When he was out of earshot, I gave a frustrated sigh and stomped down the road in the opposite direction. The man was infuriating! His head was far above his station. I considered death in higher regard than taking orders from that rugged fisherman.
“Charlotte.” A stern voice stopped me in my tracks. Miss Bentford had caught up to me, her cheeks red with exertion and a hint of anger. I never would have expected her to display anything but timid reservation or exaggerated shock. “I daresay you have more hair than wit.” Her brow furrowed, and the insult scratched at my pride. She took a deep breath. “Informing a man—a stranger—about the desperation of your circumstances is never wise. And now we are indebted to him.”
A gust of cold wind cut through my sleeves, and I shivered. “We owe him nothing. He did as any gentleman would.”
“Gentleman? Do you think he is a gentleman?” Miss Bentford’s thin brows lifted.
I swallowed. “It doesn’t matter. We shall never have to see him again.”
Miss Bentford seemed to relax, but only a little. “Do not tell him anything else. He has no need to know where we are living, and certainly not that we are living without the protection of a man.”
“He didn’t seem dangerous to me,” Clara piped in. “He seemed concerned, that’s all.”
She always was the optimistic one.
Miss Bentford patted her on the sleeve with a sigh. “Let us hope you are right, dear Clara.”
“He was quite handsome too, was he not?” Clara added.
I snorted. “He is terrible. And stop grinning like a ninny.”
She scowled at me. “He has been very kind. Perhaps if you hadn’t been so impertinent he might have been even more generous. Already he has helped us very much.”
“Only with a smelly bag of fish,” I mumbled.
“Would you prefer to be begging on the streets and selling even more of our things?”
That silenced me. The image of the little girl sobbing into her father’s shoulder flashed in my mind. I imagined myself at her age, with my muslin gowns and ribbons and all the fine food and drink I desired, and her, wearing rags and going hungry under a dark grey sky. Something inside me ached at the thought.
We began our walk, my stomach heavy with dread. I was not any closer to meeting Lord Trowbridge than I had been that morning, and our venture into town had left us even more destitute than we had been before.
“We need Mr. Wortham’s help, Charlotte,” Clara said in a quiet voice, interrupting my silence. “He said he knew of a respectable opportunity for work. He seems trustworthy enough. And why should it matter if he knows the truth of our situation? You are not trying to secure a match withhim.”
I pulled my arm away from hers and tightened my cloak around me. “He could tell the entire town. I don’t trust him.”
“Why? Is it because he is below our station? Not outrageously wealthy? Heavens, Charlotte, wealth of kindness may not be important among thetonbut I’m afraid we are far beneath their notice now. It is time you rely on something more than your beauty and talents to meet success.”
I glared at her under my lashes. “You have been brimming with unwanted advice of late. I am the older sister, therefore, I am the wisest. I say we do not trust Mr. Wortham. He is improper and ridiculous and disrespectful and?—”
“Handsome,” Clara suggested.
I rolled my eyes, refusing to agree verbally.
“I must own that it was refreshing to see a man maintain his head in the sight of you and your flirting.” She laughed deeply.
It was humiliating, really. Nothing was right in the world here in the North. I was accustomed to lush woods, bell pulls, satin gowns, and a certain authority in the art of flirting. I had failed to make a match time and time again. Why should my luck turn now? What if I failed to win Lord Trowbridge? Would Mama make other arrangements? Or would we be ruined and abandoned forever? I shuddered at the thought of gutting fish in the market while Mr. James Wortham relished in the sight.
Sooner would I starve to death.
Chapter Five
“Friendship is constant in all other things.”
Ithought I felt the fish swimming in my stomach after I swallowed it.
The creatures had been painstakingly cooked after much argument over who should have to remove the heads. I refused, Miss Bentford tried, but nearly cast up her accounts all over the table, and so the task fell to Clara. The kitchen was already fully equipped for cooking, but unfortunately Clara was just as unfamiliar with preparing food as I was. Miss Bentford knew more than either of us, so she took charge of lighting the fire and boiling the fish.
I grimaced with distaste as I scraped up the last of my dinner. If I hadn’t been so hungry, I never would have eaten it. With nothing to accompany the fish, I was left with its lingering flavor. I stabbed my fork against my plate and lifted my water with the other hand. I had noticed vegetables, fruits, and even pies, puddings, breads, and tarts in the market. My mouth watered at the memory. Those foods I had taken for granted before now sounded like delicacies.
