A Family of Her Own by Rose Pearson
Chapter One
Caldor House, Alnerton, 1814
Charlotte lookedup at the imposing building toward which they were driving. Caldor House was still the same, all these years later, and as it had in the past, it filled her heart with heaviness. The only reason she was returning to her father’s home was for the sake of her son. George needed a male influence, and without his father, he had only her father and William to guide him, for her late husband’s father now had suffered a debilitating illness.
She looked over to where her sleeping child lay. He was so much like Malcolm that it made her smile to think of it. She stroked his hair gently. She had not loved Malcolm when she’d married him, but he was the escape she’d needed – from grief and from loneliness.
In return, she had given him the gift of their son – the son he had hoped for, to carry on his family name. She was happy that she’d been able to do so before his time on earth was over. Her only regret was that he would not be there to see George grow into a man he would be proud of.
The carriage stopped on the broad expanse of gravel in front of the house. The door opened, and there, standing in his usual fine attire, was her brother William. A broad smile spread across his face as he immediately took the stairs at a rapid pace to come toward her.
“Charlotte!” he called.
She smiled in return as the coachman opened the door for her and helped her down.
“William, how wonderful to see you.”
She wrapped her arms around him. It felt like a lifetime since they had last seen each other, and she had missed him dearly - it was his presence here, more than anything, which had brought her back to her childhood home.
“How was your journey?” William asked.
“Long and tiring. George is asleep in the carriage,” Charlotte replied.
“Then I shall gather him up and carry him into the house.”
William strode toward the carriage and, moments later, cradled her son in his arms. George looked angelic, nestled against his uncle’s chest, completely safe from all harm.
It wasn’t easy being alone and so far from home. Once Malcolm had died, everything had changed. Suddenly the security Charlotte knew no longer existed. There was also the threat from those who wished to take from her son what was rightfully his, the title of Earl of Benton, and, likely quite soon, that of Marquess of Dornthorpe, when his ailing grandfather died. He was too young, but he would learn under her father, and when he was old enough, he would return and take his place. In the meantime, Malcolm’s trusted steward, Mr. Charlesworth, was tending to matters and would send Charlotte regular reports.
“He weighs nothing,” William commented as they walked up the stairs.
“To you perhaps, but to me, he weighs little less than a ton,” Charlotte mused. “Is Father at home?”
William’s expression fell.
“He had to remain in town to see to some pressing matters with our bankers. I have only just returned myself. I wanted to be here for your arrival. Father will return by tea time.”
Charlotte nodded in understanding - it was for the best that her father was not present. It gave her time to settle herself, to some extent, before seeing him again. Since her marriage, Charlotte had seen little of her father. He had stayed in Alnerton or at their townhouse in London and found no reason to visit her, not even at the birth of his grandson, although he had sent a card and an expensive gift.
“I have prepared your old rooms for you and converted the adjoining suite into a nursery for George. I thought it best to keep him near you. He will be unfamiliar with these surroundings for a time.”
Charlotte smiled.
“Thank you, William. You think of everything.”
“I try to,” he replied with a grin. “Especially when it comes to matters of my sister and nephew.”
They were greeted at the door by almost all of the household staff, their smiling faces bright as they welcomed her back. Charlotte was slightly overwhelmed. She’d almost forgotten them, for she had put Caldor House behind her on the day she’d left, thinking she would never return to it. Unfortunately, fate had other plans for her, and here she was.
Once the welcome was over, she followed William upstairs as footmen scurried to unload all of her possessions and carry the steamer trunks up to her rooms. William carried George into the nursery and settled him into bed without him even waking. Leaving a nursemaid watching over him as he slept, William opened the door and ushered her through into her rooms.
The space was bright, the curtains pulled wide to allow the sun into the room, but the memories lingered there. She could remember the last night she’d spent in that room, and the many before that, filled with hopes, fears, and then abiding grief.
I thought never to see this room again, yet, here I am.
“Is everything to your liking?” William said from behind her.
Charlotte turned to him, slowly untying the ribbon from beneath her chin as she removed her bonnet.
“Everything is just as I remember it.”
“I wanted it to be as easy an adjustment for you as possible.”
