Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
“Love me or hate me, both are in my favor.
If you love me, I’ll always be in you heart . . .
If you hate me, I’ll always be in your mind.”
Mr. Watkins changed my bandages in the morning and I still didn’t look.
When he took his leave, Mrs. Abbot joined me in the sitting room.
From my place on the sofa, I traced my weary gaze over the wooden, cracked edges of the pianoforte and the sheets of music perched on top.
My heart ached just as deeply as it had the night before, and a lump still lingered in my throat.
My inability to empty my emotions through music had forced me to endure every drop of pain and sorrow.
I felt like a battered shell, swept up from a sea of heartache.
I felt Mrs. Abbot watching me, but I didn’t look away from the pianoforte until she spoke.
“I am so sorry, Charlotte. I know how much the instrument meant to you.” She touched my arm softly. I had cried out most of my tears in the night, but my eyes were still anything but dry. “It may not seem possible now, but all will be well in time. You will find happiness again.”
I glanced warily at her sincere expression.
Her face was wrinkled in different places than Mama’s, though they seemed to be around the same age.
Mama had deep wrinkles between her eyes from frowning.
Mrs. Abbot had tiny wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and curved ones by her mouth from smiling and laughing. The difference was striking.
“How?” My voice was raspy and quiet.
“Make the choice. Choose to be happy through every circumstance, fortunate or not.”
A surge of vexation choked me. “I don’t think it’s that simple.”
Mrs. Abbot considered my words in silence for several seconds, and then she sighed. “It isn’t simple. But what you must do is find all the good, all the kindness within yourself and put it to use. Helping others find their happiness is the best path to finding your own.”
I squeezed my eyes shut with shame as I remembered that I had not been good to Mrs. Abbot. Being dishonest was not a kindness. She did not deserve to be deceived. “I must confess something,” I blurted.
She sat back, her hazel eyes wide in anticipation. “What is it?”
I took a deep breath. “I did not come here with my grandmother. In fact, I don’t even have any living grandmothers. It was all a lie.” I bit my lip, waiting for her reply.
She looked down with a small smile. “Clara has already informed me of that.”
My eyes widened. “When?”
“Just yesterday. She begged me not to tell you until you confessed it yourself. She knew you would.”
I barely managed to hide my surprise. I swallowed. “Did she…did she tell you why we came to Craster?”
Mrs. Abbot shook her head slowly. “That she did not. I do respect your privacy, Charlotte. I will not demand any information that you are not willing to give.”
My heart thudded as I realized that I wanted to tell her.
The weight of my secrets had become far too heavy.
“Clara and I had agreed not to tell anyone the true reason we were sent here, so I came up with a story that seemed plausible. But I cannot continue to lie to you. You have been much too kind.” I paused.
“But I must ask that you keep what I am about to tell you a secret between us. I trust you are not keen on town gossip.”
She watched my face closely and didn’t hesitate. “Of course. What you tell me in confidence will be safe, I assure you.”
“Thank you.” I breathed deeply, trying to decide if this was a wise idea.
It was too late now. I had to tell her. Speaking far too quickly, I relayed to her every detail.
Papa’s gambling, how Mama sent us here alone, and how she expected one of us to make a beneficial match to save the family from ruin.
Mrs. Abbot listened in silence, and her focus didn’t stray for a moment.
When I finished talking, she gave me a soft smile—nothing disapproving and unkind. No disdain or anger. It surprised me.
“You should have told me before. I would have kept your secret safe.”
I breathed out slowly and looked away from her face. “You understand, do you not?”
Her hand rested on my arm, and a pained look twisted her features.
“Personally, I would never ask so much of my daughters as your mother has asked of you. I do suspect she would advise you differently, but I must say this: Don’t do something you will regret.
Don’t sacrifice your happiness by entering into a marriage where you will be alone in your discontent for the rest of your life.
Wealth and prestige are not everything.”
“But my mother demands it of me.” I looked down at my hand. “Although I cannot see how a man could overlook a flaw such as this.”
She smiled. “The right man will. He will see all the other things that outshine it.”
