Charles Read online

  Affection? Mr. Marsh? She liked the gentleman. He was kind and considerate, and he made her feel at ease. However, she would not say that he had touched her heart as anything more than a friend. But what did that matter? Were not some of the best unions based solely on friendship that continued to grow and deepen?

  “I have confused you. I do apologize.”

  Had it not been for a small smile which the woman hid behind her sherry glass, Evelyn would have taken the comment as sincere. But, as it was, having seen the sly smile before it was hidden, Evelyn wondered if Mrs. Kendrick was purposefully causing her to be confused.

  “Mr. Marsh is a fine choice,” Evelyn said.

  “I would not disagree,” Mrs. Kendrick replied.

  Evelyn’s brows drew together. “You would not?”

  “No. Mr. Marsh is a very proper choice – amiable and not without fortune,” she sighed. “I just find it disconcerting when a young lady says she is merely content with her choice.”

  Evelyn placed a hand over her fluttering heart. “Should one not wish to be content?” Had she gotten something so important wrong?

  Mrs. Kendrick smiled. “I say this to you with the understanding that your mother would never tell you any of this, but I think a lady such as yourself, who is passionate about her work, should be more than content. Contentment is not where we start, but it is where we end. There should be a bit of excitement when one considers the man to whom she is going to tie herself for the remainder of her life. Contentment is wonderful and should be sought, but if there is no spark of passion, I fear the passionate young lady will find herself growing into a bored old matron.” She shrugged. “It is both my belief and observation. That is why Henry is so good for Constance. He excites her, and yet she feels content with him. One might think I am only in favour of the match as it brings out the best in Mr. Crawford, but that is only the half of it. Each should draw out the other to best advantage.”

  “Oh.” Evelyn could think of nothing else to say. Her mind was in a somewhat jumbled state. She felt nothing akin to excitement when she was with Mr. Marsh. She did not dread being with him, but she did not particularly look forward to their meetings either.

  “I know your mother expects an offer from Mr. Marsh to be forthcoming. He has written to your father.”

  Evelyn’s eyes grew wide. She had not heard of this development.

  “This is why I felt I must speak to you as your mother would not. Mr. Marsh is an upstanding choice. I, myself, encouraged the match until…well… until we last attended the theatre, and the musicale last evening confirmed my change of mind.” She lifted her glass of sherry. “And that is why I am not drinking tea at present. The acceptance that a scoundrel might be a worthy gentleman necessitates something stronger than tea.”

  Was she saying…

  “Yes,” Mrs. Kendrick replied to the unasked question. “You should consider Mr. Edwards – not necessarily as a match, not even I can predict if he will make all the necessary improvements – but consider how he affects you and compare that to what you have in Mr. Marsh. If you can honestly say you long only for contentment, then accept Mr. Marsh with alacrity. However, if you cannot…” She paused and allowed her thought to be completed in silence before continuing. “I will not tell you to reject him. That is your choice and yours alone. I only wish to lend my aid to you as your mother is not capable of doing and your father is not here to provide.”

  There was a soft rapping at the door to the sitting room.

  “Aunt Gwladys, are you finished?” Constance poked her head around the door.

  Mrs. Kendrick smiled sheepishly. “I believe I have confused your friend enough that you might take her away now.”

  “You planned this?” Evelyn asked in surprise, looking between Constance and Mrs. Kendrick.

  “I did,” Mrs. Kendrick admitted. “And Constance was good enough to mind my instructions to dally while retrieving her things.” Her brows rose, and she gave each girl a demanding look. “Not a word of this travels to your mother, Evelyn, or your brother, Constance, for I know that both would scold me most severely for having meddled.” She blew out a breath and removed the stopper from the decanter. “I only pray that this meddling works out as well for you as it has for Constance.” She filled her glass. “Now, be off with you.” Her eyes sparkled. “I look forward to hearing how our Mr. Edwards is progressing in his education.”

