Perfectly Flawed (16 page)

"We demand a challenge!" came the shouts of many.
"Yes, a challenge! For your favor, Lady Charlotte!"

Muriel could not understand why they should wish to
hear of another self-admitted blemish from Charlotte. It
was beyond comprehension.

"Gentlemen," Muriel shouted. "Gentlemen!" she repeated louder a second time, raising her hand over her
head to gain their attention. "Do calm yourselves, please.
Your behavior borders on barbaric."

The room quieted and Muriel spoke freely. "I am
sorry to disappoint you. We have nothing planned for
this afternoon."

Vehement verbal opposition followed her statement.
The gentlemen's voices grew insistent and angry. Muriel
knew they would not be satisfied unless this afternoon
had a winner.

"What do you suggest then?" she asked the crowd.
"Shall we stoop to something as simple as drawing a
name out of a hat?"

"My hat!" Lord Paul Bancroft offered.

Major Dunham, looking splendid in his regimentals,
cried out, "We can't have that! He's a known cheat!"

"Be warned. I may take offense to that, sir," came the
sharp reply from Lord Paul. "We have no time to waste
dueling."

"Let it be my hat, my lady!" the dashing Lord Oscar
offered.

"No, let it be mine!" Sir Albert Stephenson called
out, followed by a few others eager to participate.

The front door opened, and Sir Samuel entered the
overflowing foyer and removed his headwear. "What
goes on in here?"

"Here, we'll have Sir Samuel's hat," Major Dunham
proposed. "He's no involvement in this whatsoever."

"Regarding what?" Sir Samuel replied, baffled at the
commotion before him.

"I would appreciate if you would allow us to borrow
your chapeau for a game of chance," Charlotte requested
in a compelling lilt, one she must have known no male
could refuse.

Sir Samuel wore a blissful expression, handing over
his curly-brimmed beaver immediately.

"If you would hold it thusly." She turned it in his hand,
the brim up and the crown down.

Muriel instructed them all, "Once all of you have
placed your calling cards into the hat, we shall begin."

The group parted, allowing Sir Samuel to move from
one end of the room to the other. "That's it, gentlemen,
cards into the hat," he repeated, moving through the
throng.

"What am I to tell them, Moo?" Charlotte whispered
to her sister.

"I don't know, Char-Char," Muriel returned quietly.
"I had no idea a session of Repelling the Suitors was
planned for this afternoon."

"Perhaps I could tell them I am featherbrained or that
I am clumsy," Charlotte mused. Could she not think of
something better?

"I don't know how that should put them off." Muriel
glanced past her sister, keeping watch on the progress of
gentlemen beyond.

"No. You're right; it's not enough." Charlotte must
think of something much, much worse. "I need something revolting, absolutely horrid. Something that would
make them run all the way back to London."

"At least something that would make them reconsider
before returning to Faraday Hall," Muriel agreed.

"And I shall," she murmured to herself. "You cannot
allow me to face the winner all alone, Moo." Charlotte's
stomach churned in agitation.

"You have done it before. Twice, if memory serves"
Muriel sounded as if she were going to be quite stubborn.

"I don't think I can manage it again. I feel very uncertain about facing him this time. I wish you would
keep watch over me," Charlotte begged her younger
sister. "I need to know you're near."

"Observe you? I cannot. You know I cannot." The
expression on Muriel's face told how shocking it was
that Charlotte should suggest such a thing. "I am forbidden to eavesdrop on you."

"I do wish you would. That you might be there to
help me ... just in case-" Charlotte had no idea what
she was going to say. What if she couldn't think of anything suitable? Feigning deafness wasn't as great a defect as she had thought. "I give you permission to watch.
I insist upon it."

"Very well," Muriel gave in, clearly not pleased. "But
I cannot imagine how I should come to your aid if you
should need it."

"Thank you so much, dear, dear Moo." Charlotte
smiled and exhaled in relief. She would not be alone in
this. "I shall meet the winner in the parterre and you
shall observe us from the window in my bedchamber."

Finished with his one sweep through the room to collect all the calling cards, Sir Samuel returned to the staircase where the ladies stood.

"Draw the name! Lady Charlotte, draw the name!"
came the cries before them.

"Draw my name!" one among them shouted.

Charlotte glanced at her aunt, her friend Susan, and
finally her sister. She then raised her gloved hand and
paused before reaching into the hat. First she mixed the
lot with her fingers. The men held their collective breaths.
The room fell silent as everyone waited.

The winning calling card emerged, clasped between
a thumb and forefinger. Charlotte turned the bold black
engraved script toward her and announced, "Lord William Wentworth."

After a brief retreat abovestairs to fashion her latest
ailment, Charlotte proceeded to the parterre. She sat
upon the small bench awaiting Lord Wentworth's arrival.

"I must congratulate you on your victory, my lord."
Charlotte meant for her tone to be kind.

"I thank you, Lady Charlotte." Lord Wentworth seemed
pleased to be in her company. "I am delighted to have the
opportunity to learn something about you."

Charlotte glanced away from him and to Muriel, who
stood peering down at them from the window, watching
every movement, seeing every word spoken through her
opera glasses.

"Am I SPEAKING LOUD ENOUGH for you to
HEAR ME?" Lord Wentworth forced the uncomfortable words out in varying volumes.

"You need not shout, my lord."

"I beg your pardon." He bowed his head. "I hope I
did not offend you."

"No offense was taken." Charlotte glanced back at
Muriel, who turned away from the window with obvious laughter. "Please have a seat here next to me." She
motioned to the empty space on the bench.

If they both sat facing the house, Charlotte was certain Muriel could see them quite unobstructed.

