• a grumpy hero who needs a sunshine heroine
• a grumpy hero who needs a sunshine heroine
• HGTV regency style
• romance but not spice; and
• witty banter,

You’ll love A Lady Made for Mischief

Chapter 1

It Is a Truth, Universally Acknowledged, That a Person Enjoying a Solitary Hobby Must Be In Want of a More Worthwhile Occupation.

 

Mother stood in the doorway of the sitting room, a white mobcap covering her gray curls. Her oldest day dress was covered by a large, dimity apron of dubious vintage. “Charis, dearest, have you finished that drawing yet?”

She was too polite to say it out loud, but time spent painting could be put to better use. 

“The curtains need to be pinned up so we can get the mold off that dining room wall. It smells to high heaven, and I can’t stand it a moment longer. Your father has not shaved. Not that I want him to with the way his hands shake. But he needs to. Come now, you don’t have time to paint.”

Very well, so she would say it out loud. 

Charis smiled and looked down at the fictional boudoir she was creating. The basis of the room was done, and the chaise lounge under the window had a first wash of azure. Pretty. The watercolor could dry, and she would come back to it later. Hopefully.

She really should not be painting at all. Unless she could figure a way to make an income from it, her watercolors should be relegated to a pleasant pastime rather than the all-consuming passion they had become. 

If she could create an income, then they could move from this wretched place. Since Father was forced to sell his commission, each year had seen them move to poorer houses in progressively worse streets of Hartley Green. Their most recent shift had put them outside the village altogether, down by the canal. The reason for the cheaper rent became clear when autumn settled in, and mold appeared on the baseboards of every room. She had even lost a pair of shoes at the back of the wardrobe to it. It was damp, cold, and dreary, no matter how much they cleaned.

It was holding back Father’s recovery. It had to be.

Charis washed the paint from her brush so it wouldn’t harden the bristles as it dried. “I’ll start with Father.”

“Good, I’ll make up the vinegar wash for the wall and meet you back here in a half-hour.” 

Before she could go, the sound of horses and wheels crunching on the gravel outside the cottage made them both turn in alarm. Mother ran to the window, drawing the curtain slightly and then leaning back so she would not be seen. “Oh, heavens. It’s Lady Hartley.” She flitted around the room, gathering books and plates with crusts of toast on them into a basket. “Bess! Bess! Come help us,” she yelled toward the kitchen.

Charis joined her in the frenzied tidy up. “Drat. She has the worst timing.” 

“How can you say that? You never know what bounty she might bring. Where is Bess?” Mother pulled off her apron and her mobcap and plunged them into the basket, too, then patted her hair down. 

Charis left the room, only to collide with the maid as she entered the hall. Bess dashed past her and picked up the overloaded basket where it sat before Mama. “I knew I should have come in here this morning. Her ladyship likes to visit on Thursdays.” Bess was the queen of hindsight, always claiming she knew the cake should have come out of the oven earlier, or that a particular chicken was not going to fit in with the flock. 

The Marchioness of Hartley was known by all in the village of Hartley Green to be kindly and generous. Nevertheless, her visits were always a source of anxiety for everyone concerned. Nobody liked the nobility lobbing on the doorstep unannounced. 

“I’m never sure why she visits at all. Papa may be ill, but we are not quite a charity case,” Charis said softly. It no longer felt like the truth.

Mama stopped in her tracks, blinking rapidly. It normally meant she was thinking hard. “You know why. She was present at your birth and was instantly smitten with you. No girls of her own, you understand. I wouldn’t complain that she’s taken an interest in you, my girl.”

It was an old story. And it still didn’t explain why she continued to visit, even though Charis was almost twenty-one. She pulled off her apron and stuffed it into the basket before Bess left the room. “Then we really should be calmer when she visits. Her ladyship must think we live with eternally rosy cheeks, when in fact it’s just because we flap around before she arrives. Most unbecoming.” As true as those words were, Charis could not help but smile as they settled their skirts on opposite ends of the sofa, calmly opening books.

“Your poetry is upside down,” she said with a grin.

Mother flipped the book around. “Yes, of course.” She shrugged. “Although it makes as little sense to me either way.”

A few moments later, her ladyship sailed into the room, carrying a basket of her own. There would definitely be no old crusts wallowing at the bottom of it.

