Chapter 4
Chapter Four
“I would challenge you to a battle of wits,
but I see you are unarmed.”
Morning light penetrated my eyelids, just a dim glow from behind the dusty curtains of my new bedchamber. I groaned, peeling my eyes open. I had almost forgotten where I was. I was still dressed in my white muslin from yesterday, with my hair hanging loose and tangled. That needed to change.
I hurried over to my trunk with weak legs. Mama had only allowed us each to keep six dresses, and thankfully, I had kept my most flattering day dress—robin’s egg blue with ivory trim around the sleeves, neckline, and waist. Now came the difficult part.
“Clara!” I ran toward her bedchamber and pushed open the door.
She stood in front of her mirror, struggling to fasten the back of her dress, arms bent awkwardly over her shoulders.
I stopped in awe. “How did you do that on your own?” She was almost completely dressed.
I couldn’t even begin to undress myself without a maid to assist me with the buttons and laces.
She gave a huffed breath. Sweat shone on her forehead as she wiped her hair from her eyes. “It isn’t so difficult. And I have long arms.”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “When you are finished, come assist me with mine.”
She crossed her arms. “No.”
I whirled around. “No?”
She tightened her jaw. Only then did I notice the puffy, redness of her eyes.
“Not if you demand it. Not everything is about you anymore, Charlotte. Mama is not here to favor you. She is not here to treat you like a princess and me like a burden. She abandoned us both. I won’t accept orders from you ever again, and if you continue to be selfish then I will only dress myself, and only cook for myself, and only kill spiders in my own room. I heard you shrieking last night.”
The weight of her words settled over me like an iron blanket, heavy and uncomfortable. I shifted on my feet, my fists curling tightly at my sides. I needed her help, but I wasn’t about to admit that. My pride surged within me. “Very well. I will dress myself. We leave for the village in one hour.”
I stalked from the room, uneasy for a reason I couldn’t name.
Having an ally in this strange place was necessary, but how could I win Clara’s respect without sacrificing my own?
I was not a weak, silly girl who depended on her little sister.
I was beautiful, capable, and strong-willed. And I always achieved what I wanted.
Grumbling, I reached behind my back toward the buttons of my dress.
I considered finding Miss Bentford to help me, but if Clara saw that then my pride would take an even greater hit.
After nearly thirty minutes of determined effort, I was wearing the robin’s egg gown, wiping sweat from my own forehead.
Now the hair.
I settled on a simple style I had practiced the night before. Luckily I had brought an entire box of pins with me, so I could hide the many stray hairs and mistakes. I stared at my reflection and willed myself to be confident.
Before leaving my room, I dug through my things and withdrew a familiar sheet of parchment. Under the words, Always display refinement, even while amongst the unrefined, I scribbled one sentence:
Always wear a bonnet out of doors. A mess of hair must always be concealed.
The weather was surprisingly calm when Clara, Miss Bentford, and I walked down the steps of our pitiful cottage.
It would be a long walk to the village, and the air, although calm, sent a chill through my cloak.
I took it as a positive thing. Combined with the exercise, the cold would give more color to my cheeks.
I was surprised Mama had found such a secluded cottage for us.
As we came closer to the village, I noticed that aside from our lonely home, many of the other small houses were grouped together as if they comprised a social circle I wasn’t invited to.
How far did Lord Trowbridge’s property extend?
I eyed the large house as we passed, standing up a little straighter.
The closer view was enough to take my breath away.
The stone was darkened and weather-worn, but the many windows and grand pillars gave it a sophistication that I was immediately drawn to.
My pulse beat a little faster. I could only imagine how mysterious the home would look in winter, edged in frost and surrounded by leafless trees.
“How am I to meet the earl?” I whispered, leaning close to Clara. I didn’t know why, but I felt like the house would hear me if I spoke too loudly.
Clara bit her lower lip in thought. “We must gather more information about him first. Surely some of the people we meet in the village will know of him.”
I gave a slow nod, content with that plan. I was certain the house was haunted, and I wouldn’t dare call it beautiful, yet it was the grandest thing I could hope for now. It was my only hope, in fact. My stomach continued to sink.
