Page 9 of The Vixen in Red
“We are making ribbons for May Day,” Mrs. Simpson told her. Her spectacles were perched at the edge of her nose as she stared at her project. Her salt and pepper hair was knotted on top her head to keep it in place. “It’s in a week and some of the old ones have frayed too much to be tied to the pole.”
Charlotte tilted her head to the side. “I’ve never witnessed a true maypole dance. The town celebrates?” She hadn’t explored the town much. Had she missed a maypole? “Where is the ceremony held?”
“The pole is on Frossly land,” Mrs. Alban told her. She was the younger of the two. Her hair was blonde and had light streaks of gray. “The earl was kind enough to have everything repaired. It was pretty shabby under the estate manager’s care. This is the first year in the last decade we’re able to have it proper.”
“That is nice of him,” Charlotte said more to herself than the others in the room. She would have to pay him a visit. It had been a sennight since they last crossed paths. Their impromptu picnic had been informative and pleasant. He’d been charming, and she couldn’t help falling under his spell. The earl was handsome and charismatic. If she were to be honest with herself, she had selfish reasons for craving his presence. Charlotte wanted to test his gentlemanly manners and see how far she could push him. Would he fall back on what was expected of him, or would he give in to his roguish nature? She wanted a kiss and was willing to entice him into giving her what she desired.
“It is,” Aunt Seraphina said, breaking Charlotte out of her thoughts. “Especially when all the repairs have to be draining on his accounts. The estate manager bled the coffers dry, so I heard.”
“What?” Charlotte blinked several times. “Surely the earl isn’t bankrupt?”
“Not at all,” Mrs. Simpson answered her. She pulled on the ribbon she was working on and then slid a needle through. “The earl’s guardian set up a separate account for the household bills. The largess of the Frossly fortune was not within the estate manager’s reach. Still, he ran off with quite a nest egg. I suspect no one will see him again.”
Charlotte frowned. “That’s terrible.” No wonder Lord Frossly seemed so gloomy lately. He had a lot to deal with. “How bad of disrepair is his estate in?”
“I’m not certain words exist to properly describe the state that awful man left Frossly manor in.” The disgust in her Aunt Seraphina’s tone was laced through each word. “That poor boy has been working every day since he returned to put it to rights. Workers have been in and out repairing everything. I suspect it will look more like it should in no time at all.”
“You are probably correct in your assessment.” Charlotte smiled at her aunt. “He seems determined.”
“Has he spoken to you of his troubles?” Mrs. Alban asked. She focused all her attention on Charlotte and had stopped sewing to await her reply. “It is so sad what happened to his parents. At least he has his sister. I heard she married well.”
Charlotte wouldn’t know. “Lord Frossly doesn’t speak much of his family. He was kind enough to assist me when I arrived in Peacehaven. I’m afraid I am not very acquainted with him, and what little I’ve been made aware of cannot shed any light on his situation.”
She wanted to ask what had happened to his family, but Charlotte had to wait for one of the ladies to offer the information. None of them seemed willing to add any more details and enlighten her. She held back a sigh. Why did no one speak of it? Other than it was tragic, she had no knowledge to help her understand his plight.
“He’s a good man,” Mrs. Simpson said. “Always kind to everyone. It’ll be wonderful to have him back in residence permanently. I understand, as do most of the villagers, why he’s stayed away. He was but a boy when his parents died. I’m not certain anyone really knows what happened to their carriage. A wheel or the axel broke…” She sighed and shook her head. “Sometimes these things happen and there is no understanding it. They all died, even the driver. It was so tragic…” Her voice trailed off, and Charlotte’s heart pounded in her chest. He’d come up on her carriage overturned. He had mentioned his parents’s deaths, but no details. Had her situation brought it all to the forefront of his mind? No wonder he’d been silent at first.
“That’s terrible.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“It was,” Mrs. Alban said. “The young earl and his sister, Lady Kaitlin, went to live with his aunt and uncle, the Earl and Countess of Coventry. Then misfortune struck again and his aunt, the countess, died within a year. He has had more tragedy than any young boy should bear. It’s not surprising he went a little wild in his youth.”
She shook her head in silent disgust at it all. They were being regular gossipmongers about the Earl of Frossly. She had to wonder what had brought it all on. None of them had talked so much about him since his arrival.
She gestured toward the long ribbons they were sewing. “How many of those are you making?”
“One for every young lady in the village,” Mrs. Simpson said. “They’ll all participate in the dance.” She lifted her chin and studied her. “Do you wish to dance with them? We can make a ribbon for you.”
Charlotte considered her offer. “I’ve never danced in a May Day celebration. Is it hard to learn?”
“Not at all.” Mrs. Simpson waived her hand in dismissal. “You’ve got a basis with all those dances you learn for balls. I can have my granddaughter help you learn. She’s excited to do her first maypole dance.”
“Well, then,” she said judiciously. “I’d love to. Can I request a certain color for my ribbon, or is that asking too much of you?”
“What color would you like dear?” Aunt Seraphina asked. “We can try to accommodate your request.”
“Red,” she told her. “It’s my favorite color.”
“Very well.” Her aunt slid a needle through some fabric. “I might have the right fabric for your ribbon then.”
“The May Day celebration isn’t the only thing that is happening May first,” Mrs. Simpson said. “It’s Sera’s birthday. It’s a milestone year—her sixtieth. We should plan a nice tea party for her earlier in the day.”
Aunt Seraphina stopped sewing and glared at her friend. “We will do no such thing. My birthday isn’t what is important that day. We will do what we normally do. There’s no reason to bother with anything else.”
Charlotte disagreed. Mrs. Simpson was right. They should do something for her aunt, and she had an idea. “Don’t worry, we won’t do anything you won’t like.” She winked at Mrs. Simpson while her aunt was preoccupied. “It’ll be all about the May Day celebration.”
“You’re a good girl,” Aunt Seraphina said. “Thank you.”
“I’ll leave you ladies to your sewing. I’m going to walk into town. I need to post a letter to my friend.” She smiled. “I’ll be home in time for dinner.”
