Author's Note:
To my dear readers, my deepest apologies for the massive delay in posting this chapter. Real life, then a debilitating case of writer's block, got in the way and proved a real setback! Thank you for your patience and for sticking with this story. I hope the many poignant moments ahead for our beloved heroine and hero will serve as a satisfactory reward.
After the Lakes
Chapter 3 – Adagio in C Major
Dinner that evening was as jovial an affair as any family meal Charlotte had enjoyed with the Parkers or indeed in Willingden. The girls were full of stories of their stay in London, and she returned the favor by describing for them in detail the beautiful scenery of the Lake District and expressing the hope that they might all visit the area together someday. Samuel, usually talkative, seemed contented to sit back and adopt the role of observer, while Alexander swung back and forth, one minute listening with an expression of fond amusement, the next, punctuating the conversation with a wry remark, good-natured jibe, or well-timed question. Spirits were high, laughter rang out, glasses and cutlery clinked, and the light from the chandelier cast everyone in a rosy glow.
They were halfway through the meal, which was proving to be a most relaxed, drawn out occasion, when Samuel cleared his throat and rose, glass in hand, surveying the assembled company warmly.
"If I may, I'd like to say a few words."
Chatter stilled. Heads turned expectantly toward the speaker.
"You will say I am far too cynical a man to make speeches suitable for an occasion such as this, and perhaps two months ago you may have been right." He caught his brother's quirked eyebrow and flashed him a grin before continuing more soberly. "But tonight… Brother. Sister. Nieces." He raised his glass to each of them in turn. "I say to you in all sincerity, I am delighted for your joy. I am proud to know you. And prouder still to call you family." He paused, and Charlotte thought she detected a traitorous glimmer of tears in her brother-in-law's eyes. "To all of you," he concluded. "And to the many happy years ahead."
As she raised her glass, Charlotte caught Alexander's eye across the table and saw the emotion she felt reflected there. I love you, he mouthed silently to her, and as she drank the toast, a tear ran down her face in earnest. Her heart was full.
Caught up as she was in the moment-to-moment, Charlotte nearly forgot the surprise she'd arranged for the girls until, after the remains of the final course had been cleared away, she saw the footman enter with the bowl of raisins, the flames dancing blue and eerie in the candlelit room.
"What is that?" Leo asked, her voice a mixture of fascination and awe.
Charlotte smiled broadly, but it was Augusta who answered.
"Snapdragon!"
Charlotte turned to her. "You know it?"
"Yes, we used to play it at Christmas. I mean I used to, when I was a child, with my mother and father."
"Good! Then you can help me teach the others."
In Charlotte's experience, Augusta had only ever spoken of her parents with the wistful longing of the orphan, but on this occasion she seemed simply excited, the flush in her cheeks and shine in her eyes betraying how close she still was to childhood as she turned with a smile to her cousin and uncles to explain how the game was played.
As the men removed their jackets and everyone gathered around the bowl, rolling up their sleeves, Charlotte said quietly to Alexander,
"I hope you don't mind. I thought it might be a pleasant diversion for the girls—and a sort of welcome home surprise for them. But perhaps I ought to have asked your opinion. There is some risk of injury involved."
He shook his head. "I think it's a splendid idea. The girls are quick and clever enough. And I've been curious about this game, you know. I've had it on good authority from the Parkers that you, my dear, are the one to beat."
"They have exaggerated my ability, I am sure."
"We shall see."
As it transpired, she was justified in downplaying her skill because the only singed fingers that evening belonged to the three adults. Despite every effort at dexterity and speed, Samuel, Alexander and Charlotte found themselves continually distracted by the excitement and exuberance exhibited by Leo and Augusta, who tied for first place with the most number of raisins pulled from the bowl safely. It was a victory Charlotte could not begrudge them, and while she blew on her stinging fingers, she knew that the joy she had witnessed that evening on their faces would stay with her for a long time to come.
It was quite late by the time the five of them retired to the drawing room, and Mrs. Wheatley, who had shown unusual forbearance in deference to the occasion, came in to coax Leonora to bed. Leo, for whom dining with the adults had been a special treat, kissed Samuel, her father and Charlotte good night and went uncomplainingly upstairs, whence she was followed minutes later by Augusta, who had confessed a wish to read for a spell in her room and bid her uncles and aunt goodnight in turn. Samuel, with great delicacy and tact, excused himself shortly thereafter as well, repairing to the study for a glass of brandy and some reading of his own, and leaving his brother and sister-in-law to themselves.
"Heavens," Charlotte exclaimed mildly, glancing around her at the suddenly empty drawing room. "We seem to have become very unpopular! How do you suppose we've given offense?"
Alexander chuckled. "By daring to have been lately married, I would imagine."
Charlotte laughed too. "How dreadful of us!"
"Appalling," he agreed, leaning in to kiss her. When at last he pulled away, he added,
"But I cannot harbor too much resentment towards the others for their sudden aversion. Had they stayed, I should hardly have been able to do that. And I have been wanting to do that all evening."
"Then I commend your patience."
"Patience? What patience?" He leaned in and kissed her again, slowly and more deeply this time. She felt her body threatening to go limp, threatening to surrender completely and just fall into him, but he pulled back again and this time she saw him tense.
"What?"
"It occurs to me that I ought to warn you—Leo is quite adept at listening behind doors and spying through keyholes. Our privacy in this room may be more illusion than reality."
"Really?"
"I fear so."
It was not desirable behavior in a child, and yet Charlotte could not help but smile, remembering the tantalizing fascination she and her siblings had had with adult conversations from which children were inherently excluded, and the great pleasure to be drawn from illicit eavesdropping.
"Ought we to… retire upstairs?" she suggested.
"That may be safest."
Amused, she rose and followed him up to their bedchamber. As she climbed the stairs, meditating on the very different sphere she now occupied as wife and lover, compared with her former one as governess and confidante, she realized that his warning about Leo was not entirely new information. The child had been listening in when he'd spoken to her about his history with Lucy, to near-catastrophic consequences. By a natural association of ideas, spurred by the memory of that evening and the day that followed, when Leo had come so close to discovering the painful circumstances of her beginnings, Charlotte's thoughts returned to the now well-worn subjects of the vanished portrait and the secret the household was conspiring to keep from her. They no longer inspired the sense of dread that they had formerly done, but she could not seem to leave them be. Like picking at a scab, she ruminated and worried over them, knowing she'd be better off letting them alone but unable to ignore the vague sense of discomfort they provoked – that sense of something not quite right, not quite resolved. Once inside their chamber, Alexander divested himself of jacket and cravat, while she, distracted, sat down on the divan and began playing with the fringes of a shawl she had left there.
"What is it?"
She looked up to find herself the subject of his scrutiny. "What do you mean?"
"You look as though you have something on your mind."