The Marchioness of Hartley was somewhere in her mid-fifties and matched the prosperity of her position with a sensitive and dutiful soul. Today, she wore a soft cream walking dress embellished with expensive Brussels lace. Over that, a deep-green velvet cape trimmed with ermine cocooned her. She managed to look both rich and cozy. 

“My dears, the glasshouse at Friar Park has produced the first oranges from the tree we got from China, and I thought I should bring you some. Also, I found a jar of this lovely blackberry jam in the back of the larder.” She pulled the delicately embroidered cloth off the top of the basket and walked to the table where Charis had been working, then placed the small oranges in a bowl she spied there. 

Charis watched with horror as Lady Hartley’s attention was snagged by her watercolor drying on the table. Her head tilted to one side as she inspected it. “What is this? When did you become so good at painting, Charis?” 

She picked it up at the corners.

Charis felt the blush on her cheeks. “I… I am not very good at drawing people. Or even landscapes, really. But chairs and rooms I am tolerably good with.”

“Tolerably good?” Lady Hartley’s eyes turned wide. “This is as good as anything I’ve seen in Ackermann’s Repository. Such an eye for composition you have. I can already imagine myself reclining on that chaise lounge. What beautiful detail, so elegant, so very fashionable. How ever did you come up with the idea to drape the lounge like that?”

“It is meant for a boudoir. Somewhere to read in the morning, before one is ready for the world.” Half the fun was imagining how she would live in the rooms herself. To be the kind of lady who lounged around until the sun crept up in the sky with nothing better to do than read a book. No chickens to feed, no vegetable patch to tend. No darning, no scrubbing. So, a fantasy.

Mama smiled with pleasure, always happy when somebody found her only daughter talented. “She recently helped her cousin, Mrs. Beckworth, update almost every room in her house in Surrey. Charis drew the plans, and together they scoured the catalogs and created a most beautiful residence.”

Lady Hartley nodded. “I suppose with his fortune at their disposal, there was no limit to their imagination.”

Charis nodded, still feeling a small burst of joy at the memory. “Indeed, it was the most fun I am ever likely to have. But pray tell, what is Ackermann’s Repository?”

“I shall bring it for you next time. It is a new magazine, a repository, as the title suggests, of all things fashionable. News, politics, design, and even furniture. Ashcroft sent it to me. He knows how dearly I love a good periodical, and this was the very first edition!”

Her soft tone spoke of quiet delight and pride.

Lord Ashcroft was her eldest son who resided in their townhouse in London for the majority of the year. It was very rare to see him in Kent, and if one did, it was at a distance, galloping across the field on some splendid beast of a horse. 

He was most handsome, but not in a conventional way. His features were not regular, his nose too big for his face, but paired with his high cheekbones, it didn’t seem to matter. His eyebrows were thick—but also dark and winged. Somehow, the sum of the parts made a sublime whole. He was always dressed to perfection and entirely polished. Put that together with dark, windswept hair and a strong jaw, and every lady in the area near swooned when he was around. 

Until he opened his mouth. 

Then, one realized that although he was brilliant, he was serious in a way that made one hope to faint, if only to escape his dark eyes boring into one. 

The poor man. 

It was not his fault the ferocity of his intelligence made everyone else feel deficient.  Or that he focused on politics to the exclusion of all fun. No amount of coats by Weston, silk waistcoats, or crisp cravats folded in a “mathematical” could make up for that. He was also quite abrupt, his manners bordering on rude. He did not tolerate a fool, and she secretly suspected he thought everyone was a fool.

Two years ago, he ran for a seat in the House of Commons in the 1807 election. He won, of course. Now his time was spent almost exclusively in London. Father followed his career in earnest because he fought in the Commons for something close to his own heart: the welfare of soldiers. Everybody said it was because his younger brother, Timothy, had come home wounded, but Charis had a sneaking suspicion it was because he wanted to be over there himself, being a dashing Captain of the Guard. He’d drive Wellington mad within a week.

But his mama loved him. And a lady would one day love the title that came with all that intensity. 

He would not remember, but they had met three times. Twice at the local assembly, before he won his seat, and more recently outside the pie shop before Christmas as he awaited his mother.

The interchange had gone something like: 

Nod. “Miss Eastwood.” 

Slight curtsy. “Lord Ashcroft.”

End.

He wasn’t rude, per se; it was just that he had no polite conversation to enchant one with. Or perhaps he just could not be bothered trying with her, since they moved in very different social circles. Or rather, the Eastwoods had no real social circle at all, both of her parents preferring their own company more and more as they got older.

