by Dayna Quince
He saw Pruitt last night while heading to his room. Just meeting his eye made him feel guilty. Pruitt had warned him. Had he listened? No. He never did. He did whatever he wanted, including toying with the affections of an innocent woman.
His blood heated at the thought of her there, inside the cabin, waiting for him, willing to do anything he wanted.
Because she was in love with him.
Maybe. Possibly.
And that’s what terrified him.
He could feel it in her words, when she’d asked about him leaving last night. She was hurt and scared. What woman wouldn’t be? She was counting on him. And still he had the gall to seduce her on the grass.
He cursed himself. He was a scoundrel, a knave. He couldn’t believe he let himself become so lost in the moment. She’d begged him, with her soft words, lying on the cloak like an offering. He should have known better—he did, but he was helpless against this need for her.
It was unexplainable and he didn’t understand it. From the moment he saw her in the meadow, he’d been caught in a snare of her beauty, her fragile energy. He was trying to be honorable, yet here he was. If she asked him to do anything, he’d do it. No matter how the guilt twisted him on the inside.
The risk was too great, the potential harm unfathomable, but here he still stood.
He knocked softly.
The door opened and there she was. Black hair draped around her shoulders, her cheeks pink and dewy, her cocoa eyes sparkling with happiness to see him. He knew all these things instantly. It struck him like a blow, a steel mallet to the head. Had any woman looked at him like this before?
Who was she? A goddess? A fairy set to entrap him in her magical world?
He was going to hell for this, he thought as he stepped across the threshold.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said. Her voice was breathless, her smile radiant.
He was going to hurt her; he was certain of it. He needed to walk away, but he couldn’t. Not until she was free of the Sheldings.
“I can’t stay away.” He felt strangled. He stepped into her. She hadn’t given him much room to enter. The door closed behind him, and he looked down at her.
He should marry her. That was what she deserved. A husband who would worship her the way he wanted to. But that was impossible. He had no time for a wife, not when he had his empire to grow. It would surely destroy his deal with Shelding, stealing his son’s fiancée and all.
“What is wrong?” She touched a hand to his cheek, and a line appeared between her eyes, her nails gently digging into his beard. It set fire to his blood. Desire roared inside him. He wanted her desperately, but knowing that he would hurt her held him in check.
“I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine. I’ve never felt safer or happier.”
Another twist of the knife in his gut.
“That is good, Charlotte, but we cannot forget the axe being held over our heads.”
She stepped back. He felt like he couldn’t breathe and move without reaching for her.
“Why did you come here if you are so worried?”
“I couldn’t let you think I used you last evening.”
“I wouldn’t,” she snapped at him.
He regarded her with skepticism. “I have a sister. I know such words cannot be trusted.”
“What do you expect me to say? If you don’t want to be here, then leave.” She turned away and folded her arms.
Thorn wanted to growl. This was impossible. If he pushed her away, she would be hurt, if he continued to touch her, she would be hurt.
“I’m trying to protect you. Even from myself.”
“I don’t need or want protection from you. I want to be with you.”
Another twist of the knife.
“And I with you, but these feelings… They will fade with time, and there is too much at risk.”
“You mean your business with Shelding?” She looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes burning with scorn.
“I came here for the sole purpose of furthering my brewery. You knew that. I can’t explain what is happening between us, but we can’t let it get out of control. Think of the consequences.”
“You think I don’t know? I know the dangers, I know that we’re walking a knife’s edge, but I don’t care. I’ve never done anything like this before because I’ve always been too afraid. What has that gotten me? Engaged to Edward, living in fear that one day it won’t only be Lady Shelding cowering in her room, but me as well. I don’t want her life, not for money, not for a title, not for anything.”
He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Charlotte… I understand, believe me, I do. I came from nothing, less than nothing. My family… Well, suffice it to say we’re not strangers to hunger. But we held on, we persevered, and so shall you but not through risk. There are lines that should not be crossed, and we came dangerously close to one of them.”
“You don’t understand.” She turned to face him.
“I do.”
“You know of your past difficulties. You overcame them. It is evident in everything you do. Your confidence, your arrogance. You speak of being hungry? I’ve been there, and I could be there again. I don’t know that my aunt and uncle will accept me now, but I have to try. Before my father died, we were destitute, and after, I am still destitute. I have nothing, and yet there is still more to lose.”
He watched her, wanting to hold her and shake her at the same time. “I told you I would help you.”
“But you can’t, not really, because that is one risk you won’t take.”
“I won’t.”
“I’m not asking you to marry me. I know I don’t mean that much to you.”
He went cold inside. Rage and heat burned in his core, but his face felt cold, his hands and feet numb. “It isn’t so simple. I’m not the kind of man to take advantage of a vulnerable woman. I care for you, and I want to help you. I’d rather be hung from my entrails than see you marry Chadwick. But I won’t seduce you.”
“Even if I want to be?” She stepped forward. He could see the effort it took her to be so bold.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Don’t insult me.”
“I can’t.” He ground out.