Charlotte let out a breathy laugh, amused that he could read her so effortlessly but aware now that she would have to speak up. She could hardly do otherwise, but the thought of what she would need to say to him filled her with anxiety.
"I do. Or rather, I have a question."
"Well?" he prompted, apparently puzzled by her reticence.
With an effort, she forced herself to stop fidgeting and meet his eyes. "Why did you have the portrait moved?"
"What portrait?"
"The portrait in the hall, the one of… of Mrs. Colbourne. Why was it moved?"
His expression grew serious. "You are Mrs. Colbourne, my dear. Or had you forgotten?"
"Don't quibble."
He inhaled deeply as if preparing to mount an argument, but then said calmly enough,
"I wished there to be no confusion as to who is mistress of this house."
She waited for him to elaborate, but he said nothing else, the succinct response apparently sufficient in his mind to answer her question. Charlotte stared.
"That's all? That's the only reason it was moved?" He had spoken so matter-of-factly, with so little indication of inner turmoil or angst, that she was thrown.
"What other reason would you imagine?" He seemed troubled by her confusion. "I thought you'd be pleased." He came and sat down beside her, regarding her with concern.
She paused, wracking her brain for a way to draw him out without betraying the doubts she'd harbored over the past days. Finally she said,
"Of course you must do as you see fit, but I would never wish anything changed merely for my sake. I thought you knew that." Her eyes softened. "I thought we agreed we wouldn't try to blot out the past."
He nodded. "We did. But did we not also agree to look forward?" He reached for her hands and she gladly placed them in his. "I've made my peace with what happened with Lucy, thanks in no small part to your encouragement. Painful as those events were, I would not see them undone, even if given the chance. They gave me Leonora, and that in turn brought me you. But this house has dwelt long enough in the past. It is you, and our future together, that I wish to be reminded of now. Not what came before."
"And I wish the same," Charlotte agreed fervently. "From the bottom of my heart. But won't Leo be hurt?" she persisted. "I shouldn't like her to think we were trying to banish her mother's memory, and feel resentful."
Alexander looked at her thoughtfully, as if he had not considered this. "I should be very surprised if she were to take it so. She has already accepted you as her mother in every way that matters."
Charlotte's eyes stung as she recalled how effortlessly the little girl had begun calling her 'Mama.' "And she is already as dear to me as any child of my blood could be. But even so…"
He nodded slowly. "I will talk to her."
Charlotte smiled. "Thank you."
Perhaps the sigh with which she said it struck him as unduly forceful, because his look of concern deepened and he asked,
"Has this been preying on your mind?"
"It has, a bit," she admitted, averting her gaze.
"For how long?"
"A few days."
"A few days?"
"Since our return. That was when I first noticed the portrait missing."
"Why did you not speak of it to me then?"
"I didn't like to. I thought you might be… sensitive about it."
"And so rather than risk vexing me you've spent all this time working yourself up into a state, is that it?"
"I haven't been in a state," she said defensively, though she knew she was not being entirely truthful.
"What is it that has been troubling you? Surely it is not only sensitivity for Leo's finer feelings?"
Charlotte forced herself to meet his gaze. There was no frustration there, no judgment or scorn. Only curiosity and worry. She owed it to him to be honest.
"I…" she began feebly, then forced herself to sit up straighter, and resumed, "I was afraid you'd moved the portrait because it was the only way to put her from your mind. I feared you were struggling to escape her presence. Her memory."
He was silent after this confession, and for a few moments she feared she had said too much, been too open about her dark suspicions, which she was well aware did no credit to either of them. Then he said, very quietly,
"Do you know what is most on my mind, when I'm in the house?"
"No."
"You."
Charlotte swallowed, feeling the familiar lump in her throat once again.
"I could go into any room and list each and every instance I have seen you within it. I could catalogue every one of our encounters, every word we exchanged, every look. Every kiss."
"Could you?" It came out soft as a whisper.
"Why else do you think I went to Bath?" He let out a low laugh, more pained than joyous. "After we parted so badly this Summer, how could I remain at Heyrick Park? It was impossible—unendurable. Do you think I could bear to be in the rooms you had once occupied? What comfort could I find in the study, the drawing room, the schoolroom, believing I had lost the most precious thing in the world to me?"
Tears welled again in her eyes as he spoke. Despite all of the confidences they had shared in the weeks since their engagement, he had never once spoken to her of his sojourn in Bath, nor of his reasons for going there, and she had never asked.
"Can you understand then why there are times I still feel like pinching myself?" His hand came up to caress her cheek. "You are here. You are here."
Charlotte's thoughts darted back to her fears of the day before, of her mad conviction that she did not belong at Heyrick Park. How very absurd that idea had been! How wrong, how misguided! She had begun to belong here – in Alexander's mind, at least – months ago, and he had cherished that image of her in the house long before he summoned the courage to declare his feelings and express to her his hope of a shared future.
Silently, she put her hand over his.
"I am sensible of a presence in this house," he said. "That much is true. But it is your presence, my dearest Charlotte. It is yours and I have no wish to escape it as long as I live."
Had he not taken her in his arms then and there she would have begun weeping openly. Nothing else he could have said could have been so precisely calculated to address and dismiss her fears, and yet he had spoken the words so easily, with such utter sincerity. There was nothing studied in his assurances, nothing forced in his solemn words of devotion. Like so many of her other worries of the past days, her preoccupation with the portrait and all of the darker symbolism she feared it held had proven empty and groundless. Lucy held no sway here, either in the house or over Alexander himself. He was not a man capable of loving by halves. If Charlotte had believed it before, she knew it now beyond a shadow of a doubt. He had given her his whole heart – his whole self – and it would be hers alone for as long a time as they both existed on this earth.
Undressing with urgency, she fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, he unhooking her dress and untangling the laces of her corset, they moved from the divan to the bed and she gave herself to him completely, both of them forgetting to curtail their passion in deference to the fuller household, their thoughts, senses, desires existing only for each other.
In the exhausted aftermath, as she lay spent, her head on his chest, listening to the gradual easement of his fast-beating heart, she felt oddly cleansed. It was as though the dark thoughts that had taken up residence in her brain ever since their return from the Lakes had polluted her, as well as weighed her down. Now, freed from both taint and burden, she was finally able to view things with a proper sense of perspective. She promised herself that henceforth, she would think of Lucy only as the mother of the child she was now privileged to raise as her own. The poor young woman had endured misfortune and suffering and had met her end far too soon, before she'd had a chance to fall in love with the daughter she had borne. The only redemption Charlotte could offer in the face of such a tragedy was to ensure that Leo grew up happy and beloved and safe within the embrace of her family.
"What are you thinking now?"
"Of Leo, again."
"How you care for her," he murmured fondly, stroking her hair.
"I thought perhaps, when you speak with her," Charlotte said, "you might ask Leo if she would like the portrait to hang in her room?"
He nodded and bent to kiss the top of her head. "Perhaps I shall, my dear. Perhaps I shall."
