She nursed her father through the nights, sponging his forehead and whispering soft reassurances when he thrashed in delirium. His once-steady hands trembled now, reaching for things that were not there—his mother, his youth, the life slipping through his grasp.
Then, one morning, he opened his eyes and looked at her clearly for the first time in days.
‘Char...’ His voice was faint but lucid. ‘I’m feeling better. You need some rest.’
Charlotte smiled, though her eyes were rimmed red. ‘I’m fine, Papa. Are you thirsty?’ She lifted a spoon of water to his lips. He took a sip—and immediately fell into a fit of coughing that shook his frail body.
‘Careful now,’ she murmured, propping him higher. ‘Slowly.’
When the coughing eased, he caught her hand weakly. ‘You’ve always been a kind girl, even when you thought no one noticed,’ he said, his lips curving faintly. ‘But I fear for your sweet nature, child.’
Charlotte drew herself up. ‘I can take care of myself,’ she said, though the words sounded painfully like a child’s protest.
His smile deepened, weary but knowing. ‘Your mother... is a force to be reckoned with. Don’t give in to her demands. Not if it isn’t what you truly want.’
Charlotte exhaled, half exasperated, half amused. ‘You’re referring to Lord Haverley again, aren’t you?’
He managed a ghost of a chuckle. ‘She’s relentless.’
‘She’ll find someone else to torment soon enough,’ Charlotte said lightly. ‘You will talk her out of it. You always do.’
But his next words chilled her.
‘That’s my fear, darling girl. I may not be around much longer.’
‘Don’t speak that way,’ she whispered. ‘Dr Walton said you were improving.’
‘Dr Walton knows nothing,’ he said, half laughing, half coughing.
Charlotte forced a small smile. ‘He’s a respectable doctor.’
‘He’s a pompous fool,’ her father muttered. Then, more softly, ‘Remember, oppression is evil, but surrendering yourself to it is worse. Promise me, Char. Promise me you’ll stand your ground. Respectfully—but firmly. Promise me you won’t let her push you into anything you despise.’
Charlotte swallowed hard. ‘I promise.’
Another cough seized him. When it passed, he closed his eyes, the effort draining what little strength remained.
To distract herself, Charlotte began to speak softly.
‘I had a letter from Grace. She’s well. They stopped in the Ottoman Empire before sailing for India. Imagine that—theOttoman Empire! Can you picture Mrs M on a ship? She must be clinging to the mast, poor woman.’
Her father chuckled faintly. ‘The lure of home can make even the most delicate woman endure.’
‘I miss her terribly,’ Charlotte said. ‘Her letters are so full of adventure that our London life seems dreadfully small.’
‘You’ll have adventures of your own someday,’ he murmured. ‘Someone worthy of you will find you.’
Charlotte smiled sadly. ‘I rather think I shall have to find myself first.’
His eyes twinkled faintly. ‘Ah, my philosopher. You still have Anne.’
After a moment, she added, ‘Anne is thinking of going into service. Her father has gambled away nearly everything.’
Her father sighed heavily.
‘Patrick was always a fool.’ After a brief pause, he added thoughtfully, ‘Perhaps Anne might become a companion to you?’
Charlotte brightened. ‘That would be wonderful.’
