July 12th 1820,
Dear Anabelle,
I cannot adequately convey how it pains me to have missed your wedding to Lord Draven! There is nothing exciting happening here in Faversham, not that there ever is. Certainly, not as exciting as Lord Draven succumbing to his love for you with messages in flowers! The very thought makes me faint with envy. I want to be swept off my feet in such a way, but that can’t happen if I never leave Faversham again. I’d love to visit you, but I fear my father’s health has not improved as we thought it would. I confess I am worried. Please write as frequently as you can. I have nothing to distract me except the letters of my friends and their gloriously romantic lives.
In need of distraction,
Charlotte
July 5th, 1823
Thorn trudged back to the village. By the time he reached Weller’s Inn and Tavern, he was soaked through, but he barely felt the cold. Thoughts of his lovely wood nymph kept him warm the whole way. Raven hair framed her angelic, heart-shaped face. Her features were small and perfect, right down to the narrow ridge of her nose and full, rosy lips. Her hair had been down, flowing around her shoulders, beckoning his hands. Her dark brown eyes were solemn but hinted at something more, something powerful. Had he seen such beauty before? He couldn’t recall. Every woman’s face was now a fuzzy recollection in his mind compared to Charlotte’s. She was innocent. Far more innocent than the usual women he associated with, but dammit if he wasn’t smitten. She was lovely, lovelier than any sunrise or sunset. More beautiful than a full moon.
She quite literally had taken his breath away the moment he saw her in the meadow.
What was she doing there?
It was odd, but he wasn’t going to question his good fortune. If what she said was true, and she went there every morning to escape the oppression of her parents, he’d try to find her again. How could he not? Maybe what Pruitt said was true. He had to chase something. Now he would chase Charlotte—carefully, of course. He wasn’t a rogue. He didn’t make conquests of innocent women. But she… She was worth waking up early just to speak to.
He entered his room to bathe and change his clothes then went down to the taproom for a hot cup of coffee. Pruitt was there, sipping from a mug by the fire. Thorn pulled up another chair and accepted a mug from Molly, the serving girl.
“Did you enjoy your walk?” Pruitt asked.
Thorn grinned behind his mug. Pruitt wasn’t going to like this one bit. Thorn told him anyway, enjoying the man’s exasperated sigh of resignation.
“How is it you manage to meet a woman less than two hours in England?”
“I told you, luck favors me.”
“Who is this woman?”
“Miss Woodhouse,” Thorn said.
“Miss? As in an unmarried young woman, type of miss?
Thorn mimicked Pruitt’s beleaguered sigh. “Yes, but spare me the list of foreboding warnings. We talked. I didn’t deflower her in a field.”
“This is England. You don’t have to deflower her. Speaking without a proper introduction or chaperone is just as incriminating. The rules are different here, Thorn. You’ll do well to remember that when meeting with Lord Shelding. He’s a peer. Do you know who this girl’s family is? If she is nobility, she is out of your league.”
“Nobility? I didn’t climb out of a pigpen, Pruitt. I’m richer than most noblemen.”
“Yes, but your blood is not as blue.”
“Blood isn’t blue. It’s red, through and through. No matter who you’re born to, its red for everyone.”
Pruitt sighed. “That’s exactly something you should not say in front of Lord Shelding.”
Thorn sipped his coffee. As the son of a poor farmer, Thorn was no stranger to the menace of others who thought themselves better. Now those same people begged for his ale by the barrel, paying ridiculous sums of money for first tastings. He enjoyed the irony. But that was back home in America, and England was a different animal. This wasn’t Pruitt’s first lecture about how Thorn should behave.
“I will do well to remember how sensitive the peerage can be about their perceived excellence.” Thorn murmured. He hid his smile behind his mug as he noticed the vein on Pruitt’s temple bulging.
Pruitt slammed down his mug and leaned forward. “I didn’t come all this way, so you could prove you don’t care what some aristocrat thinks of you and ruin an excellent opportunity to make us both very rich.”
“I’m already very rich.”
“Forgive me. Make me, very rich. I have a fiancée at home who wants to marry me as soon as I return. I’d like to provide a wonderful life for her and our children. Don’t muck this up over pride, or worse, over a woman.”
Thorn leaned back in his chair. “The woman has nothing to do with my business with Lord Shelding. I know how to keep my business and pleasure separate. In fact, I’ve already sent word of my arrival, and I will meet with him this afternoon.”