As she lay with his arm around her, on the edge of sleep, her thoughts drifting unbridled from one random subject to the next, the idea struck her that the girls – observant and curious though they were – had remarked neither upon the portrait's removal from the hall nor upon the spinet's absence from the drawing room. But she was too tired and contented to let this observation remain in her mind for long. The last thing that came to her before she succumbed to slumber were the words of Samuel's toast at dinner: To the many happy years ahead.
Approaching the dining room the next morning, Charlotte could hear muffled voices, but as the sound of her footfalls reached the occupants of the room she heard urgent shushing and Leo's unmistakable giggle. Guessing herself the subject of their discussion, she entered the room to find all of the family, Samuel included, already seated at the table.
"Good morning, my dears," she said brightly, smiling as the two men rose abruptly in deference to her entrance, and making her way to what she now thought of as her formal place. With all the family home, she once again sat at the end of the table opposite Alexander, though with the table now laid for a larger party it had none of the stiffness or intimidating grandeur of before, when they had dined alone.
The chorus of salutations she received in response broadened her smile, and she touched both girls lightly on the shoulder as she passed them, pretending not to see the excited looks they cast at each other. Her presence at the family table was surely as much a novelty to them as it felt to her, and while she was able to keep the little thrill of delight she felt at the occasion inside her, the same was evidently too much to expect from Leo and Augusta.
Their attention was on her unrelentingly, as if she were a mirage that might disappear at any moment, and though at first she found it quite endearing, it was slightly disconcerting to feel one had an audience for one's every movement or remark. Buttering toast and sipping tea was surely ordinary enough behavior, but this morning she felt as though she were performing on a stage. It was Alexander who eventually came to her rescue.
"Not hungry this morning, Leo?" He stared meaningfully at his daughter's untouched plate. "And Augusta, you poured that tea ten minutes ago and I'm certain you've yet to take a single sip. Are you unwell?"
Murmured reassurances and apologies followed these mild observations, and Charlotte smiled into her teacup as she watched the girls effortfully continue with their meal out of the corner of her eye. When Alexander's gaze met hers across the table, he glanced momentarily heavenward in mute appeal before letting out a silent laugh.
Breakfast proceeded more naturally after that, conversation beginning and then flowing easily enough between the five of them. Augusta inquired casually about the latest news in Sanditon, Leo wondered out loud whether it was too late in the year to have a picnic on the beach, and Samuel informed them of his intention to depart for London in a couple of hours. Sorry as he would be to leave them, he had matters of business to attend to. Everyone wondered, though did not ask, whether this business included a certain Lady, but if Samuel was aware of the many knowing and sidelong glances that went round the table at his pronouncement, he gave no indication of it. The arrival of the morning post occasioned enough interest to temporarily interrupt the flow of conversation, several pairs of eyes alighting on the footman as he approached with the silver letter tray, but when Alexander turned expectantly, the manservant said, "No letters for you this morning, Sir. These are for Madam."
Charlotte raised her eyebrows as the tray was set before her and took up the envelopes with an expression of amusement and curiosity. With a little flutter in her chest, she read the address written identically on each letter:
Mrs. Colbourne
Heyrick Park
Sanditon
There were three letters in all, one each from her mother, Alison, and Georgiana. Apparently each woman had independently made the judgment that enough time had elapsed for her to be returned from the Lake District now and that there was no risk of their missives arriving only to wait unread in an empty house. It would have been perfectly acceptable for her to open and read them then and there, but she was reluctant to give her breakfast companions anything short of her undivided attention, so she ventured to Alexander,
"I assume you have work to attend to this morning?"
"As a matter of fact, for once I find myself at liberty."
"Oh!" Charlotte was surprised. She had counted on having time to handle her own correspondence while Alexander handled his.
Seeming to intuit her dilemma, he said reassuringly, "But you needn't feel you ought to neglect your own correspondence in consequence."
"You don't mind?"
"Of course not. Of course you want to attend to your letters."
"I'll be as quick as I can."
"Don't worry. I'm sure the rest of us will manage to settle on some occupation to amuse ourselves whilst we await your leisure."
Charlotte, well aware he was teasing her, flashed him a sardonic smile.
When breakfast had concluded, she accordingly repaired at once to the morning room, where she proceeded to devour her loved ones' letters with great interest. Her mother gave her usual reports from Willingden and the family, but also inquired kindly after her daughter's recent journey to Cumbria and expressed a hope that she was finding herself contented with her new life and situation. Alison was full of news of the farm of which she was now mistress and shared some vivid and rather comical descriptions of Declan's large family. Georgiana informed her that she and Otis and her mother were now quite settled into the new house in Stepney and when they were not occupied with Otis's mission, were enjoying decorating and arranging it to suit their taste. Charlotte smiled as she read, taking much pleasure in these accounts which, given her great preoccupation of late with her own affairs and concerns, seemed almost like missives from another world. It felt strange to think of them – her mother, Alison, Georgiana, with whom she had spent so much time – as being now quite a distance away from her, but she consoled herself with the reminder that, now that all the excitement of engagement, wedding and honeymoon were behind her and she was settling in at Heyrick Park, she could maintain a much more regular and frequent correspondence with each of them.
She had written to her parents and Alison the day before, but felt she ought to dash off a quick reply to these latest letters, if only to acknowledge receipt of them. She spent more time penning her reply to Georgiana, and was most of the way through this endeavor when a knock sounded at the door, and Charlotte said without looking up,
"Come in, dearest. I'm nearly finished."
"Ah. Not 'dearest,' I'm afraid." She glanced up to see Samuel standing in the doorway, wearing an amused expression.
"Forgive me," she said, with a sheepish smile. "I thought you were Alexander."
"Yes, so I gathered."
"Are you come to take your leave?"
"No, not yet. The girls have persuaded me to stay until after tea."
"You will have a late arrival," Charlotte said, aware that delaying his departure would mean most likely arriving in London well after nightfall. "But of course I'm delighted you're staying for tea."
Samuel inclined his head.
"And," continued Charlotte, "I wanted to thank you for entertaining Leo and Augusta so generously this past week. I know they enjoyed themselves immensely."
"Think nothing of it. They're charming girls and it was my pleasure to host them."
"Even for those extra days?"
Samuel met her pointed expression with a smile. "Even for the extra days."
"But I am being most discourteous. Would you care to sit down?" She gestured to the chair by the fire.
"It is I who am being discourteous, interrupting you like this."
"Don't be silly. Please." She indicted the chair once more, and this time he acquiesced.
"Thank you." Once seated, he turned to her and said somewhat formally, "I have a matter to put to you. I've already spoken with my brother on the subject but he advised me to seek your opinion."
"Oh?"
"Yours is to be the deciding vote."
More intrigued than ever, Charlotte settled back in her chair, her eyebrows raised with irrepressible curiosity.