Lord Wentworth took up Charlotte's hand and held it
gently between the two of his. "I must confess that I
care not of your false eye or deafness-"

"Deafness?" The allegation took Charlotte by surprise. She'd never said she was deaf.

"You bear each unfortunate affliction with every grace
imaginable and have managed to keep them hidden until
the brave moment you chose to unveil them. I cannot help
but adore you all the more for it-" He gazed at her with
much warmth and continued. "If you would assure me of
your affection, I would seek out His Grace and beg for
permission to offer you marriage this very moment"

"Do not say such things, my lord." Charlotte had not
been prepared for this strong sentiment of devotion.

"But it is true," Lord Wentworth exclaimed. "I cannot
think of anything but you since the dance we shared last
night. I have not been able to eat, drink, or sleep."

"It is fortunate that our acquaintance started only recently, for you should feel very ill if we had been introduced a month ago, or worse, the year before."

"I do apologize. I had not meant to further burden
you. I am most anxious to hear of ..." He glanced at
her and immediately fell silent, waiting to hear what she
had to say next.

Now Charlotte was the one feeling a bit off. She faced
him and in her sweetest voice said, "Well ... there are
times when I am quite ... clumsy." She glanced up at
Muriel, who motioned for her sister to offer him something more than her talent of occasionally treading upon
her hem.

Lord Wentworth chuckled. "There is nothing wrong
with clumsiness. I'm not proud to admit that, on occasion, I trip over my own feet "

"But the reason for my clumsiness is ... my limb.
My lower limb." Charlotte felt her cheeks warm, and no
doubt, she blushed ferociously at the utterance of her
body part.

He stood. Charlotte followed him to his feet.

Lord Wentworth's jaw dropped open and his eyes
bulged. "You cannot mean ... an artificial limb?"

"That is precisely what I mean-" Well, it hadn't
been until he made the suggestion. "It's wooden." Charlotte's gaze flew to the window to observe her sister's
reaction.

The opera glasses fell from Muriel's face. She slapped
her forehead, turned away, and shook her head, eventually moving out of sight.

Oh, dear. Muriel had abandoned her post and Charlotte was quite alone in this now.

"I have seen you on the dance floor. You are flawless."
Lord Wentworth reminded her, "I've danced with you
myself."

"Yes, it was a cotillion."

"It cannot be true," he muttered. "Ridiculous. I simply
cannot believe such a thing."

Charlotte stood and took several steps away from the
bench. "It is true, I say. See here-" She made a fist and
struck the side of her leg, where the unmistakable rap of
solid wood sounded. "I've had much practice walking
and dancing. I only limp a little."

Lord Wentworth stood there unquestionably in shock.
He gaped and exhibited some trouble breathing.

"I daresay no one would even know if I'd kept this
knowledge to myself." She glanced over her shoulder to
check if he had regained his ability to speak. "If any gentleman were serious in forming an attachment to me, I
expect they would need to be told."

"I do not ... I am"-he stared at her skirts, apparently
imagining the peg leg under her petticoats-"void of
response."

The window of her bedchamber stood empty. Muriel
was still not to be seen.

"I do not-" Lord Wentworth cleared his throat and
tried again. "If you will excuse me." He performed a swift
bow and made a hasty retreat.

Charlotte stood alone in the parterre, next to the
bench, and contemplated what she had told him.

What a contemptible tale. Her father would be furious.

Muriel strode from the house toward her sister. "What
could you possibly be thinking? Are you mad?"

"You said to think of something that would drive them
away. I believe it worked quite well for Lord Wentworth."

"You wished to relay something "very horrid," I believe were your exact words. But honestly, Char-Char, a
wooden leg?"

"I thought it quite imaginative. Lord Wentworth came
up with the idea of a false leg. I had only thought to tell
him I was clumsy and tended to stumble about." Charlotte
was apparently proud and very pleased with her story. "I
should think talk of my wooden leg might send a great
deal of the gentlemen away. Isn't that what you wanted?"

Muriel shook her head. "How did you convince Lord
Wentworth without resorting to raising your skirt?"

"Oh, that was easy." Charlotte giggled. "I bound one
of Freddie's old, broken cricket bats to my leg to remind
me which was the afflicted limb."

"Char-Char, how could you?" Even Muriel was taken
by surprise.

"This one suited me well because of its shorter length."
She raised her hem to display the wooden object attached
at her ankle, ending just below her knee. "It also proved
quite convincing when I rapped upon it, proving my leg
was indeed made of wood."

Charlotte remained seated on the bench alone with her
thoughts, mulling over the consequences of her actions
a good fifteen minutes following Lord Wentworth's departure and nearly five minutes after Muriel had marched
away in a huff.

She smoothed the unused lace handkerchief she'd
tucked away earlier. Why had she thought there might be need of it? Charlotte had never felt further away from
tears than at this moment.

Looking up when hearing the soft crunch of gravel,
Charlotte saw the very man she'd wished for appear
instantaneously, as if stepping from her dreams. There
stood Sir Philip.

With his walking stick in hand, he removed his hat
and swept a modest bow in his long, many-caped greatcoat.

Charlotte acknowledged his presence with a gracious
nod of her head. He moved in her direction, and she
rose when he stopped ten feet or so from her.

"Lady Charlotte, do you take the air?" he inquired in
a wonderfully sonorous tone.

"I do," she replied. Charlotte did her best to restrain
her obvious delight at his company. "You have arrived
in time to accompany me for a turn in the rear gardens."

"I am more than happy to oblige." He glanced at his
attire. "I must dispense with these travel clothes."

Charlotte stepped to one side, making room for him
to deposit his hat, gloves, and greatcoat on the bench
where she had been sitting. With a few moments to ensure the pristine condition of his jacket, cuffs, and trousers, he offered her his arm.