Waltzing With The Earl

A wallflower’s time to shine...

The Earl of Shalford needs to marry into money to save his estate. Wealthy and beautiful Henrietta Buxted should be the perfect candidate. So why does his eye keep wandering to her quiet cousin, Charlotte Wyncroft?

Charlotte watches Henrietta’s games of courtship with wry amusement. That is, until a stolen dance reveals a hidden side to the earl. Penniless Charlotte knows she’s far from a suitable match, yet, in Adam’s arms, she can dream of the happily-ever-after she’s always wanted!

‘Would you do me the pleasure of dancing the waltz with me?’

Charlotte’s happiness was complete. ‘I should be delighted, my lord.’

There was a murmur of excitement as the couples took to the floor. Belatedly Charlotte realised that Henrietta was glowering at her. Oh, no! Henrietta had probably expected the earl to offer her the waltz.

‘My lord, I think Henrietta wishes to dance the waltz with you. And I feel a little unwell, so—’

‘Oh, no! You shall not sacrifice yourself for her this time. You are not unwell, for I never saw you in greater looks, and it is you I wish to dance with—not your cousin. Let her find a partner from among her admirers.’

Shocked, but secretly pleased, Charlotte let it go. In truth, this was her wish. Right now she wanted to enjoy this dance, with this man, in this ballroom.

Author Note

I hope you enjoy Charlotte and Adam’s story as much as I do. It’s particularly exciting for me as it’s my first published novel, and it began—as these things often do—with a ‘what if?’

What if, in Regency England, a young woman of good family lost her place in society? Not through scandal or drama but subtly, insidiously, through loss of perceived wealth. And what if she had already become close to a man who needed to marry well?

Marriage in Georgian society was often more to do with land, property and money than affection, love or attraction, and yet there are stories of love-matches too. I’ve tried to be true to what we know of society at that time, so this story focuses more on the drawing room than the bedroom. My ‘planet Regency’ is as much Heyer’s as Austen’s, and I love to visit it regularly.

Watch out for Harry’s story, coming next—I wonder what would happen if he met Charlotte’s spirited friend Juliana…?

Waltzing with the Earl

Catherine Tinley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CATHERINE TINLEY has loved reading and writing since childhood, and has a particular fondness for love, romance and happy endings. She lives in Ireland with her husband, children, dog and kitten, and can be reached at catherinetinley.com, as well as through Facebook and @CatherineTinley on Twitter.

Waltzing with the Earl

is Catherine Tinley’s enchanting debut for

Mills & Boon Historical Romance!

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk.

To my parents, Sheila and Tommy, with love.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

London, 1814

Leaning against a gilded column, the Earl of Shalford coolly observed the revellers at Lady Jersey’s party. The elegant ballroom was thronged with gentlemen and ladies of every age, shape and demeanour, all determined to enjoy the evening. A country dance was in full flow, and the sight of tittering ladies and merry gentlemen leaping and capering around the room seemed, at this moment, the height of absurdity.

‘Adam—so this is where I find you. Ogling the ladies, eh?’

The Earl regarded his younger brother with disfavour. ‘No, I shall leave that to you, Harry. I am leaving.’ He wrenched his long frame upright.

‘So soon? But the night is barely begun—and you are promised to dance the cotillion with Miss Ross.’

The Earl shrugged. ‘I shall apologise—a sudden indisposition, I think.’

‘You are not indisposed—well, not unless one counts this unseemly languor. Come now, Adam, there are lovelies to be danced with, flirtations to be had. You are too staid for your own good!’

‘Not staid—bored. Not one of these ladies has the power to hold my attention. I dance with them, then immediately forget them. I cannot choose between them.’

‘Then do not choose. Simply enjoy the moment. We have been out of mourning for Papa for months, yet still you act as though...’

‘As though I were still mourning him? You need not worry, Harry. Papa is gone. I have accepted it. The Earldom—and all its responsibilities—rests on my shoulders.’

‘It must not be a burden, Adam. You can still enjoy life.’

‘I do, Harry, I do. I just do not enjoy—this.’ He indicated the crowded room. ‘Give me an evening with friends instead—with people I know and wish to talk to.’

