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Chapter Twelve
Charlotte and her father spent the next week enjoying each other’s company greatly. They played cards, discussed the latest happenings of London, all while Charlotte waited for word from Julia about her time at the trial. She would have arrived in London by now, and Charlotte was anxious that all would go according to plan.
She spent her time reading, writing, and trying to discover what was ailing her patients. She had tried to pen a letter to Mrs. MacLean ten times by then, but it wasn’t coming out right. She kept crumpling up the pages and throwing them into the flames.
Her father had entered her chamber once and seen her in the act. “Charlotte, you know that paper is an expensive commodity. We will surely run out by winter if you mean to go on as you have been!” He chided her, but there was a sparkle in his eyes. Her father was always thus: kind and understanding, but he had his boundaries and rules.
“I am sorry, Father. I just can’t seem to find the right words to put in my letter.” She paused. “Father, do you think that we could send vegetables and fruits, whatever we can find, to the Isle of Mull?”
General Andrews frowned. “And why would we do that, my dear? When we have soldiers aplenty to feed here and make sure that they are strong and healthy?”
Charlotte searched in her mind for an excuse that her father would accept. Through her research and her own intuition, she felt this was the best solution, but she had been working up the courage to ask her father for the money and the means.
“I noticed, in my time there, that these things are a scarcity, especially after the harsh winter we’ve had. The MacLean clan was hit hard by the winter, and so I thought, as a gesture of kindness for their hospitality, we could send them something, such as potatoes, cabbages, and the like.”
Her father came and placed a hand on her shoulder. “What a lovely idea, Charlotte. You are right. Calum and Julia’s hospitality should be thanked. I will send for the order at once and send it out today or tomorrow if it is possible. Could you pen the note, and I shall sign it myself?”
Charlotte beamed. “Yes, of course, father. We shall send Seamus with the vegetables?”
“Yes. He will be happy for the extra coin. I have been so busy with you, my darling, that we have not had the time to do much work! Not that there is much to be done at present besides the men’s usual training. But, I suppose we shall see what the Earl of Oxford has to say about that.”
Charlotte smiled, and her father chuckled. He turned to leave, and Charlotte took out a new sheet of paper to write the note to accompany the gift. He turned around and asked, “And what is the name of the man who stays there now, my dear, in place of Calum, as interim laird?”
Charlotte swallowed, and she tried to ignore the flutter in her chest. “Angus MacLean, the laird’s younger brother.”
“Ah, yes, I remember now. ‘Tis good they have someone tae take his place while he travels. Is he a good man?”
Charlotte tried to make eye contact with her father. Flashes of images were going through her mind: Angus’ slight smile, his brown eyes, and the way his fingers had toyed with hers on the bed before she’d found out about the letter. “Yes, father. He is a good man. A little more reserved than his brother, but good.” She tried her best to keep her voice flat and even.
“Ah. Well, I suppose he just needs a good woman to help him open up, does he not? Lord knows I needed your dear mother.” Her father laughed and left the room, and Charlotte closed her eyes and took a breath.
I suppose he does.
But she didn’t take the thought any further. She fought against that urge with all her might. She would not think of Angus MacLean, no matter how much her lips trembled for his kiss or her mind wondered curiously about how he faired now that she’d been gone. She was certain that Mrs. MacLean would do her that service without her having to ask if only she could pen the letter.
She decided to start with the note that would accompany the vegetables. She took one more deep breath and began to write.
Dear Clan MacLean,
Please distribute these foods on the island, especially to those who are most afflicted with the illness. It may help them to recover. Please write to let me know of their progress.
Charlotte Andrews
She sat back from the page, looking at her short and terse note with scrutiny. Was it too harsh? Who would read it? Would Mrs. MacLean think her too coarse and mean? She sighed. It was all that she could do for now. The vegetables would hopefully be sent tomorrow, and that would be the end of it. She couldn’t possibly fill the note with queries about all those she had left behind, especially not if Angus was to read it.
She stiffened. She rather hoped that Angus would read her current note and hear her cold, stoic tone behind it. That would serve him right, after all, he’d done. She would never want him to know that she’d thought about him day in and day out, especially when the loudness of the day simmered down to quiet night, ever since she’d left. And she’d felt tiny pricks of regret as well. He’d probably not given her one thought and simply moved on to another pair of lips that suited him.
She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, her anger building. Yes, that was exactly why she would finally turn her thoughts to her future marriage and securing a kind yet well-endowed husband who could provide for her for the rest of her days, and her father as well. He would be passive yet interesting, and he wouldn’t badger her at every minute of every day. She nodded, making an attempt to convince herself.
She stayed for a moment with that thought and then shook it off. She decided it was time to write to Mrs. MacLean. And so she began the words, trying her best not to show the housekeeper how much she wished to hear news of Angus.
* * *
Angus sat in the study, looking at the list of things the men had brought back with them from the latest hunt. He had spoken to Mrs. MacLean, but he was waiting for her list of items that they would need most urgently. He would be leaning on her more and more over the next few weeks, as he had no idea how to go about this properly. A thought of Charlotte came into his head, and he brushed it aside quickly. It kept happening, and he was getting better and better at moving it out of his brain. The last week had been a battle at nighttime as he tossed and turned in his bed.
The image of her face, her hair wet, and her lips pinker than ever was burned into his mind, and he couldn’t shake it. But, the daytime was easier, as there was so much he had to do, that he could easily move her away until the sun set below the far horizon. He tried his best to keep her at bay with rum and whiskey, and sometimes it worked, he being so drunk that he would fall asleep quickly, but other times, he would lie awake thinking about all of the ways their last parting could have gone differently, very differently.
He moved his mind to current matters. The hunt had been successful, and they would have enough for weeks. He would hand out shares to the villagers and see how they fared after their healer had left them. Mrs. MacLean had been keeping him informed of how the illness grew only worse, and even more, had fallen prey to it. What could it be?
