| |
What Might Have Been
The whistle of a train pierced the air, punctuating the incredible volume of so many voices. Charlie gripped the handle of her carpet bag with one hand, and held her hat in place with the other. The platform was filled with more people than she’d ever seen in one place, and it made her feel like a very small fish in the middle of a vast ocean.
She pushed through the crowd as politely as she could, certain that every person there could see how out-of-place she was. She finally managed to make her way to the ladies’ waiting room where Lady Therston had instructed her to wait, heaving a small sigh of relief to find that the space seemed a good deal less chaotic.
After a rather long wait during which the denizens of the concourse ebbed and flowed, the door of the waiting room swung open to reveal a tall, dark-skinned woman in dove-grey whose attire, though neutral in color, was hardly of a retiring nature. Her walking-jacket was heavily embroidered in cream, her hat was adorned with billowing ostrich feathers in shades of grey and cream, giving the hat the look of a rather delectable, frothy dessert. Her gaze lit on Charlie and she hurried forward. “Oh, my dear child, you are the very image of your mama! I should have known you anywhere!” Charlie found herself embraced in the tenderest manner, the scent of orange blossoms and powder settling about her like a cloud. “Is it Charlotte, or Lottie?” Lady Therston was smiling affectionately.
“My uncle calls me Charlie,” she answered, both pleased and a little flustered by such a warm greeting from someone who was all but a perfect stranger. “I apologize for my attire. My best dress was recently ruined and there wasn’t time to have a new one made.”
“As if I cared for such a thing, when I am so pleased to have you here at last!” Lady Therston tucked Charlie’s hand into the crook of her arm and led her from the waiting room. “Have you your luggage tickets? Ah! Good. Bert!” she called, and a young man in livery made an appearance with a smart salute. “See to Miss Whitfield’s luggage, if you please.” She turned to Charlie. “I hope you do not mind a closed carriage, my dear. There is such a chill in the air, I could not countenance the open one.”
A short time later and with little further ado Charlie found herself ensconced in a luxurious carriage, a hot brick at her feet. Lady Therston unpinned her hat and set the magnificent concoction on the seat next to her. “Now we shall have a few minutes to chat before we are home. May I call you Charlie, as your uncle does, and will you call me Aunt Callista? You needn’t, if you do not like it.”
Gratified to find that this woman of refinement seemed to think nothing odd about her preferred nickname, Charlie nodded emphatically. “You may, and thank you... Aunt Callista. For your welcome, and for allowing me to come stay with you while I sort matters out.”
“Tsk—as if it isn’t giving more pleasure than I’ve known in many a year. We’ll say no more about gratitude, if you please, and simply be family to one another.” Charlie’s brevet-aunt regarded her for a moment, her expression gentle. “I know we know little of each other, but your mother was as a sister to me,” she said, more quietly. “Your face is so like hers, and I’ve seen a similar expression on it, too. I will not pry, but—you may speak to me of anything, I promise you, and I will try to help.”
“Thank—I mean to say, I appreciate the offer and shall bear that in mind,” Charlie replied, blushing a bit and tucking the shorter lock of her hair behind her ear. The wretched thing refused to be tamed, and it was often a painful reminder of a difficult day. “I confess that I have little enough idea of what to expect. I’m afraid my uncle, while caring, did not worry much over the social graces.”
“So few men do,” Callista agreed. “Well—there is nothing so difficult about it, after all,” she added. “I shall be happy to advise you, and what I cannot teach you, we will find someone who can.” She thought for a moment. “I expect you’re worried about dancing. When I knew Elias, he was not much of a dancer, whatever other sterling qualities he had.”
“Oh yes, dancing,” Charlie muttered, her one and only lesson filtering through her mind and bringing a fresh wave of heartache. Asher had been a magnificent instructor, and she’d enjoyed the activity immensely, but now it was inexorably tied to their time together and dwelling on what could not be was less than helpful. “Are there still more balls left in the Season?” The very notion that she was to take part in the London Season was quite an abstract idea, having so little reference to such things. The pursuit of new experiences was her purpose, and she was not going to start things off by balking at the opportunities presented.
