by Bree Wolf
“I see,” Evelyn nodded. “Do you have any questions?”
Charlotte took a deep breath as relief eased her heart. “Where am I?”
“This is Farnworth Manor,” Evelyn explained, “home of Lord Ashwood, his mother, the dowager viscountess, as well as his sister Claudia. From what my father told me, Lord Ashwood came upon you not too far from the manor. It seemed you had fallen down a slope to the side of the path leading up to the estate. Do you remember how you got there?”
Again, Charlotte shook her head. How much longer would this woman believe her if she did at all?
“But you remembered your name,” Evelyn observed, her watchful eyes lingering on Charlotte’s face. “Do you remember if you have any family nearby?”
Charlotte swallowed. “I don’t have a family,” she said, hoping that would keep them from asking around and maybe arousing suspicions. “They died a long time ago.”
“Then you do remember something?” Evelyn asked, the tone of her voice free of suspicion but instead laced with curiosity.
“Not much,” Charlotte lied, hoping that Evelyn would soon give up. “I’ve always been alone, worked as a maid here and there.”
“But you cannot remember how you came to be out here all by yourself?”
Yet again, Charlotte shook her head.
“Very well,” Evelyn said, a kind smile on her face. Then she rose to her feet. “You rest now, and I will have something to eat brought up to you shortly.”
“Thank you,” Charlotte mumbled, relieved to be finally left alone. “And please thank your father for tending to me. After all, there is no way for me to repay him for his kindness.”
Evelyn smiled at her. “Do not worry yourself. My father has an innate desire to tend to those in need, and besides, he was at Farnworth Manor anyway in order to see to the dowager viscountess.” Holding Charlotte’s gaze for a moment, the young woman nodded before turning to go.
When the door closed behind Evelyn, Charlotte sank back into the pillows, her mind spinning. What would happen now?
Chapter Five – Upon Meeting Miss Davenport
After a long nap as well as a bowl of chicken soup and some bread, Charlotte felt unexpectedly well. Her body seemed to be on the mend, and the exhaustion that had been her constant companion in the past few days receded. However, as her mind was no longer occupied with concerns for her physical needs, it constantly spun in dizzying circles around the one question she couldn’t answer: what now?
Charlotte knew she ought to be thankful for the viscount’s hospitality. Instead of letting her freeze to death, he had taken her into his home, fed her and allowed his mother's doctor to see to her injuries. In return, she suspected he would at the very least demand some answers. Or would he not?
Considering the impression he had likely gained when he’d stumbled upon her, he probably thought her a simple maid. Come to think of it, she herself had said something of the kind to the doctor’s daughter Evelyn.
Therefore, Lord Ashwood might already have forgotten about her. However, none of these considerations answered her question: what now?
Maybe she could ask to be employed in the viscount’s household. Maybe she could work as a maid or in the kitchen. Maybe the family would be kind enough to help her.
If not, then what?
After she’d sufficiently recovered, would she be allowed to leave? To go where? Try her luck at another estate and beg for work? Or make it to Town and see how her chances were there?
Although her hands trembled with the uncertainty of her future, Charlotte welcomed the distraction for it kept her mind busy and focused on something other than her own heart-breaking past where only guilt and shame waited to engulf her once more.
For a long time, Charlotte lay in her bed and stared up at the window, imagining the green hills in the distance, wondering how best to proceed, when suddenly footsteps came hurrying down the hall toward her chamber. Expecting Betty, one of the two maids who kindly shared their room with her and tended to her whenever they could, Charlotte swallowed as a young woman, dressed in one of the finest gowns she had ever seen, burst into the room, eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Oh, how wonderful! You’re awake,” the young woman exclaimed, clapping her hands together in delight. “I’ve come by a few times, but you were always sleeping. I was ready to give up, but then I thought to myself, ‘No, one more time. I’ll go and see her one more time.’ And here you are, wide awake.” Dancing across the small room, the young woman came to sit on the chair still standing by Charlotte’s bed. “Betty tells me your name is Lotte and that you don’t remember how you got here. Oh, what a marvellous story! It must be so exciting! Tell me, is there anything you do remember? What is it like not to remember? I cannot ever imagine not remembering what I did yesterday or the day before. It must be quite strange indeed.”
