She laughed, a high, grating sound. “She fell in love with him? Nonsense. She must have ensnared him.”
“She didn’t. He loves her.”
“You truly believe he loves her? You have lost your head, Charlotte. What has happened to you?”
I scowled, my mind spinning. “I don’t—I don’t know. I am tired from the journey.”
She reached out and touched my cheek, her fingers cold as ice. “Despite recent events,” her gaze flashed to my hand, “I believe you may still make a fine match for me. Can you imagine? All three of us so well married.” She chuckled. “I always knew Clara had potential. Learn from her and you willnot disappoint me. In the coming week we will plump up these sunken cheeks of yours and have your gowns taken in.” She pinched a strand of my hair between two fingers and dropped it again on my shoulder. She cringed. “And we must do something with this hair.”
I nodded fast.
“And no one shall know of your deformity. Do you understand me?”
My heart sank, but I nodded again.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“One may smile, and smile,
and be a villain.”
Mr. Bentford was a quiet sort of man, prim and meek in Mama’s presence. He was like a strand of ribbon in her hands, effortlessly bent and twisted however she liked.
“Mr. Bentford, Charlotte and I have had three new gowns made. I do hope the bills will not be too much for you.” She fluttered her lashes from across the dining table.
He gave a gracious smile. “Nothing is too much if it shall please you.”
Mama sat back and sipped from her goblet. Only I could recognize the sheen of victory in her eyes. My gaze traveled around the table to where his two daughters sat. They were younger than me by several years. Louisa was twelve and Eleanor was fourteen. Both girls had blonde hair and brown eyes, much like their father. They didn’t seem to notice the manipulation my mother was practicing, nor did they care. In the six days I had been in the house, I had only spoken to themonce or twice, and they had acted as if it were the last thing in the world they wished to be doing.
They were rather oblivious to their surroundings, but I had learned better.
My eyes traveled between Mama and Mr. Bentford. He was a puppet pulled by invisible strings, entwined in her hands and her coy smile. While I had once aspired to such behavior, watching it now made me sick deep within my stomach.
I pushed away from the table, making my fork clatter against my plate. “Please excuse me. I wish to retire early.”
The surprise in Mama’s eyes faded, and she gave me a knowing glance. “You must rest well this evening, for tomorrow you will meet Mr. Webb.”
I smiled, but when I turned away my face fell. Why was I not eager to meet him? In the past I would have been filled with excitement and anticipation over the prospect of meeting any wealthy gentlemen and flirting to my heart’s content. But now, all I felt was a glaring emptiness. I walked like a ghost to my room. Anna was there to help me prepare for bed. It was strange that the most comfort I found here was in her friendship and company.
We each spoke about the events of our day as Anna brushed my hair, and I was suddenly overcome with longing for Clara. Oh, how I missed her. I even missed Miss Bentford’s company.
“Sleep well, miss,” Anna said. “Tomorrow will be an eventful day, I trust.”
I took a deep breath. “Indeed. Thank you.”
Anna watched me, an inquisitive look on her face, but left without another word. I blew out the candles and climbed into bed, trying to calm my troubled mind. I had never imagined I would feel like such a stranger here at Bentford Manor. But Mama looked at me differently now. She was more critical and disdainful—the treatment she had always saved for Clara. Ithought of the way she had looked at my hand that first day…how disgusted she had been.
My chin quivered and I bit my lip to keep from crying. I had longed to return here for so long, but now that I was back, I was vastly disappointed. I hadn’t known that my freedom would come at such a cost. I hadn’t expected to miss anything about Craster.
My thoughts wandered to James. His kindness. Our kiss. Thinking of him was a practice I had shunned since that first mile on the road home, but I allowed myself to think of him at times like this when I was the most weak.
I wondered how he had spent the past fifteen days we had been apart. I wondered how long it had taken him to forget me. I wondered if he had really ever loved me, and if he had, how long it had taken him to hate me instead. Because I knew, without a doubt, that he hated me now. How could he not hate me after all I had done to his heart? I shivered and tightened my blankets around me.
I scolded myself for even thinking of him and closed my eyes. This was my home now. I wrapped up my emotions and put them where they couldn’t be found. Tears pooled beneath my eyelids but I didn’t let them fall. This was what I wanted. I would court Mr. Webb and perhaps my luck would turn. A voice inside me whispered that I had made a mistake, that I was a fool, but I shushed it. Mr. Webb could offer me a beautiful home, dozens of dresses, and months every year in London. What more could I ever need?
Eventually my breathing relaxed and my eyes dried. Yes. When I met Mr. Webb, I would do all I could to secure a match with him. It was just within my reach now. My heart would have nothing to do with it.
It would be easy, I told myself, because my heart was in a place very, very far away from here.
