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And so was Charity if she thought there could be a happy ending to their tragic love story.
* * *
And now it was her dear friend’s wedding.
In Violet’s small first-floor bedchamber, Charity stared at the girl who’d been so kind to her, a vision in bridal white as the two of them stood before the mirror.
Normal young women in such a setting would have hearts full of joy.
But they were not normal young women and this was not a normal situation.
Violet smiled sadly. She must have seen the tears gathering in Charity’s eyes for she turned to pat her shoulder and whisper, “There now, it’s not a happy ending for me, either. But this is today. Think what could happen tomorrow.”
Violet was always so sanguine about life. Sanguine yet optimistic enough to believe that tomorrow could be better.
Charity touched the exquisite lace veil that partly obscured her friend’s beautiful face. “You have so much more to complain about than I. Yet tonight will be your greatest sorrow for having to acknowledge that your wedding is a lie.”
“He’d marry me if he could — just as Hugo would marry you. Now, come.” Violet held out her hand and together they went out into the cold night air where a hackney was waiting to convey them to the church.
Charity’s role as a witness — a charade — was a revelation. She was unused to being out in the real world amongst society people. To see the genuine tears of joy wet the cheeks of the elderly aunt of the man Violet was pretending to marry gave her a small measure of pleasure.
Lord Belvedere, Violet’s intended who was waiting at the altar, also looked surprisingly in love considering this was a sham marriage to please his dying aunt who desired to see him wed above all else. Innocent Miss Thistlethwaite had no idea who Violet was. Or, more to the point, what Violet really was. She thought her a shop girl yet still she was pleased she was marrying her nephew. Which meant that she thought Charity was a shop girl, too, and yet she was happy enough to say to her, as if they were on an equal footing, “When a girl is as lovely as dear Violet, she can do no wrong.” Then, disconcertingly, she’d asked, as they took their places in church, “And where do you hail from, my dear? Who are your people?”
A reckless gambler? A lowly governess? Charity had not known what to say for one hardly admitted to being the illegitimate offspring of such a mismatched union.
So, she merely lowered her eyes and said demurely, “No one you’d know, ma’am.”
“Come now, my dear. We cannot choose the station into which we are born. And honest toil is always to be commended for that is what this nation has been built upon.”
Emboldened, partly by the woman’s kindness and partly by her own long-held resentment, Charity replied, “My mother was a good and honest woman but my father was not so prudent.”
And now Charity’s only chance of happiness was again to be foiled by excess and vice; the lure of chance at a gambling table.
Miss Thistlethwaite who could not have known the details of Hugo’s ruin and banishment, said, with a shake of her head, “Reckless young men are too rarely called upon to account for the havoc they cause.”
And then she was turning towards the priest, silent and expectant, while her words resonated in Charity’s head.
Who was the reckless young man in all this? It wasn’t only Hugo. It was his slippery cousin who had enticed Hugo as if his main purpose was to ruin him.
Charity recalled what the other girls had said about him and his reputation. Clearly, she wasn’t the only one who thought Mr Adams needed to be called to account.
A deep hush had fallen over the sparse congregation as bride and groom stood before the man who, to all intents and purposes, was officiating over their shared future.
What a terrible sham this all was, and all because some entitled gentleman thought he could run roughshod over the happiness of those more vulnerable than themselves.
At least Violet’s handsome Lord Belvedere had been honest from the outset. The first night he’d met Violet, in fact.
Cyril had simply resorted to slippery deeds to achieve his aims.
Well, he would not succeed.
Even at this late stage, when common sense told Charity that it was far too late to change their destinies, she felt the anger within like a flaming torch.
Charity had always been sweet and passive.
And look where that had got her poor, dead, disgraced mother?
Watching Violet intone her vows in a voice that was pure and charged with emotion, Charity decided the time had come when no risk was too great. If Hugo was not able to marry, support or even be with Charity, then what did Charity have to lose.
