Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
“A heart to love, and in that heart,
courage to make love known.”
Lucy Abbot had a deep and abiding love for hats.
She did not wear them often, but kept an extensive collection in her room, planning to wear them to the first fancy garden party she was invited to.
Of course, such parties were rare in Craster, but that didn’t stop Lucy from visiting the milliner’s shop twice weekly.
“Would you like to accompany me today, Charlotte? I would so enjoy your company.”
I looked at her over my sketchbook. I had not been drawing, but practicing each letter of the alphabet with my left hand. I had written my name several dozen times over the page, and each seemed to become uglier than the last.
Clearfield House had become a sanctuary. It had been five days since I had been out of doors, besides the walk between our cottage and the Abbots’ home. I had been successfully avoiding James and couldn’t risk meeting him on the path toward the village.
“To the milliner’s?”
Lucy nodded, curls bouncing on her shoulders. “I have scheduled another fitting for my peacock feather hat.”
I glanced out the window at the icy weather and dull skies.
Despite it all, I did long for a break from the monotony I had adopted these last several days.
In the mornings I had been baking breads and sweets for Clara and Miss Bentford, scrubbing the cottage until it was pristine, and then walking to Clearfield House.
Mr. Watkins had told me it was acceptable for me to use my hand more freely, and although it hurt, it was slowly becoming stronger.
It was strange, feeling the round lumps where my fingers had been severed and knowing they would never return.
I still wore the glove when I was in the company of others, but at night when I was alone in my room, I studied the lines and puckers and dark scars.
The memory of James playing with me on the pianoforte haunted the drawing room of Clearfield House, but gave it life and joy that I couldn’t part from.
I was troubled day and night, feeling the keen loss of a dear friend.
But I could not let James Wortham scare me away from ever visiting the village again.
“Of course,” I said to Lucy before I could lose my resolve. “I’ll go with you.”
After gathering my bonnet, gloves, and cloak, I met her at the door and we walked into the cold.
I tugged my cloak around my narrowing shoulders.
Since we had moved here, I had become thinner from the lack of grand meals and from the increased exercise.
At home, I took a daily walk, but never so far.
And I never cooked and cleaned. The curves of my figure had lessened significantly, and all my dresses fit looser than before.
I wondered what else my time here would rob me of.
“I can see my breath in front of my face.” Lucy’s voice broke into my thoughts. “When I was little, my father told me it was because I spent far too much time with him, breathing in the smoke from his pipe.” She giggled. “I believed it.”
“When will your father be home?” I asked.
“Just in time for the Christmastide. Can you believe it’s only a fortnight away?” She squealed with excitement.
I scowled. My family had never given Christmas much observance. We were often invited to dinners and balls but that was the extent of it. Lucy seemed to notice my confusion, because she looked at me with wide eyes.
“Did my mother not tell you of the festivities? Each year we hold a dinner on Christmas Eve and decorate with all my favorite greenery. Everyone in town is invited, and we give warm food and clothing to all the beggars. We have wassail and puddings, music and games, and the even bigger celebration comes on Twelfth Night.” She gasped dramatically and squeezed my arm. “Is that all so unfamiliar?”
I smiled weakly and nodded.
“You will enjoy every moment, I assure you. It is without question the most pleasant time of the year. There is little else in this town to ever look forward to.” She sighed, rolling her eyes subtly.
I threw her a puzzled look.
“I am not as enamored by Craster as the others in my family. I hope someday to leave.” She shrugged, then lifted her gaze to the dark sky, squinting against the dull glow of the sun. “But I do enjoy the holiday parties.”
A flood of excitement filled my chest. I had always loved parties.
It would give me an occasion to dress nicely and feel pretty, which I had not had in a long time.
I could keep my hand concealed in my stuffed glove and have a delightful time.
“Must I wait an entire fortnight?” I asked with a smile.
Lucy laughed just as we reached the milliner’s shop.
She pulled the door open and a bell rang above us.
While Lucy spoke with the milliner, my mind wandered back to the Christmastide.
I hardly noticed when Lucy showed me the outrageous hat with the bright feathers.
I didn’t remember the opinion I gave, but she seemed satisfied by it.
When we returned to the cold and softly falling snow, I tried to conjure up an image of the small selection of dresses in my bedchamber and which one I would wear to the party. I decided upon my berry red gown with silver trim before I even arrived home.
Lucy was speaking, I realized too late.
“Pardon me?”
“Mr. Wortham is quite taken with you, I believe,” she said.
I choked on a breath. Where on earth had that come from? “That is absurd.” I barely managed to laugh. “He is much too handsome for my liking. But you don’t seem to mind at all, do you?”
She stopped a giggle. “Of course not! But I could never have him, not when his heart is so obviously elsewhere.” She threw me a devious look.
I shook my head. “He hates me.”
“Do men gaze adoringly at women they hate? I will admit, I used to like Mr. Wortham, but the sight of you two is so positively perfect, I fully surrender.”
“It is not possible, Lucy. You must have imagined it.”
She shook her head. “I did not.”
“Well, even if he didn’t hate me before, he certainly does now. There is no question. And I don’t find him particularly agreeable either,” I lied. “He did save me, and for that I am grateful, but there is nothing between us besides an agreement to…tolerate one another.”
She smirked and flipped one of her dark curls over her shoulder. “Very well. But we shall see if he does not sweep you off your feet at the Christmastide. Many women have fallen ill for his charms during the romance of the holiday.”
I was sure I was already ill. It would not be difficult to fall fully in love with him, and if Lucy was right, then I needed to stay far away from the party. The excitement I had felt before faded away.
