Charlotte increasingly felt like a ghost in her own home. Sarah was the only person who truly listened to her, so Charlotte always wrote her thoughts down in her journal. At least on paper, no one could deny that she had said or thought something.
She cleared her throat as the starter of chicken soup was served. Her father’s eyes were fixed on his bowl, the dark circles around them heavy in the dim lighting of the room. The long-case clock in the corner was the only accompanying sound, save for the crackle of the fire, the atmosphere thick with tension.
She longed to share her poetry with her father, to see the warmth and pride in his eyes that he used to have in her earlier years. But those times were long gone. If she ever mentioned any whiff of creativity now, she could see his eyes glaze over. That had been her mother’s love, too, and he was neither ready nor willing to discuss such things.
Having decided she might mention the beauty of the garden to try and coax him out of his dark mood, Charlotte opened her mouth to speak. However, before she could utter a syllable, Lord Wentworth cleared his throat and laid his cutlery down in a deliberate movement that made fear spike through her heart.
She knew that expression, it always preceded an important announcement of some kind. Charlotte knew this would not bode well for her quiet existence of solitude and calm.
“I fear we have been in the country too long.” Her father's rumbling voice moved through the space like thundering hooves. “It is time that we returned to society. It has been manyyears since you should have had your debut, and you must take your place among the ton.”
Charlotte tried to keep the horror from her face as she slowly lowered her spoon into her bowl.
“Did you have a particular event in mind, Papa?”
He looked up at her, his brow furrowed. “Event? We will be returning to London. There will be a plethora of events and balls as there always are at this time of year.”
Charlotte’s blood ran cold at his words. Although she had known she would have to return to society eventually, she had anticipated a gradual increase in her engagements over time. They were already halfway through the season, and it seemed preposterous that he was contemplating quitting the country altogether.
“Papa, I am still in mourning.”
He waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “You are only in mourning for another month at most. Our decision to end it early will be understood. If we wait any longer, the season will be all but over.”
Charlotte swallowed nervously, wishing Sarah was with her to argue on her behalf. Sarah was always polite and reverent with her father but could get her point across without triggering his ire.
“I am very content here, Papa,” she attempted, her voice rising in agitation. She felt close to panic. “I am able to write here, to go about my days gently. It has been a tumultuous year and difficult for everyone. I had not expected that we would return to London so quickly.”
Her father looked up at her, and his eyes narrowed, making Charlotte’s nerves bubble to the surface again. He had little time for excuses or notions ofcomfort.She knew that well. He had lost the only thing in his life that had ever brought him any comfort, and he did not expect anyone else to indulge in it now.
“My decision is final, my girl, and you will thank me for it. You are already nineteen and have missed many educational years of how one must move amongst the ton. Without some exposure to the season, I can never hope that you will make a good match.”
A dark flicker of something passed across his face, and Charlotte’s unease grew. The conversation felt weighted, as though there was far more to his desire to return than he was telling her.
“Could we not—”
“I have told you what we shall do. That is the end of it.”
Lord Wentworth never raised his voice but could win any argument with his steely gaze alone. It was at times like this that she missed her mother the most. Lady Wentworth had known exactly when and how to push her husband in the right direction, and her actions were always in Charlotte’s best interests. Her father saw her as a problem he needed to fix rather than a woman in her own right. Her marriage would only take place with her father’s approval; she had no doubt of that, and with the whirlwind of society before her, she felt nothing but misery at the prospect of who he would see as acceptable.
“Very well, Papa,” she bit back, placing her spoon against the side of her bowl as her father gestured for the plates to be removed. She had barely touched her food; her appetite entirely gone.
Her father said nothing else throughout the main course, barking at the assembled servants that he was in no mood for dessert before he left the room entirely.
Charlotte remained in the room alone, with nothing but silence and the weight of his expectations for her company.
Later, when she was finally alone in her bedchamber, Charlotte allowed herself a moment of intense grief that she had been holding off all evening. She sat on her bed, curled in onherself with her journal clutched against her chest, allowing the tears to fall in earnest.
London was somewhere that she had longed for when she was younger. At the age of sixteen, with a bright future ahead, she yearned to see the brightness of the city, spend time amongst the elite of society, and meet her peers on an even playing field.
Her mother’s illness had been a creeping and protracted affair, something that none of them recognized as serious when it first began.
Occasionally, over a period of months, her mother might say she felt too exhausted to get out of bed, and her father would call for a physician, believing it to be some malady of the mind. But after a while, those disparate days became more frequent, and in the latter months of her life, her mother had barely left her room, Charlotte acting as her principal carer and nursemaid.
She stared at the walls around her. They were covered in bright paper which seemed to laugh at her as her melancholy set in.
The pale greens and bright gold of the willow branches etched into the surface created a picture of the natural world that she so loved. The only solace she had had over the past year was her walks in the gardens and the surrounding areas. She had walked for miles with Sarah by her side as her mother’s illness had truly taken hold. The vast vistas of the English countryside and the endless rolling hills had reminded her of beauty when all her mind could feel was despair.
Now, she could not prevent the same feeling from overwhelming her. The thought of socializing amongst the ton, a world she was unfamiliar with and had been so absent from, was terrifying. She would be paraded before the bachelors of high society for them to judge if she was worthy.
