Charlotte hurried to pick up the reticule and bonnet she had dropped in her haste. Behind her, a footman brought her portmanteau from the carriage into the house.
The cottage was as small and warm inside as it had looked from the outside. Charlotte was escorted into a pleasantly decoratedfront room, quite golden in sunlight, draped with blue and white flowers that had been brought in from the garden.
Frederica’s aunt was setting up a table for tea in the middle of the room. She turned to face Charlotte, no hint of warmth in her face at first. There was a vague similarity to Frederica in the eyes, though it was hard to see at all. Eventually, she managed a small smile.
“Ah, Lady Charlotte.” She dropped a curtsy to Charlotte, who hurried to do the same.
“Charlotte, this is my aunt, Miss Honoria Oakley.”
“It is good to meet you.”
“And you.” Though Miss Oakley was still very much reserved. “I shall leave you both to share your tea. Frederica, I am walking into the village. Did you leave out your stockings as I asked? I shall take them to be repaired by the seamstress.”
“Yes, here they are.” Frederica retrieved them from nearby. It was clear at a glance to Charlotte that Miss Oakley ran this cottage like a tightly run ship.
“Good day to you both.” Miss Oakley turned and left swiftly. Charlotte caught sight of her walking through the garden, not a ribbon or hem out of place, her bonnet sitting perfectly straight on her head.
“She’s… a little terse,” Charlotte remarked.
“Oh, I know.” Frederica sighed and sat heavily down into one of the chairs at the small table. “Despite her strictness though, I am indebted to her, completely. She could have turned me away and refused to help me. Instead, she said this could be my home for as long as I wished it to be. She has been very kind.” She grimaced as she poured out tea for them both. “She has not spoken much of her own attempts to avoid the altar, but from what she said one night I think she was as afraid of the man she was to marry as I am of the man my father wished me to marry.”
“History seems to repeat itself, does it not?” Charlotte murmured miserably. For a moment, she didn’t only think of Frederica and her aunt. She thought too of the way Gerard had run to Scotland, leaving her behind in London. It was a little reminiscent of his mother running from her love, too, though the motivations were very different indeed. “First, tell me this,” Charlotte leaned toward her friend and placed a hand over hers, “are you happy here?”
Frederica smiled contentedly.
“I am,” she assured her. “It is not a perfect life, but whose life is perfect? I should be thankful for my lot in life, and believe me, I am very grateful now for where I am.”
“Then I am heartily glad for you.” Charlotte sat back and reached for her teacup. “Tell me everything about your life here.”
Within the next twenty minutes, they had covered exactly how Frederica had arrived in the middle of the night at her aunt’s door, only to have Miss Oakley so stunned at her arrival that she nearly threw her straight back out. She’d heard too about how Miss Oakley had gradually warmed to her before making the offer that she could stay for as long as she needed.
Frederica went into the village rarely, for Miss Oakley feared whispers and gossip about Frederica’s whereabouts. Even though Cornwall was a great distance from London, she said there was always the chance someone would holiday at the beaches down in Cornwall, and if they recognized Frederica, then news could reach her parents about where she was.
“It is for the best,” Frederica whispered. “We have one maid who attends to us, a cook and a groom. The maid is sweet indeed. I now think of her as a very good friend.”
“I am glad to hear it.” Charlotte wiped her mouth after the final bite of cake, feeling restored after her long journey. “Have you heard from Dorothy at all?”
“Yes. She and the duke are enjoying their travels, but as she is so swell with child these days, I believe he is quite insisting they return to London. You know Dorothy. She just tells him not to fuss too much,” Frederica said with an affectionate smile.
“That sounds like Dorothy.” Charlotte nodded her head in agreement. “And you are sure you are happy here?” She needed to be certain of this, that she had truly helped Frederica toward a happier future. Despite how beautiful this house in Cornwallwas, she couldn’t help thinking of how far away it was for Frederica to live – far from where both Charlotte and Dorothy called home.
“I am. Now, enough about me.” Frederica waved her cake fork at Charlotte. “Tell me about you.”
“Me?” Charlotte hadn’t been looking forward to this moment. She had partly come to see Frederica to distract herself from her own problems. Speaking of her own troubles would surely not do her any good at all. “There’s not much to tell.”
“So, you’re saying there’s no reason as to why you have lost weight?” Frederica pointed at her with the cake fork again. “And no reason that it looks like you have been crying?”
Charlotte promptly picked up her teaspoon and turned it over, trying to look at her reflection, but it was upside and marred. It was true she had had a little cry in the carriage, thinking of Gerard, but she had thought she’d managed to hide all signs of it by the time she had arrived.
“Your eyes are still pink,” Frederica said softly. “Tell me what is wrong, and I shall serve you another slice of cake. Looking at you, I think you need it.” Frederica promptly placed another bit of cake onto her plate, and Charlotte smiled at the care her friend showed her.
“I have missed you,” she whispered. Frederica smiled too.
“And I you. You’ll have to keep coming to see me when you can, but you are changing the subject.” She pointed accusingly with the cake fork. “Come, tell me what is wrong.”
“It’s…”
“The Duke of Rodstone?” Frederica concluded before Charlotte could even summon the words.