But she had a full and happy life, and her designs entertained her.

Lady Hartley still stared at Charis’s painting, lost in thought. If she wasn’t careful, she would have some of that azure paint staining that pretty cream dress. Charis reached out a hand to take it from her. “It is still wet.”

Lady Hartley looked up as though she had forgotten Charis was in the room entirely, but she didn’t give it back. “I am quite lost in the contemplation of it,” she said, looking somewhat bemused. “But I think I have hit upon the answer.”

What was the question? But both she and Mother nodded enthusiastically. Sometimes Lady Hartley led conversations on an unusual and circular route, but they always ended up at the destination she planned.

“Well, you see…I have long thought that our residence on Grosvenor Square needs freshening. But I don’t want to bring in an architect. There is no need for new staircases, mezzanine levels, or ridiculous glass ceilings. No, it just needs a sharp eye and a deft hand to bring it into this century.”

A spark of hope caught fire in Charis’s heart. Could Lady Hartley mean her? “Which century does the house currently reside in?”

Lady Hartley looked at her keenly. “Why, halfway through the last one, of course, when it was built. I grant you, there is some beautiful furniture, made by Chippendale. My mother-in-law had a love of his work. But the rest of it is sadly outdated. With Ashcroft in parliament and receiving other members in the house, it is past time we did something about it.” 

Lady Hartley’s eyes sparkled with mischief. She put the watercolor back on the table and went to sit next to Mama, clasping Mother’s hands. “What say you, Mrs. Eastwood? Can you spare Charis for a month to help me? Her ideas intrigue me. If we work hard, when the season opens, I will have a brand-new house to welcome my friends into!”

Mother shot an anxious glance over to Charis and then back to Lady Hartley. 

Charis nodded. Yes, Mama, I understand. Mother flashed her a grateful look. She would never refuse Lady Hartley, but if Charis declined herself…

Fun in London was a paltry thing when she knew her duty. “I’m afraid not, Lady Hartley. Although I am humbled both by the offer and the honor you do me, it would make things hard for Mama if I were to leave for that length of time.”

Lady Hartley smiled as though Charis had commented on the fine weather they were having. “Miss Eastwood, your opinion is not required. Perhaps you could see if your father will join us?”

She was to be overridden, was she? Charis pulled her responding frown into a serene smile. “Of course.” Little did Lady Hartley know how much Mama relied on her. How much Father relied on Mother.

She was gone for but a minute, but by the time she returned to give them the news that Father was unavailable, as he was attempting to shave himself, the two ladies were clasping hands like the old friends they certainly never were.

“You are to go, my dear,” Mama said with barely restrained excitement.

What on earth?

Charis searched her face but could see no regret. “Very well,” she said, slowly. “If you are sure.”

“A little town polish won’t hurt you,” Mother said.

Drat. If she’d wondered how Lady Hartley had sold the idea to her mother, there it was. Charis was to return somehow more sophisticated and alluring. Alluring to all the local bachelors who had thus far managed quite well to allude, rather than be allured. But if they’d seen her in the blush of youth at sixteen and not been interested, they most certainly would not be interested now that she had borne the brunt of caring for Father since his apoplexy. That kind of worry tended to age a person beyond their tender years.

Lady Hartley let go of Mother’s hands and smoothed down her skirts. “There now. I am happy with this result. I will send over my Maria to lend her assistance while you are gone.”

Oh. With more help, perhaps she would not spend the entire time worrying about them. Her heartbeat sped up, blood thrumming through her veins with excitement. 

London! 

Art galleries, museums, beautiful buildings, and wondrous shops. Everything she’d ever read about. The trip of a lifetime.

Happiness burst from her, lighting up her smile. “All I hope is that I can help you, Lady Hartley. Nothing could bring me greater joy after all the kindness you have shown us over these years.”

A grand London townhouse to draw and redecorate. What could be better? Perhaps if she could do it quickly, she could return before Mama was too frazzled.

“Very nicely said, my dear.” Lady Hartley stood, seemingly energized by the visit too. “Wonderful. We shall leave Monday next week. Is that too soon?”

Someone cleared their throat at the door. They all turned around. 

Father. 

He leaned against the door jamb. It might look nonchalant, but Charis knew it was more from necessity. He smiled, lopsided as usual. “Did I just overhear that you are going to London with Lady Hartley?”

