James Camber had kissed her. He had kissed her, Charlotte Ann Whittaker, this 8th day of March, 1816. And if she read his expression aright, he was going to do it again. She could scarcely credit it, despite she knew that he was her good friend and had been for the past eight months. That he should kiss her -- dare to kiss her, want to kiss her -- defied understanding. A cold March rain blown by a biting north wind rattled the windowpanes of her snug, elegant parlour. Standing warm and sheltered in the strong circle of James' long arms, she remembered the first time she had seen him. Their introduction had occurred the previous July when he had come to accompany Fanny, his younger sister, to his home in Mount Street for dinner. Fanny Camber was one of Charlotte's best pupils; her favourite student of all the young ladies she educated at her Maida Vale Mansion School. Miss Camber was a boarder, one of twenty carefully chosen girls whom Charlotte and her staff housed as well as taught. Fanny had no need to board as her family's London home was little more than an hour's drive distant. But her family had determined that the experience would benefit Fanny and so she boarded with Miss Whittaker. Not that Charlotte had been unwilling to accommodate the Cambers. The association with one of England's oldest and most respected families could only benefit the Mansion School. And Charlotte was not above using the Camber name to sway uncertain parents of prospective pupils -- very discreetly of course. Previous to the day that James Camber came to retrieve his younger sister, Fanny's second brother Merlin had always arrived to fetch her to family gatherings and entertainments. Merlin was four and twenty, Charlotte's own age, and a pleasant, open young man. Charlotte had come to know him well in the two years that Fanny had been in attendance at Maida Vale Mansion School. It was Charlotte's invariable habit to receive every visitor to her School in her parlour, with an offer of refreshment, whether they had traveled a great distance or a very short one. She wished to have control at all times of where her pupils went and with whom. That day in July she had expected that Mr. Merlin Camber would as usual take a glass of sherry with her, fidget about the room until his sister made her appearance, and then sweep Fanny out to his curricle or chaise with a casual farewell to herself. The afternoon in midsummer however, when Mr. Camber was announced, she had been entirely unprepared for James Camber to enter her summer-warm, flower-scented parlour. Though Charlotte had been informed that Fanny would be fetched for a dinner party, she had expected Merlin Camber as usual. She had known immediately that the gentleman ushered in must be Fanny's eldest brother James. Charlotte knew, from Fanny and Merlin's artless confidences, that their family consisted of two sisters, both Fanny's senior, and the brothers, James, and Merlin. James was the head of the Camber family. He had succeeded to that honour, with the full support of Mrs. Camber, on the untimely death of his father. The entire family adored James despite that he could be, according to Fanny, at times inflexible, intolerant and proud. He had the look of his younger brother and sister, Charlotte had thought, most particularly in the tilt of his dark brows and the straight line of his nose. But his face was all mature masculine strength with strong planes of cheek and jaw. His mahogany hair waved back from a broad, thoughtful forehead, and his hazel-agate eyes had met hers squarely and without artifice. Despite her surprise, she had offered him tea with unmarred composure. He had accepted her invitation with polished grace. She had been conscious of his keen gaze upon her as she had limped from her inlaid mahogany desk to the tea table, already prepared near the open window. After the maid had brought a kettle of boiling water and had been sent to take a message to Fanny of her brother's arrival, Charlotte had prepared the tea. She had found herself suddenly lacking a topic of conversation and could not but be grateful when he had introduced an unexceptionable subject without discernible strain. His voice was a delight, deep, rich and without the linguistic pretensions or eccentricities so many leaders of society, and indeed, the Prince Regent himself employed. And his casual conversation held more liveliness and wit than she had been privileged to experience for many years. Charlotte could only regret Mr. and Miss Camber's departure an hour later. The disappointment she experienced, however, was tempered by the discovery that, after that first occasion in summer, Mr. James Camber invariably fetched his sister when it was required. He always sent word ahead of the hour of his calling, and always begged for the honour of her company. Then he frequently arrived early, catching her unprepared, often in the middle of some task or other. He was never, it seemed, disconcerted by her unpreparedness and apparently enjoyed seeing her enterprise and her diversions and hearing of her ambitions. Over the months of their acquaintance, he was surprisingly forthcoming about his family, his estates and his own aspirations. She had thought --hoped -- that he regarded her during these increasingly informal encounters as a friend. That he had harboured any warmer feelings towards her was a great surprise to her now, in the cold days of early spring. Another rattle of icy rain returned Charlotte to the present chill day in March. She pressed her slender hands against James' broad chest and, obedient to the pressure, his hold loosened although he did not release her. She could look into his handsome face however, and what she saw there stole the little air that she retained in her lungs. "You had no notion, my little innocent, did you?" he murmured. "You thought that friendship could command the level of comfort and intimacy we have achieved these weeks past. It cannot." James Camber had no hesitation in speaking his heart's desire. "This is love, my darling; this is the mystery, the delight that is love." James recalled the first time he had seen Charlotte Whittaker in the summer of the previous year. She had been expecting his young brother, Merlin, he knew and she had pokered up immediately on seeing him. He had, in turn, been surprised by her youth and her fragility. In her simple muslin summer gown and with her pale, shining hair plainly dressed, she had been very lovely. She looked nothing like the efficient, kindly, and wise teacher whose virtues Fanny had always extolled. When she had limped on her way to the tea table, he had been intrigued, for his sister had never mentioned Miss Whittaker's infirmity. James had been conscious of admiration for the lady, and he had conceived an intense desire to