Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
August 12, 1835
Any desire to maintain a sense of ladylike decorum had long since fled. Charlotte twisted her back, desperately trying to ease the twinge in her lower back brought on by five days of nonstop carriage travel.
“It’s not far now,” Liam Magann assured her.
Tavish’s eyes were glued to the window, watching the noisy, congested docks, drinking in the crowded waterways, where steamboats chugged out thick black smoke.
“Pittsburgh constructs almost forty percent of the nation’s steamboats,” Liam added, aiming a pointed glance at Tavish.
Charlotte had met Liam Magann several years before, when he’d come for a visit over the summer, but as they’d traveled together these past months, she’d come to see why Tavish had gotten caught up in his talk of opportunity. He was an easy conversationalist, lighthearted and entertaining, but he also had a way of instilling trust in a person—a rare combination for a man of twenty-two.
Out the window, Charlotte watched the waterways fade. As they moved from City Center to quieter streets and less-developed land, she eased out a slow breath.
Her expectations for America had been quite grand—she’d anticipated adventure, a whirlwind of novelty, and a frittering of attention, given her title and status. And so far, on all three counts, she’d been right.
What she hadn’t expected was that before they’d even reached their final destination, she would be utterly exhausted.
Perhaps when she’d visited Barbados with her family, her younger body had taken the rigors of travel better. Or perhaps the travel back then had taken a toll and she’d been too full of excitement to remember. Either way, Charlotte now felt down to her very bones the full weight of two months of sea travel, a hasty exploration of Philadelphia’s offerings, and the grueling, nearly week-long carriage ride from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh.
She couldn’t imagine how Harriet must be feeling, though for now, Harriet’s eyes were closed, her face slack.
It wasn’t only the journey that lent itself to Charlotte’s exhaustion. It was the effort of trying to gather her bearings as she woke in a new place every morning. It was the mix of accents, the slight differences in expectations and manners, and the range of smells—some altogether new and others a touch shy of familiar.
Thus far, for a country filled with so many of Britain’s not-so-distant cousins, the United States had proven to be quite disorienting.
Liam motioned toward the carriage window. “Here now, Glen Haven is coming into view.” Tavish and Charlotte leaned forward in tandem, and Charlotte was pleasantly surprised by the bucolic setting. Rolling hills stretched upward, acres of wooded land surrounding the estate.
She’d spent plenty of time in larger cities, especially London. But that had incited a certain feeling of confinement that had grown more pronounced over the years. Not only were the streets narrow and crowded, but every suitor she’d ever entertained there had made her feel as if she took up too much space.
She understood, of course. No man liked the prospect of a wife who was above him in title and authority, nor one who had opinions on political matters. But it was more than that—it was her wildly beating heart, her fierce loyalty, the untamed part of her that was still coming to terms with the title that would one day be hers.
Which was why she’d always preferred the limitless, carefree feeling of the Highlands, where there was room for all of her in the crystal-clear lochs, the wilds of the Cairngorms, the rolling hills covered with sheep and coos. And while these gentle hills looked nothing like the towering peaks back home, neither would they give her an oppressive sense of confinement a long stay in a city like Philadelphia would undoubtedly have provoked.
A point in Pittsburgh’s favor.
Magnificent oak trees lined the drive, their spacing offering brief glimpses of the river beyond. And then, at last, the elegant gray brick facade of what must be Liam’s home came into view.
“Father just finished adding on to the main estate,” Liam said, a note of pride in his voice. “There is wealth for the making here, Tavish.” His mouth curved up a bit. “The British are entrenched in stations and titles.” He winked at Charlotte. “But here, a man is what he makes of himself.”
Tavish gave a brief nod, a smile entering his eyes, if not touching his lips. “Aye. America, home of the self-made man.” His eyes returned to the window.
Liam sat forward. “There are my parents,” he said, excitement edging his tone. “And our staff.” An older man and woman stood smiling at the bottom of the stairs, an army of servants lined up behind them.
