After the leisurely picnic, the cricket was most welcome. It was gentlemen versus ladies, and the gentlemen barely won.
Charlotte was sitting on the blanket after the match watching the waves lap slowly on the shoreline.
"Mr Stringer is to return today," Sidney sat next to her.
"Yes I know," she smiled, looking at him.
He shifted a bit. "What are your feelings with regard to him?"
"My feelings?" she furrowed her brow as she looked at him.
"Yes…are you…enamored of him?"
"I like him very much," she paused. "To what do these questions tend?"
"I'm attempting to determine if you are at all inclined to accept a proposal of marriage should he offer one."
"I beg your pardon?" she was aghast.
"I believe he means to propose to you, Miss Heywood."
She stared at him. "And how is that your business?"
"How is it my…?" his face hardened and his voice fell. "Are you serious?"
"Completely. We have no understanding. At least, not in the formal sense…and you yourself are engaged, Mr Parker, lest you forget," she stood. "If I want to enter into an agreement with Mr Stringer, then that is my business and his."
And now he stood. "I believe it is my business to know. Perhaps not to offer my opinion on the matter, but to know, yes."
"And why is that?"
"Because I love you," he hissed. "And because of that, I think I have a right to know if you intend on marrying someone. I told you as soon as I could," he added.
"I didn't say a word…"
"No. Nor would I if you did accept him," he interrupted. "But you could at least tell me if that is your intention."
She swallowed. She steadied herself. "I mean only to marry where I feel the deepest of affection."
He nodded.
"But should I write to you and alert you if this occurs many years from now? Are you to be kept abreast of all matters of my heart, always, Mr Parker?" her eyes narrowed.
He chuckled, but was a bit put out. "Miss Heywood, I have loved two women in my life thus far. It's a curious circumstance that I should be marrying the first when I love her no longer. If you were to fall in love again, I should very much like to know, even if it is fifty years from now."
Her mouth was slightly agape. She nodded, then looked around. No one was about, they had all left during their heated exchange. She smiled, feeling her heart beat against her ribcage. "Mr Stringer is a wonderful man, Mr Parker. But I do not love him."
He exhaled slowly. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to upset you."
"It's an extraordinary situation we find ourselves in, Mr Parker. And unintended responses are to be expected, I think," she picked up the blanket from the sand and shook it out.
"You're correct as always," he replied.
"No. Not always," she looked at him. "But a great deal of the time," she smiled.
He nodded, chuckling a bit. "Well, Miss Heywood. It appears we have driven our friends away," he looked around.
"Georgiana is to come for dinner, is that not so?"
"It is."
"Let's meet her at the house, then."
They walked back to Trafalgar House talking intermittently. The Babington's were also invited, and were to join them. This was good news for Sidney, for he missed his friend's company since he was married.
When they arrived, the party was waiting for them, as well as Georgiana and the Babington's. The former was already deep in conversation with John.
Sidney went over to Lord Babington. "It's so good to see you," he shook his hand. "And Lady Babington, you are looking remarkably well."
"Thank you, Mr Parker," she nodded. "I was shocked to hear you back in the neighborhood. I would have expected you to remain in London until after the wedding."
He cleared his throat. "Ms Campion has everything well in hand. I was only getting in the way."
Babington looked at his friend. "Are you well, Sidney?"
"Yes of course. Nothing like the sea air to cleanse one's mind."
He nodded, then said to his wife, "I should like to smoke, dear. I'll see you at the table?"
"Odious habit," replied Esther, but she walked away to join the ladies at the card table.
"Come, Sidney. Let's out to the veranda." They walked out, and he handed him a cigar.
"You cannot fool me, Sidney Parker."
"What do you mean?" he lit the cigar and puffed away.
"You are avoiding your fiancee."
He looked at Lord Babington. "Is it obvious?"
"To me, yes. I'm not certain if others would be able to tell."
Sidney dropped his gaze.
"What are you doing, anyway? I know that you and Miss Heywood…that you…"
He looked up at Babington. "I love her, you know. More than anything."
His brow furrowed. "Whom are we speaking of?"
"Charlotte Heywood."
"Then for god's sake! What are you doing?"
"Tom didn't insure the property. He overlooked it…so when the fire struck…" he swallowed.
"Oh god. Oh, Sidney. How perfectly awful," he touched his shoulder.
"And the creditors don't trust him. And Lady Denham is sick of the whole business," he puffed and then tossed the cigar. "And so I am here…I don't have eighty thousand pounds…neither do Arthur or Diana. Together, we might have half."
He dropped his hand. "Well, I could help. And what about your ward?"
"I cannot ask you or Georgiana to do such a thing."
Babington puffed. "So you are marrying Ms Campion for forty thousand pounds?"
"You make it sound indecent, Babington," he smiled.
"Well, isn't it? Especially when you are in love with someone else?"
Sidney swallowed. "I'm here to be near Charlotte before I am sentenced to a life with a woman I do not love, and barely trust."
"How is that working?"
"It has its drawbacks. But I'm hoping this time will sustain me. I'm wretched and a villain…I'm certain that it pains her, and it all but kills me. But I'm selfish…you know this. I needed to do this for myself."
Lord Babington shook his head. "And she loves you?"
He nodded.
"What a tragedy," he looked out into the falling night. "How did you know she would be here?"
"I happened upon Mr Stringer in London a month ago. He told me he was traveling to Willingden to see Charlotte, and that he meant to bring her with him to Sanditon, where he would then propose marriage to her."
"What?" he was shocked.
