable allure, and as clear an indication as any that she was ready to return to Society’s waiting arms. Her golden curls were artfully arranged, and her eyes held a determined gleam as she surveyed her surroundings. 

Eliza’s entrance did not go unnoticed. By design, her return to Society was carefully and artfully planned. Whispers of curiosity rippled through the crowd, heads turning to catch a glimpse of the striking widow who had retreated from the ton upon the regretful death of her late husband. But her attention was singular, her gaze fixed on the figure that stood in conversation under a canopied tent in the Rotunda -- Sidney Parker.

They had once been engaged. It had been a love-match; one she had accepted before she had any sense of responsibility. Sidney had been ambitious, yes, but tender feelings and flights of fancy could not hold a woman Eliza’s worth for long. It had torn her apart to set him aside for Mr. Campion, and she had never forgotten him -- even as the years swept past like pages of a turning book. And year by year, she carefully noted he had never married.

To a woman like Eliza -- whose world revolved around itself in a singular way -- had known, deep in her heart, exactly what Sidney’s abstinence meant. Though they hadn’t seen one another in a decade, hadn’t exchanged letters or notes, she knew, unequivocally, that he had waited for her to be free of her obligations. That he still loved her as fiercely as he once did; that was the only reason he hadn’t taken to bride all these years. The little issue of his impending wedding was a mere trifle, of course; and one she would surely solve.

Now, to find him…

She carefully schooled her expression as she analyzed the crowd.

There sat Lady Susan, the indomitable Countess of Worcester, with an unremarkable young woman unknown to Eliza.

Before she could slip behind a servant or the teetering croquembouche tower, Lady Susan lifted her fan with a limp wrist and beckoned her over.

Eliza had always been keenly aware of Lady Susan's calculated maneuvers and artful manipulation -- as such, they had often been at odds with one another and on opposite sides. Despite their shared ambitions, their personalities often clashed like two warring storm clouds. 

Even so, she knew she could not avoid the woman without courting a severe cut in the future. As much as it rankled, it was not something she could afford, having been away from Society for so long.

She pressed onward, forced to make her presence known. 

“Lady Susan, how charming it is to find you here!” she enthused.

"Likewise, Mrs. Campion -- how lovely it is to see you finally emerging from your mourning period," Lady Susan purred, her words laced with a touch of condescension. “How long has it been now? A week?”

Eliza’s smile remained plastered on. “And a few days…”

Lady Susan’s eyes flashed at the barb successfully delivered. “May I introduce you to Miss Charlotte Heywood?”

Miss Heywood demurred. The girl was unremarkable -- in fact, one could argue that she was less than that. Dull brown hair, dull brown eyes; lips too plump, jaw too strong. There was a smattering of brown spots all across the bridge of her nose that bespoke of too much activity outdoors, and something told Eliza if she were to see Miss Heywood’s hands, she could find them rough and coarse, like a washer woman’s. “How d’you do, ma’am.”

Eliza instantly felt a flash of irritation strike up her spine. Her eyes narrowed. This was the girl who had snatched up Mr. Parker within two weeks of Season’s start? No name, no title, no family… no, it must have been a mistake. Or a carefully curated plan to entrap a gentleman into marriage. Knowing Lady Susan’s cunning ways, Eliza was both impressed and disgusted at the speed in which the snare had been laid.

“So lovely to meet you, Miss Heywood,” she said, infusing her tone with saccharine sweetness. “And… what is your relation to Lady Susan? A long-lost niece, perhaps?”

Miss Heywood’s eyebrows furrowed together in the most unladylike fashion. “No, I’m--”

“The daughter of a dearest friend,” Lady Susan came to the rescue. She gestured to a nearby chair. “Please, Mrs. Campion, have a seat and join us.”

As much as Eliza did not wish to tarry a second longer, she did as she was bid. Again, one could not snub the countess without ramifications -- and Sidney waited ten long years for her. Surely he could wait a few minutes more. “Thank you,” she said, and dutifully accepted the tea offered to her.

“If I may say so,” said Lady Susan, after a moment, “your dress is absolutely breathtaking.”

“Isn’t it just? Madame Lancaster on New Bond Street is all the rage-- upon my return to Town, I could not help myself in furnishing a new trousseau. It has helped ease my trepidation rejoining the beau monde immensely.”

