Chapter Twenty-Three
‘What has happened?’ Mrs Chisholm asked.
Hattie rushed past her without a word, racing through the house with speed and purpose, then lifting her skirts and moving into a full sprint, taking the stairs two at a time to reach her chambers as fast as her clothing would allow. Hattie would not cry until she was alone.
Once she sealed the door of her chambers behind her and clicked the lock, she collapsed against the back of it, sliding down the wood to the floor in tears.
Sobs, deep and loud, rose from her belly and she gave in to them as she pulled her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs, buried her face in the familiar scratchy material and cried.
She would not pretend all was not lost when it was.
Even she did not possess that much strength or will for deception.
Ophelia and Trudy would tell her he was not worth her tears, but she set them free anyhow.
Her heart was broken and her dreams for a fine future dashed.
Everything was in ruin.
And she was alone again, exactly as she had begun.
Why had she allowed herself to believe William was different and not a selfish and dishonourable man? She paused and sniffed, staring down at her hands. She believed it because he wasn’t. William was good, decent, and possessed a full and kind heart.
Losing him was as much her fault as his own.
She had lied to him and deceived him by choice even though she knew how important the truth was to him because of his first wife.
Hattie knew she was playing a very precarious and dangerous game and that it would end poorly the longer the farce went on.
She was no fool, but she had acted like one.
Now she wished she had told him the truth, but she had never been able to muster the courage.
She feared he would have reacted as he had today.
No doubt she would have just lost him sooner. Wouldn’t she have?
Her tears were as much frustration over what she had done as they were hurt over his words and actions. There was no denying it.
She had skirted along the path of fancy, revelling in the pretence of it all as if she were indeed Lady Penelope Denning.
Now that the paper-doll house she had fabricated had crumbled down and disintegrated, she had no one to blame but herself.
She had ignored so many moments when she could have told him the truth of who she was, but she had been desperate to keep the facade intact.
Perhaps this was what she deserved, for she’d never believed he could love her as she was.
But that also wasn’t true. She deserved love. And their affection for one another was real no matter her real name or her station. If only she had believed in herself and in him. None of it mattered now, though, did it? There was a soft knock on the door. She held her breath.
Could it be William?
‘Hattie?’
Mrs Chisholm.
Hattie covered her mouth to prevent another sob. How she wanted to open the door and confide in her, but Hattie’s embarrassment and failure and loss kept her hidden. She hid like she had in the orphanage when she didn’t wish to be found.
‘He does not mean what he says,’ she began softly. So softly that it sent more tears down Hattie’s cheeks. ‘He is angry. Confused. And well…a man.’ Mrs Chisholm chuckled and paused. ‘I beg you. Do not leave.’ She sighed.
Hattie opened her mouth and almost replied to her, but she clamped her mouth shut.
‘But, if you must leave, please do not go without saying goodbye to us all. Please. We care for you, my dear. You have become…family.’
Fat tears streamed down Hattie’s cheeks, but she said nothing.
She was frozen, locked in her grief as she had been as a child.
She didn’t know how to reach out and ask for help.
She kept her silence long after the sound of Mrs Chisholm’s footsteps disappeared.
She hadn’t felt such sadness since her mother passed and she didn’t know how to weather it without Trudy and Ophelia.
She had never faced such grief and hurt without them.
But what would they say when she returned with her tail between her legs, broken and shattered as Trudy had warned?
Hattie scoffed and chuckled as she wiped her eyes.
They would envelop her in the warmest of hugs.
That was what they would do. Chastise her later, perhaps, but never would they berate her when she was down.
They would help her grieve and she would recover as she had after every disappointment and setback before.
‘It’s their loss that they did not choose us.’
Trudy’s words echoed in Hattie’s ears and she smiled, if only for a moment.
Trudy always said that when the wealthy families came to scrutinise them before passing them over for a younger child with a ‘less ambiguous’ birth.
