Chapter 12
Charlotte
The staff line up in the dining room when Arthur and I turn in for our midday lunch. I do my best to hold a smile on my face, hoping they do not secretly mind me joining Arthur in his home.
Our home.
I take a breath and stand taller.
Arthur leads the introductions. “Charlotte, my dear, this is Ella, Ruby, Willard, and Bess. I also employ a coachman for my travels. You’ll meet him when he returns in a couple weeks’ time.”
“Pleasure,” I say, inclining my head.
The women each curtsey, and Arthur’s butler Willard bows low, answering for all of them. “The pleasure is entirely ours.”
Willard and Ella are older, near my parents’ age if not more. Whereas Ruby and Bess must be close to my twenty-four years .
Arthur lets out a soft hum. “Before I forget, we’ll be cancelling the call for a lady’s maid. Charlotte doesn’t wish to employ one.”
Ruby looks visibly surprised by this, but Ella appraises me anew. I remain standing tall in her gaze, wondering what judgements she’s formed of my character. If she finds me lacking as a lady, well, she wouldn’t be the first.
Bess bows her head my way. “If there is anything I can assist you with, please do not hesitate to ask.”
I glance at Arthur, who doesn’t seem the least bit perturbed by this offer, and my admiration for my husband grows.
It’s certainly above a housemaid’s station to tend to the lady of the house.
For Bess to offer so openly speaks volumes about how Arthur treats his staff. She had no worry of reprimand.
“Thank you, Bess,” I say sincerely. “If you wouldn’t mind showing me later where the pot is to warm the bath, I would be grateful.”
She bows her head again, and Arthur graces me with a smile.
As the staff disperses, Arthur pulls a chair out from the table.
Instead of sitting opposite me, he chooses a seat beside my own, his expression warm in a way that causes my stomach to flutter.
Ruby returns to set small bowls down in front of us before quickly taking her leave. A soup to start our meal.
Arthur holds up his drink. “To the next many years by your side.”
As far as toasts go, it’s perfection.
When our lunch is finished, Bess materializes to take me into the kitchen. Arthur watches me go with fondness in his gaze, never once trying to intervene. I appreciate the freedom more than I could possibly say.
Ella and Ruby are inside the kitchen, cleaning up after our meal.
There’s a large table used for preparing food as well as for the meals the staff shares here, and along one wall is the stove.
Ella comes over, explaining which side of the flat surface is kept hottest, while Bess fills a pot with water.
I watch both, so that I may replicate the process myself without assistance.
As the water heats, I head upstairs to fill the tub.
It’s beautiful, plenty big enough to fit me fully inside.
There’s a sink and toilet, as well, and a freestanding mirror framed by more mahogany wood.
I run my finger along the edge of it, avoiding my reflection as much as I can.
There’s a pinch in my gut I do my level best to ignore, used to such discomfort.
Back downstairs in the kitchen, I find the pot of water ready to boil. Bess grabs a large towel with which to hold it.
“Please,” I say, realizing she’s about to do it herself. “May I?”
Bess and Ella exchange a quick look.
“Please,” I repeat, gentler, as I meet each of their eyes in turn.
“There is very little in life I’ve been allowed to do.
And there are surely ways in which I’ll need your help.
I cannot cook. I’ll likely get lost a time or two inside these walls before I learn the manor.
I may have questions. About Arthur and how I may make him happier as his wife.
But it’s obvious to me this is no ordinary home. ”
I pause, allowing the truth of that to sit in the air. Neither woman offers argument.
“And I do not wish it to be,” I say honestly. “I’m capable of carrying a pot. Please allow me.”
Without a word, Bess hands over the towel.
I give her a grateful smile before wrapping the fabric around the handles.
Filled with water, the pot isn’t light. But I heft it easily enough, the linen providing protection, and go to exit the room.
Bess and Ella watch me, and it isn’t until I’m to the pantry door that I realize Arthur is there, watching me, too .
I pass through the small pantry and walk slowly up the stairs, careful with the scalding water. By the time I reach the bath, my arms are shaking slightly. I rest the pot on the lip of the tub before dumping the contents inside. With the water warmed, I set the pot aside and remove my clothes.