“Such a clever remedy for the heart,” said Lady Susan. Her smile was a razor’s edge. “I have long been Madame Lancaster’s patroness. I could have spotted her detailed work from a mile away. The beading on the bodice is so very… robust.”

“A keen observation. We can always count on you to notice everything, can we not? It is the style nouveau . Straight from Paris, I am assured. Of course, it would be much too loud for a matron to wear…”

Miss Heywood cleared her throat. “Matron or not, I believe it suits you well, Mrs. Campion.”

Eliza’s gaze swung to Miss Heywood. The false innocence -- the insolence! A widower she may be, but she was not at all on the shelf. How dare she imply her a dowdy matron? “But, of course, as you have demonstrated, Miss Heywood, a much simpler style can be just as beguiling.”

“It could be said feathers and jewels and lace obscures one’s beauty,” said Lady Susan. “Or, rather, hides the beauty that is not there.”

“Or more easily lends to admiration,” Eliza said. “Beauty is beauty, with or without.”

“If you believe this to be true, then I am not sure why you require the nouveau Paris, but… I understand, Mrs. Campion.” Lady Susan’s expression turned mournful. Her voice quieted as she said, “The prospect of marrying at an… advanced age… may require more encouragement on your part. I do hope we may find you a suitable match in time so that you need not be so eager with your attire.”

Miss Heywood almost choked on her tea, eyes wide.

Eliza’s face was a frozen rictus, her reply drying like dust on her tongue.

Lady Susan continued on, “Navigating one’s expectations in Society is a dreadful art, Mrs. Campion. One that requires finesse and a certain… tact.”

“Indeed. It is a challenge that some seem to master effortlessly,” said Eliza, “especially when one sets their sights on a particular target.”

Lady Susan's voice held a note of polite curiosity. “And who, pray tell, might be the object of such captivation?”

Eliza’s gaze drifted towards the tent before she could help herself, but she quickly returned her attention back to Lady Susan. Her history with Sidney was not unknown -- though it was a decade’s old scandal and did not bear unburying from the cold hard ground. “One can never predict where the currents of attraction might lead.”

Lady Susan’s gaze remained steady, her tone carefully neutral. “Attraction can be a powerful force. A dangerous one too. It is wise to tread carefully and consider its potential consequences."

Eliza’s response was tinged with a subtle challenge. She glanced at Miss Heywood. “An astute reminder that actions have repercussions.”

Just as it seemed further calamity was to transpire and womanly daggers drawn, a sudden shift in the wind came -- heads turning, voices whispering, as several well-known figures cut through the crowd.

“The Duke and Duchess of Kingston,” said Miss Heywood, her voice filled with naive awe. “Did you know they were to attend, Lady Susan?”

“I may have had an inkling,” she replied. She gave Eliza a cutting look and stood, saying, “Excuse us, Mrs. Campion. We must greet our betters.”

Eliza went to her feet as well, and silently seethed as she was left behind. She took a calming breath -- it was no matter. The departure of Lady Susan and the no-nothing young miss left the coast clear, and it was high time she reintroduced herself and rescued Sidney from his peril.

While a haphazard queue formed around the Kingstons, she saw that Sidney was left alone by the refreshment table. The opportunity was too prime, and she took it, floating to the punch bowl with practiced grace. She flicked her fan open, gusting a gentle wind under her chin to dislodge her framed curls in a more attractive manner.

“Sidney,” she murmured, her voice a practiced blend of warmth and familiarity as she reached his side.

He turned, his expression a mixture of surprise and polite acknowledgment. He was just as handsome as she remembered. The roundness of boyish youth had been chipped away to reveal a man in his prime. It was little wonder he had been snatched up in a devious plot.

“Mrs. Campion,” he greeted her, his tone measured. After a moment, he gestured to the drinks, “Am I in your way?”

“No, no, not at all!” She let herself laugh lightly, just as the gentlemen preferred. “Oh, it is such a lovely surprise seeing you here… It has been some time since we last saw one another, has it not?”

His gaze was steady and guarded. “Almost ten years,” he said.

“Far too long,” she said softly. Had he been counting the days, the months, the years? She relished in being the one to extinguish his agony. “The Gardens have lost none of its enchantment. It brings back memories… of evenings spent lost in conversation, dreams shared and promises exchanged…”

Years ago, they had meandered the pathways of the gardens with one another, whispering love-oaths and sharing easy smiles. Surely he remembered it well.

