Dual Devotions, page 21
Praying for you,
Charlotte
She’d never finished a letter mentioning prayer, but Alex had told her that God did care, and if anyone needed prayer right now, it was certainly Alex. Once she signed her name, she blotted the paper and folded it, holding back the tears that threatened to accompany the penned words. Finally she sealed it with the bottom of her inkwell instead of employing a special crest or designation and walked over to Margaret. “Thank you” was all she could manage as she watched Margaret tuck the paper carefully away and make her way down the corridor.
After several watery tears, Charlotte bit the sides of her cheeks until they hurt and forced herself to stop crying. She shouldn’t muss her hair or complexion just before dinner, not if she wanted to go without questions. She glanced around the room at the velvet curtains and carved dressing table, at all the opulent trappings of her surroundings. She’d been taught for years that finery like this proved her worth. That wealth should give her confidence.
But it was merely a resplendent cage full of lies.
***
Alex’s door jangled open again, and he prepared himself for the foreman delivering more bad news. But when looked up, he was surprised to see a slender woman in an apron, jittery as a mouse, looking at him with terrified half-shaded eyes beneath an overly large bonnet.
“Sorry to disturb you, sir. I have this to deliver and will be on my way.”
Why did the woman’s face and voice seem familiar to him? She thrust the note out in front of her, and he took it. As soon as he had, she turned to go.
“Please stay, miss, just until I read its contents.”
The woman tensed and nodded, her bonnet still covering most of her face from him as he broke the unusually shaped seal.
His eyes devoured the words. Halfway through, he glanced up. This woman was Margaret. Of course. That’s why she seemed familiar. He’d seen her once in town and from far away a few times. Part of him wished to send someone for Moxham now, but as he read Charlotte’s suggestion, he agreed that sending Moxham to apply at the castle would be best.
As he came to the second half of the letter, his heart contorted, and before he wished it, the letter concluded.
Charlotte had told him to stay away. Forever.
But with each of her admonitions, he felt the pain behind them, and he could almost see her beautiful, tortured eyes as she’d penned them. How many times had he watched Charlotte’s brother dictate her life? The strain and oppression of each of her words cut at his soul and stirred his sense of injustice. Her fear must run deep to be so definitive. His heart ached. Had she, like himself, spent hours devising plans to bring them together again, or had she simply given up?
It had to be possible to see her, to be with her again. He just hadn’t figured out the pieces yet. But he would.
“Sir, I must be going.” Margaret must have sensed he had finished and began to back toward the door.
“Wait, please,” he said, snapping out of his reflections like a hound catching a scent. “Tell me, when is the masquerade at the castle?”
Margaret glanced sidelong. “Tuesday next.”
“Would you wager Mr. Roylance plans to extend a marriage proposal at said ball?”
“Why, of course.”
“And Miss Roylance. Is she engaged yet?” His heart tightened as he asked it.
“You ask a great deal of questions,” the maid replied.
“That will be the last question, if you’ll answer it,” he said, coming to the side of his desk. He tried to smile kindly, but her eyes were still tight with nerves.
She lowered her voice and clasped her hands together. “Miss Roylance and Lord Ainscough are perfectly suited. They are not yet engaged, but I think it is more than sure they too will be engaged by the end of the ball.”
He nodded, biting back the acrid taste that rose in this throat. As soon as he gestured to the door, she fled, the harsh clang of the handle sounding in his ears.
Releasing his white-knuckled grip on the edge of his desk, he crumpled into his chair. Charlotte and Lord Ainscough. Even the servants thought their future certain. He thought back to his discussions with Charlotte. Lord Ainscough was Yorkshire pudding—not terrible but not her choice. No doubt she felt trapped, forced into this future, to save Alex.
But if she had a choice, would she choose him instead? She had said as much when they last saw each other, but did she still feel the same?
He needed to find out.
If he could just find a way to take her out of the castle without being caught, to sidestep Chris and his tyranny, to give her a chance to make her own decision, he hoped to have a future with her. He couldn’t be completely certain she’d choose him, but what he wanted more than anything was to make sure she had the opportunity to choose in the first place.
Through bleary eyes he glanced at his ledger, the names of the miners he’d lost glaring him in the face. He’d thought his situation dire before.
He would not lose Charlotte too, not if she wanted him.
***
On Saturday morning Moxham stared directly at Alex as he spoke. “Are ye sure?”
“Go.” Alex waved him away with both hands and chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ve told you three times; I can more than manage without you.”
An excited yet semi-reluctant gleam shone in Moxham’s eyes. “I thank ye.” He took a few steps and then turned. “On the night of the ball, I’ll be ready for ye.”
Alex shooed him away again, and the man turned down the road to the castle with a bundle over his shoulder.
Alex knew full well that his own plan, which Moxham had just alluded to, bordered on tomfoolery, but he had worked through the problem for the past day and still hadn’t come up with anything better. He would use the masquerade and its disguises to break into the castle. He knew full well what might happen if he were caught, but he didn’t allow himself to dwell on that possibility. It simply could not happen. No matter the cost, he was determined to ensure Charlotte’s freedom.