“Oh, yes—this season is only just getting ready to start. It goes right into the beginning of next summer.” Callista leaned forward and patted Charlie’s knee. “I don’t expect to launch you into balls immediately, my dear. I know the prospect can be daunting, so let us begin with what is comfortable and progress from there. Perhaps a small luncheon to start, with just a few congenial young people, so that you may broaden your acquaintance and make some friends.”
Charlie felt her shoulders relax and the movement must have been visible, for her brevet-aunt smiled kindly. “I believe that sounds like a very good first step.” She folded her hands in her lap and pursed her lips as she listened to the clatter of hooves on the city streets, and the bustle of so many people going about their business. “Or perhaps a second step?”
“Yes, indeed. First you must get settled, and then we must speak with my dressmaker.” Callista paused. “I know you are worried, my dear—all this must seem so new. But I assure you—if I know anything of your uncle, it is that he taught you to be a good student. All you need do is apply those skills here and your first Season is sure to be a success.” The coach drew to a stop and she pinned on her hat again. “Ah—here we are. Come, my love—I believe some hot tea is in order, and then you may retire to bed or explore the library or wallow in a hot bath, as you wish.” Another of those brilliant smiles and then Charlie was being helped from the coach by Bert the tiger and following her brevet-aunt up broad white steps into what seemed like a fairyland.
The house was pristine, without and within; elegant steps led from the street up to the entryway. The entry floor was marble, giving way to gleaming wood in the hall, which was centered with a red-carpeted staircase that wound upward invitingly. The walls were creamy yellow, in contrast to the dark wood paneling she glimpsed through an open doorway to the right, where a fire had been lit and comfortable furniture seemed to abound. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming, much like the lady herself.
Charlie’s hat and coat were taken, along with her bag. Aunt Callista made an admirably efficient job of charging the staff with the list of plans laid out in the carriage, and then turned to Charlie with the sigh of a woman ready to settle in for the evening. Charlie smiled broadly at her. “Aunt Callista, I believe I’m going to enjoy getting to know you.”
Over the course of the following week, Aunt Callista proved to be an invaluable ally, and more than that, she soothed the grief left by the loss of Charlie’s mother, a wound she’d thought long healed. It took Charlie a few days to summon the courage to ask about her mother, but when she did, her brevet-aunt called for a tray of biscuits and a pot of tea. She started with stories of their school days and continued all the way up to the fateful night of her parents’ first meeting.
She was just beginning to describe the details of their wedding when the butler announced the arrival of the dancing master. Thus Charlie Whitfield’s education in the nuances of her new adventure began in earnest.
Dresses arrived a day later, with hats, hairpins, shoes, underclothes, and much to Charlie’s delight, a pair of delicate lace gloves just as her mother used to wear. Charlie stroked the lovely accessories affectionately, and for the first time in years felt like her mother was smiling down at her with pride and approval.
As per Callista’s advice, Charlie applied herself to all of the changes with the same careful methodology and attention to detail that her uncle had instilled in her for their research. Table manners were refined and her dance repertoire grew with each lesson, expanding the activity well beyond the scope of the private lesson shared with Asher. With each new set of steps learned, Charlie realized that she genuinely enjoyed the activity regardless of her partner, and was eager to explore more of what London society had to offer.
It was just under a week later that Charlie found herself pacing her bedroom in a fine gown of pale lavender moiré, her hair pinned up and curled, a string of pearls around her neck, awaiting the first of her social engagements in London: the luncheon hosted by her brevet-aunt.
A tap on the door heralded Aunt Callista. “Are you dressed?” she asked from the corridor.
Charlie jumped, and then laughed at her ridiculous show of nerves. That a social gathering should have her on edge when she’d had no fear about petting what some would deem a monster was rather absurd when things were put into perspective. “Yes, auntie,” she called, laughter still in her voice.
The door swung open. “I’m glad to hear you’re in such good spirits, my love.” Callista kissed her on both cheeks. “I have something for you—it took me forever to find it, but I think perhaps it was waiting for the right moment to be found.” She held out a small book, bound in soft white leather and stamped in gold with the legend “My Year at School” and a shield with a torch emblazoned on it. “My scrapbook, from when I was at school with your mama.”
