“You are quite greedy when it comes to those.”
He laughed again, and this time it brought a smile to my face. “I only wish to understand you, Charlotte.”
“If that is so, then we might have a cordial conversation rather than a constant exchange of debts and threats.” I raised an eyebrow. “If you wish to understand me, ask me my favorite color, or flower, or how I take my tea.”
He walked a step closer, a grin still lingering on his lips. “What is freely given is far less valuable. I should like to know how you take your tea, yes, but I should much rather like to know why you seemed to hate me from our very first interaction.” His eyes shone with amusement, but also curiosity. “Never before have I felt such animosity from a stranger.”
My heart twisted with regret. Was that truly the impression I had made? I looked away from his face. “I do not hate you.”
“Is that is to be your secret, then?”
I looked up. “You mustn’t tell anyone.”
“I shall not reveal it to a soul. You may carry on with the glaring and menacing words, and only I will know you don’t mean any of it.”
It seemed impossible, but I was fighting a smile. “Some of it will remain sincere, I assure you.”
He dropped his head and chuckled. It was deep and rich, and somewhat endearing. Surely I had injured my head today along with my hand. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been thinking such nonsense.
“And if you must know,” I said, lifting my chin. “I take my tea with one sugar cube and precisely three drops of cream.”
He stared at me for a long moment before shaking his head in amusement. “Of course you do.”
“What does that mean?” My voice was far too defensive.
“You do seem like the sort of woman who knowspreciselywhat she wants.” He laughed. “I pity the person who makes the mistake of adding a fourth drop to your cup.”
My jaw lowered in dismay before I snapped it closed again. “You misjudge me. I would be most gracious and forgiving.”
He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “But what if they only added two?”
“Then I would scold them most heartily.” A smile twisted my lips, and then James’s. We both laughed, and for a moment I forgot about the searing pain in my hand and the humiliation of my new deformity. I forgot the reality that I would now never have the life and marriage I always wanted, that no one could love me, or that I had lost my music. I just remembered James’s smile, and I tucked it inside of my heart like a gift. How on earth had he made me smile at a time like this? It didn’t make sense.
The door swung open and Mr. Watkins marched in the room, a small case hanging at his side. “Oh, dear.” He stopped. “Have I interrupted something?”
James’s gaze fell away from my face and he cleared his throat. “No, indeed.” He took a step back and ushered the small man forward.
When the surgeon reached my side, Mrs. Abbot and her daughters entered the room followed by Clara and Miss Bentford. “I would suggest you avert your eyes, miss,” the surgeon said. “I don’t carry smelling salts, and I would like to prevent any fainting.” Mr. Watkins began peeling back the first layer of bandages.
I was overwhelmingly curious, but I did as I was told, keeping my eyes trained on the ceiling. I was grateful he had asked me to look away. As much as I wanted to see my hand, I was afraid of whatI would see. Perhaps if I didn’t see it, then I could try to forget the deformity even existed.
Clara sat beside me on the sofa, and I glanced in her direction. We had hardly spoken since the day before when I had been anything but kind to her. Yet she had still been kind to me. Why did these things keep happening?
I assumed the surgeon was on the final layer because I had to bite my lip against the pain. The bandage was sticking to the raw wounds. When he finished, I felt the touch of air against my hand. It was exposed. I was tempted to look, but my heart thudded with dread.
“You have fetched the water?” Mr. Watkins glanced at a maid who I hadn’t noticed enter the room. She handed him a bowl. Her eyes flashed to my hand and she took a step back, paling slightly. That was not a good sign.
“This may sting a little.”
Mr. Watkins lifted my arm and I felt a rush of water pouring over my hand. It was soothing and painful at once. He gently dried my hand with a towel, but my arm still contracted with the pain. Soon the surgeon had everything bandaged again, andI could stop looking away. I took a deep, slow breath to calm my nerves.
Mr. Watkins packed everything up in his case and flashed me a rueful smile. “The pain should subside very soon. Not to worry.” His thick spectacles were sliding down his nose. “I will return tomorrow night.”
I gave a stiff nod and watched him go through the door. James was standing in the corner of the room, arms crossed. His forehead creased as he watched me. It struck me that it was late in the evening, and he was still here. Had he stayed the entire day?
“I must take my leave as well,” he said to Mrs. Abbot, as if reading my thoughts.
She smiled at him. “You have been of vital assistance to our Charlotte. We cannot thank you enough.”
