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The Inconvenient Marriage of Charlotte Beck

By Kathleen YBarbo

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A lady carries herself with great poise and the sense that an egg sits atop her head.
—MISS PENCE
June 9, 1887 London
What Charlotte Beck wanted, Charlotte Beck generally got. Thus Charlotte stood on the doorstep of Fensworth House, poised to make her unofficial debut into proper society despite the fact that she’d not yet reached the age of introduction nor been presented to the queen. Won’t Gussie be surprised when I write her about the evening? The thought of her best friend, Augusta “Gussie” Miller, bolstered Char- lotte’s courage and reminded her why she’d insisted on being included tonight. After much pleading, Charlotte had convinced Gennie, her stepmother, that she needed to practice her social graces before her first
official events of the New York and London seasons. As the door opened, Charlotte swallowed a flutter of nerves. A uni-
formed servant nodded at her, and she worried she would forget the litany of instructions on proper decorum that Gennie had again gone over with her on the carriage ride here.
Charlotte slid a glance that she hoped conveyed thanks to the man whose duty it had been to escort the Beck ladies tonight. The same man
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who’d successfully lobbied on her behalf. Colonel William F. Cody, who was not only her father’s business partner but also practically family, responded with a wink, then adjusted his lapels.
Her gaze swept past the colonel to the room a level below them, which glittered as much from the chandeliers above as from the jewels the no- bility wore. The light was perfect for painting. She closed her eyes to memo- rize the scene then opened them quickly when Gennie touched her arm.
Had she any breath left, Charlotte might have sighed at the loveli- ness of it all. But under Gennie’s instructions, the maid had pulled her corset strings so tight that even mild exertion would likely send Char- lotte plummeting to the floor.
Perhaps rushing her debut was not such a wise move after all. The combined effect of nibbling at almost nothing all day and then squeez- ing into the lace-covered instrument of torture was not Charlotte’s idea of a grand time.
Colonel Cody shifted positions to move beside her, and she glanced up to see him giving one last swipe to his well-tended mustache. A fel- low clad in the livery of the Fensworth household stepped in front of them and cleared his throat. “The distinguished Colonel William F. Cody, Lady Eugenia Cooper Beck, and Miss Charlotte Beck.”
A hush fell over the room as Gennie allowed Colonel Cody to take her arm. “Show time,” he whispered to Charlotte before linking arms with her as well.
The name of the famous American showman had caught the crowd’s attention, and several dozen men and women moved toward them. The famed “Buffalo Bill” released Charlotte and escorted Gennie down the stairs to greet their hosts.
Left alone at the top of what seemed an impossibly high vantage point, Charlotte reached for the banister then thought better of it. A
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lady carries herself with great poise and the sense that an egg sits atop her head, said Miss Pence, the tutor who’d spent the last few weeks whip- ping Charlotte into some manner of good form.
Find a focal point and walk toward it, looking neither up nor down.
Easily done in her grandfather’s drawing room, but not here with half of London watching her performance. Charlotte took a shallow breath and focused on a lovely Adams mantel across the room. Leaning against the mantel was a much more interesting focal point: an impossibly hand- some, dark-haired gent who appeared quite amused at her plight. He had the audacity to lift one corner of his mouth in a taunting grin.
A child might have stuck her tongue out at him, but a lady did no such thing. Shifting her focus back to the fireplace and, above it, a rather lovely Watteau painting of an idyllic countryside setting, Charlotte took her first successful, if halting, step. And then another, and another, keep- ing in mind the wobbling imaginary egg, until she’d reached Gennie’s side. Only then did she brave a look at her one-man audience, who applauded.
“Darling,” Gennie said, drawing her attention, “say hello to our hosts.” To the fellow in noble regalia and his strikingly beautiful wife, she said, “I’m so happy to present our daughter, Charlotte.”
Our daughter. Charlotte squeezed Gennie’s hand, and her step- mother returned the gesture. That the Lord had given her Gennie to fill the gaping void of living without a mother was still a blessing that brought tears to Charlotte’s eyes.
She shifted to balance the imaginary egg then offered her host a smile. Slowly her attention turned to the earl’s wife. Again, Charlotte smiled in greeting as Miss Pence had instructed her. Speak when spoken to and do not assume nobility cares one whit for your ramblings had been a favorite saying of the sour old tutor.