  Constance bent and kissed her aunt’s cheek. “I shall tell you all about it when I return.”

  Mrs. Kendrick grasped her niece’s hand. “Keep her safe,” she whispered with a nod toward Evelyn.

  “As safe as I can,” Constance replied before leaving her aunt’s side and wrapping her arm around Evelyn’s as they left the room.

  ~*~*~

  “Are you well?” Constance asked for the fourth time since they had entered the carriage.

  Evelyn tipped her head and shrugged. “I am.” Her mind was still a whirl of confusion. Try as she might, she could not sort out all the things she thought and felt about either Mr. Marsh or Mr. Edwards.

  “You do not hate me for allowing my aunt to speak to you, do you?”

  “I could never hate you,” Evelyn assured her friend. The carriage fell back into silence for the distance of an entire row of houses.

  “What do you think of Mr. Marsh?”

  “Me?” Constance asked in surprise. “What does it matter what I think of him? He is not courting me. What matters is what you think of him.”

  Oh, that was not the reply she needed to hear.

  “I do not know what I think of him at the moment, and I could use some help deciphering what is up and what is down at present.”

  Until Mrs. Kendrick had begun questioning her today, Evelyn had thought she had everything figured out as it should be, but Constance’s aunt was not some ninny of a lady who was only interested in marrying well and decorating a home and doing naught else. The woman was astute, and often her words were full of wisdom. And for that reason, Evelyn could not – she simply could not – dismiss Mrs. Kendrick’s thoughts without giving them the consideration they were due.

  “He is an exemplary gentleman and very understanding. He’s not at all demanding or officious,” Constance replied.

  “Those are my thoughts exactly!” Evelyn cried. “And I thought that was what one was to look for in a husband. Is it not?”

  “Henry is all those things.”

  “That does not answer my question.” Evelyn crossed her arms and scowled. “Henry was not all of those things for some time.”

  “But he is now, and I love him.”

  A slow, whimpering sigh escaped Evelyn. Love. That was likely the missing item which would make all the random thoughts fall into place.

  “I could not give him up for the world,” Constance continued. “When I thought I might be forced to do so…” she shook her head, “it was awful. Truly awful. I wished to die rather than not be his. I could not have accepted Mr. Edwards. Not for any inducement.”

  “I have never considered giving up Mr. Marsh.”

  “And if you were to consider it now?” Constance inquired.

  Evelyn shrugged. “It is not real, so, of course, I do not feel any great panic or dread.”

  “If he never returned to call on you, would you be sorry for it?”

  “I suppose I might be. He is a pleasant man, and I do enjoy his company.” Evelyn shook her head. “That is not enough, is it?”

  “Truthfully?” There was a hint of unease in her friend’s voice as she asked.

  “Yes, please be brutally honest with me. I do not wish to make a life-long mistake if that is what I am about to do.”

  “Then,” Constance replied, “It is not enough. I know you, Evelyn. You grow bored with the same meal if you have it twice within the same week. Mr. Marsh seems the sort to settle into life and allow it to pass him by while he watches with pleasure. You are not that sort of person. You long to be elbow-deep in one project or another
. If I were you, I would bide my time as long as I could before replying to any offer, and I would consider other gentlemen as a sort of study.”

  Evelyn laughed. “Only you would make the selection of a husband into something academic.”

  Her comment was met with a grin. “Not only I. I am certain I am not so unique as you think. But you must admit that you have put very little time into thinking about this. You have followed your mother’s leading without much protest.”

  “I have complained as much as anyone about her mother trying to marry her off to the first willing gentleman with the best offer.”

  “And yet, you have settled on the very first choice your mother pushed forward.”

  “Because I like him,” Evelyn retorted. “He is kind and indulgent.”

  “And he will make your mother very happy, and by selecting him, you have more time to spend on your charities. Do not tell me I am wrong.”