“You won’t,” she returned, her eyes hardened. “As much as I care for you, as much as I want to give myself to you, because I will never know this feeling again, you will refuse me. You care more for your money, your pride, than you do for me.”
“Don’t make me out to be a monster. This is what is best for you. It’s not easy for me to deny you, my want for you, but perhaps it’s my age that lends me a certain level of self-control.”
“You think me naïve?”
“I think you inexperienced. You’ve had your first taste of lust amid a torturous time of uncertainty. You don’t like it, and you may hate me for it, but this is the way it must be. I will help you be free of Chadwick, but that is the extent of our association.”
She wilted before his eyes, her proud shoulders slumping, and the fierce blaze in her eyes fading.
It was almost too easy. She would need to be stronger when it came to facing Chadwick and Shelding.
“I should go.” She lifted her cloak from the cot and folded it over her arm.
“Charlotte…” He should let her go, but the pain in her eyes made it impossible to let her pass. He wanted to comfort her, soothe every wound and worry.
“Don’t bother, Mr. Thorn.” She pushed past him.
His hands dropped to his sides.
“I should warn you that I will need to go to Wildwood to fetch some clothing.”
“Clothing?”
“I’m coming out of full mourning.”
She opened the door. It shut behind her with a thunk, the metal latch clanking loudly. He glared at the small fire in the hearth. It snapped, throwing glowing embers into the air that winked and vanished.
She was gone, and the room didn’t just
feel empty without her, it felt barren. A meadow without flowers, a pond without any ducks. He wondered if this feeling would ever leave him, or if he would always feel the absence of her. He closed his eyes briefly, guilt and grief swelling inside him.
This was the way it had to be. He’d suffered losses much worse.
* * *
Charlotte fought the urge to cry as she trudged across the heath. It must have rained the night before, because her boots squished into thick mud that sucked at her feet. She stumbled as her left boot was immobilized by mud, and her right slid out from under her. She caught herself, falling onto one hand, but her left ankle protested its angle. She yanked her boot out and yelped. She looked back at her ankle and snarled. It throbbed in answer. Her fingers squished into the soft mud, slime, and grit sliding between her fingers. She pushed off and stumbled forward, her arms wheeling until she had her balance once again. She struggled on, refusing to beaten by the heath. She was limping now, her ankle smarting with every step, but she soon made it to the garden and then to her room. She washed the caked dry mud off her hand and then sat at her vanity to undress. It was almost impossible to undo the bow at her back.
She rang for Sarah, surprised when the maid showed up almost immediately.
“Yes?” Sarah opened the door without knocking.
“I need help undressing. I turned my ankle while walking.
Sarah took in the mud-covered hem of her dress and grimaced. “Oh.”
Charlotte leaned on her vanity and presented her back. Sarah made short work of the hooks and tie. She helped Charlotte step out of it and unrolled her soiled stockings.
She didn’t say a single word to Charlotte, and Charlotte didn’t know what to say to Sarah. They had not parted on the best terms the last time they spoke. Charlotte didn’t want to rehash that argument now. Her nerves were raw, her emotions open and bleeding. What she needed was a good book and an endless supply of tea and biscuits until she felt reasonable again.
Her mind circled around his words again and again. He said he would help her, but there was something missing now. Everything she was feeling when she woke this morning was gone. She felt alone again, bereft of a single friend. Worse, she felt like crying. Her heart was hurting, and she wanted to succumb to the pain, to lose herself in the storm inside her.
But she couldn’t. She had too much to think about. She didn’t want his help. He was not Thor. He was a flesh and blood man, and like almost all men, all he cared for was his wealth.
She would find a way to Leave Shelding Manor on her own, even if it meant stealing the silver to do it.
No. She was no thief.
But she was resourceful, she’d discovered that before her father died. She could cook, she could sew, and she could care for a house all by herself. Wildwood was still hers after all.
The first thing she needed to do was get dressed, stop wallowing in sadness, and write to her uncle and her father’s solicitor, Mr. Frank. She would need to find his address as soon as possible.
Sarah helped Charlotte into her dressing gown and onto her bed.
“It will take some time to get this clean enough to wear today.”
“I don’t need it today. I have other dresses.”
Sarah grimaced again. “There isn’t anything clean.”
“How is that possible?”
“Beth sprained her wrist. The washing is piled taller than I.”
“Can no one help her?”
Sarah shook her head. “We were told not to.”
“That is preposterous. Who would do such a thing?”
“Lady Shelding insisted. She was very put out that Beth burned one of her gowns with the iron.”
“So, Beth is injured, no one has clean clothing, and no one can help?”
Sarah nodded.
Charlotte rolled her eyes heavenward and grumbled. “I will help her. Let Lady Shelding tell me not to help her. I am not her employee. The poor woman is injured and cannot do her job without assistance. Help me back into my dress, please.
“Don’t.” Sarah grabbed her wrist.
Charlotte looked down at her wrist and back up at Sarah. “I beg your pardon?”
“You’ll only make it worse.”
“By helping everyone have clean things? How dare I!”