‘But your friends are here.’ Harry indicated a corner near the supper room, where a group of young men were indulging in drinking games with Lady Jersey’s potent punch.

‘Perhaps I am not friendly enough tonight. Have a good evening, Harry. Flirt with as many young ladies as you can manage. Keep up the Fanton name.’

Harry shook his head. ‘Adam, this is not good.’

His brother, unheeding, left with a slight wave of his hand. He spoke first to Miss Ross, who looked disappointed, then made his farewell to their hostess, Lady Jersey.

As Adam slipped out of the room, Harry spoke softly, though he knew his brother could not hear. ‘I wish I could lift your spirits, Adam, but if pretty girls and dances can’t do it then how can I?’

Chapter One

Buxted House in Half-Moon Street was a neat, elegant townhouse, ideally situated between Curzon Street and Green Park. As his coach stopped outside, Colonel Sir Edward Wyncroft glanced around. Late morning meant the street was busy with delivery men, street sweepers and errand boys. The smell of spring was in the air, mixed with the usual London odours—chimney smoke and horse manure.

A lean, sprightly gentleman, with intelligent blue eyes and dark curls showing only a hint of grey, Sir Edward had an easy gait, and his youthful looks belied the fact that he was now in his fifth decade.

Surrendering his hat and cane to the footman, Sir Edward addressed the butler, whose name, he remembered, was Biddle.

‘I believe your master is expecting me, Biddle?’

‘Indeed, Sir Edward. I am glad to see you again, sir. Please come this way.’

Sir Edward followed him to the breakfast room, where Mr Frederick Buxted, an affable, portly fellow in his middle years, was demolishing a selection of cold meats and rolls with coffee. Rising as the butler announced his guest, he shook Sir Edward’s hand and bade him join in the spread.

‘No, no, Freddy, I have eaten already. Can’t get used to these late hours, you know.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Mr Buxted knowledgeably. ‘No doubt you rise early in Venice?’

‘Vienna, my dear boy, Vienna,’ said Sir Edward. ‘Yes, I can’t abide sleeping late. Got to be up and about, you know. Army habits. Too much to do.’

Buxted eyed him suspiciously. ‘You know, I never did understand why you stayed in the Army after Maria died. The ladies said you couldn’t bear to come home without her.’

Sir Edward, with some difficulty, conjured up an image of his long-dead wife. ‘She was a beauty, my Maria. But that wasn’t it. I’m an Army man, Freddy. And besides, there was no reason to come home then.’

‘No reason? What about your daughter?’

‘Now, Freddy, don’t be a gudgeon! You know little Charlotte was with us when her mother died. She was such an easy, contented little thing, and her nursemaid was devoted to her. What was I to do—open up the house and let her rattle around in it with a legion of servants? No, she was better with me.’

‘Better with you?’ spluttered Freddy, almost choking on his coffee. ‘A life travelling around war zones and foreign cities, in goodness knows what danger?’

‘Oh, there was never any danger. She stayed safe with the Army families, far away from any action. Well, most of the time.’ His brow creased. ‘There was that time in Burgos...and once when we had to hide in a cellar. But my Lottie has the heart of a soldier—no airs and vapours from her. We took her home sometimes, when Maria was alive, but Maria didn’t like us to be apart.’

‘Yes, but she was never here long enough.’

‘True.’ Sir Edward looked pensive. ‘After Maria died I established Charlotte with her maid and a governess in Madrid, then Florence, and now Vienna. I sent her to a good school there—she has just finished, in fact. Though, of course you are right. She needs to see London, and she needs English ladies around her.’ He eyed Buxted keenly. ‘How is your family? Mrs Buxted? Your daughters? Both girls are out now, I think?’

‘Yes, and all are well. Louisa and the girls are still abed, as they were at Lady Jersey’s rout last night. A chance for me to enjoy a quiet breakfast. Not that—I mean, of course I prefer to have breakfast with my wife—it is just—’

‘Yes, yes, I too have a dislike of listening to nonsense too early in the day. Actually, I had hoped to ask a favour of you, Freddy.’

