by Kira Stewart
“Ah yes, a very great man, I do know of him. He is a widower, too?”
Frowning a little, his blue eyes stared back at her through the darkness.
“His wife died about five years ago, but what of it?”
The girl tried not to be defensive, but it was difficult not to be.
“I hear he is looking for a young wife. I imagine you are the type of girl he is looking for?”
Suddenly, feeling angry, Charlotte snapped back at him.
“What do you mean by that?”
“It’s just that if I were looking for a wife, you would be the type of girl I would be looking for—an attractive young woman with an independent mind; a woman who has more in her head than expensive jewels and dresses; a woman who would love me for who I am, and not for my wealth.”
Stopping suddenly, he pulled Charlotte towards him and looked down at her, his blue eyes now softer.
Her heart fluttered like a dozen butterflies had been trapped inside her heart and longed to be free.
“You barely know me, sir. How do you know all those things are true of me?”
Cupping her face with his gloved hands, he stroked a stray curl from her face and she tingled at his touch.
“Maybe I have spoken out of turn, Miss Thompson, but there is something about you I have liked from the very first time I saw you. For once, you did not shy away from my appearance. Some women find my disfigurement too ugly to gaze upon.”
“Oh, sir, I hardly see it. It is a battle scar, and one that you should be proud of. You fought for your King and Country against Napoleon. I have never seen a more pleasing countenance.”
Charlotte had spoken candidly from the heart, but she could not help it. She had been longing to say those words for what seemed so long a time.
“Yet I am a poor man, a humble groomsman, Charlotte. What can I offer you? I have nothing except my heart. I cannot compete with the likes of Sir Harvey Lloyd. What would your parents say?”
“Sir, I could never marry a man who I did not love, not for all the riches and wealth in the world. It is true that my mother and father wish me to marry the man, but I shall resist them with every bone in my body.”
His strong arms wrapped around her, and she laid her head upon his arm. If only she could stay like this forever.
They stood close together for a few moments, as the rest of the world turned around them. Nothing else mattered—just two hearts beating closely together. It was as though an invisible thread had bonded them from the very first moment they met. It seemed so natural, and yet, so impossible to be together.
“Whatever shall we do?”
Charlotte’s eyes hung with dewy tears, as she looked up into the face of the man no longer a stranger.
“Someone once told me that true love always finds a way—a very fine lady, called Annabelle Lennox, who overcame many obstacles to marry the man she loved. I am certain that we shall find a way. Now, do not cry. Trust in me and wait for me, and I will find a way for us to be together.”
Taking a white linen handkerchief from his pocket, he handed it to the girl.
“Now, wipe your eyes and we will look for your parents.”
“I will wait for you, sir, but how can I trust a man whose surname I do not even know?”
For a moment, Charles looked a little startled, and looked around him as searching in the air.
“Why, there is no mystery. It is Dewhurst, Charles Dewhurst. There, now you know. Let us pledge each other an oath that whatever may happen, we will wait for each other.”
“Oh, I swear, sir, with all my heart, that I will wait for you.”
“And I will wait for you, my love, but for now, I must unite you with your family, before they send out a search party to look for you.”
•••
She heard her mother’s voice, long before she saw her.
“My mother and father are close by. I mustn’t let them see me with you. We must take our leave. When shall I see you again?”
“We can meet in the Reading Rooms again. I will be back in Bath in a week. Let us say a week today, at noon. What do you think to that?”
It was a good idea. She could return her library book without any suspicion from her mother.
“Yes, I will be there. It will seem a long week until then.”
Smiling, Charles took her hand and kissed it gently.
“Until then, my love.”
In a moment, he had stepped back into the crowds and disappeared.
12.
“Charlotte, where on earth have you been? Your father and I have been worried to death about you. I wanted to ask a policeman, but Sir Harvey said you would not be far away. Now, come along, we are missing all the sights. Your father and Sir Harvey are drinking ale in one of the booths. I thought that perhaps we could have our fortunes told. There is a real gypsy here, reading palms for a sixpence. I have always wanted to have my palm read. Now, do come along.”
