Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“One may smile, and smile,
and be a villain.”
Mr. Bentford was a quiet sort of man, prim and meek in Mama’s presence. He was like a strand of ribbon in her hands, effortlessly bent and twisted however she liked.
“Mr. Bentford, Charlotte and I have had three new gowns made. I do hope the bills will not be too much for you.” She fluttered her lashes from across the dining table.
He gave a gracious smile. “Nothing is too much if it shall please you.”
Mama sat back and sipped from her goblet.
Only I could recognize the sheen of victory in her eyes.
My gaze traveled around the table to where his two daughters sat.
They were younger than me by several years.
Louisa was twelve and Eleanor was fourteen.
Both girls had blonde hair and brown eyes, much like their father.
They didn’t seem to notice the manipulation my mother was practicing, nor did they care.
In the six days I had been in the house, I had only spoken to them once or twice, and they had acted as if it were the last thing in the world they wished to be doing.
They were rather oblivious to their surroundings, but I had learned better.
My eyes traveled between Mama and Mr. Bentford. He was a puppet pulled by invisible strings, entwined in her hands and her coy smile. While I had once aspired to such behavior, watching it now made me sick deep within my stomach.
I pushed away from the table, making my fork clatter against my plate. “Please excuse me. I wish to retire early.”
The surprise in Mama’s eyes faded, and she gave me a knowing glance. “You must rest well this evening, for tomorrow you will meet Mr. Webb.”
I smiled, but when I turned away my face fell.
Why was I not eager to meet him? In the past I would have been filled with excitement and anticipation over the prospect of meeting any wealthy gentlemen and flirting to my heart’s content.
But now, all I felt was a glaring emptiness.
I walked like a ghost to my room. Anna was there to help me prepare for bed.
It was strange that the most comfort I found here was in her friendship and company.
We each spoke about the events of our day as Anna brushed my hair, and I was suddenly overcome with longing for Clara. Oh, how I missed her. I even missed Miss Bentford’s company.
“Sleep well, miss,” Anna said. “Tomorrow will be an eventful day, I trust.”
I took a deep breath. “Indeed. Thank you.”
Anna watched me, an inquisitive look on her face, but left without another word.
I blew out the candles and climbed into bed, trying to calm my troubled mind.
I had never imagined I would feel like such a stranger here at Bentford Manor.
But Mama looked at me differently now. She was more critical and disdainful—the treatment she had always saved for Clara.
I thought of the way she had looked at my hand that first day… how disgusted she had been.
My chin quivered and I bit my lip to keep from crying. I had longed to return here for so long, but now that I was back, I was vastly disappointed. I hadn’t known that my freedom would come at such a cost. I hadn’t expected to miss anything about Craster.
My thoughts wandered to James. His kindness. Our kiss. Thinking of him was a practice I had shunned since that first mile on the road home, but I allowed myself to think of him at times like this when I was the most weak.
I wondered how he had spent the past fifteen days we had been apart.
I wondered how long it had taken him to forget me.
I wondered if he had really ever loved me, and if he had, how long it had taken him to hate me instead.
Because I knew, without a doubt, that he hated me now.
How could he not hate me after all I had done to his heart?
I shivered and tightened my blankets around me.
I scolded myself for even thinking of him and closed my eyes.
This was my home now. I wrapped up my emotions and put them where they couldn’t be found.
Tears pooled beneath my eyelids but I didn’t let them fall.
This was what I wanted. I would court Mr. Webb and perhaps my luck would turn.
A voice inside me whispered that I had made a mistake, that I was a fool, but I shushed it.
Mr. Webb could offer me a beautiful home, dozens of dresses, and months every year in London. What more could I ever need?
Eventually my breathing relaxed and my eyes dried. Yes. When I met Mr. Webb, I would do all I could to secure a match with him. It was just within my reach now. My heart would have nothing to do with it.
It would be easy, I told myself, because my heart was in a place very, very far away from here.
The following day was eventful indeed. I spent the morning hours trying on my new gowns while Mama circled me.
Anna made several attempts at my hair, and Mama swiftly made vocal her disapproval of all of them.
By the fifth attempt, Anna’s hands shook, but she managed to create a style Mama found acceptable.
I watched Anna’s eyes in the mirror. She was terrified.
I made a note in my mind to apologize for Mama later.
“Wear the blue gown,” Mama said. “It matches your eyes.” She turned and walked toward the door. “And it looks the least absurd with the gloves.” The door slammed shut behind her. I flinched.
