My gaze slid carefully to my own portrait, and my stomach sank far to the ground. There, on my face, was the same look as Mama’s. The same selfish, cruel, unrelenting face. Beautiful to the outside eye, but I knew better.
I thought of the miniature portrait Mama wore in the pendant at her neck. Never had I considered Mama’s depth of devotion to her own mother. Picturing the straight spine, the heavy eyes, the calculated smile of her own mother, the resemblance was more striking than ever before. I had never known my grandmother. But it seemed she had taught Mama the same things I had been taught; she had schooled a heart into rigid discipline. And Mama thrived off of it. Would I be the same one day?
My heart pounded with dread as I thought of tonight, how I would meet Mr. Webb, and how I was expected to be that girl in the portrait. I feared I couldn’t do it.
I stepped back against the wall to steady myself and wondered for the first time if I really wanted this—if I really wanted to be like Mama. Because to be like her was the only way to please her. And I knew deep within my soul, that if Mama was still the same woman in that portrait, then she wasn’t capable of love. Not now, not like this. So what was I trying to do? Mama could accept me, and she could approve of me, but I wouldalways fall short. Was that enough to make me happy? Did I even deserve to be happy?
I turned away from the portraits in disgust and ran. My feet slapped against the marble floors in loud echoes as I made my way to the staircase and up to my room. I couldn’t afford to think this way. I had made my choice. There was nothing left for me anywhere else. Everyone I had dared to love now hated me, and surely they would not allow me to return to them. I simply needed to be strong and move forward.
So two hours later, I walked down the stairs again, and Mr. Webb and Mama awaited me with uninviting smiles at the bottom.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
THREE MONTHS LATER
“I love you more than words can yield the matter.”
The water running over my hand was cold. Chill bumps erupted over my arm and I sighed, enjoying the soothing coolness of the stream on my skin. It was finally warm enough to venture outside. I had never been keen on adventure before, but any form of escape was worth every precious moment.
I stood and brushed the dirt off my skirts and wiped the hair away that had fallen in my eyes. The woods were thick behind Bentford Manor, and I had discovered this little stream only a week before. Since then it had become a fortress of relief and distance from a certain much-too-watchful gentleman. I had spent hours alone here, practicing my writing with my left hand, sketching the trees, and hoping Mr. Webb wouldn’t find me.
Taking a deep breath, I filled my lungs with the fresh spring air and looked up at the sky through the trees. It was grey with heavy clouds. I watched them move through the sky, a slowroiling that captivated me. It would rain soon. I knew I should go inside, but I couldn’t look away. The color reminded me of the sky in Craster, and I took a moment to wonder whether or not James was standing under the same colored sky, and if it were possible that he thought of me as much as I thought of him.
Kicking the grass ahead, I slipped my gloves back over my hands and walked out of the woods. Almost immediately, I heard a familiar shout.
“Miss Lyons! There you are!” Mr. Webb’s voice cracked with exertion as he ran toward me. He stopped, breathing heavily. He doffed his hat and extended his arm to me. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead. “Are you unwell?”
“I could ask the same of you,” I said.
He laughed and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. His wavy auburn hair was sticking to the sides of his head. His eyes settled on me, a brown color that I had come to associate with the mud on the bottom of the stream. “I could run miles and miles, dear Charlotte, if it meant I could see your beauty once again. Your eyes remind me very much of the blue satin bow my cat wore when she was just a kitten.”
“Oh?” My voice was flat. He had offered the same comment on at least two other occasions.
“Yet I fail to make any comparison that would adequately describe the color of your eyes. I have never seen anything like it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Webb. You are too kind.”
He shrugged and flashed a winning smile. Then he went on to tell me every detail of his meeting with his man of business, and how he had acquired another small inheritance from a distant cousin. “Would you like to take a ride into town? I know how much you like to see the new fabrics in the shop. You like that, do you not?”
“I do, but we did go yesterday.” I didn’t know if I could endure another ride with him.
He stopped walking. “Well, I know a few other things you like.” He grinned. “Lilacs, summer breezes, ribbons, lace, dancing.”
I gave a polite smile. Those things were true, but I could never tell him the things I really liked. Playing the pianoforte, sketching alone in the woods, eating lemon tea cakes, rocky coasts, the sea, and beautiful memories that I had taken for granted.
“I forgot one thing!” he said emphatically. He turned to face me, pulling me close. Sunlight filtered through his pale lashes and glinted off his sweat. “Me!” He laughed and spun me around. “You like me most of all, I think.”
I dislodged myself from his arms as quickly as possible and faked a smile. “Of course.”
He brushed my hair from my eyes. “You are so very beautiful,” he said again.
I didn’t have the energy or the desire to reply. I stepped back, feeling sick and empty and more lonely than I had ever felt in my life. “I must go. I need to prepare for dinner.”
He nodded with understanding. “Oh! Please wear your lavender gown tonight. It is my favorite.”
I didn’t look back. But I made a promise to myself that I would never wear my lavender gown again.
Mr. Webb was a good man. He was friendly and agreeable, but disconcerting at the same time. Mama had been married just a month before, and shortly after she returned home from her wedding trip, she had assured me that I was well on my way to securing a marriage with him. She had smiled, and although I had expected her words of approval and her smile to comfort me, they left me dry and cracked inside. I lived day by day, hour by hour, always dreading the next.
