“Eleanor, I’ve said too much,” Charity quickly added, realizing she had left her sister with the impression that her romance with Eammon was perfect and pure. What a misstep! She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t fret. He and I quarreled, and I’m simply feeling ill-disposed toward him now. It shall all pass, of course.”
Her sister narrowed her eyes. “Are you certain? You sound genuinely upset. What was the quarrel about?”
“It was nothing. Something of no consequence,” Charity insisted, quickly turning her attention to another trunk. “These books are interesting,” she said, pulling out one of the volumes. “Although I don’t think they belonged to Father.” She chuckled. “Have you ever read this one?” She turned the book over to show Eleanor, who shook her head.
“Jane Austen? No, I found her quite dreadful when I was once compelled to read…what was it called?Mansfield Park?”
“I’ve never read it, but Millie told me about it. She compared one of the characters to Eammon.”
“Was it Mr. Darcy?” Eleanor guessed.
“I thought you said you didn’t read those books?” Charity teased.
“I didn’t, but everyone knows who Mr. Darcy is!” Eleanor laughed. “It’s a well-known epic romance. Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet! But why did she compare the two of you?”
Not wishing to make another mistake, Charity cleared her throat. “Well, I thought him quite handsome when we first met,” she said, recalling what Millie had said about the characters.
“I can see that. And I must say, I find it quite romantic that she compared you to Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy. Your romance truly is lovely! I do hope I find one like it in the future. Oh, and I hope Mama won’t try to match me with someone simply so I can secure my inheritance, like she did with you.”
Charity just scoffed. “I should think not! I’m married to a duke now. That should mean you don’t need to settle just yet.”
As her sister returned to the books, Charity couldn’t help but wonder why their father had imposed such a condition on them. It seemed peculiar. The two continued sorting through the books, setting aside various tomes to read later.
She had to admit it was lovely spending the evening with Eleanor. They laughed and talked as they had when they were young, before their father passed away. Charity truly enjoyed the moment, especially because their mother wasn’t there. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her mother—she did. But she couldn’t shake the memory of how eager her mother had been to force her into a match with Markham for seemingly no good reason.
“Goodness!” she exclaimed, looking up when the church bell rang outside. “Is it almost ten? I must return.” She bit her lip, almost revealing her frustrations about Eammon again, which would have alarmed Eleanor. “Eammon shouldn’t notice; he is usually asleep at this hour. But still, I don’t want him to keep the house unlocked waiting for me.”
“Indeed, you ought to go. Will you send someone for the books?” Eleanor asked.
Charity shook her head. “No, I think not. There are still so many trunks to go through. I’ll leave the pile I want in the corner.” She pointed to a stack of about fifty books she had already selected. “I’ll pick them all, then bring them back. Although I think I shall take this one with me,” she said, picking upGoody Two-Shoes.
As she did, something slipped out. A letter sealed with their father’s seal and her name written on the front. Discreetly, she shoved it back into the book, as she did not want Eleanor to see the letter, in case there was not one for her. She gathered her things, and bid her sister farewell.
* * *
The carriage rumbled backward, and Hayward and Charity pulled the letter from between the battered pages of the book. She broke the seal and saw her father's handwriting, but quickly realized it was too dark in the carriage to read. Was there another letter hidden somewhere within? She flicked through the pages but found no further missive. Perhaps his letter contained an explanation for his decision to force her into marriage on his death. Could that be? She certainly considered that a possibility.
The moment she arrived back at Hayward, she would rush to her chamber and read it. She had to know. If this letter held answers, she had to find them.
She glanced out the window as the hustle and bustle of London, less active than usual due to the lateness of the hour, faded into the distance. Familiar fields and pathways leading to Hayward came into view. It was a quick ride, and she arrived home just before eleven.
As the carriage slowed, she opened the window. “Please take me to the stables. I wish to see Ambrose before I retire for the night,” she said.
“Very well,” the coachman called back, turning toward the stable yard. Once there, she exited with the two books under her arm. She thanked the coachman and made her way to the stable, where Hector and Ambrose had already settled in for the night. Both horses whinnied when she appeared, and she quickly turned back to the basket she had installed, which always held apples and carrots for them. She glanced at the apple in her hand, recalling how effortlessly Eammon had split one like it with his bare hands.
No, I must not think of him like that. He is not the man he had me believe he was.
She placed the apple back and took two carrots instead, feeding one to each horse. She stroked Ambrose as he ate, then kissed his muzzle, petted Hector, and made her way out of the stable.
“Goodness gracious!” she exclaimed. It had taken her only a moment to visit Ambrose, but during that time, the heavens had opened up, pouring rain down in an alarming manner.
She looked around to see if anyone remained who might take her back to the house in the carriage but saw that it had already driven on, stored away for the night.
“Oh well,” she said to herself, “I shall have to run…” She placed her arm over her head, as if that could in any way keep her dry, and dashed toward the house. She ran and ran, her boots thudding against the ground until the sound was lost to the splashing of the saturated earth. She had never realized how far the distance was from the stable yard to the house, but it was certainly enough for her to become utterly soaked.
Dashing around the corner and up the stairs, she was fortunate that the door had not yet been locked for the night and swung open easily.
She darted inside, but before she could orient herself, she collided with someone and found herself bouncing backward onto her rear.
