His mood was not lightened by the rain. It made the inside of the carriage clammy, and he could imagine what it was doing to the outside. He had so hoped that his darling would see England at its best when he took her to his childhood home. This reminded him uncomfortably of Spain in the rainy season and all those long and pointless forced marches to and fro across the country playing cat and mouse with Boney and the French.
Fortunately, at least, these English roads were still passable in the rain. They changed horses once at a posting inn, arranging to pick up the Earl of Brampton's cattle on the return journey. They arrived in Portsmouth at three o'clock in the afternoon and were directed to the Crown and Anchor Inn.
For a long time Charlotte had been forming in her mind a mental image of Charles' betrothed. She had a firm picture of a girl about the same height and build as Meg, but with very dark hair and eyes. She was surprised, therefore, when she was ushered into a private parlor ahead of Charles and saw a girl rise from a chair close to the fire. She was dark, yes, with masses of black hair coiled on top of her head, and flashing eyes that looked equally black. But she was tall-surely on a level with Charles' chin-and had a luscious figure: heavy breasts, tiny waist, full hips. She looked almost frighteningly haughty, her body held very straight, her chin high, her heavy black eyebrows raised in apparent disdain.
All these things Charlotte noted in a flash. A moment later, this haughty aristocrat was hurtling across the room, shrieking "Carlos!" and a whole string of other Spanish words that were incomprehensible to Charlotte. Charlotte had the presence of mind to step aside before the human missile hurled herself against Charles and was picked up by the waist and twirled around and around. He clasped her to him as if he would break every bone in her body, and murmured Spanish words into her ear.
Charlotte could not understand and, anyway, was a little embarrassed by this public display of affection. She turned and examined with interest the two other occupants of the room. One was an older lady dressed all in black, her graying black hair drawn severely back from her face and tied in a topknot. She looked as aristocratic as Juana, though Charlotte assumed she was the deunna. The other was a man in his forties, Charlotte guessed, also tall and thin, with a sallow face, graying hair, and high prominent cheekbones. He must be the second cousin, Charlotte guessed. Both were looking disapprovingly at the demonstration going on before their eyes.
In the meantime, a burst of Spanish had broken loose from the couple who were still clasped together, though it looked as if Juana was trying to pull free. It became obvious almost immediately that she was furiously angry. It was equally obvious that Charles was amused. As she prattled on, he grabbed her arms and shook her gently, laughing and talking calmly back at her in her own language.
"She is jealous of you, Charlotte, my love," he said at last. "She thinks you must be the reason I have been so long coming to fetch her." And he laughed gaily and entered the fray again. The duenna had moved closer to the couple and was also talking, apparently in an effort to calm her mistress. The cousin continued to stare disapprovingly from his position of safety across the room.
Juana raised her hand and brought it viciously toward Charles' cheek. He caught her wrist and prevented the blow, but his face sobered instantly. He waved his other hand in front of her face and talked in fast, crisp Spanish. Charlotte looked on in astonishment. He was obviously threatening to strike Juana. Could this be the boyish, devil-may-care Charles that she knew? She had hardly seen him serious.
Juana's hysterics ended almost immediately. She flung her arms around Charles' neck and proceeded to sob loudly on his shoulder. He winked outrageously at the duenna over her head, and the older lady nodded in sober approval.
"Come and be introduced, Charlotte, my love," he offered finally when the sobs had been replaced by the occasional sniffle. "This is Juana. Is she not magnificent?"
Juana, in a burst of generous contrition, tore herself from Charles' arms and flung her arms around Charlotte. She favored her with a long, excited speech.
"I have to confess that she is thanking you for not loving me," Charles translated with smug amusement. "She cannot imagine how you could have shown such fortitude."
Charlotte smiled, nodded, and seriously thought that Charles must have windmills in his head to be contemplating matrimony with this not-so-dormant volcano.
The reunion quickly gave place to business. Charles spoke to all three of the Spaniards, apparently instructing them to pack their belongings and be ready to leave as soon as possible. After a few minutes they left the parlor, Juana with great reluctance. She beckoned Charlotte to go with her, but Charles said something and restrained his traveling companion with a hand on the arm.
"I told her we are tired and thirsty," he explained. "I shall order tea for you and something for myself and then you may join Juana and her maid upstairs while I see about hiring an extra carriage. Isn't she just marvelous, Charlotte?"
"She is certainly unique," Charlotte commented diplomatically.
Charles chuckled and rang the bell for service. He gave their order to the girl who appeared, and asked her to hurry. Charlotte sank into the chair that the duenna had vacated, close to the fire. Charles crossed the room, seated himself on the arm of her chair, and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Charlotte, my love," he said, leaning toward her and looking into her face.
And it was these words and this sight that met the anxious ears and eyes of the Countess of Brampton and Devin Northcott as they burst into the room.
Margaret had returned from her morning of visiting, watched the dowager climb the stairs to her room to change for luncheon, gone into the rose garden to cut some fresh buds for the dining-room table, and finally retired to her room to wash her hands, tidy her hair, and change her gown. She noticed immediately the white envelope propped against the mirror of her dressing table. She slit open the envelope and read the letter over which Charlotte had labored for five whole minutes and which she had been convinced explained the situation clearly.
Dearest Meg,
Pray forgive me for any worry I may cause you, but I have gone with Charles to Portsmouth. He is in love, Meg, as you will soon be forced to admit for yourself. Even his lordship cannot be angry when he knows that. I know you may be cross with me, Meg; I should not really do this. But my case is hopeless. This is the only chance I have of any sort of happiness. You know yourself that I do not love Charles, but everyone else thinks that I do, you see, dearest. All will be explained when we arrive home again. Your own dear sister,
Charlotte
Margaret read the letter through a second time, panic rising in her, hoping there was some other interpretation to put on it than the obvious one. She put a shaking hand to her mouth, trying to think clearly enough to know what to do. If only Richard were at home! She finally rushed along to the dowager's room and knocked hastily on the door.
"Mama, I have found this letter in my room," she gasped out. "Charlotte has eloped with Charles. They are on their way to the Continent to be married-at least, I assume they plan to marry."