His smile softened and one eyebrow arched. “So if you don’t love me, and you don’t hate me, then what?”
I took a deep breath, strangely enjoying this odd conversation. “Something in between.” He seemed far too satisfied by my answer, so I added, “But much closer to hate.”
He laughed, and I echoed the sound. I had never laughed with a man before. All my conversations with men had been calculated and boring, never entertaining and odd like this. I tried to stop laughing, embarrassed by the sound. At parties, Mama had instructed me to keep my laughter at an appropriate volume and tone, as a gentleman didn’t want a silly wife.
I eyed James carefully, expecting him to be appalled by the display I had just created. But he didn’t seem to mind at all. He shrugged, his laughter subsiding. “I suppose that is fair.” His eyes met mine again and I looked down, feeling uncharacteristically shy. I was fairly certain I had never beenshyin my entire life.
“You never answered my question,” I said, my voice returning to normal. “Why are you here?” I forced myself to look at him again. “I am recovering well. You have completed any duty you might have felt toward me.”
His face became serious, and he was silent for several seconds. I waited, heart beating faster from the weight of his gaze. Had I said something wrong?
He gave a slow nod, rising to his feet. “Of course. I only wished to see that you were well.” His brow furrowed. “I will not impose again.”
Regret seized me. “James, wait?—”
He turned around, halfway to the door. What was his sudden hurry? I searched my mind for something else to say. “It was very kind of you to visit. And I—I would not be opposed if you did so again.”
He gave a brief nod, but for once, he seemed uncertain of what to say. “Good evening, Charlotte. Rest well.”
“Good evening.”
The words had barely escaped my mouth before he passed through the door and disappeared from sight.
I realized I had been leaning forward, nearly falling off the sofa. I fell back against the cushions, my brow creased in confusion. What had compelled him to leave so suddenly? I bit my lip in worry. Had I done something to offend him? I stopped my thoughts as quickly as they came. Why did it matter? Only days before I had planned all my wordshopingto offend him. But now, as much as I hated to admit it, I cared about his opinion.
And even worse…I had wanted him to stay a little longer.
Chapter Thirteen
“God has given you one face and you make yourself another.”
Icounted the flakes of snow on my windowsill every morning, until there were finally too many to count. So instead of counting the ones already there, I counted them as they fell.Twenty five. Twenty six. Twenty seven. Twenty eight?—
“Charlotte!” Clara’s voice cut through my silent exercise from the corridor. I jumped. I could hear her bounding up the stairs. I had taken to rising early in the morning, and my sister hadn’t left for Brackenridge Hall yet. She appeared in my doorway, breathing heavily, and held up a paper with a wax seal. “A letter from Mama.”
My heart sank. “Miss Bentford didn’t write to her, did she?”
“Not about your hand.” Clara’s eyes flickered to the bandages. “She vowed to keep silent on that matter for now.”
Nervousness fluttered in my stomach. Clara sat down beside me on the edge of my bed, tearing the seal. I tipped my head over the paper, reading quickly.
My dear daughters,
I hope you have been well these weeks. I imagine the weather has been colder than you are accustomed to, and it is my dearest wish that you are warm and comfortable. Unfortunately, I come with dreadful news. The freezing weather has not been well for my cousin’s wife, and she has fallen ill. We fear she may die soon. But among happier things, their home is quite grand and beautiful, and my cousin, Mr. Bentford is even more amiable than I remember. He does not treat me with the same disdain the rest of the county has adopted.
Charlotte—why have I not heard from you? I must insist that you write me the details of your courtship with Lord Trowbridge. I am eager to know how you are succeeding. I hope you are not boring him with dull conversation. Has Clara learned a proper way to arrange your hair? With the lack of sunlight I presume your complexion has not been damaged. I hope you are keeping yourself fed to maintain your figure. Please write me soon, if only to put my nerves at ease. You owe your success to me and our family name. I expect your response in the mail no later than today.
Yours etc.,
Mama
I looked down at the bandages covering my hand. It had been a week since the injury, and I still hadn’t looked at the damage. Mama couldnotknow about it.
“What should we say?” Clara asked in a quiet voice. “Shall I tell her about my position at Brackenridge Hall?”
“No.” Hope rose within me. Mama did still care about us, and I couldn’t bear to disappoint her. The abandonment I had been feeling was washed away by my sudden determination. PerhapsI still had a chance at a suitable match in the future if I kept my hand hidden. If Mama didn’t know about my injury, she could rest assured that I was still making progress. I needed only to lie a little bit.
I hurried over to my writing desk. I needed to reassure her that all was well. I still had time; perhaps Lord Trowbridge would still have me. Perhaps?—