I wanted to voice my disagreement, but her words were so genuine I couldn’t do it. Even if I didn’t believe her. Tears wobbled on the edges of my eyes again. Mrs. Abbot pulled me close, gently moving my head to rest on her shoulder.
“All will be well. You will see.” She smoothed my hair away from my forehead.
My tears continued to flow, but she didn’t accuse me of being too emotional or weak. How did she accept me after all I had done and said? It was something I didn’t know how to understand. Mama would have complained of my face wrinkling her sleeve. But Mrs. Abbot never did.
Winter was coming, and the temperature was dropping consistently. I had been home for several hours before Clara came through the door with a basket of groceries. Her dark hair was swept over her eyes from the wind and the door slammed loudly behind her.
She set the basket down near the door and smiled, her cheeks flushed from cold. “Charlotte! How are you feeling?” She hung her cloak up in the small entryway and joined me on the ragged sofa.
I had finally left Clearfield House the day before, and I already missed the bright windows, the furnishings, servants, and food.
Miss Bentford had been fretting over me, taking great care for my comfort—which was very kind, though I had begun to feel weary of her constant attention.
Thankfully she had ventured into town, leaving me a few hours of peace that evening.
I had been trying very hard not to complain, so I chose my words carefully.
“I feel better. I’m not so tired as before, but the pain is still intense.
” I noticed a spark of joy behind Clara’s gaze. “You look…happy.”
Her smile dropped in tiny increments. “I am sorry, I really shouldn’t be, what with your condition, but I just cannot help it.
Today was wonderful. Sophia has such a natural talent for reading!
We have only been helping her for three days and already she is much improved.
And Lord Trowbridge joined us for my lesson on a proper tea. ” Her grin returned to its full size.
“And that makes you smile?” I asked. “Did you not find him very…severe?”
She stopped. “You had nothing but good things to say of him before. I find him very agreeable. And I base none of my opinion on his wealth or title.” The words were hard, but she quickly put on an apologetic expression.
“I’m sorry, Charlotte. You may like to know that Sophia has asked to visit you.
I gave her a poem to memorize and told her once she could recite it, then she would be allowed to come see you.
It is serving as effective motivation.” She offered a small smile.
My lips turned up at the corners. At least now I had something to look forward to.
Clara grinned again. “Mr. Wortham was there today. He plans to stop by tonight to see how you are feeling. Very thoughtful of him, don’t you think?”
I jerked upright. “He cannot come here.”
She shrugged. “I have already invited him. And why not?”
“He is going to rummage through our things until he finds his love letter. He warned me of it before. He might have been teasing, but I find it hard to tell.” I frowned, worry pulsing within me.
“Based on all you have learned of his character, you still assume he would do such a thing?” Clara raised a speculative eyebrow.
I considered her words. It was true. He had proven himself worthy of trust. He was safe.
And why did I need the letter anyway? It was pointless to keep it now.
My conscience would not allow me to use it against him, not after all he had done for me.
But he didn’t know that. He could still view me as a threat, as a terrible, selfish person.
The thought made my stomach turn. I did not want him to think badly of me.
I halted my thoughts as quickly as they came. Why on earth did I care so much?
“No. I suppose you’re right.” I sighed, straightening my skirts over my lap.
I thought of the note hiding in my room on the second floor.
I could easily return it to him tonight, but curiosity was climbing steadily over me.
What did the letter say? Who was the woman he had loved before?
He must have loved her very much—enough to have his heart broken when she chose a man of wealth rather than him.
But how could he blame her for making a decision like that? Any woman of sense would have chosen the same path.
I moved my gaze to the stairs, itching to climb them and read the words he wrote to her. But I couldn’t do it. Surely James wouldn’t want me trespassing on such a personal thing. I owed him that privacy at the very least.
Clara recalled my attention by moving toward the kitchen.
“You may expect Mr. Wortham’s visit after dinner.
I would have invited him to dine with us, but we are running out of food.
” She sighed. “Thankfully we’ll soon receive our wages from Lord Trowbridge.
” Her words faded as she walked out of the room.