Perfectly Flawed (8 page)

Charlotte could not believe how Muriel stepped right
in front of Lord Paul. The poor man lifted his hand,
guarding his bruised face in case it should be accidentally harmed.

"I beg that you excuse me, Lord Paul. I need a moment with Charlotte," Muriel interrupted, and whispered
to her sister, "A word with you, Char-Char. It is most
important."

A quick glance at the other guests sitting in a comfortable circle told Charlotte they had not been alarmed
by her sister's impertinent behavior.

Muriel led her from the guests, rather forcefully, Charlotte thought.

"I could not keep Sir Philip from wishing to join our
party," Muriel said, sounding rather displeased.

"That is understandable." Charlotte did not think the
baronet would like to have been kept from the festivities. "He is our houseguest. Why should we not include
him?"

"There is no good reason, I suppose, but that is not
why I wish to speak to you." There was a gleam in Muriel's eye, the sort of expression she acquired when she
had a particularly brilliant and, sometimes, questionable idea.

"What is it, Moo?" Charlotte was anxious to hear, not
out of pure curiosity, but in the case it should prove
particularly unpleasant, she might be able to discourage
her sister.

Muriel drew Charlotte from the lawn area and into
the Oriental Room, closing the door firmly behind them.
"I thought perhaps we could use this opportunity to your
advantage, to further test the gentlemen's affection and
devotion to you."

"Do you not think they have been through enough,
Moo? Only look at them-scraped and bruised." Charlotte did not wish to bring up their guests' self-inflicted
injuries from the previous evening. "They need cold compresses, not a prodding to risk further injury."

"Has it ever occurred to you that all those gentlemen
desire you for your perfection? What if you were not as
wonderful as they believe? What if you had something
hideously wrong with you, an unseen abnormality perhaps. They would run from Faraday Hall, from Bloxwich,
from Essex completely!"

"I do not have such a thing." Charlotte did not think
so, anyway.

"It needn't be true. It would be something we would
make up. I was thinking the winner of this new contest could learn a bit about you. Something personal, private, to better know you. The gentlemen may think it
would improve their standing."

"Is that not too cruel?" Charlotte could never have
come up with a ruse such as this, but her sister might
prove correct, as she often had.

"You could have something such as ..." Muriel paused
for a few moments and glanced about the room as though
searching for an answer. "Your eye."

"Is there something wrong with my eyes?" Charlotte
stared at her sister with the left orb and moved the right
one, in a jiggling motion, toward the door, and then
laughed at her trick. It never failed to disturb Augusta.

"Yes, that's exactly it!" Muriel laughed, with Charlotte joining her. "You'll tell them it wanders!"

"A wandering eye?" Charlotte squinted at her sister,
not completely understanding. "That is not so very bad.
An unpleasant trait in a wife, I would think."

"Don't you see? You invent a flaw for yourself, and
then you'll see how much those gentlemen truly care for
you-wayward eye and all."

"Moo, that is famous!" Charlotte leaped up and
clapped her hands. Her excitement ebbed and she quieted. "What if it should frighten them all away?"

"Then they do not truly care for you. Have no fear,
Char-Char. I'm sure it will take more than a wandering
eye to put them off. If you feel so guilty about it, you
could offset the bad news with a bit of good."

"In the same vein as gooseberries are my favorite berry ... I could tell them my favorite color, flower, or
food?" It would be just like sweet Charlotte to focus on
how this would benefit one lucky young man and not on
how the news might disappoint the many who would
find her seemingly less-than-perfect eye unacceptable.

"That's right." Muriel knew differently. She did not
expect the rumors they were about to start to have a
positive effect.

"Who shall I tell first?"

"Well ... it is my opinion that free knowledge is worth
little value. You must make them work for it."

"Work? Another challenge, perhaps?"

"Yes, exactly." Muriel stepped farther back into the
room, away from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"What do you think about a footrace?" Charlotte suggested.

Muriel paused, rethinking her sister's idea. "Do you
expect all those men to dash across the lawn?"

"You must admit physical competition does have
merit." But Charlotte considered what the gentlemen had
already been through. "Is it too much to ask from them,
do you think?"

