She could hardly bear it, being on these cliffs again, yet she couldn't seem to stay away. It was colder now than it had been then, and it wasn't just the wind blowing off the ocean that was chilling her to the bones. It was the regret, and the grief, and the memory.
When we hurt, we hurt others. He had hurt her because of his pain, and now Charlotte knew that she would be the cause of hurting another. A good man who deserved it even less than she had.
Charlotte continued holding her straw hat to keep it from sailing off her head and down to the beach below, and she shifted the book in her hands, carefully, always aware of the treasures pressed between its pages. Somehow if she lost the cornflowers, dried with time but still maddeningly blue with hope, that might feel like an end. And she knew that she wasn't ready for it to end. She thought she would never be ready.
She knew what an ending felt like with Sidney. The finality of death is somehow kinder in its absoluteness, it's utter lack of hope. There are still words that want to be said, but they can only be imagined drifting into the void.
But with Alexander— and that is always what she called him in her thoughts, though she'd never spoken his Christian name aloud except in dreams—the possibility existed that he would come upon her on these very cliffs. A possibility that she both wished for and dreaded.
The wish was clear enough. She loved him still with every cell in her body. The dread was that she might look into his eyes and see nothing there of the fire that had so consumed them both, of the softness that told her of his love, of the caution, the fear, the helplessness he felt as he fell. She saw it all as it had happened, and it had always thrilled her. To have power over a man like that at the same time she willingly gave up her power to him. She thought she'd had it wrong – when it was mutual, there was a strength in that kind of surrender. It required a release of control, and the risk was worth it.
That is what she had thought.
They had laid their hearts in each other's hands and quietly pondered who would flinch first. And although she believed she would be the one to run away in fear, it had been him. The pain of it hadn't left her in four full months. One hundred and twenty eight days of waking up from dreams with hope and then remembering there was none to be found. Lying shaking, as the tears snaked down her cheeks into the linen pillow covers. Vowing never again to give her heart as fully as she had to Alexander Colbourne.
One hundred and twenty eight days of stepping one way, and then another, searching for the peace she had felt in his arms, the joy she'd felt when he'd walked into the classroom, the whisper of his shoulder as they'd passed in the narrow hallways of the upstairs.
Remembering those two days. Those glorious, horrible, bewildering days of the most extreme emotions she had ever known, buffeting her as if she were a tiny balsa wood vessel on the great ocean.
She remembered her wonder at how beautiful he was, throwing a stick for Luna, crouching down first to give love, and then gracefully stretching his long limbs, muscular, athletic, making it impossible for her to look away. Charlotte was innocent but well-educated, and after the abandon of the night before – the surprise at how instantly and completely her own body had responded to the touch of his lips, his hand at her neck gently but inexorably drawing her in, her unquenchable desire to melt into him, pressing forward, deepening the kiss… she understood, finally, how passion and biology melded into something that cannot be explained fully without experience. She had, in fact, spent a long and sleepless night thinking about it. Reliving it, blushing at the thought that she wished it wasn't Alison next to her under the quilts, but him. Wishing she could know what it felt like to put her length next to his, lost in his kiss.
So she'd watched him with Luna, unable to fully believe that he was hers, although the kisses of the night before told her beyond reason that he was. His caution as he asked her to take a turn around the grounds. She could sense he was feeling as she was, that it might all have been a dream, and they needed to be alone to find their bearings together. She welcomed it, needed it, because while she had walked on these very cliffs on that morning she'd wondered how she would simply start her day with the girls, not knowing if she had only imagined it all.
He was as nervous as she was, and she took courage from that. "I fear I said too much. I beg you never speak of it." She knew his sleepless night had been much like hers, but with the added burden of having bared not just his desire, but his soul. He had told her his deepest secret, pulled back the veil on his shame, and he was wondering if the stark light of day had made him seem less worthy to her. She found herself wishing she was a poet and had the ability to express how exponentially her regard had climbed as he'd opened himself to her, that it was that openness that allowed her to not only accept his kiss, but to return it with the full measure of her being.
