My eyes drifted to Clara across our squat wooden table. With effort, she swallowed the last bite of her fish and scrunched her nose in disgust over the discarded skin on her plate. “I am telling Mr. Wortham what he wants to know,” she said. “I refuse to eat this for any longer than a week. We need his help immediately. Even if we find work tomorrow, we won’t receive our wages for a week at least. But then we can buy bread and fruit.”
“And tea.” Miss Bentford’s brow twitched with longing. “I have written to my brother. I have no doubt that the moment he receives my letter he will send more money to sustain us. There is no need to rely on Mr. Wortham’s assistance.” I could hear the worry in her voice. “Have we anything we might sell in the meantime?”
“I have a few books, and I could spare one of my dresses,” Clara said.
I looked down at my plate as my throat tightened. “I may have a necklace or two.” My brows drew together as I thought of Mr. Wortham again. My pride demanded that I not rely on him for survival, yet he seemed to be the only way I might ever be introduced to Lord Trowbridge. If I wanted to meet the earl, I would have to further my acquaintance with Mr. Wortham—perhaps even try to gain his trust. Miss Bentford would never allow it, but evading such an incompetent chaperone wouldn’t be too difficult.
Clara and Miss Bentford carried on about what they would sell, but I formulated a different plan in my mind. After a few minutes, Clara pushed her chair away from the table and stood. I followed her upstairs to our rooms before Miss Bentford could catch us.
“I think we should find Mr. Wortham tomorrow,” I said in a hushed voice.
Clara glanced toward the stairs for any sign of Miss Bentford before ushering me inside her bedchamber and closing the door behind us. “Do you think it’s wise?”
“If secrets are our only currency, then he is the only person I know who can be bargained with. But we must keep Miss Bentford in the dark.”
Clara gave a slow nod. “We don’t have a great deal of time to waste.”
“No. I need an introduction to Lord Trowbridge as soon as possible.”
“And if we cannot sell our things, then we will need to find work.”
I grimaced. “We will avoid that if we can. Whatever we do, we must find a way to gain the upper hand with Mr. Wortham. He cannot hold all the power in our bargain.”
Clara gave me a skeptical look. “How do you plan to do that?”
I bit my lower lip, narrowing my eyes in thought. I was nothing if not determined. “I will find a way.”
Bright and early the next morning, I climbed out of bed, my back sore from the hard mattress. My stomach growled as I grudgingly wrestled with my buttons. I checked my reflection where a haggard, sullen face clouded the smooth confidence and easy beauty I had always known. A deep sense of anxiousness stirred in my chest, an emotion I had only experienced over the prospect of another lady wearing my same dress at the theater in London, or a pin coming loose in my hair during a dance.
I put a hand against my cheek and leaned closer to the mirror. I squinted. Soon my skin would resemble the color of that fish we had eaten yesterday.
An hour later, I stood in the midst of the seaside town, hands clasped firmly around a small basket covered with my shawl. I had stowed two of my brooches and a necklace inside, hoping to trade them for food. We could acquire plenty with such a trade. I was confident. Bread and fruit for Clara and me, and tea for Miss Bentford if I was feeling generous.
A sudden gust of wind stole my breath as I opened my mouth to speak to Clara. Our first task was to find Mr. Wortham, but we had yet to spot him. I readjusted my bonnet and tried again. “Where do you suppose he is?”
Clara’s eyes shifted past crowds of people and small shops. Meat hung on racks above market stands and the smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the air near the bakery. My mouth watered.
“Perhaps running a stand or out by the fishing boats?” Clara suggested.
As we walked, I observed the many eyes that shifted toward us; some were sharp with envy while others merely appeared curious. A trio of women, one significantly older than the other two, caught my attention. They were dressed fashionably, with an elegance that immediately put me at ease. Giggles resounded from the two younger women as they made their way down the street. They seemed to be close to my age. As they came closer, the shorter of the two young women with dark brown curls noticed us, whispering behind a gloved hand to her companions. They slowed and came to a stop a few feet away.
“Good morning,” the oldest lady said, her voice carrying a tone of surprise. “It isn’t often we see new faces in town.” Her lips curved into a pleasant smile.
I flinched with surprise. Did the rules of propriety not apply here? I had never been approached by a group of genteel ladies without any common acquaintances. But I could not judge thiswoman too harshly. Here Clara and I were walking through town early in the morning without a chaperone.
Our silence lasted only a few seconds before the woman spoke again. “I am Mrs. Helen Abbot, and these are my daughters, Miss Rachel Abbot and Miss Lucy. We live just up the road at Clearfield house.” She gestured in the opposite direction of our cottage.
“A pleasure to meet you,” I tried to sound confident, but my surprise still lingered. “I am Miss Charlotte Lyons, and this is my sister, Miss Clara.” I stole a quick glance at the two girls. The one with the darker hair—Rachel she had been called—was pretty enough, but nothing to worry myself over. The other girl, Lucy, I would need to watch a little more carefully. Her eyes were deep brown and framed in charcoal lashes. Her hair was also dark and curly, and her complexion was nearly perfect. She was a short, pretty, little thing, likely close to my own age. I masked a frown as I evaluated my competition.
“What brings you to Craster?” Mrs. Abbot asked. Her question was innocent, yet I squirmed as I searched for a reply.
“We are here with our grandmother,” I said. “We thought the sea air would benefit her health.” The unrehearsed lie spilled out before I could stop it. I felt Clara’s gaze on the side of my face. “She is not feeling well this morning,” I added to explain our current lack of a chaperone.
Mrs. Abbot gave a sympathetic nod. “Well, I do hope her health improves. We would love to speak with you in greater length, but we are in a hurry for a fitting at the moment. Are you available for tea this afternoon?” Mrs. Abbot’s hazel eyes were warm and kind, yet I still felt threatened. Spending any time with these women meant I would have to continue to lie, and my nonexistent grandmother would have to continue to be in poor health.
But these were the sort of women who would know Lord Trowbridge, I was sure of it. Mr. Wortham might not be needed after all.
“We would be delighted to join you.” I spoke in my most gracious voice.