"It's to do with Colbourne House, in London."
"What about it?" Though her tone was light, this was the first she'd heard of such a property.
"As you may know, the house has been my residence in the city these past ten years or more. No?" He caught her look of confusion and elaborated, "Where Leo and Augusta stayed during their visit."
She nodded to indicate her comprehension, but she'd previously thought – rather foolishly, perhaps – that Samuel had somehow accommodated them in some modest bachelor's apartments. She'd not imagined him living in a house.
"It was to be my inheritance, along with the Park," Samuel continued, "but when our father died and I made clear my intentions not to take on the estate, Xander and I divided the two properties between us."
"I see," Charlotte said, because he seemed to expect a response. "But… forgive me, I fail to understand the problem."
"When I refused the inheritance, Xander became our father's heir and both properties passed to him. I reside at the house solely thanks to his generosity. I have no legal right to it."
"Surely you can have no cause to think he would wish to deprive you of your home… your residence of the past decade?" Charlotte frowned. "I thought the two of you had reconciled."
"No, no," Samuel said hastily. "My brother would not see me cast out, you mustn't imagine that. No, it is I who have become sensible that his wishes regarding the house might have changed in light of your marriage."
"How?"
"Now that Augusta is out and he is moving more in society – and indeed, as you are no stranger to society yourself, dear sister – you may all wish to spend more time in London. To stay there for a season, perhaps. And if that is the case, the house ought to stand ready at your disposal. It is yours by rights, after all, and I wish you to know that I am quite happy to seek out new quarters at any time. You need only say the word."
Charlotte was both surprised and amused. Unable to stop herself, she laughed, more than aware of the absurdity of the situation, given the trepidation she'd felt in the last days about her new position.
"Is it not enough that I am become mistress of one of the largest estates in the county? You believe I am so ambitious, so unsatisfied with Heyrick Park, that I would wish to extend my influence to London as well?"
"I believe nothing of the kind."
"Samuel," Charlotte said gently, addressing him by his Christian name for the first time. "If we ever were to spend a season in London, and that is by no means a certainty, I should never feel comfortable knowing we had forced you from your home."
"Ah, but I am not sentimental, you know."
"But after ten years you must be well settled there, are you not? That must count for something."
Samuel smiled, apparently unable to contradict her.
"And what about Lady de Clemente?" she pressed. "Is it not more important that the house stand ready at her disposal, should you both… should your circumstances change?" She was immediately afraid she might have embarrassed him, but he responded easily,
"Nothing is yet decided. But I am sure – should circumstances change – we could make other arrangements."
He regarded her fondly. "You always think of others, don't you?"
She opened her mouth to demure, but he continued,
"Very well. If you are truly determined not to have the house I shall abide by your decision."
"What does Alexander say on the subject?"
"Much the same as you, as it happens. But only after I pressed him. As I said before, he is happy to let the final decision fall to you."
Charlotte paused, looking thoughtful, then after a few moments she asked, "Is it a large house?"
"It is sizable enough. Far too large for a bachelor, if I'm honest."
"That was not what I meant to imply. I thought… I wondered if it might be large enough to accommodate all of us, on the chance Alexander and the girls and I were to visit London. That is, if you were amenable to having the house overrun, of course."
Samuel smiled affably. "I'm sure I could find a way to tolerate it." He winked, and, seeming to consider the matter settled, glanced around him.
"It's good to see this room in use again." He looked at Charlotte, his expression again one of fondness. "I shall be glad to imagine you here, when I am back in London. It was my mother's room, you know."
"Yes. I have already grown very fond of it."
"She spent a great deal of time here, if I recall correctly. I was only a small child, but even then I think I sensed her unhappiness. Children can detect such things."
Charlotte nodded soberly. "Yes, they can. Why was she unhappy?"
"My father…" He trailed off, and when he spoke again, his voice had a hard quality to it. "He married her for her fortune. She thought they were marrying for love."
"How sad."
"She was a very gentle person, but not strong. She withered under unkindness, like a flower forced to grow without sunlight. And my father was not a kind man, nor a temperate one." He paused, staring into the fire, that hardness present in his face too. "Our mother died not long after Xander's birth, and with her, any restraining influence she might have had. And any affection that still remained in this house." He gave a quiet, scoffing laugh, then looked up abruptly at Charlotte, as if remembering himself.
"Forgive me. You will not wish to hear about my wretched father. An unpleasant topic at any time, and certainly not one for such a lovely morning as this." He made as if to rise, but Charlotte said,
"I don't mind. Please, tell me whatever you like. Nobody has ever spoken of him to me."
"They wouldn't," Samuel replied darkly. "Most who knew him would sooner keep silent, and forget."
Charlotte looked grave. She didn't want to press Samuel, understanding at the very least that he held his parent in poor regard, but she was curious. Her own father was so dear to her, such a loving presence in her life and always a source of sound wisdom and guidance. It was hard for her to imagine having a father she couldn't respect.
"Was he… was he hard on you?"
"That's one way of putting it. I told you our mother died when we were very young. Well, from the moment she was gone we were entirely at his mercy, and rarely pleased him. I was too rebellious, my brother too sensitive. I'm not sure if he truly despised us, or if it was merely that he considered us disappointments both. Whatever the case, he tried for years to shape us into the sons he desired, or, failing that, to punish us for falling short. As the elder, I in time learned strategies to avoid Father's ire, but I fear my brother too often bore the brunt of his capricious humor for, whereas I was cunning, good at inventing stories, he was entirely without guile, incapable of dissembling even to save himself from the belt. His trick was to disappear for hours at a time, often missing supper and turning up only after dark, when Father was hopefully too distracted or too much in his cups to concern himself with us boys."
Charlotte recalled the day she and Alexander had gone in search of Leo, how he had casually confided his intimacy with the many hiding places the grounds afforded. At the time she had thought such knowledge a relic of happy boyhood games. Now, however, the remark struck a darker chord as she envisioned a frightened child, desperate to escape his parent's ungoverned and mercurial temper. She swallowed thickly, willing Samuel to continue.
"It was far from an ideal environment in which to come of age. As we grew, my father engaged governesses and tutors made in his same mold, for whom physical discipline was the order of the day, the guiding principle of the schoolroom. Mrs. Wheatley – she was then a housemaid – can attest to that. It often fell to her to patch us up and console us and we became very attached to her, my brother especially. Without her comforting presence we should have been wretched boys indeed."
