by Leah Conolly
Someone, though she could no longer recall whom, had once told her that the great Comte regularly did business with thugs. They had said that if a person or company posed any competition, he would send ne’er-do-well’s to frighten the potential competitor and get them out of his way. That was one speculation about which she had directly asked her father, and received only the vaguest and most noncommittal answers.
Worst of all, however, was the rumor that the Comte was fond of taking lovers in secret, going so far as to seek the company of ladies of the night. Charlotte shuddered at the thought of taking such a man for a husband. Yet here she was, waiting at the docks not far from her London home for the ship that would sail her off to him, per the agreement her parents made just after her sixteenth birthday, agreeing to give him her hand in marriage. Her heart was growing heavier and more full of dread with every passing moment.
The recollections of the rumors involving the Comte were too much for Charlotte to bear. She covered her mouth with her hand, tears immediately trickling down her fingers as she fled the ship’s docking point.
“Milady,” Ruth called, temporarily stunned by her mistress’s outburst. “Wait.”
Charlotte paid her no heed as she weaved her way through people who were clustered along the pier, awaiting the ship’s arrival with notably more enthusiasm than she. She looked around, lost and overcome with anxiety, seeking any place she might take refuge until she could compose herself. A hand on her elbow made Charlotte start with a gasp.
“Milady,” her maid repeated, pulling her gently away from a group of people who were starting to become a bit too interested in Charlotte’s distress. “Why do you fret?”
Charlotte embraced her maid, grateful for her companionship, as well as her friendship. She tried to steady her breathing, but they were coming fast and shallow. Her entire body was trembling, and she could not slow her thoughts enough to answer Ruth. Instead, she sobbed against the maid’s shoulder and managed nothing more than a weak shake of her head.
Ruth patted her back for a moment, murmuring to her soothingly. Then, she released Charlotte gently and guided her to an empty shipping crate nearby. Once Charlotte was seated, Ruth handed her a handkerchief. She dried her eyes quickly as Ruth positioned herself so that she shielded Charlotte from any prying eyes.
“Oh, Ruth,” Charlotte whispered, still struggling to calm herself. “I cannot go through with this.”
Ruth put a hand on Charlotte’s shoulder.
“Forgive me, milady,” Ruth said. “But perhaps it will not be so terrible. After all, France is a beautiful, exotic place.”
Charlotte rose quickly from the crate and began to pace.
“It could be the most beautiful place in the world, and feel more like a cage, even a prison cell, if I am married to a scoundrel whom I do not love,” she said, tears filling her eyes once more.
Ruth smiled sympathetically at Charlotte.
“But what if the rumors you have heard about the Comte are all untrue?” she asked.
Charlotte sighed with exasperation, pacing faster and further.
“And what if they are not?” she countered.
Ruth looked at Charlotte, her hands clasped in front of her.
“Maybe if you talk through some of this with me, it will seem less awful,” she said, her brow furrowing at Charlotte’s increasingly agitated state.
Charlotte opened her mouth to respond to her maid, but a muffled whimper made her fall silent. She froze mid-pace and looked at Ruth.
“Did you hear that?” Charlotte asked.
Ruth nodded slowly, eyes wide.
Charlotte began walking again, slowly and quietly.
“Hello?” she called. “Is someone there?”
Ruth stepped toward Charlotte.
“It was probably a small animal, or perhaps an unhappy child,” she said.
Charlotte held up her hand, listening carefully. After several moments of silence, she turned to agree with her maid, but then the sound came again, somewhat louder than before. She spotted a stack of shipping crates not far from where she had previously been sitting, concealed in the shade of a large pillar.
Ruth and Charlotte exchanged looks. Was someone injured and too weak to call for help? Had the women happened upon some sort of crime? Charlotte debated with herself for a moment, unsure of whether she should investigate. If someone was being attacked, the aggressor might turn on her. However, she could not just turn her back on someone in need. At last, she took a deep breath and straightened herself.
She approached the crates, with Ruth following closely. Behind the boxes, Charlotte spotted a young woman crouching, her hand over her mouth, her gray eyes wide and full of tears. Her blond hair fell in loose ringlets around her face, and Charlotte noticed a striking resemblance to herself. She held out her hand to the woman, who recoiled, seemingly frightened. Charlotte smiled warmly at her.
“Do not be afraid,” she said. “We wish to help you. Come with us and tell us what is troubling you.”
The woman studied Charlotte and Ruth for a moment with the same wide, fearful eyes. Then, slowly, she rose, taking Charlotte’s hand but not meeting her gaze.
“Please,” the woman whispered in a trembling voice. “I do not wish for any trouble. I was merely hoping to find a scrap of discarded food, or a fallen coin or two.”