“Memories,” he said. His expression remained composed and closed off. Of course he meant to guard his true feelings. “Memories from a different time. Mrs. Campion--”

“Sidney, please… call me Eliza as you once did.”

“We are not so familiar, ma’am.”

“Of course… yes, it has been ten years,” said replied, less sure of her footing now. She recovered and continued on, “There is so much that remains unspoken between us. Is there no room for familiarity?”

There was a flicker of heightened emotion in his eyes. “Enough was said years ago on the matter.”

“But if the past could be rewritten-- if the course of our lives could have taken a different turn--”

“Our lives have moved forward,” he said, his tone all icy reserve. “I am to be married.”

“Yes, to a Miss Heyward--”

“Heywood--”

“But you are not married yet,” she said, eyes pleading. “There is time to make amends, to choose differently--”

“Stop,” he said sternly. “To approach me while my intended is a mere fifteen feet away from us as we stand? This is very inappropriate, ma’am.”

“You misunderstand me, sir. I only seek to rekindle a friendship--”

“I shall not be a flame to your wick,” he said coldly.

Eliza’s fingers gripped her fan so tightly she felt the wood frame snap between them. She had never been so poorly abused, and by a gentleman, no less. Surely Sidney was under some bewitching spell to act so horribly, and to his long-lost beloved. She held her head high and said, “How admirable it is to witness such devotion and honor from you.”

“I cannot say I feel similarly, ma’am. Good day.”

He took his leave from her, and for the second time in a short span, Mrs. Eliza Campion was left enraged.

Notes:

Who told the truth and who told the lies in this chapter? Hmm!

Chapter 13: A Little Nudge

Sidney’s heart raced. With terse nods and tense smiles, he fought his way through the sudden crush of bodies on the pavilion. He found relative solitude on the edge of the floor and quickly downed the drink he had escaped with.

The last person he had expected to see today was Eliza -- or, as he had to remind her, Mrs. Campion.

The way she’d looked at him… the way she had talked to him… it unearthed feelings he had long thought had been dealt with, buried in their shallow graves on Antigua’s green hills. It felt like she had uncorked a squall that had been languishing inside a bottle, and he was a ship being thrown around in suddenly rough seas.

He felt furious. Ten years ago, he had held Eliza’s hand and smiled down at her, thinking he was to be the luckiest man in all the world -- only to find out that all the while, she had allowed herself to be courted by a much wealthier Mr. Campion. He had no doubt a part of her choice in setting him aside had been her father’s machinations. He was no fool; nor was he naive to the reality of how young ladies were required to move in their circle, even now, always vying for better, for protection, for a way to ascend the social hierarchy. But he had known Eliza all his life. He had known Mr. Stirling all his life. He could have borne the public humiliation of being jilted if she had been kinder, if she had handled him with gentler hands -- but she broke with him as if it were nothing but a trifle. As if he had been a mere placeholder until someone better came along. “Oh, Sidney,” she had said, looking at him from her chair in the parlor room he had visited countless times with the other Parkers. A new necklace hung on her delicate collarbones. It had looked like a noose to him then. “You couldn’t really believe I would accept you?”

With all that history -- for her to show up, trying to stir within him tender feelings? Asking him in an unsubtle way to set aside Miss Heywood for… what? A dalliance? She could not truly believe he would dishonor himself for her; that he would repeat the same horrid actions she had done unto him. She must have grown more self-absorbed and selfish under Mr. Campion’s tutelage. There was no other way to explain her abhorrent behavior.

Just as he was relishing in the lows of his wallowing, he saw that familiar tumble of chestnut hair. It was Miss Heywood speaking in a group with Lady Susan. 

Like gray clouds parting to reveal a summer’s sun, Sidney felt the turbulent winds inside of him settle and smooth seas were once more. To give into anger was to lose control -- and that was something he could not abide. Mrs. Campion did not deserve any more of his energy. Especially so when he had fairer company to expend it upon. His eyes traced the graceful line of Charlotte’s neck. It traveled down the cut of the dress before bounding back up to her smiling face, which he was beginning to feel became lovelier and more comely each time they came to pass. Undoubtedly, it was a sentiment helped along by their conversation on the Grand Walk.

“By the devil, Parker! Is that who I think it was?” asked Crowe, suddenly at Sidney’s side.