As Samuel spoke, more memories came to the surface, more pieces of history falling into place. Charlotte thought back to her interview when she'd gone to apply for the position of governess for the girls. She distinctly remembered Alexander emphasizing the sort of disciplinary measures employed by his and his brother's governess when they were children and she had assumed then, with some distaste, that he wished for such measures be employed to control his niece and daughter, and had felt rather proud of her frank refusal to ever use such cruel tactics. Later of course, as she came to know him better, she realized he had meant it as a challenge, a test to see if she would be caught out, enticed into admitting that she too would resort to beating her charges for their misbehavior if other approaches failed. Had she professed any inclination to use such measures, she had little doubt she would have been instantly dismissed from consideration. A distant and disengaged guardian he might have been, impatient and exasperated by the girls' foibles, but he would never have tolerated violence. He abhorred violence of every kind. Far from being the stern disciplinarian she had thought him during that first interview, he had been completely at a loss when it came to Leo and Augusta, and no wonder. He'd had no example to follow, no model of fatherhood he wished to emulate.
"Little wonder," Samuel continued, "that each of us looked upon the prospect of attending University with great eagerness, perhaps with even more enthusiasm than was common or proper amongst our peers, and applied ourselves diligently in that pursuit. It was our only means of escape. Afterwards, once my education was concluded, I removed myself at once to London, and Xander, when his turn came, followed suit. It was impossible for us to return to our father's house, you understand, after having enjoyed such relative liberty. London…" Again that scoffing laugh. "London afforded its own manner of education. I found it thrilling. Xander… well, he tolerated it. At the very least it wasn't Heyrick Park. I'd only just begun to study for the bar, against our father's express wishes, when Father died, and not content to torment us while he lived, his death caused us even more strife. You of course know my decision and how my brother was at that time situated. We had been so close up until that point. I don't think my rejection of the inheritance surprised him – I was never the dutiful one – but it forced his hand in a way he found unforgivable. I think the real cause of the enmity that arose between us was his resentment not only at having the burden of the estate's debts to shoulder, a consequence of Father's careless profligacy, but the fact that I had forced him back to a place with so many miserable associations. A place he'd thought to escape forever." He smiled bitterly, but it seemed an expression reserved for himself. "Nothing like a knife in the back to strengthen the bonds of brotherly devotion."
Charlotte was silent. She knew Samuel to be the sort of man who hid his deeper feelings behind humorous quips and sarcasm, but even his present light tone sounded flat and half-hearted, his true remorse showing through.
"You say nothing, sister," Samuel remarked in his dry manner. "Have I shocked you?"
Charlotte shook her head. "I find it all very sad," she said quietly, looking at him with compassion. "But I'm honored you felt able to confide in me."
"Well my brother is not exactly forthcoming about matters he finds painful, and Mrs. Wheatley is very loyal to him. She might feel she was betraying a confidence in telling you. But I thought you deserved to know something of the family you have married into."
"But you're nothing like your father," Charlotte protested. "You or Alexander."
"I shall take that as a compliment."
"I'm serious. The Colbournes I know possess none of the characteristics you ascribe to that man. Family can be more than blood kinship, you know."
"Or less, in this case."
She looked at him inquiringly.
"I suppose what I've been trying to say in all this, rather convolutedly it would seem, is that Xander hasn't had an easy time of it." He looked at her and once again there was that fondness, that brotherly regard in his gaze. "But I've known him his whole life, through all his trials, and I've never seen him as happy as he is now. If you take nothing else from what I've told you, remember that."
After Samuel had left, Charlotte struggled to return to her correspondence, her thoughts stubbornly continuing to revolve around the account he had given her of his family's history. It did not fundamentally alter how she viewed Alexander or the family, but it lent a depth to her understanding that was making her recalibrate some of her impressions and assumptions.
She had been so concerned with Lucy's influence, but now that perspective seemed naively narrow and simplistic. The sadness that had enshrouded Heyrick Park hadn't begun only with Lucy. It had started a generation before then, when a woman in love had realized that the man she'd married did not reciprocate her affections. Meditating on the damage that had ensued from that tragic circumstance, Charlotte could not help but be reminded of how close she herself had come to a similar fate. Inequality of affection was surely a poison to any union and could only bring grief. She appreciated that Samuel had wished to emphasize to her that she had finally succeeded in bringing happiness to his long-suffering brother, but she also knew that there was a further lesson to be drawn. She had always thought of Heyrick Park as Alexander's place of retreat, of solace. In spite of all that had happened with Lucy, she had assumed his care for the estate was deep-rooted, a natural consequence of having been brought up there coupled with a keen sense of filial piety. Yet Samuel had spoken of their mutual hatred for the place, how any fondness they might have felt for the house and land of their childhood had been spoilt by its association with their cold and cruel father. She had long known him to be dutiful, but now she stood in awe of Alexander's bravery. He had not just returned to Heyrick Park, he had stayed there, determined not only to rescue it from debt, but to make it into something it had never before been to him: a home.
Charlotte emerged from the morning room some time later, having completed her letters, and followed the sound of lively, raised voices to the drawing room. Entering, she found Samuel, Leo, Augusta and Alexander seated at the round table, engaged in some manner of card game that seemed to require considerable speed of both thought and action.
Leo was laughing. "I'm winning!" she announced gleefully, throwing card after card upon the pile at the center of the table. Frustrated cries emerged from the other players, but to no avail, for moments later she crowed, "I've won!" and leaned back in her chair with an exultant sigh, dropping her hands in her lap, every inch the satisfied victor.
"Beginner's luck," Augusta retorted, feigning resentment, but she was smiling indulgently at her cousin.
Charlotte couldn't help but laugh at Leo's gloating expression, and the sound announced her presence to the others, who turned in a body to smile at her.
"Ah, all finished, my dear?" Alexander asked as she came over to them.
"All finished." His brother's story of their unhappy boyhood was still fresh in her mind, and lingering sympathy for the child he had been made her put her hand on his shoulder affectionately as she surveyed the game table. "What are you playing?"
"Uncle Samuel taught it to us," Leo said beaming, still elated over her victory. "You've got to be ever so fast!"
"That sounds exciting."
"Will you join us?"
Charlotte looked for a moment around the table, whose only four chairs were occupied.
"Well..."
"Please." Samuel stood and gestured to his seat. "Take mine."
"Actually," Alexander spoke up, addressing her before she could sit down, "I wondered if you'd like to go for a ride before the day advances much further."
"Oh, I'd love to, but…"
"I'll give proper instruction about the saddle this time."
Charlotte laughed. "It isn't that. Only I wondered, what about the girls…?"
"Oh, we are quite contented to continue playing, Miss… that is, Aunt Charlotte," Augusta said, with a slight laugh at her mistake. "I'm determined Leo shan't remain the sole victor much longer. I insist upon being afforded a chance to trounce her thoroughly!" She eyed the younger girl with a mischievous smile.
"You can try," Leo scoffed in return.
"Hmm," Samuel observed, frowning with mock concern. "Perhaps I'd best remain to moderate in case this turns combative."
Charlotte had imagined all of them spending the early afternoon outside together, perhaps playing a bit with the battledore and shuttlecock she'd seen lying about in the passage outside the schoolroom the other day, but the girls seemed very preoccupied with their card game, Samuel evidently quite content to keep them company, and Alexander was regarding her with such a hopeful expression she felt unable to refuse him. With a vague sense of divided loyalties, she left the girls and Samuel and went upstairs to change.
