Chapter Forty-Two
All was quiet at Haverstone. It was late and everyone had long since gone to bed.
In her room, however, Charlotte was unable to sleep.
After fleeing from her sister, she had spent the rest of the day locked in her room, weeping over the betrayal of her dowry, and she had refused to allow anyone admittance.
A supper tray left outside her door had gone untouched.
Again and again, she tried to make sense of it all but found herself unable to bring her heart and her mind into any accord.
Sorrow and anger were competing in a sort of sad warfare for her attention, and Charlotte felt herself in a state of anguish she had never before experienced.
It was even worse than when Robert jilted her.
She was furious with her sister for deceiving her and increasing her dowry without informing her beforehand.
Had she but known, she could have been far more discerning in her discourse with any potential suitors.
She would have found a way to let them know that—because of her wealth—they would have to do much more than drop a few compliments to win her heart.
As it was, Dorothea sent her into the marriage game utterly unarmed.
Thinking her dowry was a mere thousand pounds, Charlotte had been guileless and therefore too easily duped into thinking it was her charm and personality that had won her suitors over.
It was a cruel act to make her so easy a target for romance.
She also felt shame for realizing how little it took for her to think herself desirable.
She now thought herself a complete fool for believing any of the gentlemen who had so eagerly sought her out did so because of her witty banter, talent on the pianoforte, grace on the dance floor, or her handsome looks.
She realized now that they all knew she was worth six thousand pounds and that it was the money, not her, that was the true attraction.
Pacing the floor, Charlotte fought back tears again as Frederick’s face swam into her mind.
Just a few short hours ago she had been so blissfully happy—she would soon marry a man who loved her and whom she loved as well.
It had all seemed so perfect. Instead, she now saw him for what he was: another man determined to raise his fortunes with her dowry.
She recalled his anger when she had brought up the common practice of the clergy teaching in order to bring in more income.
She thought at the time she had wounded his pride, but now she saw that he was disgusted at the very prospect of teaching.
He clearly felt it beneath him after his upbringing at a fine estate.
No wonder he wished for her dowry. It would bring his standard of living closer to what he felt he deserved, and if marrying her was part of the deal, well, so be it.
And him a man of the cloth as well. Such betrayal, she felt, could never be overcome.
Worst yet was the realization that she had to make a decision about her future, and no option seemed palatable.
Frederick Morton now had the living at Clayton Parish. Should she return home, she would have to see him every week. How could she bear it? There was no hope of happiness there.
But, to stay here seemed equally as dreadful.
Would her anger toward Dorothea abate? Could they ever be as close as they once were?
It seemed unlikely. Not to mention the possibility of running into Mr. Robert Morton and his elegant new wife.
Another hateful man who had wanted her just for her money.
As for the two suitors so eager to renew their addresses to her…
well, if she accepted either of them, they would take her away to a whole new life, away from Haverstone and Clayton House.
But, Charlotte now knew that her large dowry was common knowledge, so how could she hope to believe they truly cared for her, despite Dorothea’s confidence?
She might end up tying herself to a man wholly unsuitable—and for the rest of her life.
Could she find happiness in a shallow marriage and make do with good works and motherhood? Possibly.
She clenched her fists and pounded them in her lap.
She had no idea what course of action to take.
If only she could run off and become a pirate as she had joked the other day.
After considering matters for a while, she concluded that she must stay at Haverstone, but refuse to see any gentlemen callers.
Perhaps she could spend most of her time with her niece.
At least then she would feel she was of some use.
After another hour of pacing, she determined there was one thing she must do, and at once. She went to her desk, pulled out a sheet of paper, found a sharp pen, and began.
Dear Mr. Morton,
When I agreed to your kind proposal of marriage, I thought myself in a rational state of mind.
However, I must inform you that this brief time away from you has cleared my thoughts, and I am now of the opinion that I erred greatly in my acceptance of your offer.
Forgive my bluntness, but I shall not disguise my sentiments: I do not find myself in love with you and therefore must retract my earlier words of acceptance and decline to become your wife.
My experiences with both you and your brother have fully convinced me that I am not of a mind to ever marry and now vow to remain single the entirety of my life.
Pray, do not seek me out or importune me further.
On this subject I shall be implacable in my resolve.
I shall remain at Haverstone for the foreseeable future and be of what use I may to my sister’s family.
In time, I may return to Clayton House, where, I hope we shall meet solely as friendly acquaintances.
I thank you for the honor of your offer, but I am unable to accept.
Yours sincerely,
Charlotte Kendall
She sealed the letter, wrote the direction on the front, and crept downstairs to leave it in the basket in the front hall. Then, she returned to her room where at long last she fell into a fitful sleep.