Still in a whirl, Charlotte did not care what she did, and obediently followed her mother along the line of stalls and booths that stood on the grass verges by the pathway. Towards the end of the row was a striped canopy with a notice on the front.
ZOLA—a genuine gypsy. She See’s All. She Knows All. Cross her palm with a silver sixpence to know YOUR future.
Mrs. Thompson stepped excitedly through the red velvet curtains that hid a small booth behind the canopy. Inside, chiffon scarves of various colors had been hung from the cloth canopy. A table and two chairs filled the small room, a candle the only source of light. In one of the chairs, sat a wrinkled old woman with very dark skin. On her head, she wore a colorful scarf and heavy looking golden hoops hung in her ears, dragging down the lobes.
“Come in, my dears.”
Her voice had a slight Eastern European accent.
“Sit down.”
Mrs. Thompson was the first to take her seat at the table.
Zola held out her hand.
“I think she wants the sixpence first, Mama.”
Placing the silver coin in the open hand, Mrs. Thompson waited expectantly.
“Now, hold out your hands, dear, palms facing upwards. The right hand is your past, and your left hand is your future.”
Taking hold of her right hand, Zola began to trace the lines on the woman’s palm.
“I see you have a comfortable life, madam. You have a fine home. I also see that you have a daughter.”
Mrs. Thompson was impressed.
“Yes, yes that is right. Do go on.”
“I see you have a fine husband. You are not from London. You have travelled here. Your left hand tells me that you will live a long life—the stars are in your favour. There is a clear path ahead of you. You will have good wealth and health all of your life.”
Zola sat back, the reading was over.
“Is that it, nothing else? Nothing about my daughter?”
Zola looked up to where Charlotte was standing.
“I would have to read your daughter’s palm to tell you that.”
“Hear that, Charlotte. Now, come, you sit in the chair, whilst I find another sixpence.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. It was obviously all rubbish. Zola could no better tell fortunes than she could, but she sat anyway. What harm could it do? And it would please her mother.
Sitting down, Charlotte laid her hands, palms upwards, on the table.
The old woman’s eyes glittered.
“Ah, my dear, you have very interesting hands.”
As Zola lightly tapped her fingers across the lines on her palm, Charlotte felt a strange sensation in her hands, like static electricity, and it made her jump.
“You feel the energies, my dear. Your life is full of emotion at the moment.”
Zola’s green eyes fluttered for a moment.
“I see a tall, dark, handsome man in your life, but he is not what he seems. There are two paths ahead of you, and one leads to riches, and the other one to ruin. You must follow your heart, my dear, but the en
ergies are telling me that you need to be cautious. Not all is as it seems. Darkness lies ahead, but you will find the light with truth. When the truth is revealed, then you will find your heart’s desire, and riches will be truly yours.”
The old woman sat back in her chair, as if exhausted, and closed her eyes.
The reading was over.
Charlotte sat stunned for a moment. The old woman’s words resonated within something deep inside of her. She had not admitted it to herself, but there was something about Charles that did not sit well with her, and it all stemmed from the fact that he had been cautious about his identity. She had seen his hesitation, before he told her of his surname. What if he was lying? What was the truth?
“Come, dear. I think we had better leave, now.”
Indicating the old woman still sat with her eyes shut, her mother pulled on her daughter’s arm, ready to move away.
“Well, Charlotte. Did you hear what the woman said to you—a path will lead to riches—now, that surely must mean your marriage to Sir Harvey? I just knew it.”
“She said two paths, Mama, one that would lead to riches, and one that would lead to ruin. I have to pick the right one. Anyway, I think it is a lot of nonsense. She did not say anything out of the ordinary to you. You or I could tell the future as well as Zola.”