There are items set along a tray beside the tub, soaps and perfumes likely picked out by Arthur. It brings a smile to my face. Towels are resting there, as well. Fluffy and pristine white. Such indulgence.
As I slip into the tub, I let out a sigh. I pull my hair down once I’m seated, setting the pins on the sill of the window. The afternoon sun shines inside, lighting the space I realize is now my own. All of this is mine. For the rest of my life.
It’s a thought that has butterflies taking flight inside my chest, even as I begin the unwelcome task of running my hands over my body to wash. I’ve just submerged my hair when I hear a soft knock.
“Arthur?” I call, sure it must be him.
“Yes. May I come in?”
Unease swells, but I push it quickly aside. This is Arthur. Baring myself to him is nothing new.
“You may,” I answer, sitting upright, my hair wet down my back.
The door opens only enough for Arthur to slip inside, and then he shuts it again. His eyes stay on my face as he approaches. “Is it warm enough?”
“Yes,” I assure him, even as he kneels beside the tub, dipping his fingers into the water to check. “Quite pleasant.”
He hums, looking me over at last. My breath stutters when his gaze reaches my breasts. I glance away on instinct, not realizing he’s noticed until his voice beckons me.
“Charlotte. You do not like when I look at your breasts. ”
I inhale as shallowly as I can, trying frantically to think up a lie, but Arthur catches my gaze, his gentle eyes imploring me.
“You don’t like when I touch them, either.” It’s a simple observation devoid of judgement. “Nor do you like my cock inside your body.”
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, my eyes burning.
“No.” The word is whisper-soft, Arthur’s hand finding mine beneath the water. “Don’t apologize. I only wish to understand. You are lovely, Charlotte. Every inch of you, inside and out. It pains me to know I may make you feel otherwise.”
“You don’t, Arthur,” I tell him, not knowing how to make him understand. “It’s what I feel inside, not how you’ve made me to feel.”
“Oh, love.” He brings my hand out of the water to kiss my knuckles. “Have I not told you enough how beautiful you are? I would erase every doubt if I could.”
I press my lips tightly together, the words I’ve been told my whole life doing nothing to change what I know to be true.
Arthur notices my silence, perceptive as ever. “What is it? Please tell me, Charlotte. Please don’t keep yourself from me.”
“I do not want to be beautiful,” I say at last, the truth escaping before I can pull it back again. I gasp at it, the inhale shuddering in my chest.
Arthur’s voice is quiet, barely there. “What?”
“This body is not mine, Arthur. It feels wrong on every level. I look at myself in the mirror, and I see a person I’m not meant to be. I don’t know how to explain it rationally, for it makes no sense. But I’m stuck. I’m stuck, and I cannot get out.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, and I don’t dare meet his eye.
I stare at where the water is pooling around my knees, sure these are my final moments with my husband.
Arthur will demand our marriage be dissolved so he can find a proper wife.
And it’s my own fault. It’s my own doing for not keeping my mouth closed as I should have.
I’ve tried so very hard to accept my lot in life.
And finding Arthur has been a bright point.
But I’m tired. I’m tired of fighting with myself every single day.
Tired of being alone while I do it. I’d hoped marrying this man would settle me at last, for I love him as I have no other.
The thought of losing him, of being apart, is a fierce ache in my chest I fear will never abate.
Yet my love doesn’t make me the woman Arthur deserves.
He said he does not fear my thorns. But surely, surely , this cut is a betrayal neither of us will come back from.
I hold myself still as Arthur reaches for me. His touch on my chin is gentle, his pull a request I cannot deny. I meet the amber-brown of his eyes, waiting for a blow that never comes.
“Who do you wish to be? If not beautiful, how is it you see yourself?”
My breath hitches. “Arthur…”
“Charlotte, I cannot judge you for what you’ve told me. I can’t tell you that you must be wrong. I do not know how you feel, but I want to understand it. I would give the world to see you happy. Truly happy. Will you let me try?”
