She keeps quiet.

The evening was as dreadful as Charlotte had anticipated. Lord Marlton took great delight at her misfortune, using her fall as evidence against women riding on hunts. Charlotte wondered what he would say if she told him what she had discovered about Black Brand's true identity. The more she considered her step-fathers' behavior the more convinced she became that he was a mean spirited bully in much of his behavior.

The rest of the dinner guests were not much better. Some teased her and her reckless behavior, others offered condescending tips on riding even though Charlotte had a far better seat, even riding sidesaddle, than most of them. It was Beatrice who suggested that Copper was to blame, and wondered if a more gentle horse would be a better choice for a lady to ride. Through it all Charlotte smiled and nodded knowing that it was her temper that led to the indiscreet comment she made to her two companions earlier and determined not to repeat the error.

She wasn't sure who said what to whom, but by the time deserts and coffee had been served all of the suitors had heard of her unflattering opinion of them. Several of them were muttering loudly about the wildness of their hostess, and wondering aloud about her suitability as a wife. 'Good!' She thought to herself, she was quite sure that she'd rather become a spinster than spend her life obeying and serving anyone of these men. Especially Jason Worthington, not after the true level of his despicable nature was made clear by his candid comments at the brook.

Charlotte wanted to scream at him, expose him for the knave that he truly was; instead she pretended not to understand Jace's comments about breaking the willfulness of a filly to have a well trained responsive ride. His friends' laughter only added to her hidden anger. Did they really think her to be so naïve? She considered making a comment about none of them being skilled enough at riding to break-in even the most eager of fillies, but again and again she held her tongue as they continued with their risqué banter until Lord Marlton invited everyone into the music room.

From bad to worse. As their hostess Charlotte was expected to play and sing for her company, but in spite of having some of the finest tutors money could buy, she was at best a modest musician. She sat dutifully by the harp, and plucked out a few chords while singing a carol she had been taught months ago for Christmas. Everyone politely praised her when she had finished but she could see the disapproval in her father's eyes.

Then Priscilla Dunning took over, making Charlotte's shortcoming obvious to everyone in the room. The petite blonde was everything Charlotte was not; dainty demur and elegant, and unlike her, Priscilla had an undeniable talent. She first effortlessly performed an aria from one of the latest Italian operettas accompanied by Beatrice on the piano-forte, and then after taking her place at the keybord was joined by John Basingford's smooth baritone and sang a comic duet about a proud Irish lass who fell in love with a Scotsman. The song was popular, and everyone joined in with the chorus about how even the proudest maid must be plucked in the end.

Charlotte understood immediately that she was the butt of the song. She had planned to plead a sore back and depart for her room but if she left now they'd all think she'd been beaten. So instead of making her excuses, she sat back down at the piano and sang a folk song her mother had sung to her many times as a lullaby years before.

It too told the tale of a maid in love, but unlike Priscilla's rowdy verses, the tune recounted the sad tale of how the maid's beloved had left her to join the royal navy and fight the Spanish and how the woman followed him disguised as a ship's boy only to hold him one last time as he died in her arms.

Her fingering of the keyboard was sloppy at times, and her breathing was not always technically correct, but the soulful ballad fit her voice beautifully and the heartache she still felt from her mother's sudden **** translated perfectly into the angst of the maiden's bitter loss.

When she finished she stood and ignoring the stunned surprise of her guests, excused herself as politely as possible and headed upstairs to prepare for bed. She had never sung that song for anyone until that moment. It was her private memory of her mother, but Charlotte was glad she sang it tonight. Like the heroine in the ballad, she was not afraid to risk all for a worthy love.

She would try to find out about the book of sonnets, and go to Saint Theresa's she decided as her maid unfastened the row of pearl buttons that ran down the back of her blue silk dinner gown. After Sarah helped her slip into her long soft nightgown, she sat on her bed contemplating the day's events as the girl took down her hair and brushed it until it shown in the gas light. Just as in her song, Charlotte would not be afraid to take some chances in order to do what was needed. She would help Mr. Fuller try to right the wrongs that Mary suffered, even if it made things uncomfortable for her family and friends.

"Speak with me - but not kiss me again." She said aloud surprising her maid.

"Pardon me, miss?" Sarah asked "I didn't catch that."

"It was nothing." Charlotte replied flushing slightly "Are you finished?"

The girl placed the loose hair into a net to keep it for the night and slipped from the room. Charlotte wondered if her words had been overheard, and if so who the girl would tell. Alone at last Charlotte lay back in her bed and waited for sleep to take her, but as the minutes passed she realized that as weary as her body was, her mind raced with wild new thoughts and desires.

Perhaps some reading would help settle the turmoil. A bible bound in white leather lay on her night stand, other books (including her small collection of romances hidden behind the other volumes) were in a bookcase not far away and finally the small volume of sonnets lay on her dresser where she placed it when she came in to change from the hunt.