“Good. Just make sure I won’t have to worry about angry fathers firing shots at my ship when we set sail in three months.”
“My ship.” Thorn said.
“Your ship.” Pruitt rolled his eyes.
Charlotte raced back to her room, tore her clothes from her body, and dived behind her dressing screen. Her door opened as she fumbled to pull a chemise over her head.
“Miss Angelwood!” Sarah hissed.
“I’m here.” Charlotte poked her head out from behind the screen.
Sarah picked up the discarded clothing on the floor. “Why weren’t you here earlier?”
“I went for a morning walk.” Charlotte stepped out from behind the screen and dug through the dresses in her wardrobe for a clean, black frock.
“Lady Shelding is asking for you,” Sarah warned.
Charlotte held still as Sarah buttoned the back of her dress. Sarah wasn’t a lady’s maid, but she came to help Charlotte when she had time to spare between her upper maid chores.
“Does she know I was gone?”
“No. I told her you were sleeping.”
“Why wasn’t she sleeping? I’ve never known her to leave her room before ten.”
Charlotte saw Sarah shrug in the mirror.
“I don’t know, but the whole house was woken early by Lord Shelding. He’s in quite a state. A message was just delivered, and now he’s closed off in his study.”
“Why?” Charlotte asked.
Sarah pressed her lips together as she jerked and twisted Charlotte’s hair into a simple knot and pinned it. “How am I supposed to know?”
“Right, sorry.” Charlotte winced, her scalp smarting.
“’Tis best to stay out of his way today.”
“That’s what I do every day. I avoid all of them if I can.”
Sarah finished her hair and stepped back.
“Thank you, Sarah.” Charlotte stood.
Sarah nodded and moved to the door with Charlotte’s discarded clothing. She gave Charlotte a small smile. “Be careful, Miss Angelwood. You haven’t seen him at his worst, and I pray you never do.”
Charlotte nodded and Sarah left. Charlotte wasn’t sure who she spoke of—Edward or Lord Shelding. Lord Shelding had a terrible temper, explosive and damaging, but Edward was a silent predator. He lurked and enjoyed the thrill of the hunt. He hadn’t caught Charlotte, but he loved to remind her that soon he would, whatever that meant.
Charlotte was startled by another knock on her door. Before she could respond, Lady Shelding entered.
“Rise and shine, Miss Angelwood. The day is calling, and we are joining Lord Shelding in the dining room for breakfast.” Lady Shelding had a bright, if fragile, smile plastered on her face. She took in Charlotte’s appearance, her smile turning to a frown.
“Black again? You wore black yesterday.”
“Yes, ma’am. I intend to mourn my father for the full six months, it has only been two.” Charlotte’s heart squeezed. She swallowed down the budding thickness in her throat.
“But it’s a happy day today. Can you not be happy? Lord Shelding has wonderful news to share.”
“News of what?”
“He will tell us at breakfast. I’m having Edward wakened as we speak. He will be eager to hear the news, and how lovely you both would look if you weren’t wearing such a somber color. Edward’s favorite color is green, you know.”
“Yes, I know.” Charlotte murmured. “But I only took black gowns when I left Wildwood.” The mention of her childhood home brought a lump to her throat. The memory of the morning after her father died felt more like a nightmare. Lord Shelding, her new guardian and soon to be father-in-law, collected her from her home. Like baggage, Charlotte thought. He was stoic then, and she suspected he just didn’t care. She was given her fifteen minutes to pack.
He claimed to have a friendship with her father, but they were never friendly to each other. As their closest neighbor, it was essential to rub along well enough, but Lord Shelding made a point to rub roughly. He was a bully; Charlotte couldn’t think of any other way to put it. She had been transported from her childhood home to the rigid manor of Lord Shelding’s estate with all the care of a sack of flour.
“Good heavens, why?” Lady Shelding opened Charlotte’s wardrobe and fanned through her gowns.
“What happened to the gowns your father purchased for your London debut? Surely, you didn’t wear black in London?”
Charlotte wanted to groan. They’d been through this before. Her gowns were sold; everything of value was sold. “That was two years ago, my lady.”
Lady Shelding looked at Charlotte as though she were speaking a different language.
“Well, that must be remedied.”
Charlotte doubted it. Lord Shelding didn’t want to spend a ha-penny more on Charlotte than what was needed to keep her alive. He didn’t care what she wore and neither did Edward.