Overwhelmed by the woman’s rapid speech, Charlotte merely stared at her, uncertain how to respond. Apparently though, a response was not at all necessary for the young woman continued unimpressed, discussing all by herself the strangeness of memory loss.
After a while, Charlotte began to relax and watched her visitor with a sense of appreciation. It had been a long time since she’d had a reason to smile.
“Dr. Procten said there’s nothing much wrong with you,” the young woman continued, occasionally jumping off the chair and dancing around the room in her need to move before returning to a seated position, “except for your memory loss, of course. Do you remember anything now that you didn’t before?”
Again, before Charlotte could even attempt an answer, the young woman bounced off the chair and around the room. “How exciting your life must be,” she sighed, and a hint of sadness came to her glowing eyes. “Quite unlike my own. Out here in the country, it is dreadfully boring. Oh, how I long for the next season! London has so much to offer.” Again, she sighed. “But here I have nothing to do but sit and read or embroider or paint. It’s all very dull to tell you the truth.”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” Charlotte said when the young woman remained quiet for the barest of moments.
A hint of surprise on her lovely face, her visitor turned from the window and smiled at her. “Thank you,” she said, then walked over and sat down on the chair once more. “My brother does not understand what it is like to have nothing to do. He has this estate to take care of, but I, what do I have?” Again, she sighed rather theatrically. “I spend all day with Mother. However, since she’s been ill, she sleeps for hours and hours on end.” Then her visitor looked up, and her eyes sparkled with delight. “But now, you’re here.”
“Are you Lord Ashwood’s sister?” Charlotte asked, relieved to finally have an idea who the young woman was.
“Yes, my name is Claudia Davenport,” she replied, a hint of puzzlement on her face. “Did I not say so? I apologise. Sometimes, my mouth runs away with me and I forget my manners.” Her countenance darkened. “An attribute my brother dislikes in particular and never fails to criticise me for.” Appalled, she shook her head. “Do you believe that he dragged me out here so that I would have less of an opportunity to embarrass myself?” Huffing, she paced up and down the room. “I tell you the only thing he is afraid of is that I embarrass him.”
“I’m glad you came to visit me, Miss Davenport,” Charlotte interjected when Claudia paused for air. “You are very kind to spend your time brightening my day.”
A deep smile came to Miss Davenport’s features, and once more, she hurried over. “How sweet of you to say that! I just couldn’t stay away. To tell you the truth, you’re the most exciting thing to happen in over a fortnight.”
An apologetic smile on her face, Charlotte said, “I’m afraid my story is far from exciting. Since I do not know what happened to me or how I came to be here, there is nothing much I can tell you.”
“That truly is a pity,” Miss Davenport exclaimed, a disappointed frown drawing down her brows. “I had hoped for some excitement.” Then she an
gled her head in a thoughtful way, eyes slightly narrowed. “Maybe you’ve been robbed. Yes, maybe a highwayman took all your possessions and left you for dead.”
Not wishing to indulge her host’s imagined adventure, Charlotte shrugged. “I do not believe I had any possessions worth stealing. I am just a simple maid with nowhere to go.”
“Nowhere to go?” Miss Davenport asked, eyeing Charlotte closely. “What about your family?” Then her gaze narrowed, and a thoughtful expression came to her face. “A maid?” she repeated, a doubtful tone to her voice. “Do you truly believe you’re a maid?” She shook her head, her curls dancing across her shoulders. “The way you express yourself is quite unlike a maid’s, I must say. Truly, I feel quite comfortable speaking with you. Maybe you’re even a gentleman’s daughter. After all, why would a highwayman rob a maid.” Shaking her head yet again, Miss Davenport turned to Charlotte, determination edged into her face and a spark of excitement lighting up her clear eyes. “No, we need to find out who you are and who your family is.”
