* * * *
“Reilly will be here,” Lady Epping told Charlotte, dabbing powder gently beneath her eyes. “Do not fret for it, lamb. He adores you. He would not miss the occasion of your wedding.”
They had arrived to a massive crowd at Roding Castle. Lord and Lady Essex had invited more than three hundred for the wedding ceremonies, and the grounds surrounding the ruined Norman tower and adjacent, sprawling house were crammed with coaches. Lady Epping and Charlotte had retreated within the house to a quiet antechamber on the second floor to prepare.
Charlotte had changed into her wedding gown while maids plaited and bundled her hair, adorning her blond locks with flowers.
She and her mother had been somewhat surprised to find themselves alone in the room; of Lady Margaret, Lady Essex and their own preparations, there had been no sign, although Margaret’s wedding dress, an elaborate and somewhat horrendous sacque-styled contraption, hung upon a dressmaker’s iron stand in the corner.
In waiting for Reilly, they had been nearly tardy in their arrival at the castle. It seemed peculiar that Lady Margaret, who called the house her home, would be even later still. The maids were gone; Charlotte was dressed and powdered, practically ready, and yet Margaret had not arrived. Had she not been so distracted by her own misery and melancholy, Charlotte might have been concerned.
“If I know your brother, he is here already,” Lady Epping said, smiling as she set aside the small tin of powder. “And has been since the dawn, reacquainting himself with old friends.”
Charlotte returned her mother’s smile, unwilling to debate the matter. Lady Epping was perfectly aware of her unhappiness. She could see this plainly in her mother’s eyes, in her repeated, forced attempts to make Charlotte smile.
“Here, darling,” Lady Epping said, and she fumbled around in a satin traveling bag. She pulled something out and Charlotte blinked in surprise as she offered a small flask. “It is brandy. Take a swig, but be careful not to dribble on your dress. It will help ease your nerves.”
Charlotte’s nerves were dulled enough with heartbreak, but she figured she might better endure the torment of her marriage ceremony if she was appropriately addled on brandy. She pressed the lip of the flask to her mouth and tilted her head back, gulping fervently. Her eyes smarted as she swallowed, and the pleasant heat of the brandy singed her nose and throat.
“Oh…” she said, blinking. “That is splendid stuff, Mother.”
“Yes, from your father’s secret stash,” Lady Epping said, and they snickered together.
The door to the chamber flew open in a wide arc, slamming sharply against the wall. Margaret rushed in, heralded by a loud and plaintive wail, followed by her mother and a bevy of nervous, scuttling handmaids.
“How could he do this?” Margaret cried. She wore only her cinched corset, pannier frame, and stockings; she was nude from the waist down beneath her pannier and apparently felt no need for modesty. She whirled to her mother, balling her hands into fists. “I told you this would happen! I told you he would bloody find some excuse, his business in London, or what have you! I told you, Mother! How could he do this to me?”
Lady Essex blinked at Charlotte and her mother, visibly mortified by her daughter’s histrionics. “My lord must have been detained,” she said in awkward explanation. “He has kept busy in London these past months. We expected his arrival last night, but I… I am certain he is underway and nearly here, only slightly delayed.” She approached her daughter, her hands outstretched in supplication. “I am certain he is nearly here,” she said again. “He would not miss this blessed occasion.”
“He promised me!” Margaret yowled. She flounced down onto a chair, clapped her hands over her face, and wailed. “He promised he would be here! He is ruining my wedding! I knew he would manage somehow! I told you he would!”
“Is all well, Mother?” James asked, appearing upon the threshold. Margaret shrieked, drawing her legs together, her hands darting for her exposed groin.
“Get out of here!” she yelled.
James blinked around the room, looking anxious and somewhat ashen. When he saw Charlotte, he relaxed visibly, the nervousness draining from his face and form.
“James, darling, go downstairs this instant,” Lady Essex said, stepping in front of Margaret and flapping her hands to shoo him. “Have shame. You are not meant to see the brides. It will prove poor fortune!”
“Forgive me, Mother,” James said, still looking at Charlotte. “I heard shouting. I was concerned.”
“Tell me Father has arrived,” Margaret cried, leaning over to peer around her mother’s skirt. “Tell me he is downstairs and dressed appropriately, not stinking of road grime and lack of sleep! Tell me he is, James!”
“Father is yet absent?” James said, blinking at his mother, feigning complete and innocent surprise. “He was due last night.”
“Yes, well, I am certain he will be with us shortly,” Lady Essex said. “Go downstairs and see if you might not greet him upon his arrival.”
“Yes, my lady,” James said, nodding. He glanced at Charlotte again, letting his gaze draw along the length of her form. “Forgive my intrusion.”
“Pardon me, my lord,” Charlotte said as he moved to close the door. He paused, blinking at her, his brow raised in sudden, suspicious curiosity. “Have Lords Stapleford and Hallingbury arrived yet?”
James held her gaze for a long moment. She could nearly see the wheels turning inside of his skull as he tried to decipher the inference of her inquiry simply from her eyes, the set of her mouth, the tone of her voice. “Why, no, darling,” he said. “They have not.”
“Would you send word if they do?” Charlotte asked sweetly, smiling at him. “Your man… Mr. Cheadle, is it? Would you have him announce them that I might offer welcome? They are both such dears.”
At the mention of Cheadle, the color drained from James’s face. He understood that she knew; if this revelation had been lost to him a moment ago, it was starkly clear now. Charlotte held his gaze evenly, again watching the cog-works of his mind shifting and whirling.
Lady Epping did not understand, however, and she glanced at Charlotte, puzzled. “I do not think that will be necessary, darling,” she said. “I dare say that Lady Essex is right. It is poor fortune for any man to see the brides before the ceremony. You may speak with them at your leisure later this afternoon, if it should please you.”
James’s brow rose slightly to challenge Charlotte. Her moment of causing him uncertainty had passed with a new realization: she was at Roding Castle. No matter what she might have suspected or learned, she was still there, and would still marry him. She did not know enough to prevent or escape, and thus, it proved of little consequence. Charlotte could see this plainly in his face, and her momentary triumph was snuffed.
“Forgive my intrusion, ladies,” he said again. He bowed courteously and drew the door closed behind him.