At the top of the drive, the carriage rolled to a stop. Harriet let out a deep sigh. “Here at last, I presume?”
Charlotte placed a gloved hand over Harriet’s and squeezed. Here at last.
The carriage door opened, and Liam motioned for her to go ahead. “Ladies first.”
Her stomach was aflutter, as if she was still aboard the ship they’d left at port in Philadelphia. For some reason, seeing Glen Haven—the house where she’d be staying for the next five months—made everything all too real. The future she’d dreamed about for so long was here. Now.
Had she made the right decision in coming?
Drawing an expectant breath, she took hold of the footman’s proffered hand and alighted. Fear rose in her stomach, but she discreetly smoothed her dark-blue traveling dress and prayed her legs would hold steady as her companions alighted behind her.
“Liam, my boy!” The older gentleman, his silvered hair and beard belying his youthful voice, enveloped his son in a tight embrace.
“Father.” Liam clapped him on the back.
“It is good to have you home again.” After several long seconds, Liam’s father stepped back and smiled broadly. “I believe some introductions are in order.”
A gray cat scampered down the front porch, darting between Liam’s legs and rubbing itself against the hem of Charlotte’s skirts. She chuckled and leaned down to pet the feline, its fur soft and full. Though this cat was fluffier and seemed to possess a friendlier personality, its gray coat very much reminded her of Cleo, the cat she’d had as a young girl. Silly as it was, it almost felt like a sign—that coming to Pittsburgh had been the right choice.
“Yes, do introduce your friends,” the woman Charlotte presumed was Liam’s mother said. She was a petite woman with dark hair and delicate features, looking quite a bit younger than her husband.
Liam made a grand show of it, offering a sweeping hand toward Charlotte. “Lady Rowand, my parents, Mr. and Mrs. Magann. Mother, Father, I present to you Charlotte Darrington, Marchioness of Rowand and future Duchess of Edinbane.”
A twinkle entered Mr. Magann’s eyes as he offered his hand. “Ah. Our British cousins are not so backward as I might have feared, if it is indeed true a woman can inherit her own title.”
Charlotte couldn’t help but smile as she placed her gloved hand in his. “Do not assuage your fears just yet, good sir. I’m afraid such circumstances in Scotland are the rare exception. And in England, no exceptions exist at all, save perhaps for our future Queen, Victoria.”
He bowed over her hand. “You are, no doubt then, an exceptional woman.”
Mrs. Magann shouldered her way forward, giving her husband a light rap on the arm. “And you assured me you wouldn’t fawn.” She turned to Charlotte. “But, of course, we are both so pleased to have you here. Liam speaks so highly of you and your cousin—Mr. Stewart, if I’m not mistaken,” she said, welcoming Tavish into their small circle.
Removing his hands from his pockets, Tavish stepped forward, bringing Harriet with him. “Aye, Tavish Stewart. And this is Harriet, a dear family—”
“Servant is all,” Harriet interrupted, ignoring the social niceties.
Charlotte wasn’t well versed in American customs, but she had believed, perhaps naively, that Americans would be more accepting, rather than less, of the irregularity Harriet might present as part servant, part family member.
Harriet looked a little peaked, Charlotte noted with some concern. Perhaps the journey had been more taxing for her than she’d let on.
Tavish bowed, artfully smoothing over any awkwardness. “May we express our deep gratitude for yer generosity in allowing us tae visit.”
“Don’t express your gratitude just yet, young man,” Mr. Magann replied, the mischief in his eyes growing more pronounced. “I’m afraid we planned a welcome reception to be held here at Glen Haven in your honor. And, as luck would have it, with your slight delay . . .” Mr. Magann’s mouth curved down in apology. “I’m afraid you’ll think very ill of us when I tell you our planned soiree is tonight. All of Pittsburgh is anxious to meet you both.”