He smiled at her.
“I missed you very much,” Charlotte replied.
Sadness began to prick her eyes with tears.
“And I, you,” William replied as she strode toward him.
She fell into her brother’s embrace and held him tightly as memories overwhelmed her. His hand gently patted her back as he spoke soothingly in her ear.
“I know it has been frightfully difficult for you, Charlotte. I wish I could have made it better. A thousand times I have wished I could have changed the things that happened, but I hope you know I had no control over those circumstances.”
“Hush,” Charlotte urged. “Do not speak of it. I know what you would have done if you could.” She looked up at him. “Now, leave me alone for a while. I shall rest before tea.”
“Of course.”
William nodded and excused himself.
She lay back on the bed intending to rest, but her mind resisted that intent. Memories tumbled through her mind, leaving her wide awake and out of sorts. She lay on her bed, her hands clasped over her stomach as she looked up at the canopy above her, until the exhaustion from the long day of travel, and all that had gone before, caught up with her, and sleep overtook her.
It was nearly teatime when Charlotte awoke. Immediately, she worried about George, but when she called for the maid, she was assured that George had eaten his meal, had looked in to see his mother sleeping, and had happily gone back into the nursery with the maid, to play with his toys.
Charlotte allowed the maid to dress her in a gown suitable for dining with her father. Her father kept an elegant table at all times and expected everyone to conform to his expectations.
Her dress was mint green in color, made from the finest silk and lace. It had been a gift from Malcolm before he became ill. Charlotte was glad that, now her mourning was done, she could wear colors again. The year of mourning had taken a toll on her, shut away at Bentonmere Park, but it had also been peaceful. Now, for George’s sake, it was time to be visible to the world again.
She smoothed her hands over her stomach as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her shape had changed after having George. She no longer had a girl’s figure, but it was a pleasing figure nonetheless. She twisted a curl of dark hair around her finger then pushed it back into place before turning away.
The dining room was set when Charlotte arrived. William lingered by the door waiting for her.
“Father isn’t here as yet,” he informed her.
“Shall we sit then and wait?”
“We may as well. You know how he is about punctuality, even if he is not so himself,” her brother answered with a light laugh.
He hooked his arm and held it out to her.
Charlotte allowed her brother his little trifles of amusement. He’d had so little of humor in his youth, for he’d lived under their father’s thumb, ever aware that he was to inherit his title and position, as Duke, and also his vast portfolio of investments, in banking and shipping. It had always been a heavy burden for William to bear, and because of that, Charlotte hardly ever allowed herself the luxury of sharing her burdens with her brother.
James had always been the person she’d shared such things with.
The thought of her former love gave her a moment of pause. It always did. Despite his death, James Watts had really never left her, even throughout her marriage, he was, in a way, ever-present. He was still a comfort to her in her thoughts, even if he was no longer in the world.
“How are Father’s affairs?” she questioned once they were seated.
William sighed.
“When it comes to matters pertaining to the smooth running of the Duchy, it is never a straightforward task. Father insists upon seeing to every detail, no matter how small. He leaves me little responsibility – though he expects me to pay as close attention as he does himself.”
She looked at him with concern. He was clearly frustrated at the lack of trust their father was showing him.
“Do you like it at all? Working with Father, I mean?”
“There are days when I love it. Learning about all the elements involved in the Duchy’s management, from managing the rents to investing the proceeds from the land well – it is absorbing and challenging. Many in Father’s place would entrust such work to managers and bailiffs – but he prides himself that it is a matter of honor.”
“Has there been some cause for a loss?”
Charlotte shook her head lightly. Her brother was a clever man. He had left Cambridge with high praise from his tutors, and he was not one to shirk his duties. But Father was very demanding. It could only be hard on William to have to always listen and never be permitted to give his opinion or have any autonomy.
They were sipping wine and talking when their father finally arrived. He marched into the room without care or apology and promptly seated himself at the head of the table.
“Charlotte,” he stated. “I am glad to see that you that have arrived and remembered how I prefer to go on here.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“Where is the boy?”
“George is with Mrs. White, his nurse. He will be in bed by now.”