As the blood drained from Charlotte’s face and her body grew cold, she felt panic seize her. “But…no…I’m certain I’m not a gentleman’s daughter. I’m merely…Lotte. I mean, I do remember my name, and although I do not recall much more than that, I feel certain that I have no family.” Seeing a spark of compassion in her visitor’s eyes, Charlotte gave her a sad smile. “I have none. Truly,” she whispered, feeling a pang of guilt for exploiting the young woman’s kindness for her own purposes. However, what choice did she have? If Miss Davenport felt compelled to seek out her true identity, all would be lost. And if she was sent from this house with no way to support herself, then she might as well have died in the fire. Maybe Miss Davenport could put in a good word for her with her brother, the viscount, and help her procure a position as a maid after all.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Miss Davenport answered, honest regret shining in her dark blue eyes. “I recently lost my father.” Charlotte cringed inwardly. “He died after a long illness. Shortly after, my mother took to her bed. Dr. Procten says that there is nothing much wrong with her. It’s her spirit that was broken when my father died.” Taking a deep breath, she looked at Charlotte. “This has been a sad house ever since.”
“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said, cursing herself for bringing new pain to such a kind heart. “I did not mean to intrude.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Miss Davenport assured her with a shake of her head. “I do not believe in hiding away from the world. I loved my father, and I’d rather remember him fondly than with regret.” A gentle smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Then she reached out her hand and placed it on Charlotte’s. “Then it is settled. You’ll stay here with us and be my companion.”
“What?” Gawking most unbecomingly at the young lady in front of her, Charlotte thought her ears certainly had deceived her. “You wish for me to be your companion?”
“But of course,” Miss Davenport exclaimed, once more clapping her hands together in delight. “This is the perfect solution to all our problems.”
“I fear Lord Ashwood would object,” Charlotte pointed out. After all, she had no family ties, no education to speak of, nothing to recommend her. “I’m certain he would wish for his sister to have a more suitable companion.”
A frown on her face, Miss Davenport snorted. “You are most certainly right,” she admitted grudgingly. “Have you ever met my brother? Indeed, Richard can be most unpleasant, always sitting atop his high horse. Nothing and no one is ever good enough for him.” Shaking her head in annoyance, she rose from the chair and once more began to pace the short length of the room. “What can be done? What can be done?” she mumbled to herself, her quick blue eyes flitting here and there as fast as the thoughts that coursed through her head.
“Please, don’t trouble yourself on my account,” Charlotte said, wishing she had never even suggested anything of the like.
“On the contrary, my dear Lotte,” Miss Davenport said, a sparkle in her eyes. “This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time. I shall go and speak to my brother immediately. We’ll have this all sorted out straight away.”
“But−"
“Don’t you worry,” Miss Davenport insisted, heading for the door. “I shall take care of everything.”
And then Charlotte was alone, wondering if Lord Ashwood would be kind enough to allow her to fully recover before sending her from his home. For surely, a nobleman would care very little for a nobody inciting his sister to rebel against him.
Oh, what had she done?
Chapter Six – A Promising Note
The sun was setting by the time yet another stampede of footsteps echoed toward her chamber.
Pushing herself up into a sitting position, Charlotte stared at the door with dread and fear curling into a heavy ball resting in her stomach. She clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling and nervously gnawed at her lower lip. All the while, she stared unblinkingly at the door, wishing it would open, and yet, fearing that it would.
By the time, Miss Davenport and her brother entered her chamber, her eyes stung and burned, and a single tear rolled down her cheek, that she quickly wiped away.
“May I present my brother,” Miss Davenport said, a hint of annoyance in her voice as she gestured to the tall, dark-haired man next to her. “Richard Davenport, Viscount Ashwood. Brother, this is Lotte.”
“Lotte?” he asked, his dark grey eyes looking at her as though he could see into her soul. There was something deeply unsettling about this man. Clad in dark colours, he didn’t seem to know the use of a smile or kind word. His voice sounded harsh and commanding, and the way he stood before her clearly stated who was in charge.
