“Of course it has, but—” Charlotte hesitated, her fingers running through her hair, smoothing that which she really wished to ruffle into a state reflecting the tumult inside her. “But however I myself may feel, I must do my duty to my family.” The excuse sounded weak even to her own ears, though it was the truth.
“Then what was all of this? Did our time together mean nothing?” Mary was only a few feet away, but the distance between them had never felt greater. “You have been offered a way out, Charlotte. An opportunity to leave your old life behind and remake it anew in a way that suits you. You do not have to hide any more, darling.”
“I will always be hiding, one way or another.”
Mary stared at her, jaw working furiously. “I cannot understand you.”
“You understand me perfectly. You just do not agree.”
“So what was this for you? Merely some sort of game? A fling?” she demanded, her eyes filling with tears. “We are talking of my heart, darling. I gave it to you fully.”
“It was never a game.” Charlotte crossed the chasm between them and tried to take Mary’s hands, but Mary shook her off angrily. “I simply cannot be so selfish as to let my feelings control my decisions. You said yourself that you would never do what Lydia did, that you would protect your family and keep them safe. I must do the same. You must see that!”
“I only meant not to flaunt a scandalous relationship in such a way as would draw suspicion and scandal. You knew perfectly well that I did not mean—” Mary stopped, her lips pressed into pale lines. “You led me to believe that… I thought… Do not you love me, Charlotte?” Her tone was desperate, her voice raw.
Charlotte opened her mouth, then closed it again. Mary had once said that the day Charlotte told a lie would be the daythe world ended; she’d been right, in a way. The world they had created had to be destroyed for Mary to thrive. Charlotte was an overgrown tree cutting off the sunlight of a beautiful flower; if Mary would not chop her down, she must take the axe to her own trunk. Fear gripped Charlotte, wrapping icy fingers around her heart. She had no money and no prospects, and certainly could not accept a paid position of employment, which solved only one problem but created several more. Mary would find a better match in time, someone prepared to take risks, to fling caution to the wind in the grand pursuit of love.
“I cannot do what you ask of me,” she said, at last. “I had thought you understood that. And if that means that I cannot give you what you need, then so be it.”
She hadn’t meant to say it like that—she’d meant to say that she understood, that if Mary had a bar Charlotte could not clear then it was for the best that they end the affair, no matter how it pained her to do so—but the words impacted Mary as if she had struck a physical blow.
“If that is your decision, so be it. I am sorry to have misunderstood you so badly, and I apologize for any offense given.” Mary drew herself up straight, lip trembling, cheeks now pale as bone. “I shall have the servants pack your bags forthwith, Mrs Collins.”
And with that, she swept from the room, leaving Charlotte alone and aching.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Over the last few days, Charlotte had wondered where she would find the strength to leave Mary. She had pictured tearful, bittersweet goodbyes and at the very least, a couple of months of letters with which to console her poor broken heart. She had never pictured herself on a coach back to Kent with no such goodbye, and no hope of a single letter in her future.
The coach ride seemed twice as long without Mary; Charlotte wished to be home as quickly as possible, and had therefore immediately exchanged one coach for another upon disembarking, though this second one took a circuitous route. She had made a start at a letter to Mr Mellor, turning his offer down with the most sincere thanks she could muster, though the bumpy road and the spattering of hot tears upon the parchment left her words almost indecipherable. Folding the attempt up, Charlotte alternated between weeping and staring out of the window at the approaching dawn, her heart a clenched fist. She blew her nose hard and forced herself to take calming breaths, and by the time she arrived back in Kent, the small cottages and hamlets becoming familiar, she was sure she’d managed to erase the obvious traces of her grief. All she had to do was pretend to be fine for a few minutes, and then she could retreat to the safety of her bedroom and cry her heart out in peace.
The coach stopped outside the village tavern, and Charlotte alighted, blinking in the golden sunshine of the afternoon. Her bag was not particularly cumbersome, though she felt as if her body was encased in stone; heavy, dull, sinking into an endless quagmire. After downing a quick cup of water to quench her thirst, she marched through the village as fast as she could in such a state, trying not to draw attention. To her surprise, a familiar voice rang out from the doorway of the butcher’s shop. “Mrs Collins!” exclaimed Bessie. “Why, we did not expect you back so soon. If you would wait a moment, I will walk with you back to the parsonage.” She turned back into the store. “Let me have a bit of pork as well.”
Charlotte grimaced. She was ill-prepared for a meeting, for she had not decided what she was going to say regarding her early arrival. Bessie joined her, swinging a basket full of parcels. “Mrs Waites mentioned that the butcher’s son has been courting you,” she said, casting about for something that might occupy the maid’s mind.
“We are betrothed, ma’am.” Bessie gave a toothy, delighted smile. “He asked me just after you left and I said aye.”
Bessie was only too happy to tell the whole romantic story, which kept her occupied all the way back to the parsonage. Charlotte offered the appropriate expressions of delight and joy, and though her heart wasn’t in it, Bessie didn’t seem to notice. “Well, I am exceedingly pleased for you,” said she. “Mrs Waites tells me that he is a very hard-working young man. Does this mean you will be leaving my employ?”
“Oh,” Bessie shot her a worried glance as they neared the garden gate. “Yes, ma’am. I mean, not yours as such, for I am happy to stay on until you leave, but after that I’ll work with William in the shop.”
“I thought as much.” Charlotte held the gate open for Bessie, then closed it behind her. The flowers looked brighter than they had when she’d left only two weeks prior, though it feltlike a lifetime ago.My darling garden,she thought, gritting her teeth against a fresh wave of grief,I will have to leave you too.“Do not worry, I will simply tell Lady Catherine that the next parson will require a new maid.”
Bessie trotted down the hallway and Charlotte followed, dropping her bag outside her bedroom door on the way. In the kitchen, Mrs Waites was rolling out dough, the smell of rosewater lingering in the air. “Oh, good,” said the cook, “I was wondering if you were going to—” Her eyes widened. “Mrs Collins! Whatever brought you back so early?”
“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said, swallowing hard against the prickle of tears. “I didn’t have time to send a note.”
“Hmm.” Mrs Waites studied her, frowning. “Bessie, leave those things here. I’ve made three pies for the poor, if you wouldn’t mind taking them back to the village. She needn’t come back until dinner,” now addressing Charlotte, “for all her work is done and whatever is left, I can handle.”
Bessie didn’t need telling twice, and after being loaded up with the pies, she hared out of the room. A moment later, Charlotte heard the front door close. “Now you can tell me what’s wrong,” Mrs Waites said, gesturing to a chair.
“What makes you think anything is wrong?” she said, half-heartedly, sinking into the chair. “Apart from my imminent departure.”
The cook raised an eyebrow. “Have a biscuit.” She pushed a tray of golden brown biscuits towards Charlotte, who took one. The taste was rosewater, as she’d expected, and while the biscuit had a satisfying crunch, the inside was chewy and delicious.
“What’s wrong, ma’am?” the cook prompted. Her eyes were soft with concern, and the sympathetic look was almost more than Charlotte could bear.
“It is…complicated.” She reached for another biscuit. She hadn’t been able to force down any food on the journey, and though she had no real appetite, the biscuits were delicious.
