Chapter Text
It was one of those glorious days of early autumn--you know the ones. Deep blue sky, sun still warm on your face but without the sear of summer. Sweet little breezes that ruffle your hair. You could almost imagine the smell of the sea if you closed your eyes tightly enough. It was the kind of day that made you believe anything was possible.
Unless you knew better. Unless you were Charlotte Heywood, doing your best to stop the bleeding where your heart used to be. If you were Charlotte, you knew that even on the most promising of days like this one, possible had become anything but.
She had been home for nearly a month--28 days and a handful of aching hours. Literally aching. That was the surprise of it; that the pain was physical. Charlotte had never known sorrow, not truly. But they were well acquainted now. It seemed particularly cruel in the mornings; the oblivion of sleep ebbing away slowly, then suddenly wrenching her gut with that first ragged breath of realization. Remembering it all in an instant: how it had been between them, how it had been ripped away, and how a bleak future now stretched endlessly before her. Without him.
Allison had grown used to hearing her sister's half-stifled sob when she sat bolt upright in her bed each morning. From across the room, she watched her struggle to calm her breathing and blink the tears from her eyes.
"Are you ever going to tell me, Char? Maybe it would help."
"Not yet," Charlotte breathed.
Charlotte crawled from her bed, hoping the movement alone would break the sad spell that now started all of her days. She washed quickly, dressed, and nearly ran out of the room, sneaking through the pantry to dodge her mother, fleeing to the hidden glade near the river that had soothed and inspired her all her life. She sank down against a tree, looking out at that bright fall morning, just breathing, and trying not to think about Sidney Parker.
This had become her pattern over the long weeks since returning from Sanditon. She fled to this spot each morning to avoid conversation, letting the trees and sky fortify her strength against the shadow that had followed her home. She spoke sternly to herself, Courage, Charlotte! She hated wallowing--she was stronger than this! It was distressing to feel like a stranger to herself. As a child, she had easily picked herself up from disappointments, moving forward with an even stronger determination. It was just her nature. But now she found that nothing came naturally anymore; she had needed a plan to get through this, deliberate steps that she could identify and follow. The result was this conscious choreography she had formed out of avoidance and silence.
She had so far avoided the letters from Mary and Georgiana, tucking them away in her room to be dealt with on a stronger day. She had felt a bit of the old, self-assured Charlotte in that decision. But the truth was that she did not think she could bear thinking of the Parkers directly, much less reading any accidental mention of Sidney's wedding or his new life or other shards of glass that might slip out between the lines. She made a renewed promise to herself to read the letters soon; she did feel somewhat guilty about the silence she offered her friends in return for their concern. But for now, this and her slightly odd morning routine were her only defenses against despair.
Sitting under the trees with her thoughts and her brave intentions, she pushed away the knowledge that by the end of the day it was likely to be another losing battle. Deep down, her heart already knew that there would be no forgetting Sidney Parker. Not today. Not ever.
But here, with the sound of the river bubbling in her ears, she could try at least to breathe again. Try to think, and not just about the throbbing ache in her chest, but about all of the days ahead. What on earth was there for her now?
Her parents were bewildered by the lingering change in their girl, and though she never told them in so many words, they felt sure a broken heart was the cause. They had watched for nearly a month now, expecting their joyful and resilient eldest daughter to reappear. But she had not. And now they were becoming concerned. So they decided that the best and quickest course of action would be to find Charlotte a husband. Right away. Give her something to hope for again, something to reassure her that there was indeed a place for her in the world other than a spinster's nook at her father's hearth. A place where she was needed and loved … where she could bloom into the woman she was destined to be, running her own household, enjoying her own children, building a life with a husband hand-picked by them, who would love her and give her a reason to smile again.
Charlotte had always attracted the eyes of the village boys wherever she went. When she was younger, she would run, fish, swim (fully clothed, of course), climb trees, and even play cricket with the lot of them. One by one, they fell in love with her and once she was old enough to notice, she would quickly break their hearts. She had not one thought of marriage. Charlotte had no intention of giving up her wild and carefree ways anytime soon, although by that time she was nearly 16 … the same age as her mother when she was wed. The spurned lads would sulk and glare for a few days, and then Charlotte would gently shower them with kindness and eventually laughter, until they all came back to her in the end, wooed by the sunshine of her goodwill. Eventually, their ardor cooled and they became content to be her friends, but fiercely so; there wasn't a one of them who would not have protected her with their lives if the need arose.
