Chapter 2 #2
The shifting eyes continued for the rest of the evening. Yes, some people complimented my ability, but I also sensed some disdain. As someone who had always enjoyed attention, I found I did not appreciate this kind of attention. Not one bit.
As we made our exit at the end of the night, I gave one last attempt to obtain Mr. Weatherby’s favor.
But when I produced my signature coy smile, his eyes shifted away as quickly as they had come.
He rubbed his forehead and mumbled something to himself as the door blocked him and the warm candlelight from my view.
My legs felt stiff as we walked to our carriage.
Mama looped her arm around mine in one swift motion, and whispered, “Well done, Charlotte.” Her voice was quick with excitement.
“I am sorry to say I ever doubted you. Playing the same piece as Miss Camden…it was genius, to say the least. You exceed her talent for certain, especially with that particular song. I daresay the audience was very moved.”
I could still picture the expressions of reprimand and shock and disapproval, but Mama’s words were falling over them like a shadow, bringing forward smiles and looks of envy.
I gave a quiet laugh. “I worried it might have been too much.”
Mama scoffed loudly. “It would be a monstrous surprise if Mr. Weatherby doesn’t call on you tomorrow. And Sir Edward could not take his eyes off you, especially after your performance. I daresay you have acquired several new prospects.”
My mind spun. Of course Mama was right. What had compelled me to doubt?
As we entered the carriage, I brushed aside my worries and turned my thoughts to what dress I would wear tomorrow and which bonnet would most complement my eyes.
If I looked beautiful enough, then I could win any heart.
I closed my eyes and pictured my life as mistress of a grand estate, hosting parties and presenting the house as my own.
I pictured the endless pin money my husband would grant me to spend in London.
Then I could be off, only to see him on rare occasions.
When we grew older, he would spend his days in his study like Papa, and I could spend my days entertaining fashionable guests and perusing the finest shops.
I placed my hand on my chest and exhaled my worries. If I played my cards right, that future could be mine. I would be happier than I had ever been in my life. Love was fickle—nothing to aspire to.
I considered Mama and Papa. They had planned to marry from a young age, encouraged by their parents of the advantages of their union.
Rarely did they speak, and both behaved as they liked.
A match like theirs could never create such damage as a broken heart.
Hearts were fragile, and I planned to keep mine from harm.
Glassware was stored in sturdy cupboards, never atop a nursery table.
It would be easily destroyed by the child’s curious, destructive hands.
I had worked very hard to keep my heart far away from everyone, just as Mama had.
I glanced at her stoic expression in the dark carriage before closing my eyes again.
The sky was black when we pulled into the drive. Crickets created an orchestra in the air as I walked toward the front doors. Our home, Eshersed Park, loomed like a castle in the moonlight. The cream stone looked grey, and a few candles still flickered behind the windows.
Inside, I wasn’t surprised that Clara didn’t greet us.
She was likely in her room with her face buried in her pillow, crying over her misfortune.
The image brought a smile to my face. My curiosity couldn’t be helped, so I climbed up the stairs to her bedchamber and threw open the doors.
I was disappointed to see that her bed was free of a prostrate, weeping figure.
“Clara!” I called. “Mr. Weatherby has fallen madly in love with me!”
Nothing.
I walked to the window and stared down into the gardens. I was about to turn away when I noticed a single dot of light gleaming among the shrubs and trees. It had to be her.
Running to the back door, I stepped into the night air once again.
After weaving my way through the intricate gardens, I came up behind my sister sitting on a large stone, her brown hair hanging in waves over her shoulders.
Her head was bent over something. The candle I had seen from the window was sitting beside her on the stone, bathing her face in an orange glow.
I caught sight of the item in her hands. It was a book.
“What are you reading?” I asked, making her jump. “And what, pray tell, are you doing out here in the dark?”
She turned with narrowed eyes, the book pressed against her chest. “What I am reading is none of your concern.” Her nostrils flared. “I hear no news of an engagement, so I assume your deception fooled no one?”
I huffed a breath. “You are wrong. Mr. Weatherby was quite taken with my beauty and talent, and surely plans to court me.”
