Chapter 8 #2
The crease between Sophia’s eyebrows deepened. “Where could I find a crown?” Her voice was so quiet I could hardly distinguish it between the voices outside the door and the swaying of the curtains by the open window.
There was something about her expression that was just so endearing to me.
I couldn’t help but smile. My eyes surveyed the room and settled on a piece of stiff twine that encircled and bound together three books.
I walked over to the shelf and undid the twine, then tied it again in a small round.
When I reached Sophia again, I placed it atop her curls. “That should do for now.”
Slowly, like a twitch, her lips moved upward and into a smile.
A small force hit my chest. I had brought that smile to her face.
How often had I seen that? I scraped my mind for a memory, a time I had withdrawn something other than outrage, envy, or sadness from a near stranger’s countenance, but found very little evidence.
The pure joy I saw in Sophia’s face now struck me somewhere deep inside my heart.
She looked into my eyes, and for a moment, I saw my reflection in them. “Where is your crown?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t have one.” My mind wandered to my life in Hampshire, wearing pretty gowns everyday, eating four course meals, flitting around at parties, seeking the favor of every gentleman I saw.
I had felt like a princess then. Mama had been so proud.
But now I felt very much like a commoner, and I had lost my crown.
Sophia squinted at me, confused, but didn’t comment further. Her hands lifted to her head and her fingers traced the rough edges of the twine. She adored it. I imagined myself at her age, throwing it across the floor because it was too dull and plain.
The door opened and Mr. Wortham walked in first. He looked satisfied, so I allowed myself a sigh of relief. Lord Trowbridge followed him in, darting a wary glance in my direction.
He cleared his throat. “Miss Lyons. It seems you are well-suited to the position, so I will expect you here every morning at seven o’clock.
You will instruct Sophia in her instruments in the morning hours, and her studies in the afternoon.
We will discuss wages and other specifics when you arrive tomorrow.
” He gave me a stiff nod, then exited the room, his coat tails swishing against the frame.
I watched the footman close the door as hopelessness washed over me.
Lord Trowbridge obviously did not want me here.
But what had I expected? That he would fall in love with me at first glance?
I had never managed to win the heart of a man I actually wanted, and that reality made my pulse race with anxiousness.
Winning the earl’s heart would not be easy, but it was my duty.
It was the reason I was here in Craster at all.
James and I bid our farewells to Sophia and left Brackenridge Hall.
It was almost noon—Miss Bentford was likely distraught by now.
Clara could not cover for my absence forever, so I started in the direction of our cottage.
I didn’t want James to know where we lived, but he didn’t seem inclined to leave my side.
He was more of a gentleman than I thought.
It irked me to no end.
“Do you have all you need, then?” he asked as we walked. I heard the irritation in his voice. I looked up at the side of his face. His jaw was clenched, and he refused to look at me.
“I know you are angry, but it had to be done,” I said, still looking up at him. “You would never have helped me otherwise. I intend to keep the love letter perchance you choose to bargain with me again.”
His face snapped to the side, eyes locking on mine. He looked as if he wanted to pick me up and heft me into the sea. Then his expression relaxed, and the fire in his eyes was gone. “You have outwitted me, Charlotte.” He shook his head slowly. “But you still have not proven me wrong.”
“What?”
He turned to face me. “I have proven you wrong. But you have not done the same.”
I raised my eyebrows for him to explain. I stopped walking, knowing we were coming closer to my cottage.
“You thought me to be a disrespectable, impoverished fisherman. You wouldn’t have imagined me to be the second son of an earl.”
I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “You did not prove me wrong, you are just a liar.”
His eyes widened, but his smile of disbelief showed that my insult hadn’t pierced him. “You also presumed I wouldn’t dare wrestle that letter from your grasp. Would you like me to prove you wrong again? I could reach in your boot and take it right now without anything to stop me.”
I gasped. “How did you—” I had been sure he hadn’t seen where I slipped the note. He was cleverer than I gave him credit for.
He straightened his sleeves, nonchalant about the ordeal. I wanted to slap him.
“Are you begging me to send the letter to Miss Abbot?”
“Ah, but I don’t beg.” He drew a step closer.
“I am asking you not to send it. Please consider what ruining my life might do to your own. Would you really do something that cruel?” His eyes were sincere, and I looked away, knowing the last time he had looked at me like that I had dissolved into tears.
Only one tear, I reminded myself to spare my pride.
I considered his words. What could be done to my life to make it worse?
I had already fallen so low. I was at the bottom of a pit with slick walls surrounding me, and climbing out felt impossible.
I felt like an abandoned porcelain doll, pretty and neat on the outside but empty and plain on the inside.
I hid my cracks beneath ruffled dresses and fresh paint so no one would know.
I felt the pressure of James’s gaze leave my face. I dared myself to glance up at him, but my shame prevented it. I knew I could never send the letter. It was too wicked, even for me. But I couldn’t hand it over to him without a fight. It would make me look weak.
“Well, I will leave you alone then,” he said. He must have sensed how deep my thoughts were, because for once, he didn’t try to breach them. “My brother expects you at seven o’clock.”
I acknowledged his farewell with a brief nod; it was all I could do. He stayed for a moment longer, as if he wanted to say something more, but then I heard his footsteps fade out. He was gone.
I looked up and crossed my arms tightly.
My feet felt rooted where I stood, and I couldn’t even begin to riddle out the emotions I was feeling.
Before I could lose my grip on my emotions again, I picked up my skirts and marched toward our cottage.
I was aching to play the pianoforte, but like so many other things, I no longer had one.