Later that afternoon, he hurried to the garden of the parsonage. He’d spoken with Mr. Laurence last night, and the man had said he would do what he could to help. When Alex came to the back of the house, Mr. Laurence stood next to his wife, who leaned on her husband’s arm as they admired some of their produce.
“Mr. Jenkins!” The vicar smiled. “I am glad you have come. I just heard back from the rector, and I can grant your request.”
Alex’s entire body flooded with relief, but his nerves still prickled underneath the surface. “What excellent news! Thank you for your help.” He eyed the vicar and his wife. “You . . . don’t think me utterly mad?”
Mrs. Laurence gave an eager smile. “Not in the slightest. I’ve been friends with Charlotte a long time, Mr. Jenkins. I remember her asking about you years ago, and to a discerning eye, it’s clear she’s hiding her grief over your parting.”
She nudged her husband, and Mr. Laurence cleared his throat. “We can’t help but root for the longtime favorite.”
Alex sighed. “Even when that favorite is now the arch enemy to our dear friend Christopher?”
Mrs. Laurence waved her hand in front of her and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Christopher Roylance is the most arrogant, self-important—”
“Dear,” the vicar interjected, placing a hand over his wife’s. “No matter what he is, you ought not to say such things.”
She cleared her throat and apologized. “Suffice it to say, Mr. Jenkins, Mr. Roylance is in the wrong.”
Their support buoyed Alex, though in the back of his mind, Christopher’s threats loomed closer and closer. With each passing hour leading up to the ball, Charlotte seemed to slip further away from him and deeper into her brother’s clutches. He could not let that happen. And he had to act quickly before Charlotte became Ainscough’s forever.
“After the ball, we will await you both at the vicarage, assuming she agrees.” Mr. Laurence smiled, his face full of mischief, surprisingly more effusive than his generally stoic demeanor.
“Of course she’ll agree!” Mrs. Laurence said, batting a hand toward her husband. “It’s all so romantic.” She sighed, her eyes toward the sky. “Now, shouldn’t you be preparing your costumes?”
Alex smiled, hoping Mrs. Laurence’s faith in Charlotte would be mirrored by the wonderful woman herself. He prayed she’d be bold, and confident, and true to her heart.
Chapter 28
Lord Ainscough, Christopher, and Lady Eloise had been Charlotte’s near-constant companions every morning for the past week. In the afternoons, when Christopher had taken to courting Lady Eloise with only her maid, George and Joseph stepped in, always near Charlotte’s side. A few times she even noticed the grooms tracking her whereabouts. She wanted time alone, time to think, to mourn, to pray for Alex, even—but everyone insisted on keeping her busy, unless she retired to her room. And when she did that, within minutes her mother demanded she return to their guests.
To his credit, Lord Ainscough was splendid with her younger brothers. Charlotte wished this man, and not Christopher, were the role model George and especially Joseph had as an example. Something about the man’s good humor rounded out many of the awkward, less-than-polished social moments so evident in Joseph’s fourteen-year-old conversations. And despite the eight-year age difference, there was a confidence and sameness of mind between Ainscough and George that could only help her brother grow in maturity and deportment.
Despite the stringent watchdog feeling of it all, spending time with Lord Ainscough became easier every day. That was promising, for if they could grow comfortable in one another’s company, perhaps marrying him would provide some measure of satisfaction—eventually.
That sentiment caused her guilt; she ought to be more than happy that a titled, handsome, and kind man doted on her. Indeed, it was even pleasant, when she buried her true feelings deep enough. More than once, though, she’d wished for Alex’s banter, until she’d chided herself for dwelling on the past.
The day before the ball arrived. Christopher and Lady Eloise were busy all morning receiving the last of the guests. By some negotiation, Christopher had allowed Lord Ainscough to plan a ride with only Charlotte, devoid of her brothers, on the terms that Christopher spoke with and chose the groom before the outing.
Once the groom had helped them with the horses and sat on his own mount, ready to follow them, Charlotte and Lord Ainscough’s slow trot through a hunting path provided them some seclusion.
“I thank you, Lord Ainscough,” Charlotte said as they turned around a bend, “for devising a way out of greeting all the guests.”
He shook his head. “It’s Harris, Miss Roylance. Please.”
She smiled and nodded. He’d done everything, even this, to make her feel easy. So why couldn’t she rally behind that feeling? Her heart sank, and she wished she could turn her pretending into true feeling.
“I noticed in London you seemed less excited to entertain, so I thought you would prefer the out-of-doors,” he said.
“Indeed,” she said. It was mostly true. She’d always loved nature, but Lord Ainscough—Harris—had chosen their path today, and it was veering near the south woods, almost to the spot where she’d last been with Alex. No part of her preferred to recall that memory.
“Now,” Harris said, “if only I had a few paints and a canvas.” He winked, lifting his eyebrows and his hand into the air, feeling the breeze. “The wind seems nearly strong enough. I’d love you to paint my likeness.”
