Wildwood Flower

by Dayna Quince

  Lord Shelding sat at the table, a paper spread in front of him. He did not greet them as they entered, even though Dules announced them.

  Edward didn’t stand. He held a compress to his pale blond hair and leaned over a cup of tea.

  “Good morning, my hearts,” Lady Shelding said softly.

  Edward looked up from his tea and glared at his mother. “Must you speak?”

  His bloodshot pale blue eyes focused on Charlotte as she took her place across from him.

  “Good morning Edward, Lord Shelding,” Charlotte whispered.

  “Good morning, my dulcet buttercup. I spent the evening thinking of you.” Edward gave her a sickly smile.

  You spent the evening drinking. But Charlotte would never utter such a thing aloud. She held her tongue.

  “Looking upon you is a balm to my savage soul.”

  Charlotte reined in the urge to grimace. If she responded, it would only encourage him further.

  “That’s enough, Edward. Don’t fill her head with ideas,” Lord Shelding said from behind his paper.

  Charlotte was relieved. Lord Shelding saved her from having to respond. She accepted a cup of tea from the footman and waited to be served her breakfast. The room was silent again, except for the gentle clink of the food service. The scent of bacon hung strong in the air and would be soothing, except nothing here was soothing. It was like breaking your fast when the floor was swimming with snakes. Not just the garden variety, the venomous ones.

  Charlotte did her best to make as little sound as possible. The less attention she drew, the less she had to interact. The less she had to interact, the less chance she would draw Lord Shelding’s ire or Edward’s attention.

  She carefully scooped a bit of egg on her fork, her eyes darting to her table companions as she put it in her mouth. Across from her, Edward leaned back in his chair and moaned softly with his eyes closed. He looked unhealthy, his skin pasty and greenish in the morning light. His closely cropped hair, cut in the Brutus fashion, looked greasy, or perhaps it was sweat? Whatever it was, he looked like he needed a frigid bath and sleep. Lots and lots of sleep.

  At the end of the table, Lady Shelding sipped her tea and nibbled on toast. Charlotte had never seen her eat more than what could fit in a teacup. As for Lord Shelding, he was a large man, a polar opposite of his pallid wife and son. His hair was thick and dark brown with streaks of silver. He was heavy set but not portly. He was like a boulder: large, immovable, and capable of crushing a person. At least, that’s how Charlotte felt in his presence. He may have been handsome before, as Edward did have some of his features, and though Charlotte loath to admit it, Edward was fairly attractive.

  But pleasant looks weren’t enough to hide a volatile inner nature. In Lord Shelding’s eyes, there was darkness. Unfathomable darkness. And in Edwards, well, Charlotte couldn’t figure it out exactly, but it was something almost as dark as his father’s. Enough to make her feel queasy whenever she made eye contact with him. But she didn’t fear him, not the way she feared Lord Shelding. What terrified her was the future. Would she and Edward one day mirror his parents? Watching Lord and Lady Shelding interact was like watching a cat toy with a mouse; the mouse tossed about until the cat grew bored or ate it.

  The slap of the newspaper on the table snapped Charlotte out of her thoughts. Her head whipped to Lord Shelding, her hands out of sight, shaking in her lap.

  “Now that I have your attention, I have news to share.” His gaze raked over all of them. “I’ve a meeting with an American brewer this afternoon. I’ve tripled our hops crop with a new breed of hops, and with the assistance of this brewer, I will develop a new ale to rival the best in England.” He dipped his head, which was his way of suggesting they could now speak.

  “What excellent news!” Lady Shelding applauded him softly.

  “What do Americans know about beer?” Edward grumbled.

  “You already knew I was doing this, Edward. Don’t be daft. The American arrived this morning. You will attend this meeting with me. Try to have yourself presentable by then.” His gaze fell to Charlotte. “As for you…”

  Charlotte tensed. Impossible, given she was already as tense as she thought she could ever be. “Yes, my lord?”

  “It’s time to set a date for the wedding. I will instruct the banns begin this Sunday.”