Once outside with her husband, however, she realized the foolishness of such sentiments. She was still thinking of her time with the girls as limited, whereas she had had the past two weeks to wrap her head around the fact that she and Alexander now had each other for a lifetime. Smiling as they walked together out into the bright day, she counseled herself that she would no longer need to think of parceling out her time and attention as if it were finite, any more than she parceled out her affection. The girls were as much a part of her life as Alexander was. The battledore and shuttlecock would keep until tomorrow, or the day after, or any fine day after that. The future lay before them, bright and full of possibilities—a future they would now share. Again, the words of Samuel's toast of the night before returned to her. If she was fortunate, the happy years ahead would be many indeed.
"You look thoughtful," Alexander said, having observed her for a few minutes in silence.
"I was only thinking I'd not expected to have you to myself today." The lingering surprise in her voice made him flash her a wry look, and she added quickly, "Not that I'm complaining, mind."
"What a relief."
She let out a little laugh, and he smiled.
"Did Samuel speak with you this morning?"
"About the house? Yes, he did."
"And?"
"It seems we are of one mind on the matter."
"You really don't care about it?" He asked, looking at her closely. "You haven't been secretly dreaming about a house in town? Many young brides do dream of such things, I imagine."
Charlotte gave him an incredulous look before she realized he was teasing her. "Heyrick Park is more than enough for me. And if we do visit London, Samuel is happy to host us."
"Is he?"
"Yes, he told me so."
For a moment she considered mentioning the conversation she and Samuel had had about their father, but then decided against it. Alexander seemed so easy and light-humored at present that she had no wish to lower his spirits with unnecessary mention of a painful past. She would find a way to tell him, at some point in the future when it felt appropriate, that she knew.
Instead, they talked in vague, noncommittal terms of London and the prospect of a visit there. Neither of them had any particular fondness for the place, but it transpired that Lady Susan had offered quite generously to be Augusta's chaperone for the next season should she wish it, on the condition that Lady Susan still possessed any social influence at that point. The ramifications of her parting with the king had yet to make themselves fully felt, she was sure. Nevertheless, it was an invitation worth considering and they discussed it lightly as they walked, listing out advantages and disadvantages with no particular effort at arriving at a decision.
Finally, Charlotte said,
"We seem not to be walking to the stables."
Alexander looked around him, as though startled to find himself here, in this particular field. "You're right," he said with a laugh. "Shall we turn around?"
"Oh don't let's bother," she said, tightening her grip on his arm. "Unless you really do wish to ride? I know it is a daily habit of yours…"
"I think I can dispense with habit this once," he said good-humoredly. "It won't kill me. And a pleasant walk in the Autumn sunshine, in your company, will be a perfectly fine substitute I daresay."
Some wry observance in the vein of damning with faint praise was ready on her lips, but then he was kissing her and all thought of jokes or witticisms vanished from her mind. God she was happy! She leaned against him as they resumed their walk, scarcely aware what direction they were heading, mindful only that it was a beautiful day and they were together.
Sometime later, when she again possessed the presence of mind to attend to her surroundings, she remarked to him,
"This looks familiar."
"Do you remember it?"
"Of course I remember it. I remember everywhere we walked together."
She hadn't realized they had already walked so far, but now she discovered they were approaching the stand of trees where Leo had once hidden to escape from attending lessons, and Charlotte, with the help of her new employer, had eventually tracked her down. Arm in arm, crunching through fallen leaves, they ambled over to the place where that summer they'd sought shelter from the rain, and she thought back to that day as she looked up at the boughs of the tree. Leo, had she tried to conceal herself there now, would hardly have succeeded. The bare branches would have given her away at once.
"Charlotte?"
"Yes?" She turned around to find Alexander looking at her seriously.
"I know the faithful affection you hold for the girls, and your kindness and care of them has indeed wrought changes I would never have dared to hope for, but…" He seemed to be struggling to find the right words to express himself, and she waited patiently until they came to him.
"It is not every bride who could be so graciously accepting of children not her own, and I wished to say… I wished you to know how grateful I am."
He seemed not to realize that the same could be said of himself. He had taken into his home and heart two children with whom he shared not a drop of blood, and if at first the action had sprung more from a sense of duty than affection, she knew what he felt for them now was equal in strength to what any fond father could feel for his natural daughters.
Her eyes shining with tears, she said simply, "They are part of your family. Of course I accept them. I love them as I love you."
"Part of our family," he corrected, his voice thick with emotion.
She nodded. "Were it not for the girls, I should never have met you. If anyone deserves your gratitude it is they."
"Yes, they did me a good turn the day they disobeyed my instructions and ran off to see the parade. Though I did not know it at the time." He exhaled a breath of a laugh. "I was cross and irritated with them when I found out. Had I known their act of defiance would bring you into my life, I should have ushered them out of the door myself days sooner—months sooner!"
Charlotte laughed. "And yet I'd only returned to Sanditon the day before, so your efforts would have been to little purpose."
"How fortunate for us that circumstances transpired as they did, then."
She nodded again, letting herself feel keenly the providential turn her life had taken that summer.
"I think on it a great deal, you know," she said after a moment, her tone soft and confidential. "How I was in Sanditon last year for all those months, and you so close by all the time. I wonder we did not pass each other on the cliffs, or on the beach even. Perhaps I might have spied you riding one day, and never known it."
"I've thought of it too," he confessed.
"Do you wish we had met then?"
He frowned. "I don't know." His tone was thoughtful, but then he caught himself. "Forgive me, that sounded callous."
Charlotte shook her head. "No, don't apologize. I've believed for some time that I should not have been ready to love you then. Not as I was this Summer, not as now."
He looked at her intently. "How do you mean?"
"I was rather different then, you see. Only a twelvemonth younger in years, but in experience…" She made a dismissive gesture. "I suspect you would have thought me foolish and hopelessly naive."
"I doubt that very much."
"You would have done. Trust me."
"Well, I shan't argue with you. But I believe I grasp your meaning. I think… to speak truthfully I think I could say the same of myself. I was not ready then, either. Augusta had not long been with us and was in the most wretched and despondent of humors. I was sorely sensible of my want of experience as a guardian and I admit freely to being quite in over my head. I would not go so far as to say I regretted having insisted upon bringing her to Heyrick Park, but…"
"What do you mean, insisted upon?"
"When Augusta was orphaned, it was not at all certain that she would come to live here."
"But I thought you were her only family?"
"I was – I am – but her father had an old friend, albeit one from whom he had been estranged for many years, who I understand had expressed a willingness to become her guardian until she came of age. But he lived a great distance away, in Scotland I believe, and it seemed cruel to abandon her to a complete stranger in such a harsh and remote place. At the time of her parents' death, I had not seen Augusta since she was but a young child, but at least we were acquainted and I could offer her a modicum of companionship in the form of Leo. She had no siblings and I thought that having a young cousin as a playfellow might help to cheer her up. Her father's friend by contrast was both unmarried and childless."
