Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
“The course of true love never did run smooth.”
Ilit the fire in our cottage and warmed myself, waiting for Clara to return home.
When she did, I met her at the door, eager to relay my exchange with James.
I had to be discreet, especially with Miss Bentford still cooking in the nearby kitchen.
She likely wouldn’t approve of what I was about to suggest.
“I spoke with Mr. Wortham today. He did tell Lord Trowbridge why we came here. But there is still hope.” I gripped Clara’s hand. “You must tell him how much you love him!”
Her eyes flew open wide. “No! A woman should never declare her feelings first.”
“But he doubts that your attachment is genuine. The only way to convince him now is to tell him. He has seen it, surely, but you must find the courage to say the words.”
She pulled her hand away and moved to the chair in the sitting room. She fiddled with a loose strand of hair, deep in thought. “I cannot.” She sat up straight. “No. I could never.”
“You must.” I handed her the cloak she had discarded at the door. “Go back this instant and tell him that you love him.”
She was clutching her face now, shaking her head. “I can’t.”
I walked over to her and put my hands on both sides of her head, stopping it from shaking. “You can.”
“If it is so very easy, then why don’t you do it?” She scowled in vexation. “Why do you not tell Mr. Wortham how you care for him?”
My cheeks tingled with heat. “Because I don’t.”
“I thought you had stopped with the lying. It is quite obvious.”
“You said that before,” I snapped.
“It has not changed.”
I pulled my hands away from her and crossed my arms. “We are not talking about me. We are talking about you.”
“You just want me to marry him to save us from ruin.”
“I want you to be happy.” I looked her straight in the eyes to make sure she understood. “If the words are too difficult to say, then write him a letter.”
She seemed to contemplate the idea. “It could cost me my position as Sophia’s governess. We need the money.”
“It won’t cost you anything. He adores you. I know he will respond exactly as we hope.”
She gave me a skeptical look. “You cannot possibly know that.”
“James will help him come to his senses.” As vexing and confusing as that man could be, I did trust him. Perhaps too much.
Fine.” Clara took a deep, unsteady breath. “But you must help me write the letter. You will know the best way to say it.”
I gave a hard laugh. “What? How would I know? I am not a romantic like you.”
She crossed the room to the writing desk, throwing a glance over her shoulder. “I’m beginning to doubt that.”
We waited until it was dark and Miss Bentford had retired for the evening to deliver the letter.
Clara and I had spent nearly an hour trying to decide what to write, discarding and rewriting and shrieking.
Clara displayed all her emotions loudly, even her nerves.
I laughed at her distraught state, even though I shouldn’t have.
But the situation was far more exciting than I could have anticipated.
After several attempts, Clara was satisfied with the words she had written, and we sealed the letter.
“We cannot turn back now.” I swiped the note from the table. “I will carry it, but you will slip it through the front door.”
“I will not!” Clara cringed at the high, nervous tone of her voice. “I cannot.”
I laughed, striding toward the door. “Very well, but you must accompany me at least. If I was ever caught then he might assume the letter was from me.”
She followed closely on my heels as we ventured out into the cold.
“What will I say when I arrive tomorrow for work? I will see him. There is no way to avoid it. How will I know if he read the letter? How will I know if his feelings are the same? How will I bear the awkwardness of the entire situation?” She was breathing fast.
“Calm yourself!” I said through a laugh. “He will be overjoyed.”
A dull breeze carried flecks of snow through the air, invisible in the darkness.
The moon offered just enough light, and we walked as quickly as we could.
When we reached Lord Trowbridge’s door, I handed Clara the note, and she took it, to my surprise.
Her hand shook and her throat bobbed with a labored swallow.
In one fast motion, she pushed the letter through the crack between the double doors, turned on her heels, and ran.
We took a sharp turn, ensuring we were out of sight as quickly as possible. “I cannot believe I just did that!” Clara made a sound, a mixture of a cry, a laugh, and a squeal.
“Nor can I,” I said, smiling. “He will love you forever, if only for your daring spirit.”
We slowed to a walk, catching our breath. Clara looped her arm through mine. “If this does not work as you planned, I will cut your hair in your sleep.”
I gasped, rocking against her so she stumbled. “If you do that, I will write another letter to Lord Trowbridge telling him how large his nose is and I will sign it with your name.”
“He does not have a large nose!”
It was my turn to laugh as we walked up the steps of our cottage and went inside. I hurried to light new candles in the dark and warmed my hands carefully above the flame. I turned to face Clara. “I suspect you will be quite incapable of sleep tonight.”
She put a hand against her stomach and bent over. “I fear I shall be sick.”
“Just don’t get sick all over Lord Trowbridge’s shoes, I beg you.”
She laughed, but it was stiff and abrupt. “How should I…behave around him tomorrow? Should I just enter and wait for him to speak?”
I smiled teasingly. “Oh, he will not say a single word. Surely he will just step forward and kiss you, right there.”
Her face turned scarlet and she sat down on the floor where she stood. I laughed and sat beside her. She pressed her hands against her face in absolute horror. “That cannot happen.”
“Why not?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea how to…kiss.” She spoke the word as if it were poison. “Oh, I sound so very scandalous, do I not?” She sighed. “You must know. Surely you have kissed dozens of men.”
“I haven’t.” My voice was quiet as if I were confessing something embarrassing.
“I have never kissed any man, in fact.” I had always flirted and coaxed but I had never kissed.
Mama had told me to keep from all physical attention until an official engagement was in place.
