I glanced at his face, shaking my head. “Clara never supported it. What you see between my sister and your brother is completely genuine. She truly cares for him. I have never been so sure of anything in my life. Please do not worry over your brother. He is ardently loved by Clara, I assure you.”
“Butyoutried.” His frown deepened. “You lied to me. My brother could have very well lost his heart to you and been betrayed. How does your conscience allow that?”
My pride came to life again, provoked by his anger. “And I would do it again! Iwilldo it again somewhere else.” I took a deep breath. “I don’t intend to live in a dirty cottage for the rest of my life. A woman must be intelligent enough to understand that a life of ease and comfort is the only happiness that can be afforded. The woman you loved…she understood that. She did not want to live in Craster forever, and I cannot blame her.”
Hurt flashed in James’s eyes.
“My mother has taught me well.” I swallowed hard. “Even if love exists, I want no part of it. It is a hindrance of dreams and goals. It is an imitation of joy and entirely unnecessary. Forgive me if I want something more. Love will fade. Freedom and wealth in a marriage will serve me forever and well. Even if Clara manages to marry your brother and save our family from ruin, I will still meet the expectations my mother set for me a long time ago. I am determined to have the future I always wanted.” My words burned in my throat. “And I’m sorry if that ruins your opinion of me.”
I didn’t wait for James to speak or move or stand. I turned away and strode toward the open door. James didn’t follow me as I hurried down the dark stairway alone, hastily wiping away the sudden tears that dripped off the tip of my nose and streaked down my cheeks.
Was I lying again? My words had not rang entirely true. They had felt like a rehearsed script. I thought I knew what I truly wanted, but the longer I was away from Hampshire, I felt my desires being threatened, my dreams cracking under the weight of my wayward heart.
When I finally burst through the outside door, I took a deep breath of the cold air. What had I done? Why had I revealed somuch? Surely James hated me now. But wasn’t this the life I had chosen? Was a life without love just a life of hate after all?
I took a deep breath and scolded myself for questioning it. Everything was better this way, because I could never love James. To love him was contrary to all I had ever dreamed of. It would be difficult, but I needed to forget him.
No more secret meetings, pianoforte duets, or amusing conversations. A few weeks of distance would be the best place to start.
Chapter Nineteen
“A heart to love, and in that heart,
courage to make love known.”
Lucy Abbot had a deep and abiding love for hats. She did not wear them often, but kept an extensive collection in her room, planning to wear them to the first fancy garden party she was invited to. Of course, such parties were rare in Craster, but that didn’t stop Lucy from visiting the milliner’s shop twice weekly.
“Would you like to accompany me today, Charlotte? I would so enjoy your company.”
I looked at her over my sketchbook. I had not been drawing, but practicing each letter of the alphabet with my left hand. I had written my name several dozen times over the page, and each seemed to become uglier than the last.
Clearfield House had become a sanctuary. It had been five days since I had been out of doors, besides the walk between our cottage and the Abbots’ home. I had been successfully avoiding James and couldn’t risk meeting him on the path toward the village.
“To the milliner’s?”
Lucy nodded, curls bouncing on her shoulders. “I have scheduled another fitting for my peacock feather hat.”
I glanced out the window at the icy weather and dull skies. Despite it all, I did long for a break from the monotony I had adopted these last several days. In the mornings I had been baking breads and sweets for Clara and Miss Bentford, scrubbing the cottage until it was pristine, and then walking to Clearfield House. Mr. Watkins had told me it was acceptable for me to use my hand more freely, and although it hurt, it was slowly becoming stronger.
It was strange, feeling the round lumps where my fingers had been severed and knowing they would never return. I still wore the glove when I was in the company of others, but at night when I was alone in my room, I studied the lines and puckers and dark scars. The memory of James playing with me on the pianoforte haunted the drawing room of Clearfield House, but gave it life and joy that I couldn’t part from. I was troubled day and night, feeling the keen loss of a dear friend. But I could not let James Wortham scare me away from ever visiting the village again.
“Of course,” I said to Lucy before I could lose my resolve. “I’ll go with you.”
After gathering my bonnet, gloves, and cloak, I met her at the door and we walked into the cold. I tugged my cloak around my narrowing shoulders. Since we had moved here, I had become thinner from the lack of grand meals and from the increased exercise. At home, I took a daily walk, but never so far. And I never cooked and cleaned. The curves of my figure had lessened significantly, and all my dresses fit looser than before. I wondered what else my time here would rob me of.
“I can see my breath in front of my face.” Lucy’s voice broke into my thoughts. “When I was little, my father told me it wasbecause I spent far too much time with him, breathing in the smoke from his pipe.” She giggled. “I believed it.”
“When will your father be home?” I asked.
“Just in time for the Christmastide. Can you believe it’s only a fortnight away?” She squealed with excitement.
I scowled. My family had never given Christmas much observance. We were often invited to dinners and balls but that was the extent of it. Lucy seemed to notice my confusion, because she looked at me with wide eyes.
“Did my mother not tell you of the festivities? Each year we hold a dinner on Christmas Eve and decorate with all my favorite greenery. Everyone in town is invited, and we give warm food and clothing to all the beggars. We have wassail and puddings, music and games, and the even bigger celebration comes on Twelfth Night.” She gasped dramatically and squeezed my arm. “Is that all so unfamiliar?”
I smiled weakly and nodded.
“You will enjoy every moment, I assure you. It is without question the most pleasant time of the year. There is little else in this town to ever look forward to.” She sighed, rolling her eyes subtly.