Charlotte laughed, and an errant curl teased its way from her hat, tickling her nose. “You mean you prefer my painting to descend on your likeness?”
He smiled, and the effect was almost charming. “It wasn’t all bad, you know.” He brushed his hands together. “In a way, I think it made you feel obligated to continue a friendship with me.” His voice mellowed. “A thing I have not regretted.” They rode on, and Harris cleared his throat. “Have you . . . regretted it?”
“No.” She smiled. It was the truth. He was a dear friend to her. Nothing he did upset her. His manners were easy. His countenance was pleasing. His attention to her lacked nothing, and yet . . . in her heart she still wished Alex were beside her in these woods. She wanted someone who excited her, who teased her. Someone who wasn’t so generic. Simply put, she did not love Harris, and she knew she never would love him like she loved Alex.
She reached up and fiddled with her necklace. What had possessed her to let herself wear it? The dark-red stone complemented this habit, and in a moment of weakness, she’d told Ellen to add it to her ensemble.
“Your necklace is beautiful. Do you prefer garnet to other stones?”
Charlotte dropped her hand immediately to her reins. “Why, yes, I suppose I do, though I think most ladies like any gemstones.”
“Too true,” Harris said. “My mother wore a ruby ring during her lifetime, given to her by my father.” He stopped speaking, and she turned in her saddle to look at him.
His horse stood still, and he was staring at her. With a nudge of his knee, the horse drew two paces closer and then stopped again. Harris’s expectant, handsome countenance should have filled her with excitement, but dread immediately consumed her. His eyes dripped with contentment, and she wondered what he saw in her own eyes. If he could see her heart, he’d realize how much was lacking there.
“It is my hope, Miss Roylance”—his voice sounded husky—“to give you something of that sort in our near future, as a token of my growing affection.”
He could not be saying these words. Not in this place with memories of Alex as fresh as an open wound. Charlotte had known that Harris would say these things eventually, but she wasn’t ready for them. She wanted to scream for him to stop but knew she shouldn’t. Her hands began to perspire in her gloves.
If only it were Alex saying these words; if only he were holding her hand, gazing at her. That she would have relished. That would have made her whole. But wanting that was wanting to touch the sun without getting burned. It was not only impossible after she’d warned him off but also stupid and selfish and unwise. She could not risk his life to suit her desires. She must resign herself to listening to another man’s kind speech instead.
Harris sighed, probably wishing she’d said something, but he soldiered on. “I know it may seem bold, but over the past few months, I’ve come to care for you like I’ve never cared for anyone. I admire your beauty, your sweet demeanor, your quick wit. In short, I wish to ask for your hand in marriage, if you will have me.”
Charlotte stared blindly at her horse’s mane. The dark strands seemed like an endless cavern she was nigh to falling into. Why couldn’t she meet Harris’s gaze? Say yes, her mind implored her. You know it is what you ought to say.
Her breathing quickened, and more thoughts barraged her.
Christopher will be so pleased with you.
Think of how thrilled Mother will be. She’ll finally dote on you.
All your discord with Christopher will vanish.
When father eventually returns from India, he’ll have something to be proud of.
Like arrows multiplying in a quiver against their target, more reasons for answering yes flooded her mind. From her periphery, wavy blond curls leaned toward her.
She’d never see Alex again. That realization had torn her apart these last few days, but it was time she accepted the reality. She’d lost her freedom and, with it, her heart. There couldn’t be another way. She had to move on.
“Yes, I will have you.” She sighed, hoping he’d take the way the words choked in her throat as breathless excitement.
“Yes?” Harris’s reply came out close to an ecstatic whoop, but then he cleared his throat. “I . . . am ever so honored,” he said in a more subdued tone. “With your brother as your guardian while your father is away, is it best to talk with him?”
Charlotte swallowed. She searched her heart, longing for some confirmation of the rightness of her decision, but no peace came. Shouldn’t she at least feel relieved? “You haven’t already asked him for his blessing?”
“Why no. I wanted to speak with you first.”
So Harris hadn’t been coerced by Christopher. That meant he really did care for her, that he wasn’t just falling in line with Christopher’s plan too. Charlotte closed her eyes, waiting for more excitement, more peace to enter her mind. She drew a long breath. Nothing. Her nerves still wrestled within her.
“I appreciate that,” she said after a silent pause between them.
“I see the folly of my ways.” Harris raked a hand through his hair. “Surely your brother will not have a spare moment for an audience with me at this time.” He was speaking quickly, his agitated hands a sign of his nervousness. “I’ll try to speak to him tonight. Then tomorrow at the ball, we could announce it.”
“Of course,” Charlotte managed. Every word from her mouth felt more and more strangled. The sun shone around them, and the sky was a perfect blue, but Charlotte felt like a thundercloud had rolled over her. “Would you mind if we turn around?” She tried to smile. “With so much on my mind, I suddenly wish for a bit of time in my room to reflect in quiet.”
Harris’s mouth spread into a wide smile. “Of course.” He pulled on his horse’s reins, and they increased their pace as the groom followed far behind them. As they rode, he continued to send pleased glances her way.