Those days were five years gone now and most had now moved on to new adventures or were courting other girls in the village, Charlotte's sisters Allison and Anna among them. But there was one boy who remained, whose devotion had never wavered, whose eyes had never roamed to another, whose wounded heart had not hindered his adoration. Charlotte met his continued attentions towards her with a kind but firm rebuff, yet he would not be discouraged. As he grew into a man, he was the one the Heywood parents had set their sights on … and he knew it.
His name was John Jacob Miller, the eldest son of the most prominent family in Willingden. At 22, he already managed much of his family's lands and the estate that would become his upon his father's death. But he also ran a very prosperous vineyard that he had inherited when he came of age. It was the vineyard that gave him much of his bravado because it meant that he could already afford to support a wife, while most of the other young men had to be content with courting their sweethearts until they could afford to marry.
Although he was gentle with Charlotte and her family, especially the youngest of her siblings, he did have a certain intensity that was a bit daunting to most people. It was as if something was simmering in him just below the surface. He gave you the feeling that he could become a bit dangerous in the right circumstances. Over the years his natural stubbornness had become heightened, turning into what could almost be called a religious zeal … and Charlotte was the deity whose favor he intended to win.
So, I guess that option is off the table, Charlotte couldn't help but smile a little to herself remembering her parents' latest attempt at matchmaking. John Jacob had been invited to dinner again last night and what had simply been annoying to Charlotte for many years suddenly became a cause for concern. John Jacob insisted on a walk after dinner, just the two of them, which her parents' both seemed to ignore, allowing them to walk out unchaperoned. That was the first sign to Charlotte that things were about to get awkward. As soon as they reached the stone bridge that spanned the river, John Jacob turned quickly and grasped both of Charlotte's hands in his own, leaving Charlotte with her mouth open in surprise and her eyes wide with dread.
"Charlotte, my dearest," John Jacob began.
Charlotte flinched visibly at the endearment.
"You must know that I have long held you in the highest regard above any other woman in the world. Though we both know that our hearts have been intended for each other from the start, I must now openly declare myself to you at last and ask you, formally, for your hand."
Charlotte simply stared at him for a full 5 seconds before attempting a reply.
"John Jacob, you do flatter me with your offer, but I'm afraid that I will have to decline. I have resolved myself never to marry." Charlotte explained, gently pulling her hands away.
John Jacob continued, "… already knowing your heart, my love, I took the liberty of selecting this ring … … … wait, what?"
"What what?" Charlotte stalled for time.
"What did you say? …. a-a-about never …" John Jacob's face blanched in the light of the setting sun.
"Oh yes. Right. About that. I just meant that I do not wish to marry. Anyone. Ever." Charlotte continued.
"But why"? John Jacob's question came out as something between a whine and a whimper.
"Because I value my freedom too much. And I need to be able to express my opinions freely. And that is not a well-loved trait in a future wife, as I'm sure you will agree." Charlotte patiently explained.
"But … but … that's not fair," John Jacob's face began to darken. "You can't have been unaware of my devotion to you these many years. This is not the answer that I deserve, of that I am certain."
"I am sorry to distress you, but we have never had an understanding between us about a future together. Why do you think I have put you off, over, and over, and over again"? You are a good man, John Jacob. And there are many good women of Willingden who have been waiting for you to look their way," Charlotte reasoned.
John Jacob just looked at her. Blinked twice. Then erupted.
"You, Charlotte Heywood, are obviously not as intelligent as I had believed you to be! How could you lead me on in such a wanton and wicked way all of these years, only to lose your wits and refuse me when I have given you the most heartfelt and eloquent proposal you will likely ever hear in your life"? John Jacob's voice slowly rose from a low growl to nearly a shout, his face raging red and contorting with disdain.
Charlotte's quiet reply only goaded him further, "Nevertheless, that is my answer." Her eyes flashed a warning to him.
John Jacob stood before her, silent now, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Then he abruptly turned on his heel and stomped away, turning back now and then to shout at her and throw his arms wildly in the air.
