My Dearest Charlotte,
I write to you to persuade you to come to your senses and return home. Mary and I worry about you daily. Poor Mr. Lindstrom is beside himself. He fears for your safety. Dear Charlotte, he yearns to marry you. I only ask that you thoroughly consider how good this marriage would be for you. Mr. Lindstrom is a fine man with many good qualities. Your father would not have considered him otherwise.
It is time you gave up these childish antics and realized what is best for you. You must give consideration to your sister, too. Your behavior could prevent Mary from finding a suitable match when it is her time. Please reply and let me know when we might expect your return.
All my love,
Mama
A gush of air escaped Charlotte’s lips as the paper crumpled between her fingers. What was best for her? It was more like what was best for her father. And how good could a marriage be when she held no attraction or affection for the man she married? Despite her mother’s words, she doubted Mary blamed her much at all for leaving.
“It doesn’t look as if you’ve received good news.” Mr. Becker had returned to stand beside her.
Charlotte mutely held out the letter. He took it and made quick work of the reading.
“Hmm,” was all he said.
A million feelings rushed through her all at once, and she stood, trying to make sense of them all. “Childish antics! I should have known they wouldn’t have seen it any other way. And if Mr. Lindstrom is truly concerned for me, he’d realize I have no interest in him and he would rescind his proposal.” She stalked across the room, looked out the window without really seeing, and then strode back.
Mr. Becker still held the letter. He turned it over in his hand and then looked up at her.
“Would you like me to toss it into the fire?” He gestured at the fireplace, which held a low-burning fire to ward off the morning’s chill.
“The fire?” Charlotte was certain her jaw had dropped open at the unusual suggestion. “Whatever for?”
Mr. Becker shrugged. “Well, if I received a missive that made me as angry as this one has made you, I’d derive a good amount of satisfaction over watching it burn.”
If Charlotte hadn’t been so angry, she would have laughed. Still, his suggestion had cooled some of the rage she’d felt. It melted now into a giant sense of disappointment.
“No, that’s quite all right.” She held out her hand and he returned the letter. But whatwouldshe do with it?
Without thinking, she moved toward the fireplace and dropped it into the flames. They made quick work of the paper, and when Charlotte turned, she found Mr. Becker next to her, watching her with a satisfactory look lingering on his lips.
“It feels better, right?” he asked.
“I suppose, in a way. I just . . .” She threw up her hands. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. I came all the way here, certain that it would cause Papa to relent. But it hasn’t—and now it appears he won’t. My grand plan has failed. What do I do now?”
“Well . . .” Mr. Becker tucked his hands into his pockets and leaned against the mantel. “I imagine you could do anything you want.”
Charlotte swallowed. Could she? It seemed an impossible sort of suggestion, like thinking that one could simply stop blinking or breathing air. “What would you do if you were in my position?”
“I suppose I’d seek out work looking after wayward heiresses.”
Charlotte burst into laughter. “I suppose you would.” She glanced again into the fire, where all traces of her mother’s writing were now gone. “I never imagined being away from my family. As much as they irritate me at times, I always thought I’d be with them, or at least nearby.”
“It isn’t easy,” Mr. Becker said. “Not a day goes by that I don’t think about my parents or my siblings. But the pain lessens some as time goes on.”
Charlotte drew in a deep breath, turning his words over in her mind. “It makes sense, but . . .” Her throat seemed to close as unshed tears pricked at her eyes. “I miss them, my sister and my brothers. And my parents . . . I miss them too, but I suppose I miss who I wish they were more than who they actually are.”
Her body shook just slightly. Charlotte wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold it in, but it was too late. Mr. Becker had already taken notice and stepped forward. Before she knew it, he’d enveloped her in his arms.
“Charlotte,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “It will all be well. I promise.”
His words seemed to burrow straight into her soul. She sunk into his reassuring embrace, letting her arms drop to her sides, and, for once, allowing herself to mourn what she’d wanted most in her entire life. Her parents would never accept her for the way she was, and there was no doing anything about that.
As a few tears leaked from her eyes into Mr. Becker’s shirt, Charlotte let all of her expectations go. She forgot her parents. She forgot the rigid rules of Baltimore society. She forgot what everyone assumed she needed to be. She forgot that Mr. Becker oughtn’t call herCharlotte. She forgot that anyone could walk in at any moment to catch them in this compromising position.
Instead, she breathed in his scent, a mix of tobacco and soap, and reveled in the warm strength of his embrace. And she felt that perhaps he was right.