"The offer of an unappealing bit of information will
test their commitment." Muriel clasped Charlotte's
clenched hand, begging her to understand. "Just think
how happy it will make whoever is left to learn your
eye does not wander. That you are as perfect as he first
imagined."

"I would think it might anger him."

"He won't be angry; he'll be grateful. All the others will have been driven away, and you will have managed
to prove he is as devoted to you as one could be." Muriel
blinked up at her sister. "What do you say, Char-Char?
Is the contest on?"

Charlotte wasn't sure what to do. But certainly something had to be done, for there were too many suitors and
she had no idea how to lessen their number. Should she
go along with Muriel's plan?

"Very well, Moo," Charlotte replied. "Let's inform the
men they should assemble at the starting line."

It wasn't a surprise to Muriel that all six gentlemen were
willing and anxious participants in the contest. As soon
as Charlotte had put forth the idea, there was no stopping it from happening. The men shed their jackets and
unbuttoned their waistcoats or removed them altogether,
putting Charlotte and Susan to the blush.

"You mean they are to run a common footrace?"
Whether Aunt Penny was more outraged or shocked was
difficult to tell. "I have never seen such a thing in my entire life. How has this simple tea party gotten out of hand?
We've lost any amount of respectability it might have
had."

"Don't go on so, Auntie," Muriel said, trying to reassure her. "It's just a good bit of fun."

Stepping away from her aunt, Muriel moved closer to
Charlotte and Susan, who stood to one side of the starting line in front of the men.

Their shirtsleeves had been ripped, torn by the gooseberry thorns, and were spotted with blood where they'd been deeply scratched. There was further embarrassment
when they removed their gloves. Barely healed scratches
crisscrossed the length of their hands and forearms. It
must have been painful, but not a single man uttered a
complaint.

Standing off to the other side, Sir Nicholas was probably making a last-minute wager with Lord Paul and
Mr. Atwater. If the Duke ever discovered this disgrace,
there was no telling how long Sir Nicholas' exile would
last this time.

Finally, Sir Nicholas took his place, raised his arm,
and held a small pistol in the air. "On your marks!" he
shouted to the line of gentlemen in various states of undress. "Ready..."

Muriel drew in a breath. Lord Stanton, Lord Irving,
and Sir Hugh had removed their boots, having every
intention of realizing victory in their stocking feet.

"Steady ..."

Muriel held her breath as Charlotte and Susan must
have-not a sound came from them. Sir Albert, Mr.
Atwater, and Lord Paul adjusted their foot positions in
preparation of the start.

"GO!" Sir Nicholas pulled the trigger, sending a shot
into the air and signaling the beginning of the race. The
six men sprinted across the great lawn, stretching from
the parterre to the walkway of the conservatory where
members of the household staff would witness the first
to cross the imaginary finish line.

"You cannot expect these men to dash about as if they
were racehorses," said Aunt Penny, but her disapproval came far too late. The gentlemen thought the opportunity to learn something personal about Charlotte, or so
it was announced, was well worth the effort.

Lord Irving threw his fists into the air in victory, crossing the finish line first. Charlotte, Muriel, and Susan
cheered.

Sir Philip appeared next to the three after the thundering suitors had charged past him. He was immaculately dressed, looking so much more elegant compared
to the coatless, gloveless, and bootless men.

"I believe I have missed something rather important."
Sir Philip came around from the far side of Aunt Penny,
straining to see the once thundering herd.

"I don't know if it was important, but it was all rather
exciting, I must say," she confessed.

"It was a fantastic display of physical exertion, Mrs.
Parker!" Sir Philip replied. "Quite invigorating." He
huffed and thumped his green paisley brocade-covered
chest and then splayed his hand over the material. "Viscount Irving has dashed across the finish line, and I expect there is a worthwhile prize for his victory."

"Yes, I believe there must be," she confirmed.

The participants gathered, puffing hard with their recent exertion. Lord Irving laughed between labored
gasps of air.

Charlotte greeted her champion. "Lord Irving, when
you are ready, I await your arm, if you please."

Lord Irving retrieved his clothing. He unrolled his
sleeves, pulled on his boots, and shrugged into his jacket, making himself presentable. Still breathing
heavily from the exertion of the race, he accompanied
Charlotte to the parterre to receive his well-earned prize.

He smiled, eyes wide, anxious for his reward. Charlotte settled onto the stone bench and glanced up at him.
"Lord Irving?"

"Yes, Lady Charlotte?" He brushed the dust from his
breeches and adjusted his gloves after slipping them on.

"I have two bits of personal information for you."
Charlotte felt her face warm and glanced away. Whether
it was because she felt self-conscious about revealing
something personal to a near stranger or because she
was about to relay a bouncer, she could not be certain.
"Lord Irving, I have something to tell you."

"Yes, Lady Charlotte." Lord Irving smiled, leaning
the slightest bit forward in anticipation.

"A pleasant item." She smiled and tried to hold the
expression steady. And one bit of unpleasant news.
"Please, Lord Irving." Her throat tightened, making
speech difficult. She felt certain her problem was due to
the untruth that was about to pass through her trembling
lips.

"Lady Charlotte." He held her hand fast in a firm grip
once again. "I beg of you, if such an admission causes
you discomfort, I suggest you do not-"

"No, no ... I must continue. I promised. Your victory
has earned you the privilege."

Lord Irving gazed at her expectantly, eager to have
an advantage over the other gentlemen.

"I do not believe the news will be agreeable to you." She then suspected that Muriel had intended that to be
the outcome from the start. Still, it did not please Charlotte to disclose information that might be considered
disturbing.

"Lady Charlotte," he whispered, moving closer until
he finally sat next to her on the stone bench. "I do not
believe there is anything about you that one could possibly find disagreeable."

The tension in her shoulders relaxed at his words, and
she smiled. It was very kind of him to make her feel at
ease.

"Please, I beg that you continue. Nothing about you
could ever displease me."

"Very well." Charlotte cleared her throat. "Lord Irving, I have two items to divulge about myself. One,
both, or neither may benefit you." He remained quiet
and appeared eager to hear more. "Lord Irving, my
right eye ... has a tendency to wander."

"W-wander, you say?" He did not exactly back away
from her at the discovery, but he did seem to stare at her
more pointedly.

Charlotte prepared to perform her eye trick as she had
so many times for her siblings and stared at the yew over
his shoulder, allowing her right eye to pull to the side.

He jerked back from her with every twitch of her eye.
"The eye is c-completely f-false, isn't it?"

Noting the expected, horrified response Muriel had
anticipated, Charlotte felt quite dreadful for her deception. Tears moistened her eyes at her disappointment at
his reaction.

"H-how long have you ... ?" He stood and brought
his hand to his chin as he considered what he had just
seen. "Never mind."

"Lord Irving, I-" Charlotte discovered that he could
no longer face her.

"I think it time that I must be going." He straightened and still could not address her directly. He bowed
and said, "Good day to you, my lady."

"My lord, I have yet to tell you the other item. The
good bit" Silence ensued as he passed the stone bench
to take his leave.

Charlotte called out to his retreating form, "My favorite color is robin egg blue."

"I believe Lord Irving has left Faraday Hall," Muriel
informed her sister. She found Charlotte sitting on the
stone bench alone. Her hands were clasped, resting in
her lap, and her head was lowered in sorrow.

"I have hurt him. I know it" Charlotte would never
have cried for herself. She always wept for others, for
their loss or their pain, but never her own.

"What do you care? He has fled at the prospect of
your blemish. An imperfection that is imaginary."

"It must have disturbed him greatly." Charlotte sniffed,
regretting that she had ever listened to her sister. "It was
terrible. Lord Irving could not rid himself of my presence
quickly enough. You should have seen his face. His expression was ... He appeared quite mortified.

"I told him my eye wandered. Why did he leap to the conclusion that it was false?" Emotion threatened to
choke her words. "Of course that would frighten him, it
would frighten anyone. I believe it was most unkind of
me to tell him such a thing, Moo."