“If you’ll give your blessing?” Mother said as if they hadn’t already decided.

He shook his head sadly, but there was merriment in his eyes. “Only if you promise to eek every last ounce of fun from it.” He shuffled forward. “I suppose your mother will find this a good excuse to buy new dresses and fripperies.”

Lady Hartley picked up her basket, now empty of its bounty. “Please don’t, Captain Eastwood. It would be my pleasure to do that as a way of thanking Charis for the hard work I assure you she will do.” 

“Too good,” Father murmured, and she knew he would hate the idea of anyone buying dresses for her. He was proud.

She noted the tiny cut he had made on his neck trying to shave without her. He was getting better at shaving with his left hand, but she still wished he would have waited.

If they missed her too much, or if she missed them, she could always come home. She’d make sure there was always enough coin in her purse to take the stage back to Hartley Green.

Lady Hartley departed, leaving them looking at each other in bemusement. Like they had just experienced a tiny whirlwind and survived. Mother’s expression was one of pure excitement, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright.

She cupped Charis’s face in her hands. “My dear. Such an opportunity.” She glanced at Father. “We will need to visit the milliner, Captain Eastwood, no matter what Lady Hartley says. Charis needs a new bonnet.”

Charis was loath to disagree, but it was best to nip this kind of expectation in the bud. 

Mother’s fingers were freezing, so Charis pulled them from her face and warmed them between her own. “Please, Mother. I will not find a husband in London. If I have not found one going to assemblies and parties over the last few years, nothing is going to change just because I am in a new location. All the good men have gone to war.”

Really, she knew it was her, not the dearth of men. She saw when they whispered behind their hands for no reason, cringed when gentlemen said, “Ha, ha, I must look up when I dance with you,” and asked her if she had a new ball gown on when they knew for certain she did not. They all knew the family was poor and suffering, and they didn’t want to catch the disease by association.

“But, my love—”

Charis dropped her hands. “It pains me, as you well know. I have come to terms with my future. Do not make me hope for more. I beg you not to expect it.”

“Your daughter begs you, wife.” There was a stern tone in Father’s voice. “What will happen will happen, and no amount of new bonnets will change it.”

Mother flattened her lips into an unhappy line. “You shall still have them.”

Father winked at Charis. 

Good. 

She didn’t want to spend her time in London angling for a husband who wasn’t there. She was going to London to hone her skills in room decoration. Surely working with someone of Lady Hartley’s character would enable her to find other ladies interested in the same service? 

The way forward was through her own industry, not finding a man to save her. 

 

* * *

 

Monday week arrived with speed. 

Charis’s old bonnet now had a pretty green ribbon with silk ivy leaves, and the new one was a very fetching straw covered in soft pink velvet, trimmed in deeper pink velvet ribbon. It had white silk flowers on the left-hand side at the ear and was by far the prettiest she had ever owned. Her clothes were washed and pressed, her boots polished, and her satin evening slippers cleaned. She couldn’t think there would be much call for those unless… “Do you think Lady Hartley will take me to a ball?”

Mother looked up from where she had placed tissue paper over the top of Charis’s one and only ball gown. “I don’t see why not. While you were out of the room, Lady Hartley promised me she would be on the lookout for eligible gentlemen. I’m sure she will do a much better job than I have thus far.” She frowned, and a pucker appeared between her brows. “The last few years have been…terrible, and we have lost sight of your future. I hope this trip might, in some way, give you something back. If I’m honest, I hope you’ll meet a lovely gentleman who will fall in love with you and cherish you just as we do.” She brushed a tear from her eye.

“There now, Mama.” Charis pulled her into an embrace. She was a good foot taller than her mother, and so in some ways, it felt like she was the parent consoling the child rather than the other way around. “I’m sure there will be many lovely gentlemen in London, but I will find other opportunities in any case.”

Mother glanced up at her, wariness in her expression. “What do you mean ‘other opportunities’?”

This was not a conversation Charis wanted to have. If Mother still thought she might find a husband, she would only be upset to hear that Charis had an ulterior motive. “Oh, nothing. Just that London is a very exciting place. Who knows what will happen?”

Mother nodded, although her eyes were still narrowed. “Speaking of opportunities, I must warn you against one.” 

This sounded interesting. “Father and I know that you will behave yourself with propriety at all times. You have been raised in a good home. You are a gentleman’s daughter and the equal of anyone you shall meet. However…” She shut the traveling chest, which had Father’s initials, which were coincidentally the same as her own, and sat on the side of the bed.