‘Of course, of course, Edward.’ He glanced towards the door. ‘That is, anything in my power...’

‘It is the Corsican, you see.’

‘The Corsican?’ His eyes widened. ‘Napoleon?’

‘The very man. Fact is, he is to be exiled. Elba, you know. All agreed this week.’

‘Yes, of course. The news reached us here in London a few days ago, though we didn’t know where he was to go. Just grateful the war is over, really.’

‘Well, Castlereagh doesn’t like it, but the Czar must be magnanimous. I’m with Campbell, who will stay to see it done.’

‘Er...quite, quite. Important business, that.’ Freddy adopted a knowing look.

‘Indeed—and delicate. Can’t let that little upstart think he actually was an emperor! The thing is—I think it is time Charlotte came home to England. I’m going back to Paris with the Foreign Office chaps. Everything seems to be settling down, but I wouldn’t trust the French—not suitable for her at all.’

‘No, no!’ said Buxted, much struck. ‘But is there no one—?’

‘No one in London I would know and trust like you, Freddy. You’re Maria’s cousin, got two daughters of your own. Seems an ideal situation for my Charlotte.’

‘Yes, I see, but—’

‘You needn’t worry. She won’t give you any trouble, Freddy. She is not one of those demanding females. Quiet little thing, but got a good head on her shoulders, my Lottie. In fact, shouldn’t be surprised if you like her, Freddy—everyone does.’

‘But for how long would we be expected to have her?’

‘Not more than a couple of months, Freddy. You know how it is with these things—hard to tell.’ Freddy nodded sagely. ‘It will be my last mission, though. After making sure Napoleon is safely on his way I’ll need to tidy things up—regimental business, you know—then I’ll be coming home for good. The job is done and I’m looking forward to retirement.’

‘To be sure, yes. But—’

‘And don’t worry, Freddy, I’ll stand the blunt. You won’t have to lay out a penny on her behalf. I shall arrange her pin money, but I will need to stable Charlotte’s mare with your horses, if you are agreeable?’

Mr Buxted, his shoulders slumped, could not object.

‘Then it is all settled! I shall ask Charlotte to write to your wife to confirm the date of her arrival.’

Sir Edward, entirely satisfied, took his leave without further ado, leaving Freddy Buxted with the happy duty of informing his dear wife Louisa of their impending guest. He sank back in his seat as the enormity of his task slowly dawned on him.

‘For this,’ he muttered to the empty room, ‘I shall need the assistance of a power greater than myself.’ He raised his voice. ‘Biddle! Biddle! Oh, there you are, man. Get me some ale!’

* * *

A little over three weeks later, on the date appointed in her polite correspondence with Mrs Buxted, Miss Charlotte Wyncroft arrived at Buxted House. She was accompanied by her groom, Joseph, leading a fine bay mare, her abigail, Miss Priddy—who was also Joseph’s sister—and an enormous number of trunks and bandboxes, piled high behind the coach.

‘Finally, Priddy, we have arrived!’

‘Now, then, Miss Charlotte, no need for over-excitement.’

‘But, Priddy, this is London! You know how long I have wanted to visit England, and especially London. It is hard to call oneself English when England is a distant memory. Ooh, there are my cousins—what attractive girls!’

Charlotte peered out through the carriage window, trying to see everything without making it obvious that was what she was doing. Two young women stood with their mama at the top of the steps. Both looked fair, pretty and elegant.

As the carriage door was opened Charlotte overheard snatches of their conversation.

‘Mama, what a lot of luggage!’ exclaimed the younger-looking Miss Buxted.

Faith was her name, Charlotte remembered from the letters she had exchanged with Mrs Buxted these past weeks. A pretty young lady with blue eyes and flaxen curls, she was a paler imitation of her older sister. She glanced anxiously at her mother and sister as they stood waiting for their guest to mount the steps.

Miss Henrietta Buxted, at twenty, was two years senior, and was stunningly beautiful. Guinea-gold curls, wide blue eyes and a stubborn chin—she would be much sought after among the young men, if Charlotte was not mistaken.