‘She’s right,’ Ophelia would agree, playing with her long curls. ‘We are pretty enough. There is nothing we can do about how we came to be in this world. At least we have one another.’
Hattie sniffed. William’s rejection was the same, was it not?
The icy truth of it pained her more than she wished to admit.
He didn’t know of her truly lowly birth as she had fibbed to him about having a titled regal father who had claimed her before he died.
That was a lie crafted to keep her pretend designation as Lady Penelope intact.
And even with that he had rejected her. What would he have done when he discovered she was the bastard daughter of a man she did not even know?
That she was a product of a mistress and clandestine affair like he abhorred his wife for having.
Perhaps this was the end that was always coming. The one she’d ignored for too long. There was no hiding from her past…at least not for long.
Sisters for ever, tears never.
It echoed through her mind as Hattie wiped her tears.
It was what they always said to one another after the families left and they realised their fate as orphans would continue…
at least until another visiting weekend.
Hattie took a slow steadying breath and then another before pulling back her shoulders and pushing herself up to standing.
‘Sisters for ever, tears never,’ she said quietly. Then she took in a breath, released it and said it aloud once more.
She blew her nose in a handkerchief and tucked it back in her dress pocket. She stared down at the dark-brown dress that had somehow helped stir William’s memories of her. Would he have remembered if she hadn’t been wearing this and been out at the lake?
Did it matter?
He would have remembered, or she would have been plagued with guilt and the need to tell him eventually. She had only hurried along the inevitable. All because she had not wished to soil the hem of one of the beautiful day dresses he’d had made for her.
She sighed, set aside her sadness, and searched her room for her portmanteau and small travelling trunk.
She pulled them from beneath the wardrobe and began packing.
It took far less time than she expected as she would take nothing except what she arrived with.
Well, almost nothing. She gathered up the drawings little Millie had made for her to help her decorate her chambers.
Those Hattie would claim as her own. And she would keep the fine ruby heart pendant as a memory of their love.
But the fancy dresses, hats and reticules she would leave.
Even the crisp pristine gloves she would not take.
She would rather leave with her worn, but clean ones than take anything William had purchased for her role as Lady Penelope.
Lady Penelope Denning.
Hattie’s fingers skimmed the fine silk and crepe dresses.
The luxurious colours, fabrics and cuts were delicious to see together all at once like a fine bouquet of hothouse flowers.
Dressing up as Lady Penelope, wearing fine jewels and having herself coiffed to perfection had been glorious.
But it was also fanciful make believe and there was nothing real about it.
She’d known it would end, no matter how much she’d hoped it wouldn’t. The truth was inescapable, as she well knew. Her hand fell away and she closed the wardrobe, sealing everything that ever was Lady Penelope within it.
‘Goodbye, Lady Penelope Denning.’
Lady Penelope Denning would disappear as soon as Hattie stepped into the carriage to leave Blithe Manor behind. In some ways, Hattie would miss her. Her confidence, certainty and slight tilt of her chin.
The carriage.
Blast.
Hattie groaned. She would have to ask for use of the carriage to reach the station to get home to Stow.
She had more than enough money for her return, but no way to reach the station.
It was an indignity she would have to suffer to return home to Stow.
Best get on with it. She emerged from her chambers and quietly descended the stairs.
The sound of raised voices stopped her cold in her steps before she reached the landing.
‘Why would you be in on this scheme as well? I trusted you. I trusted you all.’ William’s tone was harsh, but rang of another emotion as well: hurt. She almost felt sorry for him.
But not quite. She harboured her own hurt caused by his words.
‘Because the Doctor told us it was best for you and your recovery, Your Grace,’ Mrs Chisholm answered firmly. ‘Lady Buchanan was in agreement. We all were.’ If there was a woman who could hold her ground against him, even if he was her employer, it was Mrs Chisholm. Hattie almost smiled.