As we walked, Clara prattled on about the novel she was reading, and how everything she saw reminded her of it. It was exhausting.
“And that house is like the home of the poor Wilshire family. And the ruins of Dunstanburgh castle were once exactly like Helmsway castle, to be sure. Oh! And that woman reminds me precisely of the eldest Wilshire daughter.”
Miss Bentford devoured every word, agreeing with each of Clara’s comparisons.
The two walked arm in arm, but I remained a few feet away.
I had no wish to be included in their ridiculous conversation, yet I felt a pang of isolation.
I would have to grow accustomed to it. I would not allow myself to become silly only to feel included.
“Do you read many books, Charlotte?” Miss Bentford asked with a much-too-cheerful grin.
“No. I do not.” I fixed my gaze ahead, walking a little faster.
The village was in view—little more than a long street with a few old shops.
The smell of fish pervaded the air. I held my breath.
The coast was closer now. I could almost feel the salty spray of seawater as I watched it crash against the rocks below the shallow cliffs.
Colorful fishing boats dotted the nearby water like splattered paint on a grey canvas.
I watched as a group of men hefted a net of silver fish into their boat.
Their voices carried over to my ears, their language much less refined than the gentlemen of my acquaintance. My nose wrinkled in distaste.
“Oi, Misses!” A thick-bearded man lumbered toward us.
Clara’s eyes widened. “He is an exact picture of the villain in the novel,” she whispered.
I shushed her and quickly looped my arm through hers.
“Dash it all.” Miss Bentford’s eyes widened, and she tugged Clara’s arm the other way. We took one awkward step away from the approaching man, but he was already beside us.
“I ‘aven’t seen you about. Wha’ brings ye ‘ere?” He reeked of dead fish and ale.
Miss Bentford didn’t seem to have experience contending with strange men like this one, and neither did I.
She stared at him, lips pressed shut. Could Mama not have sent us with a more capable chaperone?
My heart hammered. Was it best to ignore him?
Or was politeness still the best course?
I thought of my list. Always display refinement, even while amongst the unrefined.
“We are visiting a friend,” I answered in a curt voice.
“Good day, sir.” Then we turned away and walked toward the market area, where a few less frightening people stood.
A young man with dark hair observed the interaction from down the path, arms crossed.
His brow furrowed as he watched the bearded man follow us.
“Ye smell like flowers. We don’ grow many flowers ‘round ‘ere.”
We walked faster, our footsteps exceeding even the rate of my heart.
The man’s hand clamped over my shoulder, stopping us.
I shrieked, striking him with my reticule.
His eyes focused on it as it swung toward him.
Then he snatched it from my hand and ran in the opposite direction, lumbering down an alley between two shops.
I slapped my hands over my mouth as shock enveloped me.
That reticule contained all our money for the next two months.
From the corner of my eye, I saw the younger man—the one who had witnessed the incident—run past us and around the same corner. Were they accomplices of some sort? I supposed Clara would understand, as she had read so many novels. I looked at her in panic, but she seemed just as confused as I was.
I heard loud voices and violent crashes from between the two shops.
My heart pounded. What was happening? Another sickening crash was followed by a low grunt.
Eventually the noises went away, and the air fell silent.
Slow footsteps increased in volume toward us, and I gripped Clara’s arm harder, unable to move despite how much I wanted to.
The young man appeared, holding one hand to his bleeding nose. Blood soaked into the hem of his sleeve.
Clara tugged on my arm. “That’s the dashing hero.”
Was she still speaking of her ridiculous book? I shook her comment from my mind, focusing on the bleeding man’s swift approach. “Don’t come any closer!” I shrieked.
He scowled and rubbed his head with his other hand.
“We have nothing else for you to take!”
He stepped closer, eyebrows raised now. “You can’t be serious.” Then he laughed. He laughed. “You suppose I went off and clobbered myself in the nozzle, do you? I was attempting to retrieve your reticule, you ungrateful—” He stopped and took a breath.