Henrietta sniffed. ‘I hope she will not be an inconvenience, Mama.’

‘Charity begins at home,’ said Mrs Buxted.

A stout lady on the shady side of forty, with a certain hardness about her eyes and mouth, she still showed faint traces of the former beauty that, Papa said, had attracted young Freddy Buxted to offer for her.

Standing stiffly in a burgundy Norwich crepe round gown, she remarked, ‘I still don’t understand how your father agreed to this. To have an unknown girl foisted on me, when I have two daughters of my own to see settled... It is beyond belief!’

Mr Buxted, who had been standing quietly behind his wife and daughters, looked alarmed. Muttering what sounded suspiciously like, ‘Fortitude!’ he stood his ground.

Charlotte glanced at Priddy, who looked shocked. Did Mrs Buxted and her daughters think she could not hear them?

Schooling her features into a polite smile, Charlotte tripped lightly up the shallow stone steps.

‘Mrs Buxted, I am so happy to be here. Thank you so much for agreeing to let me visit. What a beautiful house! And these must be my cousins.’

‘My daughters, Henrietta and Faith.’

The girls made their curtseys.

‘It is lovely to meet you all! Mr Buxted!’

‘Do call me Uncle. I should happily be your uncle. I’m so glad your father agreed to let you visit.’ Mr Buxted, moved by Charlotte’s enthusiasm, gave her an avuncular kiss.

‘Now, now, Mr Buxted—Uncle! I can imagine quite well that my father pressured you into it. He normally gets what he wants.’ She leaned forward, and added with a twinkle, ‘It is what makes him such a good colonel.’

Mr Buxted laughed, at which his wife and daughters looked quite startled. He stepped back and made a study of her.

‘Well,’ he pronounced, ‘you look nothing like my dear cousin Maria.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘She was a famous beauty, was she not? I am thought to favour my father.’

Henrietta sighed dramatically. ‘To live without a mother. It must be so sad for you.’

‘Not at all!’ said Charlotte cheerfully. ‘I don’t really remember her. She died when I was six, you see.’

‘But you have not had the guiding hand which every young lady needs,’ offered Mrs Buxted evenly. ‘Growing up without a mother, you must lack the wisdom only a mother can offer.’

‘Oh, probably,’ agreed Charlotte. ‘I do not think I am very wise sometimes.’

‘Then perhaps,’ offered Henrietta, ‘we may help improve your mind during your visit.’

‘I wouldn’t be sure of that,’ said Charlotte sorrowfully. ‘I was a terrible student. I finished school last month, thank goodness, and I did try to be sensible and obedient, but I admit I found it a struggle sometimes.’

She twinkled at Faith, who—thankfully—returned an understanding smile.

‘Reverend Welford—our chaplain in Vienna—has quite given up on me, but says he likes me as I am. I do find it hard to be good sometimes. But I do try.’

Ignoring Henrietta’s gasp of shock, Mrs Buxted inclined her head. ‘Well,’ she said, her mouth a thin hard line, ‘we shall see.’

‘I am glad,’ said Henrietta to her mother, ‘that our cousin is dark-haired—not fair, like me and Faith.’

‘Why does that matter?’ asked Faith, perplexed. ‘Besides, Charlotte has blue eyes like us.’

‘She will be described as a petite girl, with a good figure, striking blue eyes with dark lashes—the Buxted eyes—and unfashionably brown hair. She is pretty rather than beautiful, Faith.’ Henrietta sounded exasperated at her sister’s dim-wittedness. ‘It means that I will still be known as the beauty of the family—although Charlotte is pretty enough not to discredit us.’

‘And she is elegant,’ agreed Mrs Buxted, her eyes sweeping over Charlotte’s stylish blue pelisse, worn over a pretty figured muslin gown.

Charlotte stood in astonishment as they openly discussed her. In Vienna this would have been considered shockingly rude.

‘Yes, yes,’ said Mr Buxted, ‘I am sure you will all get on famously. My love, I shall leave you to get better acquainted with our little niece. I shall return for dinner.’