Up to that moment she had suspected she loved him. Then when he said, "I so wanted to tell you, but I was afraid of what you would think of me," she knew absolutely that her heart was his. She had wanted to pull him to her and give him comfort, reassure him that she loved him and all parts of him, his history, his mistakes, his regret, his shame, every moment that had made him who he was. Instead, she simply reached out and touched his hand, and his fingers wrapped around hers so quickly, warm and strong, that the electricity of connection flowed freely through both of them.
When he leaned in, slowly, giving her every chance to turn him away, the world slowed and stopped. This man, who she had seen every day, who was at turns inscrutable and yielding, humorless and exhibiting a sudden wry wit, knowledgeable to a fault, yet oblivious to the needs of his girls and their wish of love from him – this man who she had slowly come to first respect, then esteem, and then love – was going to kiss her. And she had never wanted anything more in her life.
She had thought that the revelation of her evening would be Lucy's story, but in truth, it was the depth of his passion that astonished her. As he moved closer, she stayed perfectly still, as one would with an easily-frightened animal in the wild. She felt if she made the slightest move, he would retreat, and she wanted – so much – for him to continue moving closer, to feel the warmth of his breath on her lips before he touched them with his own – soft, tentative, reaching, and then pressing closer. Without fully knowing what she was doing, Charlotte's lips parted and she felt herself falling, losing sense of her surroundings, as he did the same. He seemed to know that she was all but weightless, and he reached up to steady her with his hand, warm, sure, his thumb caressing a spot just below her ear that added a new dimension to the sensations she was feeling, and finally, Charlotte was completely lost.
She had no idea how long the kiss lasted, or if it was just one kiss, or many, but she had never felt so filled with fire and longing, and she finally understood how a woman might forget herself. This was as unlike her only other kiss, the one on the cliffs, as it could be – on a sofa in the lamplight, the fire crackling softly, the tick of the clock on the mantel, the only other sound her breath and his, coming faster by the minute…
Charlotte, with great strength of will, moved her lips from his to his cheek, to catch her breath. His hand was in her hair, at the nape of her neck, and both of them simply breathed there, collecting themselves. She was as close as she could be to him in a tight corset, her shoulder under his arm, her breasts rising and falling against his chest. Now that she was recovering some of her wits, she wondered if things could ever be the same, and she knew they could not. They would never be able to meet in the hallway, or the kitchen, or outside, without thinking of this. He would attempt to chastise her for letting Leonora run wild, but there would be a smile at the corner of his mouth as he remembered. She would ask him again to look up from his work and see the girls, but she would be looking at his lips and feeling them on hers, and he would know it.
She felt him stiffen slightly in her arms. "Miss Heywood… I…"
Laughing softly, she pulled away to look at him in the golden light. "I believe we may have moved a bit past that, do you not agree?"
Relief flooded his face, but still he looked troubled. "Charlotte. I fear I may have let my…"
She stopped his words with her lips, as she placed her hand on his cheek. "Don't you dare. I don't think I'm revealing too much when I tell you I very much wanted it too." Alexander smiled, the sweet smile she loved so much. The Garden Party smile, the cornflowers smile, the smile from just tonight at the Ball as he told her he couldn't account for why he was there.
Taking a deep breath, Charlotte sat up and smoothed her gown. "But it is late, and the Parkers are already more than curious as to why I didn't travel home with them in their carriage. I shall have to concoct some story…"
Alexander tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. "Tell them the girls needed you. No one would question that." Unable to stop himself, he leaned forward and placed his lips gently on hers. "We all need you."
Charlotte saw the fire begin again in his eyes, and her heart was so full that she could hardly breathe. She knew that if she stayed one more minute, they would pass the night on the couch in each others' arms and scandalize all of Sanditon. Beyond that, she needed to find her bearings, to process what had happened with her mind as well as her body, and that couldn't happen here with his scent of leather and soap, his voice soft in her ear, the taste of him still on her lips, his eyes, his hands…
"If I don't go now, I never will…" she said on an exhale, and stood up. Too quickly, it turned out, as the corset finally got the better of her and she lost her balance. He was up in a moment and holding her tightly, with her head against his rapidly beating heart. Charlotte closed her eyes and sighed, feeling as if she was finally, completely, at home in his arms.