Charlotte was astonished. "Does Augusta know of this? That you chose to become her guardian?"
"I don't know. I suppose I have always assumed she did."
"But you have not spoken of it to her?"
"No."
She opened her mouth to chide him, but then thought better of it. The humble generosity of such a gesture was so like him, and the fact that he had never mentioned it to Augusta so in keeping with the kindness she knew lay at the very heart of his nature. It might well have never occurred to him to mention a deed that might suggest a debt of gratitude, that might appear to demand something of her in return. Yet, as usual, his reserve had caused misunderstanding and perhaps even grief to himself, because Augusta had first believed – from his shyness and unsureness of himself as a guardian – that she was viewed as a burden, as an unwelcome charge thrust upon him against his will, and had behaved toward him with according coldness and resentment rather than affection. That their relationship now was so much more amicable was a small miracle.
"You think I should have said something?"
"I think… I think sometimes you do yourself a disservice."
"How?"
"You take such pains to hide your goodness from the world." She tried to meet his eye, but he had cast his gaze to the ground, abashed.
"You are the most generous person I know."
"Charlotte…"
It would have been easy to pressure him, to push back against his demurrals, his humility, but she had not forgotten his words in the schoolroom two days ago, when he had assured her in the strongest terms that he had no wish to change her. Similarly, she wouldn't wish him to think she found his character inadequate or deficient in any way, or that she desired him to be anything other than the modest, upstanding man she knew him to be.
It was true that she was different from the girl she'd been when she first came to Sanditon. That Charlotte, while open and well-meaning and eager to think well of everyone, had also taken too much at face-value, had been easily lead astray by first impressions and had stumbled over nuances and complexities of character whenever she encountered them. She had admired qualities of forthrightness, energy, ambition, and lost patience with anything or anyone that seemed to stand in opposition. Now, with the benefit of a year's experience and hard-earned wisdom, she found much to admire in those who went about their business quietly, discreetly, acting for the good of others from a place of generosity, moral principle and integrity without seeking attention or even recognition.
Amidst all the joy of the girls' homecoming and the relief she had felt over the resolution of the matter of the portrait, she had not forgotten the secret she had stumbled upon and that he had yet to disclose to her, and she'd have been deceiving herself if she claimed to have become reconciled to remaining ignorant of it forever. But she realized in the end that any silence or secrecy on his part would always have as its root motivation an innate kindness and a desire to protect those in his care. She need never fear inconstancy or betrayal. As Mary had so gently reminded her, she had married a good man.
"I hope," she said to him at long last, with nothing but the purest affection in her voice, "I hope that one day, you will allow others to see that, as I do."
He looked up, finally meeting her gaze, with something of his old shyness in the expression.
"I could have done with your counsel then. I know, I know, we were neither of us ready for one another, but when I think of what the girls might have been spared…"
She looked at him curiously.
"Augusta had lost her parents and I did not know what to do for her. Did not even know that I ought to do anything for her, beyond providing her with a roof over her head and enough clothing and sustenance that she might reasonably consider herself looked after. Looked after," he repeated with a bitter smile. "She must have taken one look at Leo and understood at once that she could not expect to be looked after in this house, at least not by me. What a woeful contrast that must have seemed! By all accounts, her parents cherished her. The way she speaks of her father..."
"You must not reproach yourself for what is past. You did what you thought was right. Now you know better."
He seemed to wish to protest, but she said emphatically,
"You're a good father."
"I'm trying to be."
"You are. To both of them."
"They are very forgiving girls." He smiled faintly, his gaze drifting to settle on something in the middle distance. "For a time I was afraid," he confessed quietly, "that I had begun too late."
Charlotte shook her head. "But you hadn't."
"No. I know that now, but…" His eyes returned to hers. "I hope… I should very much like to be afforded the chance to do it properly from the beginning."
Charlotte looked at him – at the softness in his eyes, the trace of yearning still discernible there despite all the happiness they had already found together – and smiled, understanding all he was saying and not saying. She took his hand in hers.
"I hope for that too."
As their long meandering walk finally brought them within sight of the stables, Charlotte was surprised to see Augusta running toward them, her dress billowing behind her.
"Uncle!" She called out as soon as they were within earshot. "Uncle!" When she reached them she was out of breath and stood, winded and speechless, before them, her face flushed from the exercise.
"What is it?" Charlotte looked at her niece with alarm, but Alexander merely said,
"Is it time?" His face was oddly impassive.
"Yes." Augusta's face too was inscrutable, hiding what could equally have been ill news or excitement.
"Time for what?" Charlotte turned from one to the other. "What's the matter?"
"Come."
"Is something wrong? Has something happened?"
But Augusta remained silent and Alexander simply gestured for her proceed up the lawn. Bewildered, nervous without knowing what she was nervous about, she allowed herself to be ushered toward the house. As they approached the front drive, Alexander began loosening his cravat and as Charlotte watched he pulled the strip of white cloth from his neck.
"Forgive me my dear, but I must ask you to permit me to cover your eyes."
"What? Why?"
"Trust me."
She looked at him closely but could discern nothing, no softness in his expression but no indication that she should take alarm either. He held up his cravat, eyes questioning, and at last she gave a single nod.
The cloth felt tight around her head as he tied it in place. She had not worn such a blindfold since girlhood games of blind man's buff with her siblings, and perhaps that sensory association with such an innocent and playful diversion helped ease her anxiety somewhat. He took hold of her arm to guide her and, proceeding cautiously, she let him lead her toward the door. She could tell approximately where they were by the crunch of the gravel beneath her feet and how far Augusta was ahead of them by the volume of her own footsteps. She heard Augusta's steps quiet and moments later felt the gravel transition to paving stones. A few more paces, and then Alexander was helping her navigate the two shallow steps and the brightness she could detect even behind her covered eyes became dim as they entered the house.
When they had stepped inside the door she felt him release her arm.
"Wait here," he said softly, and she was alone.
The house was unnaturally quiet. Only the faint, distant rustle of skirts or the dampened tread of footsteps on carpet gave any indication that, somewhere, people were moving about. Cold autumn wind blew in from the open front door behind her, and from the quality of its circulation, the direction of the air on her skin, she sensed that the doors to the drawing room stood open too. Fear seized her – irrational, instinctive fear – bubbling up from deep in her subconscious, from the memories of a dream she'd hoped to have forgotten: riding up to the house in a frenzy, finding the drawing room door open, hearing ghostly music, and then discovering her own likeness above the mantle, frozen in time, captured forever by the artist's brush in a state of desperate sorrow. Her chest grew tight.
"Alexander? Alexander!"