With this decisive pronouncement, he left, nimbly avoiding the train of footmen carrying Miss Wyncroft’s baggage into the rapidly shrinking hallway.

‘Mrs Walker, our housekeeper, will show you to your room.’ Mrs Buxted indicated a plump, middle-aged lady, standing by the staircase. ‘I am sure you will want to rest a while after your journey.’

‘Not at all, for I have travelled only a few hours today. We broke our journey in Godalming last night, rather than arrive with you in the evening.’

Mrs Buxted blinked.

‘But of course I should like to freshen up. My abigail, Miss Priddy, will assist me.’

Miss Priddy, who was standing in the background clutching Charlotte’s small jewel case, bobbed a curtsey to the Buxted ladies and joined her mistress in following the housekeeper—and two footmen, laden with trunks—up the wide staircase. She was a thin lady of indeterminate age and wore a plain dimity gown in a sober Devonshire brown, buttoned up to the neck. She had been with the Wyncroft family since before Charlotte was born—initially as maid to Charlotte’s mother.

Charlotte’s room was bright and spotlessly clean, with a comfortable bed and a small fireplace. It was decorated with pretty green hangings and overlooked the street. Charlotte graciously thanked the housekeeper and the two footmen, who then left to fetch more baggage.

Charlotte waited for the door to close before crossing to the window. Down below, it seemed all of London was passing by. ‘Oh, Priddy. I knew it—this will be interesting.’

‘Now, Miss Charlotte.’

‘I declare, I like my Uncle Buxted. And Miss Faith seemed friendly.’ She frowned. ‘I’m not sure about my Aunt Buxted and Miss Henrietta. They are shockingly plain-speaking—but perhaps ladies are different in London. And did you hear what they said as we arrived? They don’t really want me.’

Priddy threw her a sharp look, but said nothing.

Charlotte stretched her arms above her head, glad to be out of the rumbling carriage at last. It had taken over a week to travel from Vienna, by easy stages. Joseph, who had criss-crossed Europe many times, had organised the best inns and the safest routes. Although peace had been declared, there were still pockets of trouble in France, and they had been accompanied on their journey by armed outriders.

Charlotte gazed thoughtfully at her abigail, who had opened one of the trunks and was tutting at the creases in a white silk gown.

‘I have met many ladies of the ton in Vienna, and in Brussels, while their husbands were engaged in meetings, but I do not recall any who seemed so stiff—or so blunt—as the Buxted ladies. And everyone welcomed visitors—always. Are things so different here, or is it me they do not like?’

‘You are in London now, miss. This is the heart of English society. Many things will be different. They have never met you before, so they cannot truly dislike you. Once they learn to know you, they must like you.’

‘Oh, Priddy, I do hope you are right. I am so happy to be in London,’ said Charlotte with a contented sigh. ‘I have waited for this for so long. I’ve had years of parties and dinners with English people visiting Vienna, talking of things I knew nothing about—the English weather, the royal family, the countryside. Now I am finally in my home country. It is a new adventure, and I aim to make the most of it. All will be well, I am sure.’

Chapter Two

Charlotte spurred Andalusia to a canter. The breeze stung her cheeks and the afternoon sun sparkled on the Queen’s Basin as she cantered through the meadow, savouring the exhilaration in her veins. At the end of the open field she slowed the mare to a gentle trot, allowing Joseph to catch up.

‘I’ll say this, Miss Charlotte,’ said the groom who had taught her to ride amid Wellesley’s Portuguese campaign, ‘you know exactly how to handle her.’

‘Yes, you enjoyed that, didn’t you, Lusy? Just a pity we aren’t allowed a full gallop,’ said Charlotte, leaning forward to pat the mare’s neck. ‘I suppose we should be getting back, Joseph. We are to have visitors this afternoon and I am a little late.’

As they moved through the park towards Half-Moon Street Charlotte reflected on her first week in London. The Season was now in full swing, but Mrs Buxted disapproved of the ‘carousing’ involved. House parties, assemblies and balls were only to be tolerated, she had pronounced, in order to find suitable marriage partners for her daughters.