“My dear, we are beset with sadness over the passing of your father. You may grieve freely here in your room, but it is bothersome to Lord Shelding and more importantly, Edward, to be burdened by female hysterics.”
Charlotte waited to feel something akin to anger. The day she left her home, she’d cried as the carriage pulled away. She was still crying when they reached Shelding Manor. Lord Shelding had said nothing. Instead of handing her down from the carriage, he’d grabbed her arm in a vice like grip and threw her down on the gravel.
“He’s dead. No use crying over shed milk. Children cry, are you a child? Should I cane you like I would a child?” He’d berated her right there in the drive, the footman and butler looking on but pretending not to see. From that moment on, Charlotte hadn’t shed a tear in his presence. She’d never been threatened with bodily harm before, and she could still feel the terror of that moment.
“Strength is a woman’s virtue. We bear the worst of life with poise and serene smiles. It is our duty.”
Charlotte nodded, if only so the woman would leave her alone. Lady Shelding didn’t require Charlotte’s verbal aide to keep the thread of conversation going. Charlotte watched her flit about the room like a nervous bird. Lady Shelding always seemed startled, and after sharing a house with her for two months, Charlotte understood why. Lady Shelding was a frail-looking woman. Her cheekbones and collarbone stood out like hard edges. Her thin, silvery blond hair was pulled tightly into a severe bun, and two coiled ringlets stood vigilant at her temples. There was nothing soft about her. Charlotte examined her carefully, but her skin was pale white, free of any tell-tale redness or bruising.
Lord Shelding must be exceptionally pleased this morning.
An icy chill slipped down Charlottes back and she shivered. Whatever the occasion—happy, sad, or angry—Charlotte despised any moment she had to spend in Lord Shelding’s company.
Would she one day look like a startled doe as Lady Shelding did? More likely, a bird that was always on the lookout for a hungry cat.
Cautious.
Afraid.
Charlotte turned her back and closed her eyes. Her fists clenched around the folds of her skirts, and she waited for the wave of despair to pass. Unbidden, an image of a man came to her. His smile like sunlight, warm and soothing. His eyes, glowing with something she couldn’t identify. She found succor in the mere thought of him. At once, she felt better, stronger. She opened her eyes.
He didn’t know it yet, but he was her savior. She faced the room again and found Lady Shelding waiting by the door, still talking incessantly.
“I’m ready, my lady.” Charlotte murmured and followed her out. She felt lighter than before. How could this be? How could one meeting with a stranger alter her so completely? Who was he? She shouldn’t want to know. It was dangerous to want things. But God help her, she couldn’t stop the want. She wanted to see him again, to fill her mind and senses with more of him. If one brief meeting brought such relief, what would another do? She kept her vision of him in her mind all the way to the breakfast parlor. It was like invisible armor. She still braced herself before entering, but retained a measure of calm.
Lord Shelding sat at the table, a paper spread in front of him. He did not greet them as they entered, even though Dules announced them.
Edward didn’t stand. He held a compress to his pale blond hair and leaned over a cup of tea.
“Good morning, my hearts,” Lady Shelding said softly.
Edward looked up from his tea and glared at his mother. “Must you speak?”
His bloodshot pale blue eyes focused on Charlotte as she took her place across from him.
“Good morning Edward, Lord Shelding,” Charlotte whispered.
“Good morning, my dulcet buttercup. I spent the evening thinking of you.” Edward gave her a sickly smile.
You spent the evening drinking. But Charlotte would never utter such a thing aloud. She held her tongue.
“Looking upon you is a balm to my savage soul.”
Charlotte reined in the urge to grimace. If she responded, it would only encourage him further.
“That’s enough, Edward. Don’t fill her head with ideas,” Lord Shelding said from behind his paper.
Charlotte was relieved. Lord Shelding saved her from having to respond. She accepted a cup of tea from the footman and waited to be served her breakfast. The room was silent again, except for the gentle clink of the food service. The scent of bacon hung strong in the air and would be soothing, except nothing here was soothing. It was like breaking your fast when the floor was swimming with snakes. Not just the garden variety, the venomous ones.
Charlotte did her best to make as little sound as possible. The less attention she drew, the less she had to interact. The less she had to interact, the less chance she would draw Lord Shelding’s ire or Edward’s attention.
