Chapter 1 #3
“Charity,” Temperance said quietly. Her eyes flicked toward the carriage rolling down the drive, then back to Charity’s face. “Are you all right? You looked furious from where I was standing.”
Charity tried to answer, but then stopped herself. There was too much to convey.
“We are not all right, and I don’t think we will be, if that man has his way,’ Augusta quipped instead. She was notorious for not keeping her thoughts to herself.
“What did he say?” Temperance questioned immediately. She had been a dear friend of hers at the nunnery, and they had maintained their friendship since getting out of it.
“He announced a match for Charity,” Augusta answered anyway.
“At the funeral?” Temperance wrinkled her nose in disgust. What her Uncle did could not be expected from a gentleman, and surely had their father been alive, he would have been livid at the prospect.
“Yes, because he has no decency,” Augusta rolled her eyes. “I have known him for years, and this behavior of his does not surprise in the least.”
“Is it true?” Temperance turned to Charity, waiting to confirm if it was true.
Charity held Temperance’s gaze for a moment, then nodded once. “He’s decided, or at the very least, he thinks he has made the decision on my behalf.”
“Who has he chosen?”
Charity didn’t have time to answer because Matilda tugged at Augusta’s sleeve with sudden impatience.
“I’m tired, and I want to go inside. I don’t like standing here.”
Augusta blinked, then looked down as if she’d forgotten Matilda was listening to all of this. “Yes, we’re going.”
She reached for Matilda’s other hand and glanced at Charity, her eyes strained. “I’m going to take her in. I can’t… I can’t do this right now.”
Charity nodded and watched as Augusta took Matilda and walked ahead, their black skirts moving together. She felt a strange, aching tightness in her chest. They were not close in the way sisters in happy families were close, but there was something between them now that hadn’t been there before.
Grief had brought them closer.
“Tell me what happened.” Temperance waited until they were out of earshot to speak again.
Charity’s fingers went to the rosary again, thumb pressing the cross. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted.
“What good will it bring you to give yourself a hard time?” Temperance replied. “You ought not to, but we must think of what the next steps are for you.”
In a time of great personal crisis, Charity was thankful to have a steady support by her side. She knew that when she was unable to think clearly for herself, Temperance would help make things easier.
“He spoke like it was already settled,” she said. “As though my life is something he can arrange on paper.”
As hard as she tried to stop it, some bitterness ended up seeping into Charity’s voice.
“From what I know, he sounds like the entitled sort. Those men are the most difficult to deal with,” Temperance frowned. “They only know how to take, and only think of their own interest. It is unfortunate that you have to deal with him.”
As if there were no other problems in life. Both of them must have thought the same thing, but no one said it out loud, so as not to sour the mood further.
“I can’t fight him in London,” she said. “We’re going north.”
“To your father’s estate?” Temperance’s eyes flicked up.
“Yes,” Charity said, nodding. “Near York. We’ll stay there through mourning. Away from society. Away from him, as much as I can manage it.”
“That’s far,” Temperance’s face tightened.
“I know.”
Temperance looked genuinely upset now, and Charity understood why. Temperance had been one of the only bright parts of Charity’s first year back in the world. Along with Alethea, Prudence, and Maria. She missed them all dearly.
“I won’t be able to visit often,” Temperance said in her usual blunt manner. She was not known to keep her thoughts to herself.
“I didn’t expect you to,” she said. “I know your mother won’t want you traveling, and…”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t try.”
Charity looked at her, surprised.
“I can promise you I’ll come when I can, and I’ll write, and if you tell me he’s pressuring you, I’ll show up in York myself and make a scene if I have to.”
Charity almost laughed. The lengths that her friends would go to protect her. It was endearing, really, and it made her heart warm in a rather bleak situation.
“You shouldn’t make scenes. I shall try my best to handle things myself. God help me,” she said quietly.
Temperance’s mouth pressed into a line.
“He will,” she said, “But you need help from the living too. Promise me you’ll write the moment you get there.”
“I will.”
“And if he tries anything before six months are up,” Temperance added, “you tell me. I don’t care if you think it’s improper, but you must let me know.”
“I will.”
“I hate that you’ll be so far,” Temperance admitted with a sad sigh. “But, if it keeps you safe for now, then go.”
They did not exchange goodbyes. Charity always hated the concept of them; instead, they exchanged one last reassuring look.
The next six months were going to be a trial, but Charity had faith that she was going to get through it.