“Good, a boy needs routine and order - structure makes a man,” her father continued. He picked up the small bell which sat to his right and rang it, as an indication to the staff to serve dinner.
The meal was delicious - four courses as usual - including dessert. Her father always insisted upon it, although why she never knew. It was simply the way it was.
“How is Mrs. Watts, William? Has she improved at all?” her father asked through a mouthful of the roast.
“I’m afraid not, Father. Mr Watts told me only yesterday that she has taken a turn for the worse.”
“Unfortunate. We are sure to have a funeral to attend soon,” her father continued.
Charlotte dropped her knife in alarm.
“Funeral? Is Mrs. Watts so ill?”
“I am afraid so,” William explained. “It has been several months now since she first became ill and there seems to be no end in sight. I am sorry to have to tell you this on your first day back.”
She could hardly think. Beatrice Watts was the only mother figure Charlotte had ever known. The thought of her death was unbearable. How would her husband take that news after already having lost James?
“I will go to see her tomorrow,” Charlotte blurted.
It was her father’s turn to drop his cutlery. However, he recovered quickly and carried on as if nothing had happened.
“I do not think that is wise, Charlotte. Mrs. Watts is very ill and you have a child to consider. You cannot allow yourself to be so exposed.”
“What exposure can there be, Father? I will take the customary precautions. I am sure that you and William have visited her, and neither of you has become ill.”
“I think Father is correct, Charlotte. You have only just returned here, perhaps you should allow yourself some time to adjust before visiting the Watts,” William agreed.
She looked at him perplexed.
“William, Mrs. Watts has tended to us our entire lives. How can I be so unfair as to avoid her, especially under these circumstances? I cannot. I will not. I shall visit her tomorrow.”
The subject died immediately, but Charlotte did not miss the silent exchange between her brother and father, an exchange of looks which puzzled her completely. She did not understand their thinking but she would not be persuaded by it. Mrs. Watts was a lovely woman and she would see her, and care for her if it would give her any comfort at all.
After tea, Charlotte retreated to the parlor, but she was not alone for long. Mrs. White brought George to her soon after, the young child having woken fretful and calling for her. She set her son on the floor with his blocks and joined him.
“A little of this and you will be tired again in no time, won’t you George?” she said as she placed one block on top of the other. George hit the floor with his.
They continued like that for several minutes before they were joined by William. Her brother watched them with a silent grin as they played. His presence was comforting and Charlotte was happy to have him there and thankful that their father was absent.
“I am sorry I could not stay long after the funeral,” William said suddenly.
Charlotte looked at him perplexed.
“Why do you bring it up?”
“I do not think I have apologized enough for it. You needed me after his passing and I could not be there for you as I should.”
“William, you had pressing work. I understood,” Charlotte assured him.
William had only stayed a fortnight after Malcolm was laid to rest. Charlotte had wanted him to stay longer, but the management of the estates and the investments had called him away, and she could not bring herself to ask him to prolong his stay regardless. She held no grudge toward him for it. It was the way of the world, and her loss was no large factor in his life, only hers.
“Thank you, Charlotte. You have always been too kind in everything,” William continued. “Do you still intend to visit Mrs. Watts tomorrow?”
“Of course,” she replied. “I said I would and I shall do so. I shall make arrangements in the morning to visit her during the afternoon.”
William was silent for a moment. Charlotte could see he was contemplating something, more than likely the bank, or next year’s crop plantings on one of the estates – he never stopped thinking of such things, it seemed to her.
“Will you excuse me, Charlotte? I have a matter I must urgently attend to.”
“Of course.”
William came to them and ruffled George's hair before leaving the room. Charlotte remained with her son, playing with his blocks until his eyes grew heavy again, and he curled beside her on the floor to sleep.
She lifted George and carried him from the room, leaving the blocks where they lay, holding his head gently against her shoulder as she walked toward the stairs and their rooms. On her way up, she happened to turn, and glance down, to see William giving a letter to a footman, who immediately left the house. Her brow furrowed. Who was William writing to at such an hour?
There isa huge secret that Lady Charlotte discovers and it will change her life! Check out the rest of the story in the Kindle Store Loving the Scarred Soldier