Charlie took the book with a measure of awe and carefully opened it to flip through the pages. She ran her fingers along the edge, feeling a bit as if she was getting a glimpse into a time when her mother was alive, and full of youthful hopes and dreams. “Thank you. I know you said we are to be family and leave the gratitude at that, but truly... this is wonderful.”
Callista held up a finger. "Here." She took the book back for a moment and then opened it to a page of small photographs. She pointed. "There. You see? Just like her." And indeed, the resemblance was striking, though not quite like looking in a mirror. Charlie tenderly touched the image of her mother’s face, noting that while the others pictured bore solemn and dignified expressions, her mother's lips were curved slightly upward. It was just enough to reveal the same dimples that Charlie’s own cheeks possessed.
Charlie glanced up at Aunt Callista. “Do you think she would have been proud of who I’ve become?”
“Oh, my love.” Callista wrapped her arms around Charlie. “I know she would.” She sniffled a bit, then smiled. “Now—are you ready to meet your guests?”
“As I shall ever be,” Charlie replied, twisting her fingers into her pearls. She wasn’t sure if she was still nervous, or if the scales were tipped toward excitement, but it was a challenge to be met, and she was determined to do so with grace.
At her aunt’s instruction, Charlie waited in the parlor while Callista greeted the newcomers in the vestibule, with the result that she was able to sort out the young ladies by meeting them one at a time. It was an exercise in diligent attention for Charlie to remember faces and names, but one she found she enjoyed well enough. Spending one’s life in a limited circle of acquaintance made meeting new people all the more exciting, and it seemed that Aunt Callista had exerted herself to find the most pleasant company for Charlie to sharpen her skills with. Too, there had been no one in Scotland with whom Charlie could claim any sort of girlish intimacy, and this introduction to what feminine friendship could be was a series of delightful discoveries.
One of the more exuberant maidens went by the name of Rosamond Reddisford, but “Call me Rose Red, everyone does,” she insisted. “And I shall call you Rapunzel, for your hair looks of spun gold.” She gave Charlie an irrepressible smile. “Though of course I hope you will find a more congenial mate in life than someone who is forever pulling upon one’s scalp, prince or not.” Her black eyes were twinkling at this bit of whimsy.
Charlie laughed at that. “In my experience, limited though it is, men often leave one with a headache.”
Rose Red was clearly delighted with this sally. “Oh, my dear, I can tell you and I are going to be good friends indeed.”
Another of the young ladies seemed to be dreadfully shy, her cheeks shading a vivid cerise if one so much as spoke to her. “A-anna Tilland,” she introduced herself, though Charlie could hardly hear her. Anna licked her lips nervously. “R-rose is my cousin. Thank you for h-having us.”
Rose, having stood to the side while Anna managed this speech, slipped an arm around her cousin’s waist. “There, darling, I told you you could do it. Well done,” she praised the other girl, and led her to the side of the room.
The next to arrive was a vivaciously lovely redhead, all smiles. “Hello—you must be Miss Whitfield!” she exclaimed. “I’m Elsie McInerny—Mrs., though I’m still getting used to that part. What a pretty frock!”
Charlie’s shoulders relaxed immediately and she found herself smiling broadly, surprised by how effectively this simple and friendly greeting put her at ease. Mrs. McInerny had a warmth and genuineness that broke through the shining veneer of formality and made the newness of the experience feel comfortable. “Thank you! Your gown is quite lovely as well. Would I be correct in assuming that the ‘Mrs.’ is a new development?” Perhaps it was an impertinent question, Charlie thought after saying it.
“Very.” Mrs. McInerny laughed. “But a very happy one, too.”
“I’m delighted to hear it,” Charlie replied. “And let me congratulate you on such good fortune.”
“Thank you very much,” Mrs. McInerny replied, and then they were called in to luncheon before the conversion could wander further.
Once settled at the table Charlie was pleased to find that she had been seated next to Mrs. McInerny for the meal. “Am I right in thinking,” the redhead asked when the soup had been served, “that you have only just come from Scotland?”
Charlie glanced over at her companion, raising a brow. “Och, I’ve been caught.” She grinned, having spent so many years on the shores of Loch Ness, the accent was easy for her to manage. In fact, as a child she’d often tried to hide her native accent around the other children. “Indeed I have, I was raised near Loch Ness.”