Charlotte’s stomach dipped, her courage wavering with an onslaught of fatigue. She’d expected to have a day or two to rest and prepare herself for such social events.
But the future approached with startling speed.
* * *
Harriet fastened the clasp of the jeweled tourmaline necklace that rested in the hollow of Charlotte’s throat. “You look pale,” Harriet said shortly. “And you’ve seen far too much sun these past months to look pale.”
Charlotte examined herself carefully in the gilt-framed mirror. Harriet was right. Not only was she pale but purple shadows also rested beneath her eyes, even with the help of a little powder.
“Shall I ring for some sherry?” Harriet asked.
Charlotte couldn’t deny that the prospect was tempting—she was beyond exhausted and could feel the start of a headache brewing in her left temple. But she’d never been the type to need fortification for her nerves. She smoothed a hand down her painted-silk gown. She’d faced London’s most elegant ballrooms, introductions to Society’s elite, and her own presentation to Queen Adelaide without the aid of spirits—she certainly wasn’t going to allow a small town in Pennsylvania to make a ninny of her.
“I daresay you’re more in need of sherry than I,” she said, her voice light. Harriet’s complexion was wan, her eyes tired. “Why don’t you stay upstairs and rest this evening? With Mr. and Mrs. Magann present, I certainly won’t require a chaperone.” She suspected that now that they’d settled in with the Maganns, Harriet’s duties as chaperone were mostly behind them.
“I came here for the sole purpose of looking after you. If you think a wee bit of tiredness will keep me in my room as you’re presented to all of Pittsburgh, you’re a cracked nut.” Harriet gave a brusque nod. “I’d best go make myself presentable. No doubt I’ll be spending the night in some forgotten corner of the room, but I won’t be looking shabby.” She lowered her voice as if afraid of being overheard. “We have a reputation to maintain among these Americans, after all.”
It was all Charlotte could do not to laugh aloud. There was something about “these Americans,” as Harriet called them, that put one on edge. Something that brought out an almost competitive spirit. A need to show them what they’d missed out on, as it were.
Ridiculous.
Still, Charlotte was grateful for her carefully curated wardrobe bursting with all of Europe’s latest fashions—low-waisted, belted gowns, gigot sleeves, dropped shoulders, and wide necklines. She tugged at her midlength gloves and fingered her necklace one last time before making her way to the door.
Liam greeted her at the top of the stairs and sketched a bow. “Lady Rowand, you have, as always, exceeded my expectations. Our Pittsburgh ladies will look like plain, old hens compared to your bantam rooster.” He held out his arm for her to take.
She placed her hand in the crook of his arm. “Comparing a lady to a fowl—even a bantam rooster—does not bode well for the evening ahead,” she said with a laugh. “Now, where is Tavish?”
“Already downstairs, of course. Punctual to a fault.”
“My opposite in every way. If I weren’t around to claim him as family, he’d no doubt disown me. Shall we?”
Once downstairs, Liam led her to an alcove that opened to a large receiving room, where the reception was to be held. Liam’s parents stood waiting beside Tavish, servants bustled about with last-minute arrangements, and a small quartet in the far corner of the room tuned their instruments.
For a moment, Charlotte grew light-headed. She was an ocean away from London’s ballrooms, so why did those painful memories linger, even here?
Seeking to distract herself, she took stock of her surroundings. The receiving room had been part of the Maganns’ extensive addition, and every detail was exquisite, from the intricate molding on the walls to the elaborate doorknobs and freshly gleaming trim.
Her own home in Edinbane, built three-quarters of a century ago, was considered new by Britain’s standards, but compared to this . . . She tilted her head back and breathed in, the scent of cured oak and fresh milk paint tiptoeing through her nose.
“Charlotte,” Tavish said in a low whisper. “’Tis time.”
The future was now. She had only to take a leap of faith. So she did just that, pulling out her fan and putting on a smile as the quartet struck its opening chord.