Charlotte disliked him on sight. “Yes, my lord.”
His eyes narrowed as he regarded her. “What is your family name?” he demanded, displeasure in his tone for having to ask.
Forcing her heart to slow as it hammered in her chest, Charlotte swallowed, then took a deep breath. All the while, the viscount’s penetrating eyes never left hers. “Ferris,” she finally blurted out, using the cook’s name at her father’s house for inspiration. She could only hope the dear old lady would never find out.
“Where are you from?”
“Town.”
“How did you get here?”
Charlotte’s breathing quickened as he bombarded her with questions. “I don’t know.”
“So you say,” he growled, not bothering to hide his disbelief. “And yet, here you are asking to be my sister’s companion. Would you not consider that suspicious behaviour?”
“But I−"
“It was my idea, Brother,” Miss Davenport interfered, and Charlotte almost fainted with relief.
Slowly turning his head, Lord Ashwood regarded his sister with disapproval. “Yours?” he asked, his voice menacingly low.
“Do not fret, Brother,” Miss Davenport chided him, obviously completely unimpressed by his threatening demeanour. “You have to admit this is a splendid idea.”
“Do I?”
“Yes,” Miss Davenport insisted, stepping up to the bed and coming to stand next to Charlotte. “She has been through a lot, and she needs our help. And I,” resting her hands on her hips, she met her brother’s penetrating gaze, “need someone to talk to or I shall go mad in this house.”
“Is that so?” Lord Ashwood asked before his eyes shifted back to Charlotte, almost squinting as though to look even closer and possibly … or rather very likely … discover her secrets.
Although she wanted nothing more but to sink into oblivion, Charlotte took a deep breath and raised her chin. “My lord, I apologise for trespassing on your hospitality.”
He grumbled low in his throat, but made no other reply. His eyes, however, were trained on her as though trying to glimpse the truth he knew she kept from him.
“I assure you I would never presume to offer myself as a companion to your esteemed sister.” Had she been mistaken or had he just given a f
aint snort? “However,” she continued, wondering if his reaction was an insult to his sister or to her, “Miss Davenport was kind enough to offer, and I must admit I am in need of your assistance, my lord.”
“If that is indeed the case,” Lord Ashwood began, his calculating eyes watching her every move, “then tell us about yourself.”
Charlotte swallowed, then opened her mouth, but Miss Davenport came to her defence. “Were you not listening? She suffers from memory loss. How can she tell you something she doesn’t know?”
Ignoring his sister, Lord Ashwood held Charlotte’s gaze, a demand burning in them that did not allow for excuses.
“My name is Lotte Ferris,” Charlotte began, hoping the few lies she could give him would be enough. “I have no family to speak of, nor do I have anything to recommend myself besides my own words.” She swallowed, not knowing what else to say. “Should you decide to give me a chance, I shall promise to do my best and always be truthful.” Charlotte could’ve sworn she’d cringed on the last word. Had he noticed?
Even if she longed to know, she didn’t dare meet his eyes.
“There,” Miss Davenport exclaimed. “What more could you want, Richard? I must say that I’m quite satisfied with her answers. She’s a lovely, young woman, and we shall have a good time together.” When her brother remained quiet, she huffed in annoyance. “Do you truly begrudge me the company of another woman, someone to talk to and confide in? For if that is indeed the case, then I shall inform you that without her company I do not know what I will do.”
The viscount’s eyes narrowed as they shifted to his sister’s pouting face. “Is that a threat, dear Sister?”
“Not at all,” Miss Davenport replied as she lifted her chin, eyes raised to the ceiling as though he was too lowly for her to look at. “I am merely stating that you yourself often complain about my improper pursuits. Therefore, this arrangement ought to benefit us all.”
“So, it would seem,” the viscount mumbled as his glance shifted back and forth between Charlotte and his sister. Then he took a long breath, rolled his eyes in sheer annoyance of life and cleared his throat. “If I have your word that you’ll behave the way you were brought up,” he said, holding his sister’s gaze with a penetrating one of his own, “then I shall grant you your wish.”