It bore neither salutation nor signature.Cold indeed.But at least, it seemed, it bore no blame either.
A mere fortnight later, Charlotte had been shocked, sickened, and scared to death when another letter came. Her father read it aloud during breakfast.
“Well, well, a letter from your cousin Katherine.”
“What does she say, Father?” Bea asked, spearing a sausage.
“Do read it to us. She is ever so amusing.”
Father’s face looked anything but amused as he scanned the inked script. “I fear you will not enjoy it, my dear.”
“What is it?”
“An announcement of her upcoming wedding.”
“Wedding? You are joking! Katherine has long proclaimed herself a determined spinster.”
“Well, she has clearly changed her mind.”
“Who is the brave soul who finally convinced her?”
He didn’t immediately answer.
“Do we know him?” Bea persisted, sausage forgotten.
“Yes. We know him quite well. Or at least I thought we did.”
Charlotte clenched her hands together beneath the table. Bea’s face began to grow concerned.
“Not Bentley,” Bea breathed. “He’s too young.”
“No, not Bentley. Charles Harris himself.”
Bea’s expression barely had time to clear before it blanched, her mouth falling open, slack.
Charlotte was stunned but kept her expression as blank as possible, seeing her own feelings mirrored in her sister’s face. She knew her own desolation, her humiliation, must be deeper, more complete, than Bea’s, but she willed herself not to show it.
“But ...” Bea protested. “There was no reading of the banns in church... .”
“Applied for a license no doubt. Never one for public displays, your cousin.”
“I cannot believe it.”
“I have never approved of these licenses,” their father began. “The banns are not merely tradition, they serve a purpose, allowing anyone with a preexisting marriage contract or other cause to object, to ‘speak or forever hold their peace.’” He sighed. “Now a few pounds to a bishop and one may forgo the banns altogether.”
“But it isn’t right!” The words burst from Charlotte, surprising them all.
“Why not?” Bea glared at her. “Would you have stood up in church and spoken against it had you the chance? Have you some reason to object to Mr. Harris marrying our cousin?”
The bile rose in Charlotte’s throat and she stood on shaking legs. “Please excuse me,” she mumbled, putting her hand over her mouth and walking quickly from the room.
Bea called after her, “You never seriously thought he would marry you, did you?”
Charlotte threw open her bedroom door and made it to the chamber pot just in time to lose her breakfast.
A few hours later, Charlotte was in the garden when the man she was trying not to think about came thundering across the grounds on his horse. She turned and ran.
“Charlotte, wait!” Charles Harris leapt from his horse, not bothering to tether it, and ran after her. Charlotte hurried through the garden gate and across the lane to the churchyard, hoping to hide herself there. She did not think this rationally—her core instinct simply told her to flee this man. To be close to him was to invite another mortal wound.
