And then she’d cried her eyes out.
“It’s a shame that things didn’t work out for you up there,” Mr. Frye commented as he served himself a portion of potatoes. A fire crackled in the hearth. Not only had they taken her in, but now they would share their Christmas dinner with her.
“I don’t blame her a bit.” Miss Frye, a heavyset woman of about fifty or so, slid Charlotte a sideways glance. “Mildred Hanover said Lady Denton didn’t pay her bill last month because the delivery didn’t come on the day she wanted it. All of three pounds! Her husband owns the mercantile,” she explained to Charlotte. “I certainly wouldn’t wish to be in that woman’s employ.”
“Be that as it may, Miss Drake is going to need to learn to deal with these sorts, learn to humble herself. Employment doesn’t come easy and now she’s got herself into something of a jam. Not that we won’t put you up until the weather’s clear enough to travel to your brother’s home.” The older gentleman lowered his spectacles to stare hard at Charlotte. “Your father would have done the same for any child of mine. Especially on Christmas day.”
“And I appreciate it, Sir.” The tumult of emotions Charlotte felt had stolen her appetite for the day, but she tore off a piece of homemade bread, nonetheless. She’d never been heartbroken before and hoped never to be so again.
Nervousness attacked as well.
Borrowing ink and pen from Susan’s lap desk, Charlotte had penned a response to her aunt’s letter immediately, but after the events of the day before, being sacked and all, she’d decided to simply deliver it herself.
Meanwhile, she needed to endure one more day in Bridges End.
Susan will find a way to make him happy. For his sake, she hoped so. And of course, he’d have the funds he needed to take care of all his obligations. He could continue with the necessary repairs from the fire and on his own estate. He could do what he wished with that blasted canal system. She hoped they were worth it.
It came back to his honor. He would not allow others to suffer so that he could please only himself with his choice of bride.
He would act dutifully and marry a lady of good rank, one of his own.
Charlotte blinked away the stinging at the back of her eyes.
Miss Fairchild wouldnotmake him happy. It ought to have given her some consolation, but it did not. She loved him. She wished him happy, of course she did.
And she would be happy again too.
Eventually.
But for now, she needed to endure this heartache. Because fate, or God, or destiny––whoever had created she and Lord Mapleton for one another––had made an awful mistake!
As Anthony wentin search of his driver, one of Denton’s older coaches rambled up the drive through the melting snow. It seemed odd to him that the vehicle had gone out to begin with.
“Merry Christmas!” The driver greeted him as he drew the vehicle to a halt outside the stableblock.
Anthony scratched his chin. “Merry Christmas. Have you travelled far today?”
“Not as far as I’d expected, my lord.” The driver laughed. “I’m to be home for Christmas after all.”
“Where had you expected to travel?” Was it possible…?
“Scotland.”
Hope, worry and excitement hit Anthony in one fell swoop. “What have you done with Miss Drake then?”
The servant hopped off from his perch and then brushed his hands together with a good deal of satisfaction. “Lady Denton had me drop her at the vicarage. A shame she won’t be around anymore. Prettiest lady below stairs we’ve had ‘ere in ages.” And then realizing who he was speaking to, he lowered his gaze. “Pardon my saying so, milord.”
But Anthony stopped listening after hearing that Charlotte was not, in fact, trudging through the snow alone. Luckily, John stepped out of the stable in that moment.
“Is the carriage readied?”
“Just now, my lord. You’re prepared to leave for Maplehurst?”
“Not just yet. We’ll be visiting the vicar this fine afternoon.”
John raised his brows but made no comment.
Charlotte could be found only a few miles away.