His words are impossible, yet his eyes hold nothing but sincerity in their depths.
“Why?” I ask, my throat so tight it’s hard to speak.
“Because, Charlotte Valentine, you are my heart. If you are hurting, then so am I.”
“I thought…” My voice comes out so watery I have to try again. “I thought I’m a Kane now.”
Arthur’s lips tip into a gentle smile. “So you are. And I have vowed to love you through all of our trials and tribulations. I don’t plan on breaking that promise now.”
“Art… I don’t deserve you.”
“Oh, I think we are very much deserving of each other, my love. Now, the water is cooling. Are you finished?”
I shake my head, sinking down to submerge my hair once more.
Arthur watches me as I soap the strands, the scent of rosemary floating on the air.
Once I’m done, he stands and holds out his hand.
He helps me from the tub, wrapping a towel around me but affording me the courtesy of drying myself.
I re-dress once done, and with a small, almost sad smile, Arthur opens the door.
I follow my husband into our chamber and sit in front of the vanity, my thoughts swirling. Without a word, Arthur steps up behind me and picks up my comb.
“May I?”
I nod, and, with gentle hands, Arthur proceeds to brush my hair.
“When you say this body is not your own…” He pauses, meeting my gaze in the glass. “What would you change to make it fit?”
I let out a slow breath, having contemplated that very thing innumerable times over my life.
Putting it into words, however, acknowledging it when I never thought I’d be given that chance, is both frightening and exhilarating.
Perhaps Arthur can see it in my eyes because he offers his own observation.
“Your breasts?”
I give a small nod, and he continues brushing my hair.
“Would you be rid of them?”
“Yes,” I admit at a whisper.
He simply nods, and it feels as if I’ve cracked apart. As if something painful and tight is spilling from my chest, the release of it nearly bringing me to tears.
He goes on, voice soft. “Your genitalia. Do they suit you?”
I can’t form the word. I can only shake my head, my breath caught in my lungs as I hold Arthur’s gaze.
“Charlotte.” My name comes out pained, and Arthur steadies himself with an inhale. “Is it a man you wish to see in the mirror?”
I can’t bring myself to answer him. I can’t.
I’m afraid if I confirm it aloud, this moment will shatter, taking me with it.
Yet the way Arthur so effortlessly puzzled me out is proof he knows me like no other.
He’s watching me still, and he must see the answer in my eyes because, suddenly, he closes his own.
With the comb still in his hand, Arthur bends low, his arms wrapping around my stomach and his face sinking against my hair. The tear I see running down his cheek has me trembling in response.
“Do you find me loathsome?” I ask, my voice scarcely cooperating.
“No.” He says it immediately, and then again, louder. “No, Charlotte. I could never.”
“But it’s anathema.”
“Not to me.” Arthur’s eyes open to meet mine, his chin on my shoulder and his voice firm. “Not. To. Me. We’ll sort this out.”
“How?” I ask, not seeing a way.
“I don’t know.” The admission is quiet, Arthur turning his head to press a kiss to my hair. “But we will. I promise it.”
I want so desperately to believe him. But how can I possibly? This is the life I was born into. And though Arthur is a better husband than I ever hoped to find, I’ll always be his wife. His Charlotte.
No amount of wishing or hoping will change the person I see reflected back at me in the mirror .
Arthur presses another kiss to the side of my head before brushing the last of my hair. He takes his time, clearly lost in his own thoughts, and I don’t attempt to interrupt him. He has every right to think this through. To decide if this is what he wants after all.
If I’m what he wants.
I wouldn’t fault him for finding me lacking.
We eat our supper in our chamber, like we did our breakfast. And when the sky turns dark, Arthur lights the oil lamps. We lie across from one another on the bed, quiet, although neither of us sleeps. Arthur’s hand drifts through my hair, twisting and twining, twisting and twining.
My mouth opens of its own volition, the words no longer able to rest. “Do you think you could love me again after what you’ve learned?”
Arthur’s eyes snap to mine, clarity returning. His voice comes out on a breath. “My love. I’ve never stopped.”