But even as she spoke, the words did not feel right. For what was going on in her head did not match what was going on in her heart.
“Is that what you wanted to speak with me about?” he asked bluntly, his expression flat, as he circled the conversation back around.
“No.” She refocused her thoughts, taken off her guard at an unexpected twinge of sadness as the conversation switched to a business matter. “Tomorrow is Sunday, and Sutcliffe, Henry, and I will be going to church. You’d asked to be notified if we wish to go anywhere.”
“Will you take the carriage, then?”
“We’ll walk, if the weather permits it.”
“Very well.” He shifted and bowed, as if preparing to walk away, but then stopped. “Your meeting with Mr.Greenwood did not last long.”
His statement was more of a question, and she hesitated. Itwas against her better judgment to discuss personal matters with anyone, let alone someone who unknowingly had such power over her thoughts and sentiments. Yet he knew these people—this land—and he was the only person present who could truly understand her predicament. “The Cullens were evicted. The Swans too. My father would be furious.”
“I remember them. They were both good families.”
She adjusted Henry in her arm and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I do not trust Mr.Greenwood. As soon as I am able, I shall engage a new steward.”
Her words sounded so confident, so determined, and yet the truth was, she had no idea how to go about such a task. She found herself wanting to tell him everything and to seek his counsel. It would be so easy to fall back into a familiar place with Anthony. Who else would understand like he did? Who else would care as much as she did?
“Why do you not trust him?”
Her unmeasured response rushed. “Mr.Greenwood’s like every other man who worked for Roland. A puppet. I had no idea what was happening here these past few years, not that there was much I could have done if I did. And now it seems as if everything is crumbling.”
His response was as calm as her words were harried. “You must give yourself time to absorb this. In time you’ll discover the right course. Bear in mind that this is all new to you. Everything about it, from dealing with your husband’s death to returning to a home after being gone so long. I know you want to resolve everything at once, but you must be patient with yourself.”
His reassurance was like a balm. He knew her—he knew what she needed to hear. She should not take so much comfort from his presence. Yet it was impossible for her not to.
She flicked her gaze up at him, and the expression she met there simmered—challenging her.
She cleared her throat and swept hair away from her brow. “I should not be monopolizing your time like this. I’m sure you have other things to be tending to.”
For several moments his steely stare did not waver, but then he drew a deep breath and looked out to Blight Moor. “Very well. Tomorrow then. I’ll escort you to church myself.”
Charlotte stood frozen to her spot as he bowed again and retreated down the garden path.He will escort me to church.They would be walking together, through Blight Moor—the very paths they used to walk together. The thought jolted her.
Henry grabbed at the ribbon of her fichu and pulled it playfully, and she, happy for the distraction, pressed a kiss to his cheek. If she was to be successful, she had to keep her wits, and her heart, about her.
Chapter23
Charlotte should not be going to church.
She should not be going anywhere.
She was a widow in mourning, and as such, she should remain indoors, tucked away out of sight.
Such were the rules of polite society.
When Roland’s mother died, Charlotte had been forbidden to leave Wolden House for six months and then was in half mourning for another lengthy span of time even though she’d only met the woman twice. Roland, however, had worn a black armband for a few days, and then his life resumed. But mourning expectations were different out in the moorland, and her role was different here. She was a landowner now.
Sutcliffe helped her dress for service in a high-waisted gown of delicate black bombazine and a ruffled chemisette of inky muslin. Long, expertly fitted sleeves with lacy cuffs swathed her arms, and jet roses and vines were embroidered along the neckline and the bodice. There was no large mirror in her bedchamber as there had been at Wolden House, but she knew the elegant figure the gown cut on her. Even though Roland rarely permitted her to leave thehouse, he’d always insisted on the finest garments. Here, away from the city, the bodice’s elegant crepe overlay felt ostentatious, and the crystals adorning the hem added to that sentiment.
Even so, for the first time since her arrival at Hollythorne House, she was not dreading the task that lay before her. During the past week she’d faced so many difficult realizations and discussions that something as familiar and comforting as going to church—an activity she had done nearly every week when she was growing up—beckoned to her.
Many of the villagers, even the vicar, would recognize her.
Whether they would welcome her or not was another matter.
The blue morning light filtered through the southern windows overlooking the main courtyard as she, with Henry in her arms, and Sutcliffe made their way down the creaky stairs. Days ago, this space had been dark and dingy. Cobwebs and dust covered everything, and it seemed an insurmountable endeavor to return it to its former regal state. Many tasks remained, but each time she descended these steps, her optimism increased. She, along with her small staff, was making strides, and she’d not stop until Hollythorne House was once again a place that would have made her parents proud and that anyone would consider suitable for Henry.