Shaken free from his daze, he turned to his friend and asked, “Who?”

“Are you a man or an owl? I’m not too far along in my years that my eyes deceive me -- Mrs. Campion fairly cornered you by the punch! Spill, man, spill!”

Sidney groaned. Leave it to Crowe, the great gossipmonger, to remember all the ills his friends had inadvertently confessed during their many shared drunken stupors. If the hangovers weren’t proof enough, the haranguing he now received should have been enough to forever keep the brandy from his lips. “There is nothing to tell,” he said. “She came by to say hello.”

“You’re a lying liar, Parker,” came Crowe’s response. “If I know anything--”

“--A fact which could be greatly debated--”

“It’s women,” he said. “Women, equine, and dogs -- which, incidentally, are all very similar subjects, when you break down their needs and wants in a categorical fashion.”

He snorted. “I am sure the future Mrs. Crowe will be delighted to be in the same company as horses and hounds.”

“As I treat mine fairly, she should be,” he sniffed. “You’re missing the point.”

“Am I?”

“Parker, you once told me Mrs. Campion ripped your heart from your chest and threw it into the hearth to burn without so much as batting her eyelashes,” he said. “And now that she’s widowed--”

His stomach sank. “Widowed?”

Crowe leaned back. “You hadn’t heard.”

“Of course not,” he grumbled. “I don’t make it a point to keep up with the woman who threw me over.”

“Mm, right. What sane man would?” He folded his arms across his chest. “Then it begets the question why she was panting after you like a--”

He held his hand up. “That’s enough for now.”

“Pity. I was just getting started,” said Crowe. “Though if you’ll allow me to impart one more observation… Mrs. Campion’s return to Society is just this side of appropriate -- and the ever-wagging tongues whispered to me that her first order of business after rolling into Town was to commission a new trousseau.”

He winced. “You can’t mean to imply…”

“I do. You’re in the crosshairs, Parker. If you thought the marriage-minded mamas of the ton were frightful, then you haven’t yet seen the lengths her sulphuric friend will go to get her way… She’ll tie you up in her widow’s weeds quicker than anything.”

He looked at his long-standing friend with a critical eye. “Have you forgotten that I’m to be married?”

Crowe shrugged. “Use your brain, man. You may not be able to break an engagement…”

As Sidney turned the words over in his mind, his gaze was drawn once more to Charlotte. He felt the tendrils of icy dread begin to grab at him -- no, he couldn’t break his contract with Miss Heywood… but she could. A vengeful Mrs. Campion might go out of her way to spin rumors and tarnish Sidney’s reputation, forcing Charlotte to break with him to save her own. 

“This is far too much melodrama to choke down,” he grumbled. He was loath to let the idea take root.

“I’ve long said women will be the death of us,” said Crowe, “and so I never understood why anyone finds the shackles of matrimony desirous.”

“Lately, I’m finding the concept tedious myself,” he agreed.

Even so, Sidney found himself wishing he had not negotiated for a longer engagement. With two months to go before the House stood for summer, a fall wedding felt like forever in the distance.

“Come,” said Crowe. “The game is set to begin, and something tells me Miss Heywood is in want of a partner.”

The attendants had begun handing out mallets by the lawn.

Sidney followed his friend. As he always did, he scanned the crowd once more for Georgiana; and, as per usual, she was not with her ever-harried governess nor the Beaufort girls. Lady Susan was holding court with Charlotte at her side. Miss Denham and Babington were speaking with the duke and duchess. Mrs. Campion was nowhere to be seen.

Just as he was ready to begin a search party, he spotted his ward on the croquet lawn. She was playing with Lord Peregrin’s lot. She looked to be in a good humor, smiling and laughing. Similarly, the young lord’s attention seemed singular and equally amorous. If he didn’t know any better, he would say he was witnessing the very beginnings of young love -- and a tendre didn’t grow legs and run off on its own after a one-time meeting.

He narrowed his eyes. “When did that happen?”

“She could do worse,” said Crowe. “Viscounts south of geriatric are difficult to find these days.”