“What is it? You can tell me anything.”

“I am just thinking about how best to put this.” She patted the spot next to her, and Charis obediently sat. “Please, if you can help it, do not fall in love with Lady Hartley’s son.” She exhaled. “There now, I have said it.”

Charis couldn’t help bursting into giggles. “Fall in love with Ashcroft? I think not. Have you ever had a conversation with him?”

“Only briefly. However, he is very handsome. His mother often tells me how he has the best of his father’s physique and the best of her amiable spirit.”

Charis couldn’t help laughing again. “The last thing that gentleman is as amiable. Trust me, Mama, it will be all I can do to have him grunt good morning at me at the breakfast table. Even if he were interested in me, I could never attach myself to a man like that.”

Mother looked at her, her eyes narrowed once again. “Do you mean that? Because I have been worried that living under the same roof might make you susceptible. And I must tell you that Lady Hartley’s generosity would most definitely not extend to giving you her eldest son. She may be charitable and generous, but she has high hopes for his match.”

It was somewhat lowering to be warned off him in this way. Because what lady did not want the wealthiest, most handsome man to fall in love with her a little, even if they were ill-tempered, and she would never return their regard?

“In that case, allow me to promise you I will not fall in love with him. Apart from that lovely physique, he has not much else to recommend him.”

Mother looked at her wryly. “You would not be the first young lady to fall in love with the man’s title and his holdings.”

Charis shook her head. “And in any case, Mama, would it matter if I did? Say, for example, I spent two weeks there and fell irredeemably and hopelessly in love? I very much doubt he would even notice. I understand you don’t want to make things uncomfortable with Lady Hartley, but Lord Ashcroft has not so much as looked in my direction any of the number of times we have met. You may rest easy.”

Mother nodded “Good. Father also wanted me to warn you not to leave the house unchaperoned. Always take a footman with you or a maid. It is not like Hartley Green where you can traipse around unaccompanied. And he also asked me to give you this…” She drew a small brown suede pouch from her pocket. It jingled. Charis took it from her mother’s outstretched hand and opened it to see five gold coins shining inside. Guineas. Money they certainly could not afford. “Thank you, Mama. I should refuse these, but I know I shall need them, so I’m very grateful. I have only a few shillings of my own saved up.” 

“There now, we could hardly let you go to London without a money bag. If you need more, I’m sure Lady Hartley will furnish you with a small amount that we can repay.”

Charis shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. This is more than enough.” She would bring back as much of it as she possibly could. Money like this was not to be frittered away.

There was a knock at the door, and it swung open to reveal Father standing with a large box in his hands. “All ready to go?” He had been a constant source of joviality and enthusiasm for her trip. She hadn’t realized how responsible he felt for their lack of diversion in the last few years.

“Everything has been darned to within an inch of its life, and Mother has given me three new handkerchiefs, beautifully embroidered, and five guineas, which is far too much!” 

Mother brushed her praise away. “There now, it was the least we could do.”

Father stepped into the room and held out the box to Charis. It had a brass handle screwed into the top and smelled faintly of beeswax.

She took it from him. “What is this?”

“It’s a little rough. My skills aren’t what they used to be, and I had to work fast. I figured you would need to transport your paints and brushes. Correct?”

He always ended sentences with “correct” as if he were still a captain and she was an ensign. Brusk and brooking no argument. “Correct, Captain.” She saluted with a smile.

Charis opened the box to find trays where one could place small cakes of watercolor, and another tray for brushes. He had taken the liberty of packing all of her art supplies into the box where they sat neatly in rows, ready for transport. Her heart lurched at such a personal and thoughtful gift.

“Oh, I love it. It is just the thing.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she didn’t try to stop them. “You really are the very best parents. I will try my best to be a credit to you.”

Father patted her shoulder, his warm smile better than a blessing. “You do us proud wherever you are, my dear. All you have to do to please me is have a wonderful time and come home with a pocket full of stories to entertain us for months to come.”

Mother lifted an eyebrow, and if Charis was interpreting it correctly, it was that she expected Charis to come back with a fiancé rather than entertaining stories.

She looked at both of them. “I will not let you down.”

One way or the other, she would pull this family out of the poverty they were sliding into.

 

Release Date: October 27th, 2022

EBOOK ISBN: 978-0-6451218-7-2

Print ISBN: