Read Not Quite a Lady for Free Online

quite as though she believed her. She didn’t press the point, though. “Perhaps, after all, this is what we need,” she said. “One who views the situation with a fresh eye.”
    “It is very good of Papa to bother about it,” said Charlotte. “I know he would rather spend his time in the country attending to country matters. The livestock. Drainage. Turnips.”
    Lizzie smiled. “True, but consolation has arrived in the shape of Mr. Carsington. You know how Beechwood’s decline has frustrated your father. Imagine his delight in learning it will be in the care of a fellow agriculturalist and kindred spirit.”
    Charlotte could easily imagine how her father felt.
    He could not imagine how she felt. The wilderness next door was her refuge and had been for years.
    Months after the baby’s birth, when Charlotte continued ill and listless, Lizzie had taken her to Switzerland. There, walks along mountain paths, through Alpine meadows, and alongside rivers, waterfalls, and sparkling lakes, had gradually healed and restored her.
    When they returned to England, Beechwood took the place of the Swiss countryside. At Beechwood, thanks to Lizzie’s intervention, Charlotte was allowed a degree of solitude.
    Whenever she was troubled, she went the same way, across the stream that separated the two properties. The groom in charge of her did not cross the stream but waited there for her to return, while she continued down the path that ran alongside the pond. She went that way because there wasn’t—or hadn’t been until now—anyone about to see her. Within that wild place, she might be wild, too. She might for a time set aside all the rules she’d vowed ten years ago never again to violate.
    She’d vowed to be good, to do all that was right and proper and nothing that was wrong or even hinted of impropriety.
    But when she was alone where what she did could not displease or hurt or shame or shock anybody, she loosened the stays of propriety and let herself breathe.
    At Beechwood, with none but the wild creatures to look on, she might stride or stomp along, depending on her mood. She might wave her fists or give vent to long, muttering rants about whatever had most recently upset her.
    She wouldn’t dream of behaving that way along her father’s manicured pathways, where the outdoor staff or touring visitors might see her.
    Now her refuge was lost, forever.
    She walked to the fireplace and dropped her soiled gloves onto the empty grate. She should have fed the gloves to the pig, too.
    Good-bye, hat. Good-bye, gloves.
    Good-bye, freedom.
    She became aware of the lengthening silence. What had Lizzie said last? Oh, yes.
    “Agriculturalist, perhaps,” Charlotte said. “But as to kindred spirits—” She caught herself in the nick of time, before her wayward tongue got the better of her again. She made herself smile. “Naturally it is difficult for me to see any resemblance. I came across Mr. Carsington only a short time ago, and very briefly. One can scarcely call it a meeting, in fact.”
    Lizzie nodded. “Then I shall not call it one, and shan’t mention it to your father. He is looking forward so much to introducing the famous Mr. Carsington to everybody.”
    Papa would want to do so this evening, of course, at the gathering with neighbors that always marked their return from London.
    “This morning, as always, your father told me his plans for the day,” Lizzie went on. “First he would speak to you about his matchmaking scheme. Then he would speak to his gamekeeper. Then he would call upon Mr. Carsington and invite him to dinner.”
    “It is typical of Papa to wish to make Mr. Carsington feel welcome,” Charlotte said.
    Oh, Papa, why must you always be so welcoming? she thought.
    “There’s more to it,” said Lizzie. “I must speak plainly to you. Though the gentleman is merely an earl’s younger son, the earl in question is Lord Hargate. That connection, as you know, is a most desirable one.”
    A weight