“Why read Debrett’s when I have you,” he replied wryly. Peregrin’s youthfulness meant little in the face of his reputation -- he was known to gamble and to drink, both in excess, and had a bad habit of riling up the winds of scandal before running off to hide under his father’s coattails. His attention toward Georgiana was concerning; all the more concerning was that it looked as if she reciprocated them. But if he knew his ward at all, any overbearing attempt at dislodging them from one another would only make them want to come together like a pair of magnets being forced apart. At his earliest chance, he would need to try the gentler method he’d thus been employing, and see if he could guide her to reason. She deserved a good man -- and he wasn’t at all convinced Peregrin fit the bill.

As he and Crowe approached Lady’s Susan group, he made eye contact with Charlotte. Her lips curved into a smile at seeing him, and he allowed himself the secret pleasure of being on its receiving end.

“Ah, here come the gentlemen,” said Lady Susan. She gave Charlotte a pointed look.

“We’ve come to conquer the field,” said Crowe.

“And if Miss Heywood is amenable, I would like to fight on her side,” said Sidney.

Lady Susan brightened. “Only appropriate, I would say.”

“I’ve never played pall-mall,” Charlotte demurred. “I’m afraid I won’t be very good.”

“Nonsense, Miss Heywood,” said Crowe. “The rules are as simple as anything.”

“And I’m sure Mr. Parker is an eager tutor,” came Lady Susan’s encouragement.

Sidney was ready to call it quits, but Charlotte rallied.

“The best way to learn is by doing, I’m told,” she said, after the moment’s hesitation. She looked at Sidney, as if ready to assess his thoughts on the subject.

“A very wise adage,” he replied, and offered her his arm. “There is no time like the present to learn something new.”

She placed her hand on his forearm and allowed herself to be led away. As they made up some distance from the greater crush, she leaned in slightly and said, “I may have told you a half-truth, sir.”

“Don’t tell me you dislike the game entirely.”

“Not at all. I’m sorry to say I have a competitive spirit,” she said, though the look in her eyes belayed the fact that she was sorry at all. “I am familiar with pall-mall. However, I was banned from playing with the family after I accidentally sent a ball through the window of the chicken coop.”

The image of a boxwood ball soaring over the roosting perches, feathers flying, poor hens clucking their terror -- followed by an apologetic Miss Heywood -- had Sidney fighting back surprised laughter. 

“Ah, I see your fear now… you’re worried a similar incident might occur at the Rotunda,” he said. “Fear not, Miss Heywood. If you do knock down a bird from the sky, I’m sure the ladies in attendance will be grateful for the extra feathers to tuck into their headdresses.”

Her responding laughter was like music to his ears.

 

 

The croquet pitch was large enough to run several simultaneous games, and Sidney found he and Charlotte bunched with two other couples adjacent to Georgiana’s game, which looked to be finishing up. Though he would have liked to speak with Georgiana before she went back to the refreshments -- and Mrs. Griffiths’ sturdy oversight -- he was given a mallet, and the game began.

“Ladies first,” said Crowe. He’d found a partner in Julia Beaufort, who blushed a deep red before squaring up before the first hoop. It took her six tepid whacks to get her ball to roll between the stakes.

Then went Crowe, then the other couple whose names Sidney did not know, then came time for Charlotte’s turn.

“Wish me luck,” she said.

“Just picture a mean old hen on the other side,” he whispered to her.

She shot him a baleful look. With a deft tap, she sent the ball rolling neatly through the hoop.

“Dear me, it seems we’ve a shark amongst us,” said Crowe, eyeing the trajectory of the ball with suspicion.

She straightened up with a sheepish grin. “Beginner's luck, I assure you. And I would be remiss if I did not mention Mr. Parker’s expert lessons.”

“Indeed,” he said, giving Charlotte a knowing look, “if she wins, it is all my doing. And if she loses--”

“She won’t,” said Charlotte, grinning. “But I’ll give you the credit all the same, Mr. Parker.”

The game continued on with the air of friendly competition. Laughter and light banter transpired as each player vied for victory, and at the heart of it all was Miss Heywood, who easily led the pack with every graceful swing of her mallet. Despite his own competitive streak, Sidney found himself not minding in the least that he was soon relegated to third best. In fact, he couldn’t help but admire her skill and determination, nor her genuine smile that peeked through whenever her mallet met the ball successfully.

As the game progressed, he found his thoughts drifting to the unexpected connection that had blossomed between him and Charlotte. It was one that had taken him by surprise -- this newfound feeling of comfort and ease that seemed to surround them whenever they were in each other’s presence. Their conversations flowed effortlessly once started, meandering through myriad topics of society and literature and culture, undercut by a gentle teasing and flirtation that made him feel like a boy in his youth; not a man fully grown. 