  Charlotte sat immobilized. This Sunday? She’d be married to Edward in a measly four weeks? Oh, no. Dear God, no. That would not do.

  Her heart was thumping so hard she could feel it in her throat, but she couldn’t manage to say a thing. No! Her mind screamed, but her mouth never moved. She hated herself for it. She needed to speak but couldn’t. Her own cowardice was going to serve her up to Edward like a fatted calf.

  “That is far too soon, my lord. We will need longer to plan.”

  Lord Shelding scowled at Lady Shelding. “Plan what?”

  “Why, the wedding, of course. It shall be a lovely affair, worthy of our Edward, and… Propriety dictates we wait until Miss Angelwood is out of mourning.” Lady Shelding twisted the napkin in her hands and smiled tentatively.

  Charlotte wanted to kiss the woman.

  Her eyes cut back to Lord Shelding. She was afraid to breath, afraid to move. He stared at Lady Shelding with cold, hard eyes. At any moment, he could erupt. Charlotte hadn’t yet seen him hit Lady Shelding, but she’d heard it once, standing outside the door of his study the day after her arrival. She would never forget the sound, so sharp and distinctive. Hand to flesh. It had rung in her ears for days after.

  Sickening dread filled her. The sound of that slap had been enough to make her ill.

  “That isn’t important.” Lord Shelding blustered and sat again. That was the end of the conversation. “I will speak to Pastor Franklin today.”

  Charlotte sat in her chair, nearly vibrating with turmoil, when a thought occurred.

  “Please, let me speak with him.” Where had those words come from?

  Lord Shelding blinked and looked at her. Charlotte was as equally surprised at herself. Fear gripped her. She’d spoken out of turn, without being spoken to, but this was her only chance. “You have so much to do. I’m happy to do this for you.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “Edward will escort you.”

  Charlotte nodded, her heart was pounding. “Yes, sir.” She looked to Edward, but he appeared to be asleep. All she had to do now was find a way for Edward to be distracted long enough for Charlotte to speak with Pastor Franklin alone.

  Chapter 3

  October 1st 1820

  Dearest Hazel,

  I am…aghast. I’m so happy it all worked out for the best, and you no longer must endure that woman. Your news brings me joy, as do all your letters, no matter how dreary the contents. It makes me happy to know that my dearest friends are blessed with so much. As for myself, I can’t predict if I will return to London or visit any of you. I wish I could say it was because of my father’s ill health. The truth is, as my father puts it, the hops went rotten. I am forced to find a husband in Faversham. Funds will not allow me another season in London. But please don’t worry. Faversham is a busy port, and there are weekly assemblies and many travelers passing through. One of them shall need a wife, right? I haven’t any dowry, but my sewing has greatly improved in these last months. I have useful skills now, as my father likes to say.

  * * *

  Ever useful,

  Charlotte

  July 5th 1823

  After Charlotte was excused from breakfast, she completed her usual tasks, which meant she followed Lady Shelding around the manor pretending to listen. Lady Shelding considered it her duty to show Charlotte how she ought to behave as the future Lady Shelding. Never mind that Charlotte had had a proper governess and half a season in London. Lady Shelding insisted Charlotte follow her on her rounds of the manor to review her daughter-in-law’s future duties.

  After two months of this, Charlotte no longer had to pay attention, which meant that her min
d was filled with thoughts of Mr. Thorn. Christopher. He would be here, in this manor, while Charlotte was in it. That mere idea was as scintillating as if he had touched her. She couldn’t see him, of course. No matter how badly she wanted to. She was worried for him. He’d be entering Lord Shelding’s study, which Charlotte viewed as being more dungeon than study. She didn’t know what time he would be coming or when he would be departing. Would she see him? She couldn’t, she absolutely couldn’t. It was insanity to even hope. He was a stranger, and she was going to marry Edward. There was nothing to save her, least of all an American whom she’d met exactly one time, and who didn’t know her true identity.

  But that didn’t mean she couldn’t dream.