It was getting late, and the two women retraced their steps, back along the pathway, to find the booth where Mr. Thompson and Sir Harvey had stopped for refreshments. As they reached the crossroads where Charlotte had stood with Charles, the girl looked around, in the hopes of seeing him again. Her heart sank, as she looked around at the sea of strangers.
“Charlotte, dear, I am feeling a little peckish. Let us call at that stall over there. They are selling pies and sausages, and it smells delicious.”
The girl looked up from her reverie. The smell was indeed delicious and she had forgotten how hungry she was.
A ruddy man in a striped apron was serving his customers. A banner overhead announced ‘Dewhurst’s Sausage Emporium.”
The girl was taken aback. Dewhurst was the surname Charles had given her. He had hesitated, before he told her and had looked around. He would have easily seen this stall from where they were standing. Suddenly, she was no longer hungry. Zola’s words came back to her, as if mocking her original disbelief.
“I see a tall, dark, handsome man in your life, but he is not what he seems.”
She could see now that it was Charles, but what was his dark secret, and would he be her savior or her downfall?
•••
It was almost 10 p.m. when they returned to the house on Grosvenor Square.
Charlotte had been distracted, lost in her own thoughts all the way home, and it had not gone unnoticed by their host.
“You are very quiet tonight, my dear. I hope that we have not tired you out today, what with the journey and our little sojourn this evening.”
She smiled, still distracted.
“I am just a little tired, Sir Harvey.”
“I had wanted to speak with you on a delicate subject this evening, but perhaps I should leave it until tomorrow?”
Suddenly, she was fully aware of what Sir Harvey was saying to her. It was what she had been dreading the most.
“I think I should like to go to bed straight away, sir, if you do not mind. Tomorrow would be better.”
Sir Harvey bowed in agreement.
“Let us say after breakfast then, tomorrow in my library. I should very much like to speak with you alone.”
Mrs. Thompson has been listening to the conversation and escorted her daughter up the stairs to her room.
“You see, my dear, I was right all along. Sir Harvey will surely propose to you tomorrow. You must ensure you wear your best muslin dress with the pretty pink sash tomorrow to breakfast. Now, my dear, I will let you rest and get plenty of beauty sleep.”
Sleep was the last thing on her mind. The evening had been a blur, and Charlotte lay on the bed, thinking of all that had happened. Her heart was heavy, burdened down with anxiety. She had fallen in love with a man she knew little about. She was certain that he felt the same way, but there was a nagging doubt at the back of her mind about him that had been promulgated by Zola and her palm reading. Why should he lie to her about his name? She had almost forgotten that she still had his handkerchief and pulled it from her pocket. It was made from very fine linen, and it seemed such a fine handkerchief for the likes of a mere groomsman.
When she unfolded it, she found two initials embroidered in blue silk in one corner. C.R., just like on the umbrella she had borrowed. Surely, if his surname had been Dewhurst the initials would be C.D.?
And now she had the worry of a private interview tomorrow with Sir Harvey. It could mean only one thing—a proposal of marriage. Henrietta’s suggestion of asking him to wait had seemed so easy at the time, but now she wondered if she would be able to pull it off. If not, she could find herself engaged to Sir Harvey Lloyd. Her poor head pounded with so many thoughts.
Charles had been certain that things would work out, and at the time, she had believed him, too, and had felt so safe in his arms. Now she was alone and doubted even her own feelings. She must try and stay strong. In just under a week, she would be meeting him again, and she vowed to ask him all of her unanswered questions. Then she would know for sure. Eventually, the poor girl cried herself to sleep.
13.
The forest was dark, and only small beams of sunlight penetrated through the thick canopy of leaves in front of her. The grass was dewy, and Charlotte could feel the wet blades between her toes. Looking down, she noticed that she was barefoot. A bird fluttered overhead, the shadow of its wings crossing her path. Suddenly, she felt cold. Ahead of her was a fork in the rough path she was treading, the gaps in the trees marking the outline of the two paths that lay ahead.
Stopping at the fork, she looked first one way, and then the other.