She carefully scooped a bit of egg on her fork, her eyes darting to her table companions as she put it in her mouth. Across from her, Edward leaned back in his chair and moaned softly with his eyes closed. He looked unhealthy, his skin pasty and greenish in the morning light. His closely cropped hair, cut in the Brutus fashion, looked greasy, or perhaps it was sweat? Whatever it was, he looked like he needed a frigid bath and sleep. Lots and lots of sleep.
At the end of the table, Lady Shelding sipped her tea and nibbled on toast. Charlotte had never seen her eat more than what could fit in a teacup. As for Lord Shelding, he was a large man, a polar opposite of his pallid wife and son. His hair was thick and dark brown with streaks of silver. He was heavy set but not portly. He was like a boulder: large, immovable, and capable of crushing a person. At least, that’s how Charlotte felt in his presence. He may have been handsome before, as Edward did have some of his features, and though Charlotte loath to admit it, Edward was fairly attractive.
But pleasant looks weren’t enough to hide a volatile inner nature. In Lord Shelding’s eyes, there was darkness. Unfathomable darkness. And in Edwards, well, Charlotte couldn’t figure it out exactly, but it was something almost as dark as his father’s. Enough to make her feel queasy whenever she made eye contact with him. But she didn’t fear him, not the way she feared Lord Shelding. What terrified her was the future. Would she and Edward one day mirror his parents? Watching Lord and Lady Shelding interact was like watching a cat toy with a mouse; the mouse tossed about until the cat grew bored or ate it.
The slap of the newspaper on the table snapped Charlotte out of her thoughts. Her head whipped to Lord Shelding, her hands out of sight, shaking in her lap.
“Now that I have your attention, I have news to share.” His gaze raked over all of them. “I’ve a meeting with an American brewer this afternoon. I’ve tripled our hops crop with a new breed of hops, and with the assistance of this brewer, I will develop a new ale to rival the best in England.” He dipped his head, which was his way of suggesting they could now speak.
“What excellent news!” Lady Shelding applauded him softly.
“What do Americans know about beer?” Edward grumbled.
“You already knew I was doing this, Edward. Don’t be daft. The American arrived this morning. You will attend this meeting with me. Try to have yourself presentable by then.” His gaze fell to Charlotte. “As for you…”
Charlotte tensed. Impossible, given she was already as tense as she thought she could ever be. “Yes, my lord?”
“It’s time to set a date for the wedding. I will instruct the banns begin this Sunday.”
Charlotte sat immobilized. This Sunday? She’d be married to Edward in a measly four weeks? Oh, no. Dear God, no. That would not do.
Her heart was thumping so hard she could feel it in her throat, but she couldn’t manage to say a thing. No! Her mind screamed, but her mouth never moved. She hated herself for it. She needed to speak but couldn’t. Her own cowardice was going to serve her up to Edward like a fatted calf.
“That is far too soon, my lord. We will need longer to plan.”
Lord Shelding scowled at Lady Shelding. “Plan what?”
“Why, the wedding, of course. It shall be a lovely affair, worthy of our Edward, and… Propriety dictates we wait until Miss Angelwood is out of mourning.” Lady Shelding twisted the napkin in her hands and smiled tentatively.
Charlotte wanted to kiss the woman.
Her eyes cut back to Lord Shelding. She was afraid to breath, afraid to move. He stared at Lady Shelding with cold, hard eyes. At any moment, he could erupt. Charlotte hadn’t yet seen him hit Lady Shelding, but she’d heard it once, standing outside the door of his study the day after her arrival. She would never forget the sound, so sharp and distinctive. Hand to flesh. It had rung in her ears for days after.
Sickening dread filled her. The sound of that slap had been enough to make her ill.
“That isn’t important.” Lord Shelding blustered and sat again. That was the end of the conversation. “I will speak to Pastor Franklin today.”
Charlotte sat in her chair, nearly vibrating with turmoil, when a thought occurred.
“Please, let me speak with him.” Where had those words come from?
Lord Shelding blinked and looked at her. Charlotte was as equally surprised at herself. Fear gripped her. She’d spoken out of turn, without being spoken to, but this was her only chance. “You have so much to do. I’m happy to do this for you.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Edward will escort you.”
Charlotte nodded, her heart was pounding. “Yes, sir.” She looked to Edward, but he appeared to be asleep. All she had to do now was find a way for Edward to be distracted long enough for Charlotte to speak with Pastor Franklin alone.