  She daydreamed all day until Lady Shelding grew tired and dismissed her around noon. Charlotte hid in her room until it was firmly afternoon. Then she took a book and hid in the kitchen garden where she could hear if someone had arrived.

  At precisely two, there was talk. Lots of talk. Tittering to be precise. James was in the kitchen, doing a marvelous impression of an American accent. All the maids were agog.

  “He’s a stallion,” Annette purred.

  “You barely had a look at him.” Sarah rolled her eyes.

  Charlotte peeked inside the door and listened.

  “They let him come to the front door? He’s not that important. He’s just a brewer.” Farris grumbled.

  “He looked plenty important, didn’t he, Annette? At least from the second floor, he did.” Kitty sighed dreamily.

  “You’re too young to look at men like him, Kitty.” Mrs. Gorse shooed them all away from the servants’ dining table. “You’ve all got proper jobs to do. Off ye go.”

  That was all Charlotte could hear about him. She’d gone to her room, wishing her window faced the front, wishing more than anything she wasn’t engaged to someone else. At quarter to three, Sarah arrived at her door and announced that the cart was ready to take her to Pastor Franklin. Charlotte couldn’t help herself.

  “Is the American still here?”

  “No. He left a bit ago.”

  “A bit?” Charlotte couldn’t press for more. Sarah might ask questions.

  “Not a very long meeting if you ask me,” Sarah muttered.

  “No. Not at all.” But that was all Charlotte said, because there simply wasn’t anything more to say. She wasn’t supposed to care about this American or Lord Shelding’s business dealings.

  Sarah handed Charlotte a cloak. She likely wouldn’t need it on this warm day, but Charlotte took it anyway.

  “Master Edward will join you in the foyer.”

  Charlotte waited at three o’clock in the foyer. She waited another quarter hour for Edward to appear. Mrs. Grouse informed her that Edward was unwell. Charlotte nodded with the appropriate amount of fake concern and climbed into the cart, pressing her lips together to stop the smile that itched to form as she took up the reins. She was a country girl; she could drive a cart as well, if not better, than Edward.

  Flicking the reins, she turned the cart down the drive and grinned.

  She was going to be out of the house. Alone! What a boon this was! She had half a mind to stow away on the nearest ship and never return. On the road, she let the horse have his head and enjoyed the scenery. She’d been anxious for this trip since breakfast.

  Charlotte was Edward-less, and free of Shelding Manor for an indeterminable time. That wasn’t really true. If she was away too long, they would send someone after her. She had to make the best of the short amount of time she had. She took a turn in the road a bit too fast and pulled on the reins. The horse nickered in irritation but kept its pace.

  “Whoa, there.” Charlotte said. But the horse surged forward.

  “Do I command so little respect?” Charlotte gritted her teeth and tugged harder on the reins. The horse tossed his head, and then Charlotte tossed her own hair in indignation.

  The horse cut a sharp right, sending them both into a ditch. There was a pop, and the cart lurched, tossing Charlotte off the bench. She barely had time to scream before landing on a soft mound of grass.

  She lay there for a moment, stunned. She blinked up at the sky, far clearer than usual, but perhaps expected after the little squall they had earlier in the day. Coastal weather was unpredictable, and so were horses, it would seem.

  Charlotte flushed with embarrassment. She’d driven a cart many times. It wasn’t her skills that were lacking but the horse’s.

  Charlotte considered uttering a few impolite curses at the beast. It stood off to the side munching on grass, one eye watching her.

  “Thank you. I hope you are comfortable where you stand, because it isn’t as if I am skilled in roadside cart repair.”

  The horse looked away, dismissing her.

  Charlotte growled. “Bugger the horse,” she muttered as she inspected the front right wheel. It was at an odd angle, but she couldn’t see any damage. She hopped across the ditch the road and looked both ways. There was nary a sound or sight of help coming.

  Charlotte exhaled with gusto. It was rare she could express herself so openly. She considered that. It was an hour walk to either destination, but she was still more at ease in the company of a recalcitrant horse and a useless cart than anywhere else.