"You can imagine my horror. I thought that this would be the last and only chance of my being able to be near her without us irrevocably tethered to another."
"But…is she now engaged?"
"No. And I do not think she means to enter into an understanding with him," he said softly. "She is honorable and true."
"You are acting for your family, Sidney. She understands that."
"I feel like…" his eyes welled. "Well. I have sold myself, haven't I?"
Babington didn't respond.
"Come in, gentlemen. Supper is on," said Mary Parker, peeking out to them.
Charlotte watched as John spoke with Georgiana. And she noted that her friend was delighted to speak with him. They seemed completely engrossed, and this, admittedly, pleased her. She was very happy that, if nothing else, John was enjoying the company of a lady.
Supper was nearly over when the servant came in, "Mr Stringer, ma'am."
"Oh! Delightful!" exclaimed Mrs Parker.
And James Stringer came into the room. "I'm sorry to interrupt…but my guests have long been without their host, and I was feeling badly for it."
"Not at all, James, not at all," said Tom. "Come, sit here so that we may discuss your happenings in London," he glanced at Sidney, who was looking at James intently.
Charlotte did not do much but nod at Mr Stringer. She was seated across from Sidney, and next to Mary on one side, Allison on the other. He caught her eyes from across the table. They had not spoken once during the supper. She smiled discreetly.
…and he felt light once more.
There was a large part of himself that hated himself for what he was doing. He longed to stop in a way…but Charlotte was like a drug. The more she was around him, the more he wanted to be near here despite the fact that he knew it was not doing him any good.
He sat back, and thought briefly of Eliza…something he hadn't done in some time. He had received a letter from her a day or two ago, but hadn't bothered to open it. It had been his design, after all, to forget her for the fortnight.
Sidney was suddenly struck that he should read it, though he knew not why. He stood…"Excuse me. I'll be back in a few moments," he said to Mary, then left for his room.
He kept a fine room at Trafalgar House. It was situated in the back, though far enough away from the kitchens so that the smells did not infiltrate.
He went to his room to find the fire lit. He smiled. Though it was August, the sea brought with it, occasionally, a chilled wind.
He went to his desk and found the letter, then sat at the chair by the fire.
Dearest Sidney,
I hope that this letter finds you well. I am missing you terribly, and I hope that you are enjoying your time in Sanditon. Our wedding plans are coming along nicely, though I am hesitant to do much else while you're away. There are some choices to be made which, I believe, require your input.
But all of that can wait until I see you.
I was just discussing with Lady Bertram how fortunate that we found each other so soon after George's untimely death. It was the best of strokes that I came to that party! She agreed that it almost seemed as though fate was at play.
Cakes and such can wait, Sidney dear.
Please hurry home.
Yours,
Eliza.
There was something particular about the letter that gave him pause, though he could not put his finger on what.
Eliza was often effusive in her letters, often writing much more than was prudent, especially regarding matters of the heart. Even during their first go-round, Sidney thought her letters were a bit much.
But that wasn't it.
After reading it a second time, it was the mention of Lady Bertram which gave him pause. Sidney had no idea who this person was. And the fact that she mentioned her dead husband in a love letter was, too, rather odd.
He racked his brain to put a face to the name, but to no avail.
Perhaps Babington would know. Possibly Tom.
He sighed and stood, then put the letter in his breast pocket, and left the room. He walked downstairs and went out the side door, rather hoping that he'd find Lord Babington there with his cigars.
But he wasn't there.
Charlotte was.
He smiled at her. "Am I interrupting your reverie?"
"No not at all. Just getting some fresh air."
He nodded. "Well. Mr Stringer has returned."
"Yes I saw."
"He appeared to be well."
"Yes. I think so."
"Did he…did he speak with you?"
Charlotte smiled. "Only to wish me a good evening. He and Allison are walking back to the hotel."
"Ah," Sidney folded his hands behind him. "Are you ready, Miss Heywood? I could walk you, if you like."
She shrugged. "All right. Let me retrieve my wet clothes and I'll meet you in the front," she left him there.
After a few moments, Charlotte walked out. She held her bonnet, but that was all. "I'm to come tomorrow and retrieve my things," she explained as they began to walk. "It seems John is seeing Georgiana home."
"Oh…" Sidney stopped and looked behind him at the house. He thought that perhaps he should go back and check with John that that was all right, but then decided that it would be fine. He trusted John Heywood implicitly. "Well. That is very kind of him."
"Yes. That's John," she smiled broadly.
He looked up into the night sky. The clouds had left from the previous day, and the sky was clear with many thousands of stars peppering night's cloak as it descended on Sanditon. Sidney felt small. His troubles felt small. "Miss Heywood…"
"Hm?"
"I …received a letter the other day, and I was wondering if you'd read it for me."
"A letter? From who?"
"From Ms Eliza Campion."
Her face hardened. "I hardly think that's…"
"Please," and he took her hand and stopped walking. "You are one of my very closet friends. Please read it. I feel as though I am missing something," he took it out of his pocket and handed it to her.
Charlotte did not want to read the contents of this letter, but he told her she was one of his closest friends, and her heart melted. She took it and opened it.
And after a fashion, she looked up at Sidney. "It's odd. But in a strange way."
"You think so, too?" he took a step nearer.
"It's odd because she mentions her dead husband as her dead husband in a love letter."
"Yes! Just so. What's more, I have no idea who Lady Bertram is."
"You don't?" she looked at it again. It was certainly written as though she was an acquaintance they shared. "That is singular."
"How should I proceed?"
She shrugged. "Ask her who Lady Bertram is."
