It should soon begin to rain, she was convinced.
What dratted bad luck, the lady thought, vexed. Would that it holds off for at least a few more hours.
The roads from town to Ceastre were good. She reassured herself that none of her guests would turn aside from attending on account of a downpour. But hems would no doubt become soiled, and slippers ruined. It was most galling, indeed.
Didier had brought out all of the elements of Charlotte’s full dress for the ball, for the lady’s inspection. The gown itself was in the latest style, with the higher waistline of Parisian taste. The pale blue silk contrasted with darker marine ribbons her mother had provided after that nick-ninny of a dressmaker attempted to use sea green. Charlotte still would have preferred periwinkle, but she had to own that the almost-night blue was handsome.
Her gloves matched the pale blue silk, and her reticule was a combination of the dark and light shades, overall embroidered with a flowery design. Her hair would be ornamented with barrettes of sapphires and combs of pearls, with matching earrings, necklace, and bracelets, a lovely set she was particularly fond of.
Charlotte would wait to dress, of course, as it was still several hours before the first guest would arrive. She wondered where Lieutenant Roberts was now. Might she encounter him if she wandered the house a bit?
Her mother was of course, the one in charge of all the preparations for the ball, but Charlotte wanted to be sure it all went off without a hitch. She would accomplish two aims at once, touring the house, inspecting the preparations for the ball whilst hoping to chance upon the lieutenant.
Newly purchased eight-hour beeswax candles had been set out in every room. The mirrors had been polished and angled carefully to reproduce the light. The many crystal chandeliers had been meticulously cleaned, she noted with satisfaction. Fragrances from the countless bouquets of flowers from the garden and the partially constructed orangerie filled the rooms as well, and Charlotte took a moment to reposition a blossom here and there.
When I am the mistress of Ceastre, I shall see to it that we replace the lilacs with more rosebushes, she mused, pleased with the notion of taking on the role.
As she came into the ballroom, the artist they had hired to draw chalk designs on the floor was reprimanding his assistant. Charlotte walked by, heading for the niche on one end where the musicians were readying themselves.
‘Is all in readiness, Mr. Dassel?’ she asked the leader of these.
The German gentleman gave her a brisk bow. ‘Of course, your ladyship,’ he said without hesitation.
Pleased, Charlotte acknowledged this with a nod.
Her mother entered and crossed to Charlotte. ‘Have you seen the clouds?’ she asked without preamble, wringing her hands.
‘I have,’ Charlotte owned.
‘Heaven forfend we shall hear of some carriage floundering in the mud on the way here.’
‘The roads will not be so easily harmed, I should hope,’ Charlotte said. ‘What did you choose for the punch, Mama? Brandy or wine?’
‘Rum,’ the countess said. Charlotte raised her eyebrows. ‘Admiral Jervis—the Earl of St. Vincent, you know—has interests in the Caribbean. I thought it prudent to pay him the compliment.’
Charlotte said nothing, but thought to herself that she shouldn’t curry favour with military gentlemen known for corruption, once she assumed the title of Countess of Ceastre.
Parting ways with her mother, Charlotte decided to inspect whether proper attention had been paid to preparing brushes and the like, should there indeed be mud. She passed through a corridor, heading for the foyer, when glancing through a door, she saw Nicholas.
The footman caught her eye and made as if to follow her.
Charlotte dug her fingernails into her palms. This cannot continue. I must put an end to it now.
Turning to look over her shoulder, she gave Nicholas a pointed glance and made her way out into the garden.
As she knew he would, he followed her.
A glance at the sky gave her a chill of foreboding. Rain was unavoidable. Making haste, Charlotte wound her way through the hedges to a portion not visible from the house. She knew these gardens better than anyone, and more than once she had eluded a governess here.
Nicholas rounded a corner and faced her.
He advanced on her with complete confidence, extending his hands as if to catch her with them. Charlotte took a step back, leaves of a hedge tickling her neck and shoulders.
‘Stop at once,’ she said, holding up a palm. ‘I require a word