His voice – not far away at all – came at once. "I'm here, my love. Just a few moments more."
She took a few deep lungfuls of air to calm herself, and then he was back at her side, holding her arm protectively, guiding her forward, around the hall table and into the drawing room. They stopped just inside the doors and she felt his fingers at the back of her head, loosening the blindfold. The cravat fell away. She opened her eyes, blinking unseeingly in the blinding whiteness of the sunlit room as the pupils of her eyes contracted, adjusting. Gradually, the room came into focus around her. Then she saw it.
"Oh!" Charlotte gasped. In place of the old spinet, still smelling of wood and polish, stood a splendid new piano-forte. It was so unexpected a sight that she could scarcely believe her eyes, and for a moment she felt too stunned to speak. She stood staring at the instrument, mouth agape, struggling to take it in until finally, breathless, she turned to look at Alexander. He was beaming.
"Is it…?"
"It's yours."
Speechless, she scanned the room. Augusta, whom she had once heard dubbed incapable of smiling, wore the broadest grin she'd ever seen. Leo was bouncing up and down on her heels from sheer excitement and doing her best to contain her giggling, while Samuel, who had his hands on his niece's shoulders to steady her, smiled indulgently. Even Mrs. Wheatley, who was regarding the assembled group from the doorway, looked proud and delighted. Charlotte felt a silent sob catch in her throat.
She was a fool. She was a complete and utter fool, and yet this realization of her own foolishness had never before brought such a sense of relief. This was what she had agonized over! This was what had tormented her, tested her fortitude, almost tested her faith in her husband: a piano-forte! That Alexander – that the entire household – had been keeping a secret in order to surprise her with a gift, was an idea that had never crossed her mind. And what a gift it was! The polished wood gleamed in the sunlight that streamed in through the large windows. The brass accents shone like gold. She had a flash of recollection for the old instrument she had learned upon in her father's house: scuffed, dull, and slightly out of tune from years of use and abuse by many musical and non-musical Heywoods. Could that simple farm girl, diligently practicing her scales, ever have imagined one day possessing an instrument of such magnificence as this? Overwhelmed, she turned back to Alexander.
"It is too much," she murmured, so deeply touched she felt lightheaded. "It is too much. What have I done to deserve…?"
"Everything," he interrupted gently. "And besides, I love you. Is that not reason enough?"
His smiling face grew blurred through her tears and the sob she'd been holding back came out, half-cry, half-laughter. Overpowered by gratitude and relief, struck by a mighty surge of affection and heedless of everyone else in the room, she stood on tiptoe, flung her arms around his neck and kissed him, her tears wetting his face.
"Thank you—thank you!"
She felt his hands on her back as he embraced her.
"Do you like it?" he murmured in her ear.
"I love it," she whispered back. "And I love you."
They separated, and with a slightly embarrassed laugh at her effusive behavior, Charlotte looked around at the others. Leo was watching her with concern, apparently thrown by her still streaming eyes.
"Are you alright, Mama?"
"Yes! I'm just very, very happy." She wiped her eyes, laughed again, and held open her arms. Leo rushed into them, and Augusta too came over to embrace her.
"How very clever you've been to keep this from me all this time. I didn't suspect a thing!"
Laughing, almost stumbling over their words in their eagerness and repeatedly interrupting each other, the girls began to relay the story of how it had all been arranged. How they and Samuel had been tasked by Alexander with the selection of the instrument in London, how unforeseen delays in its dispatch had postponed their return to Sanditon, how the terrible storms had interfered still further until all began to despair of the whole enterprise. Charlotte learned that they had intended it to be already in place when she and Alexander returned from the Lakes, and that, upon discovering the delay, he had subsequently engaged in a flurry of correspondence with the delivery agent to assure himself of its timely arrival. She remembered his unsubtle attempt to conceal his letters from her on that first morning when she'd entered his study and his unwillingness to discuss his business with her. All of it – all of the behavior she had found so troubling – had been in service of this grand surprise.
She laughed, and wiped her eyes, and laughed some more, and when every last detail of the scheme had been explained and exclaimed over, Augusta said,
"Will you play something, Aunt?"
"Shall I? Now?"
"Oh yes, do."
The others nodded encouragingly, and she felt Alexander's eyes lingering on her as she approached the piano-forte. Could she ever have imagined such a scene, back on that day when she and Augusta had marched into the dusty drawing room, opened the shutters, and illicitly unlocked the forbidden spinet? What was broken then had now been made whole. What was wounded was now healed. The house – under a spell, or haunted, or in a sleep so deep it mirrored death – was now set free, was now awake and alive. It was no longer just a house. It was a home.
As she sat down she saw that the very music she had intended to practice days before on the spinet had already been laid out on the piano-forte and the lid opened. Almost shyly, she reverently stroked the keys. It was a beautiful instrument, and she felt a moment of self-doubt that she should be the one to bring forth its first notes. She was competent, but no virtuoso, and she felt a brief pang of fear that she would disappoint her audience. But no. She would not disappoint them, however wanting her playing. She could not disappoint them. They held her in too high a regard for that. Samuel respected her. The girls adored her. Alexander worshipped her.
Tears stung her eyes again. She felt such love for them – her family – such pride and admiration for how far they had come. Again, she marveled at the delicate conspiracy of fate that had got her to this moment. After the blow her heart had taken the year before, she had not had the courage to dream of anything greater than a solitary future. Meeting them had completely upended that solitary future and reintroduced hope into her life. But it had been fragile and easily damaged, unable to withstand the slightest suggestion of doubt. The misunderstandings of the summer had cast her once more into despair and resignation, into a decision that was a betrayal of her very nature. Seeing them again had reminded her that a different life was still possible, that there was yet a chance for her to live her life on her own terms, to dare to reach for what she truly wanted. They had overcome so much, had, after faltering slightly, seized the courage to move past the bleak hand that fate had dealt them. If they could defy the past and press forward with such bravery, surely she could be brave as well.
Smiling, she looked at each of them in turn: at Samuel's good-natured grin, at the girls' eager expressions, at Alexander's warm, slightly misty eyes, and felt a wave of gratitude that they had chosen her. They had credited her with restoring them, with saving them, but they had saved her too.
She looked down at the keys and, still smiling, Charlotte began to play.
One more Author's Note on the title of Chapter 3: Mozart's Adagio in C Major was originally composed for glass harmonica in 1791, but was later adapted for solo piano. In music, the term Adagio refers to a movement intended to be played at a slow, easy tempo, such as Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings. However, it can also refer in ballet to a love duet between a man and woman: a pas de deux. C Major, one of the simplest keys, is known for connoting lightness, ease, joy, and a sense of new beginnings. As the first piece of music Charlotte Colbourne plays on the new piano-forte, it felt perfectly representative of her embracing her new life and identity, not only as mistress of Heyrick Park but, more importantly, as a beloved wife and mother.