The other young woman laughed. “Clever you! I’ve only recently come from there myself, though not Loch Ness. Isn’t that the one that’s supposed to have a creature in it?”
The image of Iuchair’s eyes, gentle and intelligent, came to Charlie’s mind and her smile softened. “It does have an air of... wonder to it.” She looked around all the elegance and finery that surrounded them. “Though I suppose one generally thinks that of their home. Are you from London?”
“Oh, yes—well, my parents do have a country home,” Mrs. McInerny lowered her voice, “which I infinitely prefer, but my father prefers the city, so we spent most of our time here. My sister’s husband is Scottish, though, and I have found that I love that country. How lucky of you to be raised there.”
“Home is where the heart is, as the saying goes,” Charlie answered without thought, and immediately felt her throat tighten. She wasn’t entirely sure where her home was, only that her heart still felt rather bruised and tender.
Her companion smiled. “I’m so glad that you decided to come to London now—had you waited another fortnight, we would have missed one another entirely. My husband and I are sailing for America—he’s been offered a position as head of a clinic in Colorado.” She gave a small sigh.
It was an escape from the ache and Charlie seized upon it. “America! How very exciting!” She turned to her companion, genuinely interested. “You know, there is a lake in... Pennsylvania, I believe, rumored to have a similar creature as the one in residence at Loch Ness. “
“Is there? I shall have to look into it,” Mrs. McInerny returned merrily, “and if I find the creature I shall send word straightaway.”
“It will likely be one of the most interesting telegrams the operator has ever sent,” Charlie chuckled. Chatting with Mrs. McInerny felt... relaxed. All of the young ladies were lovely, and the luncheon a delightful affair, but the friendly redhead seemed to radiate happiness, and Charlie basked in it. She enjoyed being able to banter and chat without tip-toeing around all the little niceties. Charlie glanced around the table and then leaned a little closer to her companion “I do hope you will address the telegram or letter to Charlie Whitfield, and not Charlotte, for Charlie is what my friends call me, and I would very much like to count you among that number.”
“I should be delighted to do so, if you will say Elsie,” the other young woman replied. “And I have a further request: as my time here is so short, I must fill it with all the pleasures I can, and so I would be most obliged if you would come to tea some day this week. I would very much like you to know my sister as well—she was to have come today but was feeling not at all the thing, I’m afraid. Do say you will—I know I seem a madcap but my sister is all that is respectable, I promise you.”
“Elsie it is,” Charlie returned, so gratified by the impromptu invitation that she very nearly hugged the woman then and there, despite the table full of guests. She helped herself to another biscuit, a small treat to celebrate the success of her informal debut. “As to being a madcap, if you’d ever met my Uncle Elias, you’d know I’m quite accustomed to a little madness. In fact, I quite enjoy it in a companion.”
Elsie laughed, a delightful sound. “I shall send ‘round an invitation this very day, then, so we may fix a time.”
As the small party came to a close, Rose Red offered a similar invitation, and Anna gave her a genuine smile, and Charlie discovered that she had acquired a small coterie of actual friends. “There, my love,” said Callista, descending gracefully onto a settee in the parlor after the last guest had departed. “How was your first foray into society?”
Charlie lowered herself into a nearby chair, carefully smoothing her skirts once she was settled. “It was surprisingly pleasant way to spend an afternoon. You did an impressive job of selecting guests. Everyone was so kind and welcoming. I received not one, but two offers to come for tea.” She eased back in the chair with a sigh. “Mrs. McInerny said she would send the invitation today. She is an absolute delight! It’s a pity she won’t be here in London for long.”
Callista nodded. “I thought you two would enjoy one another. Elsie McInerny is a gem, entirely unappreciated by her parents, I’m sorry to say. Her sister, Viscountess Kirkleith, is equally lovely, and can open even more doors for you than I.” She rose to her feet and came over to kiss Charlie’s cheek. “I’m off to have a little lie-down before tea, I think.”
A little quiet held appeal, though Charlie didn’t feel the need to rest. She wanted to write to Uncle Elias and tell him all about her adventures so far. She missed his absent-minded habits, missed their discussion over dinner, and she worried he was lonely. But London had more to explore, and Charlie still hadn’t found what she was looking for.