Charlotte studied the young woman for several moments, surprised. Was the woman a beggar? Her clothes, although not as new or intricate as her own and a little dirty, were not worn or tattered. But why else would she be seeking food scraps and money?
The woman trembled before them, as though fearing that they might alert the other people on the docks to her presence. Charlotte slowly raised her hands and gave the woman a reassuring smile. The gestures seemed to do little to comfort the woman, and she cowered further away. Charlotte took a step back, trying to figure out what to do.
She exchanged a look with Ruth, who was gazing at the woman with deep sympathy. Charlotte slowly led the woman from behind the crates and to the one she had been sitting on a few moments before. The woman complied, her head low.
“Do not worry,” Charlotte said, patting the woman’s arm. “We will not say anything about finding you here. But, can you tell us what you were doing back there?”
Charlotte expected her to remain silent, or even to flee without another word. Instead, however, the woman took a deep breath and at last looked Charlotte in the eyes.
“My father has disowned me,” she said bluntly. “He is a baron, and he was trying to force me to find a proper husband. But I was already in love, with a man that my father considered to be worse than a peasant, and I could not comply with his wishes.” She laughed dryly as her eyes filled with tears. “I had no way of knowing that the man I loved only wanted me for my father’s fortune, or that he would vanish the moment my family disowned me.”
Charlotte stilled. She could well relate to the woman’s plight, and she wondered if she might have found herself in the same position with her own father, had she not reluctantly agreed to travel to France and marry the Comte. It seemed that the woman’s words mirrored Charlotte’s feelings every bit as much as their appearances were mirror images of each other.
Suddenly, Charlotte gasped, an idea taking root in her mind before she was fully aware it was happening. She took the woman’s hands gently and gave her an enthusiastic look.
“What if I could do more for you than merely find you a bit of food or a couple of coins?” she asked.
The woman blinked at her, confused.
“I do not understand,” she said.
Charlotte knelt beside her to reinforce their eye contact.
“What if I could set you up with a new name, a home, a husband, and as much food as you could possibly eat?”
The woman pulled her hands away from Charlotte, eyeing her suspiciously.
“Are you thinking of selling me to someone?” she asked.
Charlotte laughed.
&n
bsp; “Not at all,” she said. “What I mean is, you could take my place aboard the approaching ship, travel to France, and live the life of your dreams.”
The woman continued to look at Charlotte with doubt and distrust.
“If it is a dream life,” she said slowly. “Then why are you willing to hand it to me?”
Charlotte sighed.
“Because it is not the life of my dreams,” she said quietly.
Understanding dawned on the woman’s face. She stared at Charlotte, her brow furrowed, as she mulled over the words. At last, she rose from the crate.
“Alright,” she said. “Tell me more about this dream life.”
Charlotte smiled, relieved that the woman did not think her completely mad, and she proceeded to explain about going to France to marry the Comte. The woman listened with cautious optimism, taking in Charlotte’s words.
At last, Charlotte was finished filling in the woman, who appeared to be carefully considering Charlotte’s crazy proposal.
“Milady,” Ruth whispered, gripping her elbow. “I really do not believe that this is a good idea.”
Charlotte excused herself and led her maid out of the woman’s earshot as she continued contemplating what Charlotte was offering.
“It is the perfect idea,” Charlotte said, unable to contain her excitement. “The Comte knows only that I have yellow hair, gray eyes, and that I am slim. This woman matches my appearance identically in those aspects. She even has a quite similar face shape and bone structure. The Comte will never know the difference. Then, I will be free of him and the life I dread so in France, and I will have helped a poor woman who might otherwise die in the streets.”
Ruth shook her head.
“And what of your father?” she asked. “Do you think he will be so easily fooled by some imposter pretending to be his daughter?”
Charlotte put her hands on her maid’s shoulders.
“How will Father know?” she asked. “Once he marries me off, I expect that he will not feel the need to rush to visit for quite some time. And, even if he does eventually make the trip to France, by that time, it will not matter. What is done will be done, and there will be nothing anyone can do to change it.”
Ruth frowned.
“That is precisely what worries me, milady,” she said softly.
The woman cleared her throat, approaching where Charlotte and Ruth stood.
“Please,” Charlotte whispered. “Trust me.”
Ruth looked at Charlotte silently.
“I will do it,” the woman said bluntly.
Charlotte’s eyes widened.
“You will?” she asked.
The woman nodded.
“However, I highly doubt that I can board that ship looking like this,” she said, gesturing to her dirty, drab dress. “And, if we are to switch identities, we should probably learn more about each other, and quickly, before the ship arrives.”
Charlotte smiled. The woman even reminded her of herself when she spoke.