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Lady Fensworth, resplendent in a gown of deepest blue, leaned for- ward, and her appraising gaze swept Charlotte’s length. “You’re quite lovely. Perhaps I should introduce you to my Martin. After he’s finished speaking with Colonel Cody, of course.”
“Martin?”
The question was met with instant disapproval on the face of their hostess while their host seemed to be off in a world of his own. Char- lotte looked to Gennie for guidance on how to repair what was obvi- ously some sort of damage.
“The future earl,” Gennie whispered.
“Oh, yes, thank you. I would very much like an introduction,” Charlotte managed. The woman’s cool stare kept Charlotte off balance as she turned to find the man in question. She spied the colonel’s silver hair and then, by leaning just a bit to the right, found a partial view of his companion. “Is that Martin?” she quietly asked Gennie.
At Gennie’s nod, Charlotte studied the dark-haired man. When he turned his head her direction, their gazes collided. It was the same awful fellow who’d taken great delight in mocking her as she made her entrance into the ballroom.
This was Martin Hambly? As Charlotte contemplated this fact, the man in question winked. Of all the nerve. “Come dear,” Gennie said. But she was too stunned to move. Rather, Charlotte’s eyes nar-
rowed. Whatever sort Martin Hambly was, he certainly was not a gentleman.
“Charlotte, do join me.” Gennie’s insistent tone caught her attention.
“Yes, of course.” Charlotte offered a hastened version of a bow then scurried off a step behind her stepmother.
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As she made her way across the room, she kept the dark-haired man in sight. She saw him duck behind a group of party goers, and though she searched for him, Martin Hambly was nowhere to be seen.
Gennie joined several society matrons engrossed in a conversation regarding the queen’s upcoming Golden Jubilee, and Charlotte found her tolerance for this event, as well as her ability to take a decent breath, waning. The room began to spin, and she searched for a remedy. Colonel Cody stood against the far wall, a crowd of men surrounding him. He gestured animatedly with his arms, no doubt telling an exciting story about his time as an army scout. She longed to join the conversation, but Miss Pence would find it most improper.
She took another shallow breath, and her vision shimmered at the edges. To sit was unthinkable, especially given the limitations of the con- traption that held her not only captive but upright. Escaping back up the stairs to freedom and the carriage that delivered her was also an impossible dream.
Charlotte sighed. She now knew without any doubt how a horse felt when it had been hobbled. Surely the New York parties would be much more fun.
As for the Pence egg, she’d been amusing herself for the last half- hour by imagining it as a ruined mess on the lovely ballroom floor, one that certain guests found too slippery to avoid. It was an evil way to pass the time, but any amusement was better than fainting dead away.
“Are you unwell?” one of the matrons asked her. Charlotte once again looked to Gennie for the proper response. “Perhaps a bit of fresh air might help,” Gennie whispered. She nod-
ded toward a large bank of windows overlooking what appeared to be a lovely garden. Heavy curtains lifted slightly at the edges, indicating the promise of a breeze. Gennie caught Charlotte’s wrist. “Mind your
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manners.” She pressed her lips to Charlotte’s cheek. “And don’t get caught,” she whispered in Charlotte’s ear.
Charlotte gave her stepmother an incredulous look. Had she just been instructed to climb out a window? When Gennie winked before returning to her conversation with the ladies, Charlotte had her answer.
“Excuse me, please,” Charlotte said to the wagging tongues. She set the Pence egg back in its imaginary place and moved toward the makeshift exit as if she owned the place.
As few knew her, no one impeded Charlotte’s progress. She spent only a few moments standing at the edge of the room to assure she’d gone unnoticed before turning to slip behind the curtains. Then it was a simple matter for Charlotte, who had been sneaking out of her second- floor bedroom since she was eight years old, to disappear under the open sash and out into the fresh night air.
Or it should have been simple. But her slippered foot caught on the sill, and the stupid corset kept her from bending. She hit her head on the sash, tipped over, and plummeted off the edge of what turned out to be a balcony with an extremely low and unsteady railing.
The stars above tilted and whirled as she grasped blindly for some- thing to stop her fall. Only when she ceased tumbling did Charlotte realize that she’d not landed on the ground. Rather, she’d been caught by a man.
Worse, a second look confirmed it was Martin Hambly, the awful mocker who’d previously been posed beside the Adams mantel.
Charlotte’s mouth opened to order the awful man, who stared at her with that insolent grin, to release her at once, but instead she gave in to her strangling corset and fainted dead away.

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