Before she could talk herself out of it, Hattie continued down the stairs and stood at the doorway of William’s study where he stood in front of several of his staff, people Hattie had come to treasure and love because they had accepted her for who she was and it had felt like a home despite it all.
‘It was you who created this scheme, Your Grace. You cannot be angry about the outcome of it all,’ said Hattie. To her surprise, her voice was clear and carried through the air without a tremble, despite how her heart pounded in her chest.
His body stiffened and he faced her. ‘How dare you,’ he began, his gaze cutting through her as if she were nothing, a mere whisper of what she knew she’d meant to him but hours ago.
‘How dare you,’ she countered before she even thought about the words. It was as if Penelope Denning was rising in her and refusing to be cut down in such a way. She approached him.
‘Your staff is part of your family and so was I, no matter how brief a time it may have been. They did what the Doctor bade them do after your accident: maintain as much consistency and constancy to your world to aid in your recovery. And the world you had created was with me, a facade of a betrothed to keep the reporters at bay. When you woke with no memory, the Doctor did not know of this web of deceit, but asked for me to stay and for us to care for you until your memory returned once we told him of it. Even he agreed to be a part of this charade. What we all did was for you, Your Grace. To care for you. What happened between us was unexpected, but you cannot will it away.’
He took a step closer to her, but she did not move or flinch.
The servants held their breath just as she did.
‘If that is the case and not more lies, then you have done your part. I am recovered and I know who I am. And I do not require a betrothed any longer. Nor an uneducated and deceitful governess. Leave. Now.’
Every word pricked like glass shards thrust under her skin, but she held her emotion and response in check. She gazed past him to the wall, focusing her attention on the early landscape of the estate. She sucked in a breath, set her gaze on those around him and began.
‘Thank you, each and every one of you, for your care and friendship during my stay here. I am grateful for it. I will leave as His Grace commands, but I will require a carriage to take me to the stagecoach.’
‘Of course, Miss Potts,’ Mr Simmons replied. ‘I shall tell Eddie to ready the horses.’ The small hitch in his voice gave away his emotion. The rest of them gave a slight bow to her, which made her stomach drop.
Mrs Chisholm came forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek. There were no words, but the love in her gaze spoke volumes. Hattie swallowed and forced a smile and a nod. Hattie then lifted her gaze to William and held it without a falter.
Then she gave a deep bow and lowered her head.
‘Your Grace,’ she said before rising. ‘Please give this to Millie, since I cannot say goodbye to her myself.’ She extended a bulky sealed note to him that held her small, worn string bracelet with its three lavender glass beads that she had always worn about her wrist. It was Millie’s now to keep her safe as it had kept Hattie safe for so many years.
Trudy and Ophelia would have agreed with Hattie’s choice to gift it to the girl and would understand her decision to part with it. Her dream for independence for herself hadn’t come true, but she had a new wish: Millie’s happiness. She hoped if Millie wore it, her hopes and dreams would come true.
It was now what Hattie wanted most in the world.
She was unable to keep the tremor from showing as her hand remained extended towards him.
He resisted for a moment, but finally took it from her.
The brief brush of his fingertips against hers ignited a fresh wave of hurt and longing.
She stiffened, turned and walked back to the hall to wait for the carriage.
How long she stood in silence alone in that hall, she did not know, but relief and dread filled her when the carriage came into view outside the front windows, its wheels crunching the gravel on the drive. Eddie came in and gathered her bags.
‘Ready, Miss Potts?’ he asked.
‘As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose,’ she replied, fashioning her drab brown hat on her head and repositioning her matching cloak.
She stepped outside and entered the open carriage.
As he closed the door and sealed her within the warm snug confines of the carriage, she noted he had placed a blanket and wrapped treats from the cook on the seat beside her.
The small kindness rekindled the loss she felt and she blinked back tears.
As they pulled out of the drive, she reminded herself this was for the best even if her heart said otherwise.