Perhaps I wouldn’t attend after all.
I would stay home and clean and cook. My berry red dress would stay in my closet, and I would keep my heart as a result. I shut out my emotions and made my decision.
“I will not be like those other women,” I said with a determined look. “I will not fall in love with Mr. Wortham.”
She tipped her head close to mine, smiling deviously. “Rachel and I have wagered on it.”
I gasped. “What? You think I will, and she thinks I won’t?”
She shrugged. “We both claim that you have already fallen for him.”
I scoffed, turning my gaze to the snowflakes on my boots. “That is not a wager. You have no one to oppose your claim.”
“You provide enough opposition in the matter for both of us.”
My eyes flashed to her face. She grinned, the tip of her nose pink from the cold.
After a few minutes, I parted ways with Lucy, eager to escape her accusations. When I walked into our cottage, a letter from Mama rested unopened on the kitchen table. My heart thudded. I had been eagerly awaiting her reply.
I tore it open, scanning the words carefully.
My dear Charlotte,
I am pleased to hear you are indeed progressing toward a match with Lord Trowbridge.
I always knew my investments in you would bring reward to our family.
Please work to improve your penmanship, as your last letter looked very much like the writing of a maid or of Clara.
I expect an improvement by the time you write to me again.
I wish very much to see your pretty face and what the lack of sunlight has done for your complexion.
With the recent loss of Mr. Bentford’s wife, he and his children have been recovering from their grief.
The home has finally begun to rise from its state of dull, dreary sadness.
We still wear black, but I find the color quite becomes me.
In much happier news, my cousin has made a business investment with an industrialist and is set to make thousands. Is that not delightful news? Please take comfort in knowing that your mother is happy. I look forward to your next correspondence and your improved penmanship.
Sincerely yours,
Mama
I set the letter down and put my forehead in my bent arm. Why had I lied to her in my last letter? I should have just told her that Lord Trowbridge was not interested in courting me.
Feeling far too weak and unmotivated to attempt a reply, I set her letter aside, making a note in my mind to answer later—even if my penmanship was horrendous.
Once things were settled between Clara and Lord Trowbridge, we could write to Mama with the good news.
I imagined she would be surprised but satisfied with the engagement and come here for the wedding.
Then she would see how terrible the North truly was, and take me home with her to Hampshire.
I could then forget this town and everyone in it.
I could reclaim my old life, hiding my deformity and finding a husband with even more to offer than Lord Trowbridge. Mama would approve of me again.
I would be much happier.
With determination in my movements, I picked up her letter and walked upstairs to my room, tucking it inside the small drawer in my writing desk. I paused, seeing James’s love letter lying flat inside. My fingers hovered above it, but I slammed the drawer shut before I could touch it.
The rest of the day I deviated from my normal schedule, tidying the house for one short hour before settling on the sofa with a book I had found in Clara’s room.
It was a romantic, adventurous tale, and I believed none of it.
But even so, I ended up grinning as I closed the final page.
How many hours had passed? I could hardly believe it had been all day.
I heard the front door open suddenly, and Clara’s head of dark hair came into view. With a jolt of panic, I tossed the book aside more forcefully than I intended. It crashed against the far wall. I jerked my gaze to Clara, hoping she hadn’t noticed.
She gasped, eyes wide. “You were reading a novel?”
“I—” my gaze flickered to the glass of water I had placed on the small tea table. “I was using it as a coaster.” I bit my lip, remembering the time James had teased me about using a book as a coaster when I had accused him of being illiterate.
“Oh, I see.” She cast me a knowing smile. “But was the coaster full of romantic gentlemen and happy endings?”
I felt close to bursting and suddenly couldn’t contain it. I had thoroughly enjoyed the book. I sighed. “Yes.”
She sat down beside me and squealed. “You understand now why I love to read these stories.”
I hated to admit it, but I did. “Don’t be mistaken, Clara. I will not become a silly romantic because of it.”
“Of course not. I would never expect such a thing from you.” She smiled again.
A subject change was in order. “You had a good day, I trust?”
Her smile faded slightly and her shoulders slumped. She hesitated.
I reached forward and put my hand on her arm. “What’s the matter?”
“Thomas has been very distant these last several days. I—I don’t know what I have done.” Her voice was soft and full of hurt.
My heart dropped as I remembered my last conversation with James. I gasped. Had James turned Lord Trowbridge against Clara? It was the only plausible reason he would be avoiding her.
“What is it?” Clara’s eyes rounded.
“You have done nothing,” I assured her with a scowl.
“It was James. I told him the truth about why we came here. I tried to assure him that you had true feelings for his brother but…” My mind spun.
I refused to allow Clara to be hurt again because of me.
She deserved every happiness. “It is my fault. I should not have told him. What reason have I given him to believe my explanation? Of course he took his concerns about fortune hunting to Lord Trowbridge.”
Clara sniffled a little. “I cannot lose him, Charlotte. I—I think I love him.”
“I know. I will speak to James about it as soon as I can. Not to worry. We will see this straightened out.” Anger bubbled close to the surface of my skin.
Was James willing to destroy the happiness of his own brother?
Didn’t he know that what was between them was real?
How could he doubt it? Even as the ultimate doubter of love, I believed it.
Nervousness fluttered in my stomach at the thought of approaching James with the very topic we had argued over the last time we had met. But this was not about me. This was about the happiness of my sister.
First thing tomorrow I would find him and do something entirely out of character: I was going to defend love.