"You forget yourself!"
"You are a stupid, stupid girl!"
"I will not be back!"
"Your parents will not be happy about this!"
"This is me leaving you, forever!"
And then some other things Charlotte could not make out as he became a small dot on the road back into town. She made her way back to her house, alone. When she saw her parents there she said nothing, and with a long look just shrugged her shoulders. What was there to say? Mrs. Heywood sighed, "Oh, Charlotte."
It had all been so dramatic! But not to her. Charlotte walked around wrapped in memory as if it was a shroud. It was comforting in a way, but it was also isolating. Charlotte hugged her knees tightly, burying her head deeper into her arms. How different had been Sidney's almost-proposal! She recalled the intense, loving look in his dark eyes as he had held both of her hands in his. How he spoke of her influence in his life that he hoped had helped to make him a better man. How it felt to hear her name fall from his lips. Those perfectly kissable lips. She was sure his next words would be to ask her to be his wife--it was written all over his beautiful face. And she stood ready with her answer. But then Chaos, that spiteful wraith that seemed to follow them everywhere, usually named Tom, crashed in and changed everything. But this time its name was Edward Denham.
Suddenly, Charlotte was again aware of her surroundings, hearing in the distance her siblings calling for her. How long had she been there, she wondered. The sun was much higher in the sky now. Benjamin was the first to find her, running his fastest and breathing hard:
"Charlotte, Mama says come now! There's a big ol' horse … with ribbons … and another one too … and a big carriage … would prolly fit me an' all my brothers! C'mon! Hurry!" he sputtered between big, gulping breaths.
"Ok Ben, breathe. I'm coming." Charlotte said to her brother's already retreating back.
Who on earth could this be? Visitors to the Heywood estate were rare; unexpected guests were nonexistent. Puzzled, Charlotte made her way back to the house.
Ben was right, there was a brand new, glossy, black carriage in the yard. An elegant letter P scrolled across the ornate medal on the door. P as in Parker?! Charlotte's pulse quickened. Surely not. Charlotte had been brought home in the Parker family's carriage and, though it was a very nice carriage, it did not compare to this one. Walking up to the front, she saw a perfectly matched pair of black horses. Her breath caught in her throat for a minute--the horses had black rosettes mounted on their bridles. She looked up quickly to the driver still sitting in the box. He tipped his hat to her but remained stoic and said not a word.
As Charlotte turned to enter the house, she found she could not move. She was trapped by her youngest sister who had scooted beneath her skirts and now clung to her ankles. "Caroline, what are you doing down there"?
"Just looking."
"Well, stop that!"
"I will if you come play with me. You said …"
"Yes, but I must go greet our guest now. I promise I will play with you this afternoon."
"And make flower crowns!" the four-year-old demanded.
"Yes, of course. Flower crowns."
Caroline reluctantly climbed out from her newfound fort. Charlotte smiled at her patiently.
"Well then, Caroline."
"Well then!" Caroline stamped her foot and ran back to her play.
Charlotte hid her smile, shaking her head over her spirited little sibling.
"Charlotte!" her mother hissed loudly from the doorway, motioning frantically.
"Who is it, Mama?"
"Quick, in the study! Your father will be running out of polite conversation! Wait! The tea, the tea!"
"Yes, mama."
Charlotte picked up the heavy tray and made her way to her father's study, gently tapping her foot against the door to ask for entrance. Her father opened the door and took the tray from her, turning around in the doorway to place it on the table in the small room. Trying to peek around her father, Charlotte could only see that the visitor was a woman and that she was dressed, head to toe, in black.
Charlotte had taken no more than two steps into the room curiously watching the woman turn to face her when she was hit with a force that nearly knocked her over. Charlotte's breath suddenly whooshed out of her chest and her vision went black. She felt thick arms encircle her, pulling her close, steadying her as she regained her footing. When all the motion stopped she lifted her head and freed herself from the swath of black fabric that had covered her eyes. That's when she realized the inappropriate position she had landed in--she was fully engulfed in a warm, unyielding, and undeniably male embrace. But she did not let go as she should have, as any well-brought-up young woman should. She stood there frozen, pulse racing, unable to utter a sound, as her heart called out his name with every beat--Sidney!!