They stood there a long time. Neither of them wanted it to end, but they knew it had to. They had already pushed the boundaries of propriety and good sense, and a muffled noise in the hallway reminded Alexander that the carriage and drivers were still waiting to take Charlotte home. He pulled away and lifted Charlotte's chin and whispered, "Whatever happens from this moment forward, I want you to know that this is the most contented… the happiest I can ever remember being." He kissed her once more, holding his lips there as time stopped. The mantel clock then saw fit to remind them how late it was with one sharp stroke.
Charlotte smiled. "Time for Cinderella to venture home from the Ball." Alexander laughed and held her tightly, then took her hand and led her out past the raised eyebrow and barely-suppressed smile of Mrs. Wheatley. As he helped her into the carriage, he said softly, "Until tomorrow, then?"
Charlotte smiled and nodded. "Until tomorrow."
Looking out at the vast expanse of the ocean, Charlotte shook her head and said softly, "Enough…" She had been standing, stock-still, for long minutes remembering, and just now felt the icy-cold on her cheeks as her tears caught the wind. She wiped them away with her scarf and began walking again.
How many times had she walked these cliffs? At what point did her thoughts change from wondering what she would teach the girls, to also wondering if she would see him. No, not if, but when. Because more and more, he was venturing out of his office. Casually wandering, if Alexander Colbourne could seem to be doing anything casually. She'd pretended not to see him standing just beyond doorways, and when he finally ventured in, while she was teaching Augusta and Leonora the cotillion, she had been surprised and pleased. When he then told Augusta that he would be taking her to Lady Denham's Annual Garden Party, Charlotte had been beyond thrilled for her young charge. And to open up Lucy's closet full of dresses to his niece seemed to signify a major change had taken place in him.
But of course, what burned in Charlotte's memory was his smile when she said she would be attending as well. "My dread of the occasion is somewhat lessened." That simple statement, but of course not simple at all for him to say, had her heart hammering in her chest in a way that stunned her. Did she care so much for his approval, for his desire to see her there, for him caring enough to say so? She'd thought of little else on her walk home that day.
As always seemed to be the way, it was one step forward and two steps back. Damned archery contest. If only he hadn't taken the bait and joined Lennox in battle. If only Lennox hadn't pulled her between them. She was so intent on proving her worth for her own rights with Lennox's shot that she'd hit the bullseye – never thinking that the Colonel would take it as her desire to make him look good. And then, when Alexander asked the same of her, Charlotte realized with a sinking stomach that she would have to split her own arrow down the middle to give him the advantage, and her nerves got the better of her. It suddenly mattered too much. Not to mention her rising anger that these two cowardly men had put her in the position to fight their battles for them. It was infuriating to look at Alexander and see that he somehow felt she had made a choice – when in fact, she had simply realized again just how much she cared for him when that arrow hit the ground. How could he not see that?
Sighing, Charlotte realized this was her life these days. Caroming between tears and anger, remorse and regret, resignation and rebellion. She was all at sea on that balsa wood boat, when she only wanted an anchor. She'd thought that Ralph would be that for her, a sensible, upstanding, non-emotional anchor. When she'd arrived back home in Willingden, broken, battered and her heart in pieces, her father had told her that she'd taken enough time for her own enjoyment and now needed to think about her family. He had been in touch with the Starlings and all was settled.
She didn't have the stomach to fight anymore, so she'd dutifully agreed. She managed to convince herself that this was a better option. Ralph couldn't hurt her because he didn't have the power over her. She felt herself being moored, with thoughts of living on his farm, raising his children and growing old with him. She had known him all her life, and had no illusions of loving him, and still fewer of feeling anything close to the passion of that one night with Alexander, but more the better. Ralph was safe and would never disrespect her. Life would be smooth sailing and calm waters in a ship made of steel with her heart encased inside it.
Then Charlotte learned how the scale can tip without warning, and with a force that can literally knock you over.
She had quickly packed her things for Willingden after Alexander had left Trafalgar House, throwing her belongings into her trunk without thought. Once she had arrived back on the Heywood estate, the trunk had remained locked, because the teal coat, the straw hat, the white gloves, everything she had enjoyed in Sanditon suddenly became a reminder of her time with the girls at Heyrick Park and so many moments with him. She made do with her simple cotton dresses that hung already in her closet, and she left her heart in the trunk with those memories.