She rolled her eyes and flipped the page of her book. My anger surged. I lunged forward and ripped it from her hands.
She gasped and whirled around on her stone chair. “Give that back!”
I examined the cover and turned my head with disgust. “You are reading another of those silly romances, are you?” I snorted. “What do you suppose will come of it? The handsome hero will ascend from the pages, desperately in love with you?”
She jumped for the book but I pulled it away and out of her reach.
“Charlotte, give it back!” she yelled.
“How do you believe in this nonsense? Such behavior is harmful to your health, dear sister.” I leafed the pages open and tore out a handful of paper and inky, false words.
Clara stopped trying to reach the book, but melted into tears. “Stop! Stop!” She wrapped her arms around herself and leaned over, hiding her face from me.
I crumpled another fistful of the pages. “You will thank me for this,” I said. “Love is not real.” When I finished, I dropped the binding to the dirt.
Clara glared at me through her tears. “Just because you haven’t been able to make anyone fall in love with you doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”
Her words struck me hard. My heart pinched within me, a sharp stab that I ignored. How dare she say that? She knew how hard I had tried to secure a husband, and how painfully I had failed. My throat tightened, but I swallowed hard. “What about you? Does anyone love you?”
Clara fell silent.
“No.” I lifted my chin. “I didn’t think so.”
“How can you be so awful?” She spit the words at me and tears fell slowly down her cheeks. “I hope you fall in love someday, Charlotte. And I hope he breaks your heart.”
I shook my head with my hands on my hips. “Impossible.”
She stooped over the bench, gathering up the remaining pages and organizing them in a neat stack. Amid her movements, she glanced up at me, eyes like stone. “You’re right. I don’t believe you even have a heart.”
I kicked the crumpled pages away from her reach before turning to leave. Before I moved, I said, in a voice just as hard, “That is because a woman is much better off without one.”
The house was not as silent as I had expected when I walked through the front door.
Loud voices echoed from the corridor near Papa’s study.
Alarm bolted through my body, and I walked faster.
Mama’s words, shrill and unidentifiable, were mingled with sobs.
As I came closer, I recognized the low rumble of Papa’s voice.
I stopped. When had he returned? It must have been just moments before.
Mama shouted something else, but I couldn’t understand through her tears.
My heart raced as I made my way down the long corridor and rounded the corner.
I stopped with one hand on the wall, a wave of shock rolling through my chest.
Mama stood with her head in her hands, far from the composed posture I had come to know and expect from her.
Papa’s stiff hand rested on her shoulder, as if in an attempt to console her.
His face was gaunt, eyes falling back into deep sockets.
The lines in his face looked deeper than I remembered, yet he had only aged a few months since I had last seen him.
I felt like I was intruding, yet I couldn’t look away.
Mama jerked back from Papa’s touch, shooting a glare in his direction. “We will never recover from this!”
Papa was silent.
Mama’s eyes found me in the dark corridor.
I retreated back a step, but she ran to me, a wave of fresh sobs shaking her frame.
“Everything I care for! Gone.” She took me by the shoulders with a firm grip, holding me tight as she glared at Papa.
Her shaky words sent a chill across my spine.
“We are ruined, Charlotte. All because of him.”
I pushed her away and took a step back, staring at her with wide eyes. “What do you mean?” Mama was clearly too discomposed to answer. My gaze moved to Papa of its own accord. “What does she mean?” I realized it was the first time I had spoken to him in months. I had given up trying long ago.
Papa dropped his head and rubbed the back of his neck.
Fear swirled around my heart. “Papa, what have you done?” The words scratched my throat.
He took one step forward, and his bloodshot eyes only blinked once. I expected a thorough explanation, maybe an excuse for Mama’s reaction. But he spoke just two words. “I’m sorry.”
And then his slumping form retreated into the hallway. I heard a door shut.
I couldn’t breathe as the image of him faded.
In all the years I had known him, he had never appeared so…
broken. I tried again to think of the last time he had spoken to me, besides a brief word, but could think of nothing.
My heart thudded with dread as I turned my attention to Mama.
I had never seen her like this. Something was terribly wrong.
With her face in her hands, she paced away from me and wailed into the open air, cursing Papa between gasps of breath.