“’Tis no laughing matter. Lady Shelding hurt Beth for burning her gown. She told us all that we could expect the same or worse if we help her.”
It took Charlotte a moment to process what Sarah had said. “Lady Shelding hurt Beth’s wrist?”
Sarah nodded once and let go of Charlotte.
Charlotte sputtered. “How could she?”
Sarah shrugged. “Beth burned the garment.”
Charlotte gasped. “That isn’t cause to hurt someone. Lady Shelding has many dresses. Dozens.”
“You asked and I told you. I have to get back to work.” Sarah turned away.
“So do I.” Charlotte muttered under her breath. But Sarah still had her dress. “Wait.”
Sarah stopped at the door.
“I still need my dress. I need to go home and get more clothes.”
Sarah regarded her for a moment. Then she dropped Charlottes dress on the floor and departed.
Charlotte glared at the door. She hobbled forward and picked up her dress. Using the door for balance, she got both feet inside with minimal pain. She pulled it up and fastened what she could reach. She tenderly put on her stockings and boots again and limped back out to the garden.
Thorn may not want to see her, but she was on a mission.
Chapter 15
August 1st 1823
Dear Rose,
I’m sorry I haven’t written as often as I should. I suspect my correspondence has not been private but I haven’t proof. This morning I found a shilling on the heath. A whole shilling! Heaven knows how it got there. Perhaps my luck is changing. You have been my only confidant for so long, writing to you was the only thing I could think of to do with it. I know if I give my letter to Pastor Franklin, he will post it for me. So much has changed, and there is still so much I am adjusting to. But the biggest of all is that I am engaged to Edward Chadwick. I know this must be a surprise to you after the dreadful complaints I made about him, but it was my father’s final wish, and I could not refuse him. I don’t want you to worry about me. I want you to find your happiness, Rose. Make the most of whatever fate hands you. I don’t know when I will be able to write again, but know that I think of you often, and the years will never erase our friendship.
Charlotte
Charlotte let the groom help her dismount, wincing as her ankle touched terra firma once again. It was half past eight in the morning, and she could hear the pounding of hammers behind the house. She looked up at the façade of Wildwood, the sight of it sending her heart spiraling into an abyss of memories and emotions. She breathed deep, inhaling the sweet smell of moss and roses, a scent she would remember for the rest of her days. Would her home ever be hers again?
She didn’t know where the future would lead, but she hoped she would find answers here.
She hobbled up to the front door and knocked. When no one answered, she pressed the handle, and the door swung open.
Charlotte pushed it open further and peered into the front hall. There was no one present.
“Is anyone there?” she called out.
“Would you like me to go around to the back?” asked the young groom.
Charlotte considered it. She didn’t want Thorn to know she was here, but she wasn’t going to hide her presence either. This was her house.
“No. I’ll only be a moment. Please stay here with the horses. I’m not sure there is a stable anymore.”
“Aye, miss.”
Charlotte straightened her shoulders and entered. She didn’t bother to announce herself anymore, but instead went straight to her father’s study. It was there she hoped to find Mr. Frank’s address. The ruckus from outside was muted by the thick plaster walls and wainscoting. T
he house smelled musty. It needed a good airing and dusting.
Charlotte ran a hand along the wall and looked at her gloved fingers. They were coated with dust.
Do they not have a maid? She wondered then hurried to the study, watching for any sign of other occupants in the house. Reaching her destination, she smothered a cry of joy at the sight of her father’s desk. She’d worried it had been discarded or sold, but still it remained. She circled around it, opening drawers and sifting through stacks of papers. Everything looked just as it was before her father died. Was that unusual? She didn’t have time to consider that. She leafed through papers in one drawer then opened a lower drawer that contained stacks of ledgers. She muttered to herself as she searched for any clue that would lead her to Mr. Frank’s contact information.
The rumble of voices broke through her concentration. She bumped her forehead as she dove under the desk, her lungs seizing as the voices entered the study and heavy foot falls lead straight to where she hid.
“Perhaps I have a mercantile heart, for I do enjoy the maneuvering required for successful business.”
“Maneuvering, my lord?”
It was Thorn’s voice.
Charlotte’s lungs were burning, begging for air, and her eyes began to water. She slowly took in a breath. The chair groaned as Lord Shelding sat and rolled into the desk. Charlotte pressed herself against the front, his knee coming within an inch of her cheek. She squeezed her eyes shut.
“Business isn’t for the weak. It’s the new way to conquer one another. No longer can we take by force as our ancestors did, so we use business. We use cunning tactics and maneuvering to give us the advantage. Only the strongest and smartest succeed. That’s you and I.”
Charlotte opened her eyes. Her cheek was pressed against the wood, but from one eye, she could see Lord Shelding digging in his pocket. He removed a key and opened a locked drawer she hadn’t yet tried to open. He took out a thick ledger. It was blue. Charlotte instantly recognized it. She’d seen her father looking over it many times.
“Mr. Angelwood kept meticulous records of his failed crops, season after season, but he didn’t have a clue what he was doing.”