His look was restless, but he bowed to Mrs. Wattlesbrook.
“My apologies, madam. My horse stumbled in the field.”
“That is a shame. Is she all right?”
“Of course she is, or I would not have returned from the stables.”
Mr. Mallery’s glance took in Charlotte, then his eyes returned to Mrs. Wattlesbrook. He left without another word.
Colonel Andrews laughed. “There goes the wealthiest man in the county, but twenty-five thousand a year cannot manners buy.”
“Indeed.” Mrs. Wattlesbrook sniffed, but Charlotte observed that her sternness seemed more affected than usual. In fact, the woman was downright pleased.
The butler entered, but Mrs. Wattlesbrook waved him off.
“We shall wait for Mr. Mallery, Neville.”
“He shan’t be long, I daresay,” Colonel Andrews
said. “The old boy dresses like he rides—fast and careless.”
“Not careless,” Mrs. Wattlesbrook corrected. “Mr. Mallery is never careless.”
Colonel Andrews nodded assent.
Charlotte noticed Miss Gardenside, sitting on a lounge, her feet up, a blanket over her legs. Her face was shiny, her eyes wet, and she dabbed at them with a handkerchief.
Feeling a little unready for the gentlemen, Charlotte wandered over to the lounge and took a chair beside her.
“Can I get you anything?” Charlotte asked.
Miss Gardenside smiled. “Oh no, my dear Charlotte. I have never felt so well in all my life. I swear I could dance till dawn, were we haunting dear old Bath again. Stay and talk. I do not mean to be alone.”
She shivered, closed her eyes briefly, then smiled again as if nothing were wrong in all the world.
“Your brother is the dimpled one there?” she asked, nodding toward where Mr. Grey was speaking with Miss Charming.
“Yes. Edmun—” It was such a trial for Charlotte’s tongue to perform both ds. “Edmund,” she said again, forcing the hard consonants. The name was too formal, too heavy. “Eddie,” she tried out.
His attention turned toward the lounge.
“We call him ‘Eddie’ at home. Don’t we, brother?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Indeed we do, Charlotte. It is good to see you. I would ask you all the news of home had I not received one of mother’s tomes just yesterday. So I meet you well informed on the number of chickens in the henhouse, the dastardly conduct of elderly Mr. Bushwhack at the reins of his new phaeton, and the mud that just will not dry on the path to church. More news than that I cannot possibly imagine.”
“Join us, Eddie,” said Charlotte, indicating the edge of the lounge. “Miss Gardenside is under the weather and could use some company.”
“Consumption, isn’t it?” he asked, sitting. “The devil take it. But yours is seasonal, I shouldn’t warrant, and so will clear up soon.” He lifted his hand as if he would place it on her blanket-covered leg but then pulled back. His look was warm and sincere as he added, “I think you brave beyond words, Miss Gardenside. I had a bout of consumption myself years past and felt as if I had one leg in the grave and would not mind tossing in the other as well. I marvel at your strength to be here amongst us and put on a cheery demeanor.”
“I prefer it … takes my mind off—” She started to cough, and her face took on a yellowish-greenish sheen.
The blonde woman who had taken Miss Gardenside to her room earlier approached, still in her plain-cut navy dress. She was holding a glass of water for Miss Gardenside, so Charlotte got out of the way.
She joined Miss Charming, who sat alone at the piano, picking out single notes in no discernible tune.
“Who is that other lady?” Charlotte asked.
“Miss Gardenside’s nurse, Mrs. Hatchet,” said Miss Charming.