know her better. With a determination typical of him, he had set about achieving that objective. When Fanny was expected in Mount Street, it was always thereafter he who retrieved her. He depended upon Miss Whittaker's invariable habit of offering refreshment to all visitors to further their acquaintance. After the first few very formal visits, he had taken to arriving early for his errand. Then he found he caught Charlotte before she could compose herself, armour herself against intimacy. He had interrupted her variously -- wrestling with a difficult mathematics problem, cutting the pattern for a needlework assignment, in tears after having to reprimand a wayward pupil, and shining with joy at the graduation of her senior pupils. He had come to know Charlotte very well over the past months. He knew what had caused her infirmity, and had learned that she had transformed her family home into the Mansion School not for monetary gain, but for need of occupation. He loved her more with each revelation. And he knew that for some reason she had never allowed herself to consider that his attentions were more than friendship. He had determined at last, after eight months of acquaintance, to press his suit. The parlour windows darkened with the worsening weather without. The lamp on the nearby desk and the fire glowing in the grate were the only spots of light within. James bent his dark head to claim her warm lips again. She shivered in his arms but returned the kiss, it seemed, against her volition. Then she thrust her small hands against his impeccably tailored coat determinedly once again. He immediately released her. "We must not!" she said, a warm blush rising to her cheeks. "You must not." "Why must I not, Charlotte? I am declaring my love for you, and my desire to gain your hand in marriage. I know you have no family whose permission I may seek, so I ask you -- will you marry me?" "Of course not." She turned away so that the lamp could not illuminate her expression. "Why 'of course not', my love? Is it so far beyond the realm of possibility?" "Of a certainty." "Why? We are both of age, alike in temper and tastes, at ease in each other's society, and of a similar social standing, though I care nothing for that. And, I think you love me as I love you. Why is our union beyond the realm of possibility?" Charlotte pressed her hands to her hot cheeks. The heat in his gaze, the eagerness of his kisses and caresses, had confused her while they delighted her. "Because -- because I am a cripple." Turning back to face him, she forced the words out. They resonated in the quiet of the parlour. Faint sounds of young ladies laughing and hurrying penetrated from the passage beyond the door, and overtook the sound of the wind outside. "I take issue with your terminology, my darling Charlotte. You have a limp caused by a foot that was crushed under a carriage wheel when you were eight years old. The tale breaks my heart, but it does not diminish who you are." "You cannot marry me. I...I... you must marry someone whole and beautiful who can dance with you, ride with you...be your equal." "You must think me very superficial Charlotte. I care nothing for such things. And you are more than my equal! I depend upon our conversations, discussing the problems of your preoccupations and my own. I think I cannot face the future without you." Charlotte quivered under his ardent gaze. She had, she realized, loved him for weeks, and had denied the knowledge for those same weeks. She had thrust all thoughts of her growing affection for him from her. She truly believed that he should not, must not, love her. But how to convince him? She attempted another tack. "I cannot leave my school, my students. They depend upon me. All the work I have done to build this institution must not be wasted." "Is it more to you than the prospect of family, children of your own, a life-long love and partnership? I have no objection to your continuing your interest in Mansion School. And you have at least two teachers here who would make an excellent headmistress. You have told me so yourself." Charlotte was weakening. Her heart's desire was within her grasp, and she badly wanted to seize it. She tried one last demur. "Your family is honoured and ancient. It should not have to contain that which is less than perfect." "My darling it already does. I make no claim of perfection, and I can assure you my siblings cannot either make that avowal. My mother suffers ill health. Accidental injury is possible for us all. Should you turn away from me if I suffered impairment?" She pictured him injured, ill, dying, and could not bear it. She threw her slender arms about his strong neck. "Don't! Ah, do not speak of such things. No, of a certainty I would not turn away from you." He gathered her close again, intent upon intimacy, and bent to capture her lips. The heavy door flew open after a tap that neither of them heard, caught up as they were in their own inviolable world. "James, I am ready," caroled Fanny Camber. Then she halted, with her hand flying to her lips, as she took in her brother and her schoolmistress locked in an ardent embrace. Astonishment, and presently joy, lit her agate grey eyes. Charlotte and James looked as one toward the intruder, but neither released the other. The door that Fanny had left standing open behind her allowed half the students of Maida Vale Mansion School an excellent view of their headmistress cradled in James Camber's arms. Their astonished titters drew Charlotte from James' embrace. "Good God, oh James, I...I..." His dark face was alight with laughter. "Oh Charlotte, you are well and truly compromised. You can hardly continue to instruct the daughters of the great and good if you refuse me now." "It isn't funny!" "It would be without humour if you had not been on the point of accepting my hand, my darling. I would not wish an unwilling bride. But you were about to say yes, were you not?" Charlotte listened to her heart and, crossing the parlour, shut the door firmly on the young ladies in the entry. "You are my witness, Fanny!" She flashed an impish grin at her pupil. She limped to James and took his large hand in her own two smaller ones. "Yes James, I do accept. I should be honoured and delighted to be your wife." His arms enfolded her again. He spoke over her head to his sister. "Fanny, go and find Charlotte's bonnet and cloak, and one of the mistresses." His sister obediently crossed to the door and began to slip out. "And Fanny?" She looked back enquiringly. "Charlotte will be coming with us to dine in Mount Street, but you need not hurry." He winked at her before lowering his heated gaze to Charlotte's heart-shaped face once more. "Take your time." |
MISS WHITTAKER OF MAIDA VALE by Lesley-Anne McLeod www.lesleyannemcleod.homestead.com |