Despite his earlier misgivings, he was drawn to her keen intellect and her unassuming yet spirited nature. It was as if their differences only enhanced what they shared in common, each conversation revealing a new layer of compatibility he wasn’t sure he would have ever found otherwise. He liked the way she looked at him; unafraid, if unsure; strong-willed but willing to compromise. It didn’t hurt that she was also strikingly beautiful -- and he could have whacked himself over the head with the mallet in his hands for ever thinking otherwise. 

His gaze found Charlotte once more, her laughter mingling with the soft rustle of the wind as she talked with their present company. He admired the way her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, the way her demeanor radiated warmth. Indeed, from the very beginning, it was her kindness that had stood out to him.

He also admired her plush lips, and her eyelashes, and her bright eyes. He flexed his hands around the grip of his mallet. He wanted. He wanted her . Plain and simple. More and more, he was beginning to wonder how it would feel to run his fingers through her hair, or across the skin of her cheeks. Day and night, these amorous thoughts plagued him; and several times during the course of the afternoon he had imagined absconding with her to a darkened grotto and giving into these newfound temptations.

But what drew him up short was the source of these temptations herself. He wouldn’t force what she did not want onto her -- no matter what.

“...your turn, Mr. Parker,” said Charlotte. Her eyebrows furrowed together and she gave him a little wave.

Good God, man. Get yourself together! There was no telling how long he had been staring off into space. He cleared his throat. He squared up to the ball and, still distracted, moved to dead last by requiring four good thwacks to clear the hoop.

“There’s still time to recover,” said Charlotte. She further menaced him by stepping closer to him, her face tilted up with a look of gentle encouragement. A smattering of freckles danced across the bridge of her nose, and he silently vowed to kiss every single one when he was finally allowed to do so. If he would ever be afforded the privilege. 

“I’m not sure I want to,” he replied, once more stepping ever closer to that threshold he’d promised he would never again cross.

The moment hung between them -- until Crowe loudly cleared his throat and called for a continuation of play.

“After you,” said Sidney, gesturing onward.

Charlotte bowed her head and went to take her place. She adjusted her stance, her focus now entirely on the game.

“I must say your skills on the lawn are truly impressive,” he said, his tone carrying a playful lilt. “It seems you possess a knack for striking at just the right moment.”

Her gaze remained firmly ahead of her, unmoved by his teasing. “I assure you, it’s all a matter of strategy,” she replied.

“Undoubtedly helped on by never having played the game once,” he replied solemnly. “And beginner’s luck, as you said.”

Her eyes darted up to meet him. “Exactly right,” she said. She tapped the ball. For the first time, it struck the hoop and bounced back. She straightened up, her eyes narrowing. “You distracted me on purpose.”

“A bold accusation,” he replied. He did not bother smothering his mischievous grin. His next move brought him closer to Charlotte, their banter continuing as they navigated their way across the lawn. He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t worry, I’ll play fair from now on.”

“I doubt that,” she whispered back. “One must always keep a few tricks up their sleeves, should the need arise.”

“And what tricks do your sleeves contain?”

“A young lady mustn’t reveal her secrets,” she replied.

“Not yet,” he agreed. “But… there is cause to believe they may be revealed in time, I hope?”

He watched his careful attention as Charlotte’s cheeks grew more and more pink.

“Yes,” she said, after a moment. “Yes, I believe they will be.”

As the game drew to a close, Sidney was reluctant to leave Charlotte’s side; he felt he easily could have talked with her for hours more.

 

---

 

After winning the round of croquet, Charlotte decided to retire her mallet and leave the lawn victorious. A round of light applause was her prize and she dipped into a playful curtsey in front of her friends.

“Well played, all of you,” she said. “And all the glory to Mr. Parker, of course.”

“I’ll be sure to let him know when he arrives from the rear,” said Mr. Parker, a self-deprecating smile on display.

“Next time we play, I’ll be betting on you, Miss Heywood,” said Mr. Crowe. He gave Charlotte a flash of a wink.

She left the pitch in high spirits, butterflies fluttering in her stomach, and went in search of her friends.

It did not take long to find them hiding in a quiet corner away from the lively throngs of partygoers.

