“You should see the size of the place, miss,” Edward said after he and his mother and siblings had moved into their new flat in Marylebone. “Mum feels like a queen.”
Charlotte’s heart felt full, almost to bursting. And although she hadn’t seen the place, she had been told they were well-cared for by Miss Hill. Despite what Edward said, the flats were small by any standards except for having lived as a family of four in an East End flat. Definitely not a palace, but the Percys’ new Marylebone home would be safe and cheap.
“We didn’t even tell Mr. Tufts where we were going.”
“I think he’ll be too busy with my parents’ lawsuit to worry about finding you and your family,” Charlotte said.
Her mother had agreed that expanding to Covent Garden, if the license for having a small stall there wasn’t too expensive, would be a grand idea.
“Think of all those customers,” Felicity had said, “who don’t come to New Bond Street, but who wander through or near the marketplace every day.”
As soon as they reopened and were back to full steam, as her father put it, then they were going to pursue the notion with Mrs. Percy.
In the midst of it all, Charlotte had her wedding to look forward to. Charles had already chosen St. George’s Church, unless she had any misgivings. She had none. However, having never been inside it, she decided to stroll over and peruse the interior instead of eating a midday meal in the back room.
It was a short walk from the shop on a sunny day with just a few white clouds. Charlotte popped a piece of toffee in her mouth as she walked, wondering how her life had become so blessed. To think that she’d been working just a street away from the centuries-old church where she would marry seemed yet another miracle. Built after a parliamentary act called for fifty new churches in London and Westminster, the grand old building momentarily stopped her in her tracks.
The ringing of its single bell had been a familiar sound in her life, and she’d seen St. George’s many times, but never with the eyes of a bride. Passing through the six Corinthian columns at the front, the sole adornment to an otherwise plain exterior, she encountered no one else inside in the middle of the day. Free to wander into the nave, her gaze was instantly riveted to the stained glass above the altar in the apse at the other end. With the sun shining through, every color of the rainbow breathtakingly sparkled back at her. It was better than any painting she’d ever seen.
Passing between the box pews on either side of her, their height having been lowered eight years earlier so people could see over them, she imagined her family seated there witnessing her marry Charles. Glancing up at the arched ceiling, supported by pillars that mimicked the exterior columns, she breathed in the scent of the old building — not musty, simply ... rarefied. There was something special there, to be sure. It reminded her of being in a museum in which she’d been compelled to speak in hushed tones while taking in the magic of great art as much as she took it in with her eyes.
Shrugging at her silly notions, Charlotte took a last look at the polished gold leaf of the Corinthian tops and the gilded bands striping the ceiling. How fitting that the most expensive decoration had been placed closest to Heaven.
How incredible she, a shopkeeper’s daughter, would marry there!
Leaving the church, being as it was such a lovely day — rare for London, no matter the time of year — she headed north two minutes to Hanover Square, so she could enjoy a bit of greenery in the shade of the old trees.
Crossing the square, determined to find a place in the middle to sit for five minutes, suddenly, she spied Viola Evans, whom she hadn’t seen for months. And with her was ... Lionel.
Lionel!Her heart nearly stopped. He looked the same yet different. His hair was shorter, his clothing different, more reserved than he’d worn to art class. Less a flamboyant continental traveler and more ... ordinary.
Viola saw her next, dropped hold of her brother’s arm, and ran toward her. In the next instant, she’d clasped Charlotte’s gloved hands.
“It’s good to see you,” Viola declared.
Was it?It was the first communication they’d had since Viola had asked her for money. If Viola had written again with simply a few words of friendship, Charlotte would have responded in kind.
Lionel came to a stop in front of her. She realized she was trembling. A year and a half she’d devoted to watching him, hanging on his every word, letting him kiss her, waiting for the time when he would claim her publicly, as he’d hinted. When the time was right...
“Good day, Miss Rare-Foure,” were his first words. “I’m pleased to see you looking well.” And his gaze took her in from head to foot before offering his charming smile.
Scarcely able to breathe from the shock, she couldn’t speak.
“Won’t you greet my brother?” Viola said, her tone thin. “I hope you do not hold a grudge against him for not saying goodbye.”
Viola had conveniently forgotten her own grudge against him when he had fled with just a note to her parents. Apparently, all his subsequent letters had won over his sister.
Recalling a time when she would have melted if he’d told her she looked well and smiled benignly upon her like the sun in the sky, Charlotte found she no longer gave a fig.
“I am well, thank you.” Her thoughts flew to Charles. Without a hint of selfishness, he’d helped her, and then he’d kissed her, and all her troubles had faded. He hadn’t asked her for anything in return. Unlike Lionel.
Shading her eyes against the afternoon sun, she looked up at Lionel. “Are you recently back from your trip?”
Brother and sister glanced at one another. “Yes,” he said. “Just a couple days ago.”
“We were heading to Gunter’s for ices. Will you join us?” Viola asked. “Lionel was going to tell me in detail about the sights he saw.”
The sights!Viola spoke as if the trip had been a sanctioned journey instead of a sneaky, slippery escape with a young woman’s whose reputation was now ruined.