Once Alison was married and Ralph had gone through the ritual of a ring and announcements, life settled for a time. Arrangements were being made for a simple wedding with family and friends, and they had Georgiana's twenty-first birthday party to look forward to in Sanditon. Charlotte was used to nursing a broken heart in private, and again she felt she must mourn in silence. She had been honest with Ralph, even telling him that she and Alexander had kissed, but that she would talk no further about it.
Georgiana was a rich repository of news, and her letters were filled with Tom's lofty dreams, Mary's stoicism, Arthur's devotion and all the news of the town. Charlotte never asked, but in one of her letters, this paragraph appeared:
You should know that Heyrick Park has gone all but silent, as Mr. Colbourne and the girls have removed to London for Miss Markham's coming out. Mrs. Wheatley still ventures into town occasionally and she and I have struck up an acquaintance of sorts, for obvious reasons, as we are two "exotics" and I love her perspective of the world. We haven't had a great deal of time to converse, but I'm hoping to visit her soon. She very pointedly asked after you and talked of the happiness you brought to the house and its inhabitants. I didn't think you would mind that I shared the news of your upcoming marriage and the circumstances by which you came to be engaged. Please rest assured that I did try to limit my opinions on the matter and endeavored to simply give her a bland accounting. How successful I was may be in question, but know that I made a valiant attempt.
Charlotte couldn't help but smile at her friend's recounting, and she was more than certain that Georgiana had found it difficult to curb her tongue. She had made no such attempt to hold back when she expressed her feelings to Charlotte the night of Alison's wedding. But what Charlotte knew beyond a doubt was that if Mrs. Wheatley knew of her engagement, Alexander also knew. It was not a piece of news she would keep to herself. Charlotte had felt great affection from the older woman, and watched her eyes dance as she saw the changes in Alexander and the girls. Charlotte had come to love Mrs. Wheatley in the same way she loved Augusta and Leonora, and her dreams had often seen them all living together at Heyrick Park as a family.
But dreams were just that. Dreams. Not real. Fantasies.
So Charlotte was doing as well as could be expected, perfectly resigned to a life of peace and quiet without the drama of love, until that day she had gone looking for one of her books, tucked away between Sanditon memories in her now unlocked trunk. She made the mistake of assuming that she had developed some immunity to her fond recollections after all this time. Under her mustard-colored coat she found the book she had used to brush up on her French after slightly overselling her abilities and finding that Augusta was head and shoulders above her in use of the language – a volume of poems by Gérard de Nerval. And there, between Artemis and Myrtho, were the cornflowers.
Charlotte had been rocked back on her heels and found herself leant against the bureau nearly gasping for breath. Three little flowers had thrown her head-first back into all of the feelings she had folded and tucked away so carefully – and before she knew it she was sobbing in grief at her lost life, a future filled with light and love and hope. She felt keenly the absence of the treasured time with Augusta and Leonora, and above all, with Alexander. She pulled out her Ball gown and pressed it roughly to her face, and she was even assailed by the memory of the clean smell of his skin as they had kissed on the couch, the shine of his hair, the dark brown curls around his ears that would not be tamed, his voice warm and resonant as she lay her head on his chest, the rightness of it all, the fire that still burned in her even as her breath calmed. She realized she would never feel that again, and suddenly the loss was too much for Charlotte. Not having it was one thing, but settling for less, for her entire life, became, in that moment, untenable.
With an audible cry muffled in the silk folds of her dress, Charlotte was resolved not to marry Ralph. In fact, she was determined anew to never marry, and to put her energies toward finding a way to support herself so that she wouldn't be a burden to her family. As she caught her breath, the tears calmed and she began to make mental notes of her abilities. Certainly she could get work as a governess, and if she had to, she would go to London to do it. She had organized Tom's office and could do the same for others. If all else failed, Georgiana had offered her a place to live while she helped her find her mother. Charlotte would not be amenable to relying on her friend for any extended period, but for the time being, Georgiana had said she would welcome her, as she had missed her terribly.