To her right, the path looked dark and untrodden—the way dank and dismal. To her left, she could see a gap in the treetops, allowing the sunlight to lighten up the pathway. Small flowers bloomed amongst the foliage and a rabbit hopped among the tree roots, its white tail bobbing, as it disappeared once again into the undergrowth. It was an easy choice—she would follow the sun, and turned quickly to her left.
As she walked on ahead, the sun warmed her and she could hear the birds singing happily high above her in the treetops. Then there was another sound. She strained to hear a soft voice ahead of her—it was calling her name through the trees. Ahead, she could see a figure, and as she approached, could see it was her beloved Charles waiting for her, his arms outstretched and reaching out for her. Quickening her pace, she started to run, yet as she approached, she could see that it was not as she first thought. The figure ahead of her was not that of her beloved Charles, and she watched in horror, as the man began to peel off the mask he was wearing. It was Sir Harvey Lloyd.
Before she could stop herself, a large hole opened up in the ground before her, and Charlotte could feel herself falling deeper and deeper into the earth. Far above her, the faces of Charles Dewhurst and Sir Harvey Lloyd looked down at her. They were both laughing.
14.
Charlotte awoke with a start. It was already morning, and the sun was streaming through her bedroom window. Despite the brightness of the day, she shivered, remembering her dream.
“Charlotte, dear, do wake up, or you shall be late for breakfast, and this is a most important day.”
Her mother was already fussing.
At first, the girl wondered if she could feign illness, but it would only delay the inevitable. Reluctantly, she rose from her bed and allowed her mother to bother and preen around her. When they entered the breakfast room, Sir Harvey and her father were already tucking into plates of eggs and bacon, and drinking a small flagon of ale a piece.
“Ladies, forgive us, but we took the liberty to start breakfast without you. Now, shall I ask the cook to send out more eg
gs and bacon?”
Charlotte was not hungry and picked upon a small piece of bread and butter, and poured herself a cup of chocolate. The poor girl had worried so much about the forthcoming interview with Sir Harvey, that she almost felt dizzy, and the sweet, thick chocolate would restore her strength a little.
The minutes ticked by on the pretty clock sat on the mantle, and Charlotte felt like a condemned woman.
“You are very quiet again this morning, my dear. I do hope that you slept well, and are not ailing?”
Sir Harvey looked concerned.
“She is just a little overcome by London, sir. We are not used to so many people. But we are enjoying London, is that not right, Charlotte?”
“Yes, mama.”
Mrs. Thompson glared at her daughter. She had often told the girl not to speak until she was spoken to, but she was taking her words to the limit.
“Charlotte is such a modest girl, Sir Harvey. Why, she could not stop talking last night about how much she enjoyed our visit to Hyde Park. We went to see a palm reader, you know—a real old gypsy, by the name of Zola. Charlottes was a most fortuitous reading, is not that right, my dear?”
The poor girl could keep quiet no longer.
“No, actually it was quite a strange reading, Sir Harvey. The gypsy told me that I should follow my heart, that people were not quite what they seem to be, and that I should be cautious.”
For a moment, the gentleman looked a little astounded, but quickly recovered his composure and smiled.
“I believe one should always follow his or her heart. The old gypsy was quite perceptive, quite perceptive, indeed! Now, about that little matter I spoke of yesterday … shall I see you in the library at eleven?”
The clock on the mantle was already showing 10:30 a.m. As breakfast was cleared away, Mrs. Thompson ushered her daughter away to leave the men to talk in private.
“Now, Charlotte, you must keep quiet and let Sir Harvey do all of the talking. Remember, he is much older than you, and his words might not be as romantic as a young man’s. But he is a fine man, Charlotte, and a rich one at that. Do not be too coy with the man. If he asks for your hand, then you must accept it. Oh, you can be a little bashful and pretend to be overcome with emotion, men seem to like that—winning over an innocent flower, as it were. But do not keep the man dangling on a thread. This is too good an opportunity to turn down, Charlotte.”