When I finally came down the stairs that afternoon, Mama, Louisa, and Eleanor waited at the bottom. I was nervous for Mama’s reaction, but was relieved to see her smile.
“I daresay Mr. Webb will be smitten out of his wits tonight.” Her voice was full of mischief. “You look absolutely beautiful.”
I tried to believe her, but I didn’t feel beautiful. Not at all.
Mama threaded her arm around my elbow and guided me to the drawing room. She closed the door. “Do you remember what you must do?”
“Lean in close. Listen closely while he speaks about himself. Laugh at every witty comment he makes. Touch his arm.” My voice was stiff.
“And the smile…?”
I demonstrated my best flirtatious smile.
“I suppose it will have to suffice.”
My smile fell.
“Now. You will avoid sitting on his left side. Keep your right hand far away from him. He must not suspect anything.”
“I will try my best, Mama.”
She watched me from the corner of her eye as she walked toward the pianoforte. She ran her fingers over the keys, shaking her head. “What a shame that you will never play again.” Her voice was cold.
My words came without permission. “No, I am still quite capable of playing.”
Her head snapped in my direction. “How?”
“In Craster…there was a man who taught me. Well, we played music together, really. He played the right hand and I played the left—”
“Who was this man?” Mama demanded.
“His name was James.” I realized my mistake as Mama’s eyes widened in shock. “I mean—Mr. Wortham.”
“James?” Mama’s face pulled tight with indignation. “How improper, Charlotte. How well did you know this man?”
My heart pounded. “Too well. But he was very kind to me. A friend.”
“And his station?”
I paused. “Below mine. But he is very agreeable, and—”
“That will be quite enough!” Mama rushed forward and clutched my arm, her face firm and unyielding. “Thank the heavens I was wise enough to call you home from that wretched place. I was right. You will not play the pianoforte again, because you will never see this ‘James’ again.”
My voice was a mutter. “I do not plan to.”
She smoothed her hair. “Good. Very good.”
I gave a quick nod. Awkwardness hung in the air, and I knew that I couldn’t stay in this room a moment longer. Too many things were racing through my mind and heart, and I needed to be alone to sort through them.
“I am going to my room to rest before Mr. Webb arrives.”
Mama glanced her approval at me as I hurried to the door. When I was out of the drawing room, I paused in the corridor. Our family portraits hung just ahead of me, joined now with the Bentfords.’ Mine had been painted just two years before.
I stepped closer, examining Mama’s portrait.
Her eyes were sharp as always, and there was an overall air of disdain in her countenance.
Her head was upturned slightly, and her face seeped confidence and condescension.
Her lips were pressed tight, implying that the only thing that could make her smile would be money and power and entitlement.
My gaze slid carefully to my own portrait, and my stomach sank far to the ground. There, on my face, was the same look as Mama’s. The same selfish, cruel, unrelenting face. Beautiful to the outside eye, but I knew better.
I thought of the miniature portrait Mama wore in the pendant at her neck.
Never had I considered Mama’s depth of devotion to her own mother.
Picturing the straight spine, the heavy eyes, the calculated smile of her own mother, the resemblance was more striking than ever before.
I had never known my grandmother. But it seemed she had taught Mama the same things I had been taught; she had schooled a heart into rigid discipline.
And Mama thrived off of it. Would I be the same one day?
My heart pounded with dread as I thought of tonight, how I would meet Mr. Webb, and how I was expected to be that girl in the portrait. I feared I couldn’t do it.
I stepped back against the wall to steady myself and wondered for the first time if I really wanted this—if I really wanted to be like Mama.
Because to be like her was the only way to please her.
And I knew deep within my soul, that if Mama was still the same woman in that portrait, then she wasn’t capable of love.
Not now, not like this. So what was I trying to do?
Mama could accept me, and she could approve of me, but I would always fall short.
Was that enough to make me happy? Did I even deserve to be happy?
I turned away from the portraits in disgust and ran.
My feet slapped against the marble floors in loud echoes as I made my way to the staircase and up to my room.
I couldn’t afford to think this way. I had made my choice.
There was nothing left for me anywhere else.
Everyone I had dared to love now hated me, and surely they would not allow me to return to them.
I simply needed to be strong and move forward.
So two hours later, I walked down the stairs again, and Mr. Webb and Mama awaited me with uninviting smiles at the bottom.