  How she disliked it when Constance deduced things. Her friend was so often correct! It was maddening really.

  Mr. Marsh did please Evelyn’s mother. And when Evelyn’s mother was pleased, Evelyn was given more freedom. It was also pleasant to not have to spend time wondering about to whom her mother might next try to match her. And that gave her more time for her charities. Mr. Marsh was an acceptable choice. She did not dislike him, and that, combined with all the other advantages he posed regarding her mother, made him the best candidate for her future husband.

  “Where will you live when you marry?” Constance asked.

  Evelyn blinked. “I assume at Mr. Marsh’s estate except when he travels to town.”

  “Does he travel to town often? Will he come for the season after he is married, and you have children?”

  A furrow formed between Evelyn’s eyebrows as she thought about that. Mr. Marsh had declared on several occasions that he would be happy to never have to return for a season once he was fortunate enough to find a bride. Her eyes grew wide. She should really learn to attend to what he was saying with more thought about its consequences.

  “Surely, there are plenty of tenants who will require some sort of assistance.” It was a weak argument, and Evelyn knew it even as it fell from her lips.

  Constance merely nodded and allowed her friend silence to continue her contemplation.

  Evelyn could be happy attending to the needs of tenants, but what of Eiddwen House? Who would see to the proper placement of servants if she was not here to do it? She would still be allowed to lend her aid financially, she was certain Mr. Marsh would approve of that, but if she were never again to visit the place? She sank back into her seat as the door to the carriage opened. She could not give it up, could she?

  “We can discuss your plan later,” Constance said as she climbed out of the vehicle before Evelyn.

  “My plan?” Evelyn did not know of any plan.

  “Of course, your plan to see yourself happily settled into the best future possible.”

  Evelyn shook her head as she joined arms with Constance before mounting the steps to Mrs. Verity’s house. “I do not remember deciding I needed a plan.”

  “I am almost certain your sigh upon our arrival, and your realization that you would not be able to visit places such as this was the beginning of that very plan.”

  Evelyn looked up at the house before her. Could she give this up? Her heart pinched.

  “I cannot give this up,” she admitted aloud both to herself and her friend.

  Constance leaned close. “That,” she whispered, “is how you must feel about the gentleman you choose to marry.”

  Evelyn squeezed her friend’s arm. “Mother will be so disappointed.”

  “And Mr. Marsh,” Constance added.

  “Yes,” Evelyn replied solemnly, “I dare say he will be.”

  Chapter 9

  Charles looked down his nose and into the mirror before him as a lad of about nine years tried once again to make one tail of the cravat, which hung around Charles’s neck, into a loop – the first half of what would be a very striking bow.

  “Yes, yes. Just so,” Charles commended. “Now wrap that other tail around and poke it through, just as you do with your boots.”

  “Like this, sir?” the youngster asked.

  “Fluff it out. We want the ladies to see our good work.”

  Charles’s words were immediately followed.

  “One tail is too long,” the boy moaned.

  “Not to fret, my good man. We shall just tuck it along with the other just so.” Charles tucked both ends of his cravat into the top of his waistcoat. “No one will be the wiser.”

  “But it is not right, sir,” the lad protested.

  “Do you wish to have another go, Arthur?” Charles asked.

  Arthur’s head bobbed up and down eagerly.

  “Very well,” Charles said as he untied the piece of cloth and unwound it from his neck. “I promise to sit for you too, Stephen,” he added when Arthur’s classmate sighed and propped his head on his hands. “It is a good thing to be particular in one’s work.”

  My! He was beginning to sound like his father. He refrained from shuddering at the thought – but just barely. His father was a kind and loving gentleman, but he was particular – very particular. Things must be done precisely so, or they would bring a disappointed sigh and a sad “again.” If there were too many again’s, then whatever task that needed completing would be passed off to someone with more experience or taken over by Charles’s father himself.