  “What do we do now?”

  The horse nickered.

  “I may have to leave you.”

  The horse turned, looking at her with one wide, rolling eye.

  “I suppose not. If I can walk, you can walk. But I swear, if you misbehave I will leave you wherever we happen to be.”

  “Do you frequently talk to animals as though they are people?”

  Charlotte spun around with a gasp.

  It was him. He sat tall upon a brown gelding, looking for all the world like a gentleman. Except for his teasing grin. His smile said he had far too much good humor to be a proper Englishman.

  “I…I didn’t realize there was anyone to hear me.” She could hardly catch her breath. He was stunning. His jacket, a fine gray tweed, fit perfectly over his wide, broad shoulders and large, muscled arms. He wore it with black breeches and boots. His cravat was tied in a simple knot. There was nothing ostentatious about his clothing, but Charlotte had been struck dumb, nonetheless.

  He didn’t have a right to be so beautifully made and masculine at the same time.

  He dismounted and doffed his hat. Charlotte braced herself for his nearness, trying hard to hide her awe.

  “Your cart has been felled, I see.”

  “The horse is rather…non-compliant, it seems.”

  He chuckled. Charlotte claimed that small triumph. Perhaps she wasn’t being a complete ninny if he found her amusing.

  He tied his reins to the cart and walked around it to inspect the wheel. Charlotte waited, more than a little afraid of herself if she drew nearer to him. Now she scolded herself. She was not lacking in self-control. Her brain was not so addled by him that she would quite literally throw herself at his feet. Or so she hoped.

  She remained rooted to her spot on the road.

  “The wheel is broken. This cart won’t be moving any time soon.”

  Her elation at his presence faltered. “Oh.”

  He came out of the ditch, his eyes warm as they raked over her. “I did not think I’d have the good fortune to see you again.”

  She knew the feeling. “I’m supposed to meet with Pastor Franklin. The church is just that way.

  He nodded. “Aye, I remember it. Do you live near here?”

  Charlotte’s tongue dried up inside her mouth. “Uh…no. I’m—I was delivering something to Shelding Manor.”

  “I was just there. A pity I didn’t see you, we could have ridden together and perhaps avoided catastrophe.”

  Charlotte winced. “Perhaps.”

  “Well, I can’t leave you twice in one day. I insist on escorting you to the good pastor.”

  Charlotte’s heart skipped happily in her chest. She looked back down the road. Could she e
xpect Edward to make a sudden appearance?

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “I have to insist.” He stepped closer to her, as close as he’d been that morning when he’d lightly touched her chin. “I can’t resist a damsel in distress. You need rescuing, Miss Woodhouse.”

  He had no idea. “You have no idea.” She gulped. Did she just say that?

  His brow pinched. “I’m sorry? I don’t understand.”

  “That is…never mind. Forget I said anything.” Charlotte hurried around the wagon and collected her cloak. Then she moved to unhitch the horse. He didn’t say anything so that must be a good thing. Hopefully he thinks she was only trying to be funny again.

  He appeared at her side. “Let me.”

  Charlotte stepped back as he unhitched the horse.

  “You may ride my gelding and I’ll walk,” he suggested.

  “It’s an hour walk. I’m afraid I don’t have enough time.”

  He cocked his head to the side and squinted at her. “An interesting choice of words.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He patted the bay’s nose, and Charlotte wanted to scowl at the way the horse enjoyed the attention. She wasn’t jealous. She was miffed that the horse liked him more than her, but who could blame it? She wanted his attention too.

  “I don’t know what we shall do.”

  “Doubt not, fair damsel. We will ride.” He approached her and set his hands on her hips.

  At once, Charlotte was giddy. He lifted her as though she weighed nothing more than a sack of flour and set her on his gelding. “Can you ride like this? We won’t go too fast.” Charlotte tried to breath. She inhaled through her nose, her head still felt empty of all sense. “But…” Charlotte looked at the obstinate bay mare.