I had no complaints. I had hardly entertained a single thought of kissing before I had seen James’s teasing grin and firm jaw and dimpled cheeks.
“I’m afraid I am just as ignorant as you in the matter. ”
Clara looked acutely surprised. She examined my face.
“You are serious. I suppose you wouldn’t have told me the story of your first kiss before…
when we weren’t such dear friends as we are now.
” She smiled fondly and reached for my hand, the ugly one everyone here seemed to prefer.
“Thank you for all your help. Will you assist me with my hair in the morning?”
“Of course.” I stood, brushing off my skirts. “Try to sleep.”
She stretched her legs on the floor. “I don’t think it’s possible.”
I tipped my head down with a grin. “Just think—he is probably reading the letter as we speak, pacing the entryway in torment and running his fingers through his hair—”
“Oh, stop it!” She dove forward and swatted pathetically at my ankles.
I danced away, laughing until my stomach ached. I moved quickly up the stairs. “Goodnight!” I called only once I was out of sight.
“Goodnight,” she said in a voice close to a whimper.
We arranged her hair in a simple twist, adding a few shells Clara had collected our first week here. They were white and tan and small, wedged between thin twists of hair that led to the bulk of her hair in the back. Two long curls hung in the front, framing her face. She looked beautiful.
“Is it too much?” she asked, patting her hair tentatively before the mirror.
I stepped back, shaking my head with a smile. “Not at all. You look like a sea princess of some kind.”
“I do not,” she said, fighting a smile.
“Stop it. You do. Now, are you ready?”
She took a shaky breath, rubbing her palms over the skirts of her simple ivory gown. “No. But I mustn’t be late.” She moved toward the door and steadied herself on the frame.
“Go on,” I instructed, hiding my amusement.
She dropped her hand from the door and walked like a ghost down the stairway. I was afraid she would topple over before she reached the bottom. I could hardly wait until she returned home later that night. Time would crawl by like an ant crossing a ballroom.
Patience had never been a virtue of mine.
Clara had already helped me into my gown for the day, but my hair had not been touched.
So I hurried back to my bedchamber and stepped in front of the mirror.
I stared at my reflection, taking in every change in my appearance, every newfound flaw.
The hand, the diminished curves, the disheveled hair.
I expected it to bother me, but something in the sight gave me new confidence, a different kind that I hadn’t known before.
It wasn’t the confidence that I would catch the attention of every eligible gentleman, but the confidence that I was capable of anything I set my mind to.
I had undertaken much over the last months, and still I stood here.
Once I returned to Hampshire, I would find beauty again for just enough time to win my perfect match. But for now, I could find peace in the good things I had, just as little Sophia had taught me.
After making myself somewhat presentable, I decided to spend the day with the Abbots.
When I arrived at Clearfield House, Lucy and Rachel were working on embroidery.
I sat beside them and simply watched, knowing my left hand would be much slower at the task.
Mrs. Abbot ordered a tray of food and we all spent several hours visiting in the drawing room, listening to Rachel sing while Lucy played on the pianoforte, and reading our favorite passages from the books we had already spent time discussing.
Mrs. Abbot sat up straight, as if suddenly remembering something very important. “Charlotte, I don’t believe I have told you about our upcoming Christmastide parties.”
“Lucy told me briefly.”
“Oh, did she? We would love your assistance with the plans and decoration.”
I smiled. “I would love to be involved. I will help in any way I can.” I truly was excited, but still worried over James being in attendance. I quickly stopped my worries. I could easily avoid him.
Mrs. Abbot threaded one of her embroidery needles. “You will be delighted with the festivities, I assure you. The largest of the parties will be Christmas Eve and Twelfth Night.”
We went on to chat about the parties for another hour, with the three of them telling stories of parties past—mistletoe incidents in the servant’s wing, spilled bowls of punch, and the time a footman’s sleeve caught fire playing snapdragon.
I laughed, even more eager to attend than before.
How delightful it would be to spend night after night with friends and strangers coming together in celebration.
The people of this town greatly anticipated this time of year, especially the poor.
How often did they get to enjoy a feast and be given warm clothing?
I left the house late in the afternoon, hurrying home so I didn’t miss Clara’s return. I hardly had time to open the door before Clara met me there. Her cheeks were splotched in red, her eyes wet. My gaze froze on her face. Closing the door behind me, I guided her to the sofa.
“What happened?” My voice was hushed.
She put her face in her hands. “He acted as if he hadn’t received the letter at all. He went on aloof and distant.”
My heart sank. “How could that be?”
She clenched her teeth as she always did when holding back tears. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, Clara. Tears over a man are wasted. Don’t cry.”
Her lip quivered. She tried to speak but it came out muffled between sobs. “I’m not c-crying. I’m weeping. Th-there’s a d-difference.”
I brought her head to my shoulder and cradled it as she wept. “There must be an explanation for this. Perhaps he misunderstood the words? Perhaps he didn’t read it at all?”
“He must have read it. How could you not read a mysterious letter thrown through your door in the dark?” She swiped the tears from her cheeks and shook her head.
“I should have never believed myself capable of marrying a man like him, living in a home like his, being admired by society. I never wanted any of it before, but I let myself hope for all of those things only because they were attached to him—to Thomas. I loved him first.”
“Don’t give up,” I said firmly. “Soon enough he will come to his senses.”
She just shook her head, defeated. I couldn’t bear to see it.
“He will,” I said with more force.
I hoped I was right this time.