Charlotte was surprised upon looking out past the cliffs, that she was near to the spot where she had found Georgiana – crying, lost, watching the sea. She had pulled her back up to the path and from that moment forward they had been the best of friends. Georgiana had reminded her of that time, and begged her to let her reciprocate, saying that accepting help doesn't signify weakness. It had struck a chord with Charlotte and she had a tentative plan to move back to Sanditon and into Georgiana's apartments with her once she had sorted her issues with Ralph and her parents. Ralph was arriving later today with Alison and Declan for the party, and she planned to tell him and return his ring before he traveled back to Willingden tomorrow.
For now, she was here for the birthday party tonight. Knowing that Alexander and the girls were far away in London was a double-edged sword. Charlotte longed to see them, but after her experience with the cornflowers, she dreaded the feelings it might bring up.
What Georgiana had neglected to tell her was that she had invited Alexander. She hadn't shared that information because if he didn't show up, she didn't want Charlotte to be hurt again. If he did, there would be plenty of time for explanations.
Charlotte sat down on a rock outcropping that was somewhat protected from the ubiquitous wind of the cliffs, allowing her to relinquish the hold on her hat. She closed her eyes and listened to the sea, it's easy ebb and flow soothing her anxious thoughts as it always did. Unfortunately, the emptying of her mind allowed free rein to other thoughts to fill the space, and as often happened, they were of Alexander.
She had wanted to reassure him that morning. To make clear that she understood, that she might seem young and inexperienced, but she had also known heartache and betrayal. When Sidney announced his intention to marry Eliza Campion, no matter his noble reasons, she had felt that he'd given up without a fight. Charlotte knew that Sidney had been nursing a broken heart when she first met him, and that heart had been broken by Mrs. Campion herself. In her darkest moments, Charlotte felt that marrying her may have been what Sidney wanted after all. And in any case, she was never allowed to talk to him about it, so what he felt would always be a mystery to her. Heartache and betrayal. She and Alexander shared that sad history.
As they stood under the trees with him searching her eyes, she wanted him to know what she had spent her sleepless night contemplating. She had sworn off of love, but if the night before had taught her anything it was that love isn't found – it finds you.
"I must live my life. Is it not time you did the same?"
Those words seemed to have unleashed a flood of feelings from him, and before she knew it, his lips were on hers, if possible with even more passion than the night before. This time it felt like a deep hunger, and she supposed they were both all but starving. Charlotte felt her knees go weak, and her fine promises to herself as she lay in bed – about taking things slowly, measuring their intimate time together, controlling her own desire and need – flew easily with the breeze as it ruffled the leaves around their heads. She fell headlong into his kiss, opening her mouth against his lips and accepting all he had to give. She wondered with what little rational thought she could still piece together, if this time they would be able to stop, because neither of them seemed to have any inclination in that direction.
God, how she loved him. All the more for how resolutely he seemed to rebuff any attempt at connection at the very beginning. All the more for how broken he was, how filled with regret and pain, how he had kept the girls at arm's length for so long. All the more because this man in her arms had fought so hard to live a solitary existence, and now he had invited her into his heart. If he could risk a repeat of the agony of loss, so could she. He was her compass, her light in the darkness – where he led, she would follow.
"Mr. Colbourne!" With Mrs. Wheatley's cry, it ended as quickly as it began. Charlotte stood breathless, feeling as if she had just come up from the depths of the sea, gasping for air, trying to understand Mrs. Wheatley's urgency and Alexander's sudden distress.
Leonora was missing.
Augusta provided the missing piece. "She overheard you talking. Something about Colonel Lennox."
Charlotte turned sharply to look at Alexander and felt the regret begin to snake up the back of her neck even as he rushed out the door. Things were happening far too fast for any reflection, but she already felt they were pushing into areas so new to them that going back to the daily life she had lately come to treasure seemed wholly impossible. Leonora had probably seen them in each others' arms. She now knew who her father was, and of course, so did Augusta. Mrs. Wheatley had come upon them under the trees deeply sharing a kiss. There were no longer any secrets.
Nothing would ever be the same.