“Of course,” she agreed. “My name is Charlotte Hackney, and I am twenty years old. I am the daughter of the Earl of Devon, and bride to be of Comte Francois. And this is my maid, and dear friend, Ruth Bevel.”
The woman nodded, seeming to grow more excited about their plan by the moment.
“It is a pleasure to meet you both,” she said with a curtsey. “And I am Christine Becker, daughter of the Baron of Weston. I am eighteen years old, and . . .” she paused and chuckled bitterly. “Well, you know the rest of my woeful tale.”
Charlotte’s heart broke for Christine. She was so timid and sensitive, and she certainly deserved better than what life had given to her thus far. She gave Christine a warm smile and returned the curtsey. Then, she looked Christine over.
“We should get you out of those clothes,” Charlotte said. “And into mine.”
The woman flushed and glanced around.
“How on earth will we switch clothes here, in front of all these people?” she whispered, incredulous.
As if on cue, the people milling on the docks near where the three women were standing began making their way to the boarding point. Charlotte looked up and saw the ship, which had nearly reached its destination. She gasped, realizing that they only had a few more minutes if they were going to be successful with their ruse.
“Quickly,” she said, lowering her voice. “Let us move back behind the crates where you were hiding. We shall exchange clothes there.”
Christine’s eyes widened, but she did not question Charlotte. The three women made their way back to the shadow-shrouded crates, and Ruth put herself directly in front of them so no one could see the two girls, even if someone should approach them.
As quickly as possible, Charlotte and Christine exchanged clothes. Once the women were adequately covered, Ruth abandoned her guarding post and helped them finish dressing. When she was done, she stepped back and looked both women over. Her eyes widened, and she put her hand to her mouth. Charlotte looked at Christine, and she could not help uttering a tiny gasp.
Christine had transformed into a beautiful, proper lady before her eyes, and the resemblance between the women was now uncanny. From the expression on Christine’s face as she studied Charlotte, it was clear that she saw the resemblance as well.
Charlotte recovered quickly when she saw people beginning to board the ship. She knew that the Comte’s brother would disembark soon to find her and escort her to France.
“Come,” she said, gesturing to Ruth and Christine. “Let us get you ready to present to Comte Francois’s brother.”
Christine followed Charlotte, but Ruth stayed put.
“Milady,” she said. “I am staying here with you.”
Charlotte walked back to Ruth and took her hands.
“No,” she said. “Christine must have a maid. She could not possibly travel without a chaperone. Besides, this will give you the opportunity to see France, just like you wanted.”
Ruth glanced at Christine and shook her head firmly.
“I am not unsympathetic to Miss Becker’s plight,” she said. “But I will not leave you. I cannot. Please, do not ask me to do so.”
Before the discussion could continue, Charlotte saw a man approaching the women. She held her breath and gestured almost imperceptibly to him, giving Ruth and Christine a meaningful look. Despite Ruth’s protests seconds before, she put a hand on Christine’s arm and approached the man with a warm, professional smile.
“Good day, ladies,” the man said, bowing as he looked at Christine. “Lady Charlotte, I presume?”
Charlotte stayed rooted to her spot, holding her breath. She suddenly feared they would be discovered, and the whole plan would fall apart.
Christine gave the man a surprisingly elegant curtsey and smiled at him brilliantly.
“Yes, my lord,” she said.
The gentleman smiled warmly.
“Very good, my lady,” he said. “And I take it that this is your lady’s maid?”
Ruth gave a brief curtsey.
“Yes, milord,” she said. “However, I will be unable to travel with Lady Charlotte. I am not well, I am afraid, so I must stay behind.”
The gentleman studied her briefly before nodding.
“Very well,” he said. “There are other members of Comte Francois’s household aboard the ship. They should prove sufficient as chaperones in your absence. I wish you a speedy recovery.”
Ruth curtseyed again, and even from where she stood, Charlotte could see the relief on her maid’s face.
“Thank you, milord,” she said. Then, she turned to Christine. “Milady, I wish you a safe, happy journey.”
Christine embraced Ruth gently, and Charlotte was surprised at how genuine it seemed.
“Thank you, Ruth,” she said, looking at Charlotte over the maid’s shoulder. “For everything.”
Charlotte gave her a small smile and nod, grateful that the gentleman had not even seemed to notice her. She and Ruth stood as still as
statues as Christine took the gentleman’s arm and disappeared into the crowd waiting to board the ship. Only once she could no longer see the curly blond hair did Charlotte dare to breathe a sigh of relief and join Ruth where she stood.
“We should get out of here,” Charlotte whispered to her.
Ruth nodded.
“But where will we go?” she asked.
Charlotte stopped. She had acted so spontaneously that she did not have a plan for what came next. She pulled out her coin purse, which she had tucked into the pocket of Christine’s dress after she had donned it and counted the money inside.