Chapter 3 Cottages

She made a few adjustments to her cottage drawing and sent it to Mr. Tom Parker the next day with a request to show them to Young Stringer. In her letter she asked James to write back to her in Willingden with his impressions of her designs and advice. Sending the original package of drawings through Tom ensured that it would be be handled carefully by the post, it would not be misdirected AND word might nonchalantly get back to Sidney that Miss Charlotte Heywood is engaging Mr. James Stringers assistance.

James Stringer had been throwing himself into the rebuilding of Sanditon after the unfortunate fire that took his father's life. He worked alongside his men day and night. He acted not only as foreman but performed his father's masonry work as well coming home to a completely empty house and passing out in exhaustion. .

As time went on and the project began wrapping up, James had begun to regret his decision to pass on the apprenticeship in London with the illustrious Mr. Nash. There were nights when worrying about his future consumed him. He did not want to be a foreman forever. His heart ached for all of his losses and it did not help that he fantasized about Charlotte whenever he could.

He was spellbound by her. The way her dresses caressed her legs and the ample cleavage he had been invited to see in full display the night of the Midsummer Ball. Her soft brown hair whipping in the wind as she tilted her head to flirt with him drove him mad. How could he ever be on her social level if he didn't have the opportunity to make himself. He was so close.

The day James met Charlotte Heywood on the scaffold was the day he admitted to being ready to find his mate. His biological instincts could not be repressed. He needed to release himself. He needed the soft body of a woman to compliment his hard one. If only he had been more available to spend time with her while she was in Sanditon, then maybe Charltote would have fallen in love with him instead.

Maybe she would be sharing James bed right now had he been more sure of himself. Maybe her hair would splay across his chest as she listened to his heart. Maybe her hand would run down the length of his body and follow the dark curly path to his shaft. Maybe he would roll her over and settle eagerly between her thighs. Maybe he would slowly enter her- his back arched like a cobra, his abs contracting over and over. Maybe she would scream his name in ecstasy.

Then one day a most miraculous letter appeared.

Dear Mr. Stringer,

I hope you are in good health and finishing up your rebuild. It was a very admirable thing you did to stay in honor of your late father. He was a good man.

I think about my last days in Sanditon from time to time and realize that if I had not been so self-involved, I would have been much more helpful to you in your time of need. Please forgive me for being so blind.

I am including the drawings I made for my father's tenant housing improvements. I wonder what your thoughts are. Please give me any and all advice you may have to help me.

I hope the many young women lined up at your door are not distracting you too much and hope we may meet again,

Sincerely,

Charlotte Heywood

That night he inhaled every molecule of her scent from the paper imagining it under her hands while she wrote upon the page. He imagined her soft breath brushing the page during the final edit as she read it's contents aloud. He fantasized that she might have kissed the final fold before she mailed it. That night he slept with the letter clutched to his chest as he hoped one day to hold her there.

At the farm, Charlotte pulled on her brothers britches and boots and headed outdoors.

Every morning she rode the fence, checked in with the tenants and kept an eye on the work. The workers had known her all her life and respected and appreciated her so that they did not care one fig that she wore pants and rode like a man. She worked hard and they approved.

Every afternoon she took to remodeling the attic for her own special use. She became used to having her own room at the Parker's and she desperately longed for a slice of solace for herself. After begging some weeks, Mr. Heywood finally gave in and allowed Charlotte the use of the attic.

Under the eaves of the big old house, she cleaned and organized and carved out a rather pretty little corner of the world. She patched and painted the plaster walls a luminescent light blue. She found her grandmother's four poster twin bed and assorted furniture for her use. Her favorite part of the attic were the tall windows that led to the roof.

When she was finished with the Southside of the attic, she made a room for Alison and Annie in the space adjacent. She wanted her privacy but she didn't want to be far from her closest sisters. They all needed to get away from the peskiest of the siblings and Charlotte wanted to share her good fortune.

One evening, she returned to the big house, to clean up for dinner and found a letter from Mr. Stringer. Unfortunately, her brothers saw it first and teased her about it relentlessly.

"What's this Char? A letter from a boy? Charlotte has a lover!" They sang their jeering song much to her secret pleasure. She liked their mischievous attention but huffed off dramatically anyway just to satisfy their enjoyment of being naughty.

In the quiet of her room, she stripped off her dirty work things, poured the water from her pitcher into the basin and washed her face, neck and hands with the rose scented goats milk soap her sisters made. In her chemise she lay abed to read the contents of the first letter she had ever received from a man. She noted how elegant his handwriting was and the weight of the paper, the green seal. He spoke with a thick regional accent but he wrote in a very smooth and stylish hand that erased any trace of his lower class upbringing.

She wondered how he came to be so clever and accomplished. Who was his mother? What sort of education did he acquire?

Dear Miss Heywood,

I am very impressed with your designs for the workers cottages on your father's estate. I had not realized he employed so many people in your village. I wondered if you might allow me the privilege of coming to visit and seeing the buildings in person. I may be able to get a better lay of the land and make more concrete suggestions.

Sanditon has not been the same since you left. The work goes on but this time my men are getting paid regularly which makes us all more secure. I know our condition is due to a debt we all owe to Mr. Sidney Parker although we never speak of it.

Please send my respects to your family and hopefully we will meet again soon.

Your loyal friend,

James Stringer

Charlotte unconsciously held the paper to her face and inhaled the scent of ink and woodsmoke. In Sanditon, Young Stringer always smelled like the sea and sweat and freshly cut lumber. Sidney, in contrast, smelled like the bay rum cologne he acquired in the Islands.

She recollected Jame's admiration for her and his kind words, his encouragement, his forgiveness. He was never unpleasant or offensive to her. He was never idle. She rather missed his company.

So she proceeded to return his letter with an invitation to visit and sent it back to Sanditon post haste.

Dear Mr. Stringer,

You are welcome to come to Willingden whenever you are free. The post coach stops at the crossroad of Market and Landsdowne. I will wait for you there and we can ride back to our farm. Write soon with a day and time. I miss our odd interesting conversations and I'm sure we can get a cricket match together with my siblings.

Most sincerely,

Charlotte Heywood