And it wasn't. What she hadn't known then – when he asked her to see Leo safely home and reached out to touch her hand – was that the fleeting brush of her fingers, the gentle squeeze, the softest, sweetest smile she had yet seen from Alexander, would be the last good and genuine moments they would have.
Charlotte wouldn't be privy to that knowledge until the next morning, when she shyly stepped out into the garden to see them at breakfast. If her dream for the girls could become reality, Alexander could not have painted a prettier picture of it. The girls laughing, him talking about how Luna wanted a companion and Leonora saying she wanted a mastiff. Charlotte laughed softly to herself, wondering if she might not be asked to join them at the fourth place set at the table, hoping that yesterday's healing with Leonora now placed her in a more familiar aspect with the family.
The moment she saw Alexander's face, a chill began to creep through her veins. "Miss Heywood…" again he refrained from voicing the warm Charlotte he'd whispered as he held her in his arms the other night. "I wondered if we might speak in private?"
Just yesterday morning he had wanted to pull her away from prying eyes but this was as different as night and day. There was an unnecessary formality to his words, as if he had a distasteful task ahead that he was dreading. It wasn't the fact that they were in front of the girls, especially now, and Charlotte began to hear a slight rushing in her ears, as if a mountain in the distance was toppling, its rocks beginning their inexorable tumble to the ground.
Closing her eyes against the freshening wind on the cliffs, Charlotte felt yet another tear escape from beneath her eyelids. Why did she insist on remembering this, over and over again? His office, where it all began, was where it all came to a cataclysmic end. She couldn't even count his visit to Trafalgar House as the end, because by then her mind was made up and there was nothing more to say.
Had he told her there in his office that he thought he could open his heart but had found it was too painful, if he was worried about the effect their relationship might have on the girls, if he had said that things were moving too quickly for him and he needed them to slow their forward progress – any of those things she could have well understood, even felt some relation to, as she was afraid and nervous as well and had considered them all during her sleepless nights. But to cite their employer-to-employee status, to make it clear that he viewed her as one of his staff and that he had crossed a line in kissing her twice, with no words of love, no kindness in his tone, no mention of what she had felt so deeply that it reached into her soul – and then to offer her money…
It was too much. Charlotte turned her eyes from the sea and dipped her head to her lap trying to protect her soft core from the pain of the memory. She crossed her arms on her knees and let the tears flow freely, soaking the skirt of white cotton sprinkled with tiny blue flowers – cornflowers to her eyes, and why she had chosen the dress in Willingden – allowing herself to fall into the abyss of her grief and longing for him.
A gust of wind caught the brim of her hat and it flew, the strength of the circling air untying the loose ribbon at her neck and curling the straw like a kite low above the cliffs. She looked up as the vision swam through her tears but she could not seem to stop crying, her sobs coming now in hiccups and spasms that rattled through her chest. Her unbelieving eyes saw that a green carriage had stopped at the point and her hat had flown right to the rear wheel, narrowly escaping being crushed.
The hat was now being held in the hands of Alexander Colbourne as he gazed down in wonder at something so familiar to him that it might have lived in his own wardrobe, something that brought with it memories of someone he loved with every fiber of his being, and had seemed to fall literally from the heavens to alert him to stop his carriage and climb out onto the familiar cliffs.
Charlotte stood and stepped out from the protection of the rock, still reeling from her grief, and assumed that this was a trick of her imagination, as the carriage shimmered through her tears in the sunlight and she peered at the man who looked so like Alexander that she felt her heart clench at the sight of him.
"Cruel deception. It's the light…" she thought. But he began to walk toward her with her hat in his hand and a look of such intense love in his eyes that she wanted to believe it with all her heart. The closer he got the more she knew. Four months. One hundred and twenty-eight days. Without a thought to anything else, when he opened his arms to her, she stepped into them, and it was as if she had never left.
She still held the book in her hands, with their cornflowers safe between its pages. Now the tiny blue flowers, the gift he had given her, were warmed with the heat of their bodies, not only wrapped in the protection of the book, but also in their protection.
She heard his beating heart under her ear, breathed in the warm smell of leather and soap. His voice echoed through his chest, but this time with a shudder beneath it, and Charlotte realized that they were both crying, in joy, in relief, and in the feeling of being home at last.