Chapter Forty-Four
Although she was now eating a little and had conducted two brief conversations with Dorothea, Charlotte still remained above stairs and declined to leave her room.
On one of her visits, her sister had brought in Charlotte’s art kit, encouraging her to take her mind off things and lose herself in her sketching.
This Charlotte tried to do, but coming across the drawings she had made under Frederick’s guidance renewed her sorrow and caused her to weep for more than an hour.
For the most part, Charlotte sat by the window, watching the clouds skim by, the gardeners work, and the occasional caller arrive at Haverstone.
Twice, she had seen Mr. Cartwright call, only to watch him be sent away.
Charlotte could just imagine what excuse Dorothea was giving him, and she had to grudgingly admire the gentleman’s determination to see her.
But again—was it for her or for her dowry he continued to call?
She had no way of knowing and therefore was determined to stay upstairs and remain isolated from everyone until she figured out her next steps.
For someone used to taking long and frequent rambles, it was so very tedious staying indoors all the time, and Charlotte longed to take a brisk walk out of doors, rather than merely pace her room.
She examined herself in the looking glass.
She appeared wan and a bit gaunt. The usual roses in her cheeks were gone, and she realized anyone who had seen her a few weeks ago would be shocked at how she had lost her bloom.
What does it matter? I shall never marry. My beauty, minor though it was, is of little consequence now. If only the aching in my heart would cease and I could decide on a path forward.
With a sigh she turned away from the mirror and went to sit in her favorite chair by the window. A carriage turned into the sweep, and she craned her neck to see who exited. Recognizing him, Charlotte could not restrain a gasp. Frederick!
She brought her hand to her mouth and bit down on a knuckle.
She watched as he rang the bell and was admitted.
Her heart pounded in her chest—would Dorothea insist upon her coming down to speak with him?
What could she say? But no, her sister had made her feelings on Frederick as a potential suitor quite well known.
Frederick would be sent away as Mr. Cartwright had been, she was certain.
A few minutes later, she witnessed her one-time fiancé exit Haverstone.
As he reached his carriage, he looked up at the manor, and she quickly pulled back from the window.
Hiding partly behind the curtain, Charlotte watched him turn away, enter the carriage, and depart.
She exhaled and fought back tears that were forming.
A storm of emotions coursed through her—longing, anger, sorrow.
Abruptly, she rose and retrieved her art kit.
Pulling out paper and charcoal, she started her sketch.
*
Later that afternoon, there was a soft knock at the door.
“Dearest,” Dorothea called, “may I come in?”
Charlotte reluctantly unlocked the door to admit her.
As Dorothea entered, Charlotte could perceive a marked alteration in her sister’s air.
She seemed ill at ease or cautious and was gripping her hands together tightly.
Studying Charlotte, she asked, “Will you please come downstairs for dinner tonight?”
“I am not yet—that is, no, thank you. Perhaps soon, but not tonight.”
“Are you in need of anything? My dear little sister, you must tell me whether there is aught I can do to help you. I hate to see you so unhappy. And knowing I am the cause of it adds greatly to my dismay.”
“I just need time, Dorothea. I have much to ponder just now.”
Dorothea sighed, nodded, and moved to the door. She paused a moment and then said softly, “He came here today. He wishes to see you.”
Charlotte found she had to swallow hard before she could venture a reply. “I know. I observed him from the window.”
“You are resolved to refuse to see him?”
“I am.”
Charlotte saw Dorothea press her lips together and nod with satisfaction.
“Very well. I shall leave you to your thoughts,” Dorothea said. “But, please know how much you are missed downstairs.” Without waiting for a reply, she slipped out the door and closed it softly behind her.
*
Two days later, Charlotte could endure remaining indoors no longer. Still wishing to avoid any of her family, she waited until she saw Reginald ride out on estate affairs and later, her sister and niece depart in the carriage for some purpose—errands or visiting, perhaps.
Knowing she would have a couple of hours at least, Charlotte grabbed a shawl, hurried downstairs, and exited out the back of Haverstone to take a walk in the rose garden.
Strolling around the vibrant rose bushes, she luxuriated in the late summer sun on her face.
Freckles be damned, she thought. After walking around the entire garden three times, she sat on a bench—the very bench where not long ago Mr. Robert Morton had kissed her and pressed her to elope with him.
It now seemed a lifetime ago. What would her life be like had she accepted his offer and gone to Gretna Green that day with him?
Would she be happy? He had always at least treated her with kindness and courtesy, even if it was her money he wanted more than her love.
Would it have continued so? Perhaps. After all, her enlarged dowry would have been the saving grace of Brentwood estate and surely he would have always felt an obligation to her for that.
They might have been happy, and she might have never been the wiser about her deceitful dowry.
No. She knew no marriage built on lies could possibly be one of contentment.
Robert was now married to the beautiful Miss Phoebe and would likely never think on her again.
“Miss Kendall.”
Charlotte’s eyes flew open at the familiar voice. Before her stood the last person she wished to ever set eyes on again—Mr. Morton.