Free Once Again a Bride by Jane Ashford

Charlotte didn’t believe her. “I hope not to put you to any trouble. I would be glad to…”
    “Oh, trouble.” Frances gestured again, and Charlotte glimpsed something beneath her polished demeanor. Was it weariness? Anxiety? She wasn’t sure. “ You are no trouble at all.”
    The emphasis suggested that others were more troubling. Charlotte didn’t know what to reply.
    “It is a relief to have another woman in the house,” Frances added. “It has always been just me, you know, ever since Elizabeth died.”
    “Eliz…”
    “My cousin Elizabeth—the children’s mother.”
    “Ah, yes.” Frances gazed across the room as if looking into another time. Charlotte wondered if she had forgotten who she was talking to.
    “The family chose me, you know, to help out when she died. Well, there I was—no money and I hadn’t found a match in the two seasons Papa could afford. Living at home; twenty-nine years old. Clearly an old maid. I had to go; there was no choice. And then, of course, James…” She blinked and seemed to return from wherever her thoughts had taken her. “I beg your pardon. I… I had meant to ask if there was anything else you needed?”
    “Nothing at all,” Charlotte assured her. She felt an impulse to say more—but what? The door burst open, and Lizzy danced in.
    Frances’s expression tightened. “Lizzy, you are supposed to be doing your schoolwork.”
    “I’ve finished.”
    “All of it?”
    “Every bit.”
    Frances’s smile was strained. “She stays ahead of me on all points.” The bell rang downstairs. “Who could be… where is the cat?”
    “I shut Callie in the schoolroom, as ordered.” Lizzy pouted.
    “Good.” Frances turned back to Charlotte. “I am not at home to callers this morning, but best to be…”
    An imperious voice penetrated from the stairs. “Nonsense, of course she will receive me. ”
    “Drat!” exclaimed Lizzy, and bolted from the room.
    She was replaced by a nervous young footman, not the one Charlotte had seen yesterday. A woman somewhat older than Frances and a younger man who might have been her son were right on his heels. “Er, Lady Isabella Danforth and Mr. Edward Danforth,” he said.
    “Oh dear,” breathed Frances, not quite inaudibly, as she stood up.

Six
    “Was that Elizabeth running down the corridor? Really, Frances, she’s become a positive hoyden,” said the newcomer. She raised her brows at the footman. “Are you going to take our things, young man?”
    Charlotte had thought the Wylde ladies’ clothes very fine, but as the footman hurried to divest the callers of a beautiful fur-trimmed pelisse and a many-caped overcoat, she knew herself to be in the presence of true high fashion, such as she’d seen only in magazine illustrations. The woman’s deep green morning gown was intricately and exquisitely cut, its high neck and long sleeves severely elegant and very flattering to her small wiry frame. The younger man’s pale pantaloons and dark blue coat fit him perfectly; his neckcloth and mirror-bright boots proclaimed a Pink of the ton . They also had a distinct air about them—she couldn’t define it exactly—confidence perhaps.
    Lady Isabella Danforth’s sandy hair and green eyes suggested she was related to the Wyldes. Her companion, on the other hand, had coal-black hair and blue eyes, and a narrower, more delicate face, with the advantage of thick, dark lashes. He was one of the handsomest men Charlotte had ever seen. Noticing her gaze, he smiled at her.
    “Hello, Bella,” said Frances as the footman went out. “Charlotte, this is Alec’s aunt—Henry’s sister—and her son, Edward Danforth. Bella, this is Mrs. Charlotte Wylde.”
    The caller turned avid eyes on Charlotte, surveying her from head to foot, as if committing every detail of her appearance to memory. “It is true then? Henry was secretly married? We only just heard.”
    “It wasn’t a secret,” said Charlotte, flushing under her scrutiny.
    “But