  Charles had learned early that it only took about three or four instances of not producing perfection for him to be dismissed until a later time when his father could once again tolerate such low-quality work. Fortunately, his father was not given to excessive punishment for slowness in learning. He was a patient man and obliging. Perhaps too obliging, for he seemed either unwilling or unable to expect anything from his son that was more than just merely adequate.

  “The one tail must be longer than the other,” Stephen corrected Arthur.

  “Can you show him?” Charles asked.

  Stephen unwound the long piece of linen from Charles’s neck, pulled one side to be a touch longer, and rewrapped it.

  “Did you see that?” Stephen asked Arthur.

  “Yes.”

  Stephen unwrapped the cloth again, removed it completely from around Charles’s neck, and handed it to Arthur. “Then repeat it,” he demanded.

  “When you are five and twenty, I shall hire you as a butler if my man has left me,” Charles said to Stephen, who had returned to his seat. “You give directions very well, and you were not rude in doing so. That last bit is the most important,” he continued, peering down his nose into the mirror as Arthur wound the cloth around his neck. “There! That is it, Arthur!”

  His exuberance caused the child to jump.

  “My apologies. I did not mean to startle you.”

  “All is well,” the sandy-hair lad said with a smile which caused his cheeks to plump even more than they did when at rest. “I was just so intent on doing well.”

  “You are both to be commended for such behavior. I fear I cannot say that I had your determination when I was young. Whether I was doing well or poorly, I often was sent away to give my father peace.”

  “What about at school?” Stephen asked.

  “There was a line one did not fall below,” Charles replied. “As long as one appeared to be putting in some effort and did not fall below that line, one could go along quite nicely.” He grimaced as he listened to himself. What opportunities had he wasted by being lackadaisical? “It is a character flaw,” he added quickly. “It is far better to be as you both are.”

  He had enjoyed his time here at Mrs. Verity’s so far, but if he were to be expected to examine his own failings by seeing the diligence of young persons such as these two lads, he was not certain his self-respect would be left intact. Already, it was smarting.

  “I did it!” Arthur cheered. “See!”

  He stepped to th
e side so that Charles could easily see himself in the mirror. Both cravat tails hung evenly, and the bow was properly fluffed. Had the linen retained any of its stiffness, the results would be good enough to wear to any soiree Charles might attend.

  “Shall we allow Stephen to have a go?” Charles asked.

  Arthur’s cheeks plumped up again as a smile curved his lips.

  “A valet must undress as well as dress his man,” Charles said, lifting his chin to allow the child to untie his work. “Undressing is easier,” he added with a chuckle. “Keeping the clothes in good shape after they have been worn, well, that is another thing.”

  “Will you help us learn to polish boots so that they shine like yours?” Arthur asked as he handed the cravat to Stephen.

  “If Mrs. Verity approves.”

  “Why does a gentleman need someone to do these things for him if he can do them himself?” Stephen asked.

  “That is a very good question to which I have no good answer,” Charles replied.

  “You have no answer?”

  Charles moved only his eyes to the left so that he could see the look of surprise on Arthur’s face. “I have an answer, but it is not likely good.” He could see the boy’s eyebrows scrunch together.

  “We need someone to do these things for us because that is how it is done.”

  He sighed. Again, he sounded like his father. How many times had he asked why something was done as it was only to be told: “that is just how it is done”?

  “You’re right,” Arthur said, “that is not a helpful answer at all.”

  Charles chuckled at the boy’s honesty. “There are times when one does not have a valet with him and must care for his appearance himself, but if a gentleman is a man of great worth, then those times should not be when he is dressing in his own home or while in residence as a guest at some other gentleman’s home. It is bad form.”

  “When else would a gentleman need to dress himself?” Stephen asked.

  Charles grimaced. Stephen was perhaps too astute.

  “Why when he is with a doxy, I suppose,” Arthur chirped. “My father worked at an inn,” he explained when Charles turned startled eyes to him.