“Hello, ladies. Shall we climb the hedgerows and escape?” she asked them.

Esther sighed. “If only it were so simple.”

“Though it might be worth it, if only to hear Mrs. Griffiths’ voice reach a new octave,” said Georgiana. She reached for Charlotte’s hands. “Oh, you’ll never believe what she said about you, Charlotte!”

Charlotte, now well-inured to Mrs. Griffiths’ unsubtle jabs towards her upbringing, only laughed. “I can only imagine. Did I somehow lead a cow into the rose garden without my knowing?”

“No, she praised you as someone the silly Beauforts ought to look up to! All because you’re an engaged woman.”

“How lucky you are,” was Esther’s deadpan reply.

The three friends burst into peals of laughter once more.

One by one, they shared their experiences of the afternoon; Esther with Lord Babington and his aunt, Georgiana’s most recent game of pall-mall with Lord Peregrin, and Charlotte’s time with Sidney -- and, she’d almost forgotten it, but the strange interaction with the beautiful widow Mrs. Campion.

“I have never, ever seen Lady Susan so worked up!” said Charlotte.

“Mrs. Campion?” asked Esther. Her expression held a mixture of concern and wariness. “Eliza Campion?”

“Yes, I believe that was her name. Do you know her?” asked Charlotte. A sudden feeling of unease settled over her. She had put the woman out of her mind after she and Lady Susan had left to greet the duke and duchess, but Esther’s demeanor began to worry her. What did she know?

“Yes, unfortunately,” Esther replied. “And if she’s here…”

Georgiana frowned. “If she’s here…?”

“Then we all must exercise caution in her presence -- especially you, Charlotte.” Esther’s tone was firm but earnest. “I knew her when she was still Miss Stirling. And I’m sure she has only grown worse with age and experience. She is a woman who knows how to wield her charms to achieve her own ends. She is not one to be taken lightly.”

Charlotte’s brows knit together, confused. “But why would I need to be cautious around her? As far as I know, I don’t know her… nor would I have had time to cause her insult.”

“Mrs. Campion has… a reputation,” she said, after a moment’s hesitation. “A reputation for pursuing what she desires, consequences be damned. Now that you are engaged, I fear that she might find motivation to cause you harm.”

Charlotte’s stomach sank and her confusion doubled. “I’m not seeing why Mr. Parker would be relevant -- or me, for that matter. I’m a nobody.”

Esther’s expression grew more serious. “I am sorry to be the one to tell you this, but… Mr. Parker was once engaged to Miss Stirling.”

Charlotte and Georgiana both gasped.

Esther continued, “She jilted him in favor of Mr. Campion, and left Mr. Parker in a bruised state. It was quite the scandal in Sanditon. Shortly after she married, he left for Antigua, and life moved on… and here we are. Though I’m afraid Mrs. Campion’s return to Society does not bode well for anyone. She may seem charming and friendly, but I greatly doubt her intentions are in any way honorable.”

Charlotte took a moment to process Esther’s words and this new revelation. She hadn’t put much stock into it then, but she had noticed Mrs. Campion’s eyes wandering over to the gentlemen’s tent during their short conversation. However, she never would have assumed the woman’s attention was aimed toward Sidney. Her thoughts tumbled and tangled together. She couldn’t possibly confront Mr. Parker about this issue without causing him an insult -- but the solid footing she had thought they had gained now felt like slipping sand under her feet. “Thank you,” she said finally. “I will heed your warning, Esther.”

“We only want to see you happy and protected, Charlotte,” she said.

Georgiana’s expression was unreadable. “Indeed, and we are here to support you in any way we can.”

Charlotte shook her head. “With all these schemes and plots, it’s any wonder anyone gets anything done these days,” she said. “Tomorrow-- let us promise one another, that tomorrow we will find our friends and ask for aid.”

Their secrets were becoming too burdensome and dangerous to carry alone, even spread over three sets of shoulders.

The three friends stood together, united by their shared concern for one another, a bond of trust and solidarity further strengthening between them. The gardens around them continued to buzz with laughter and music, but in that quiet alcove, their friendship was a steadfast anchor -- a reminder that they were there for each other, no matter the challenges that lay ahead.

Notes:

... and now we get to leave the gardens, yay! :)

Forgive me for using pall-mall and croquet interchangeably, oops lol