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“I have not broken his heart.”
“I do not understand why you have rejected him, Charity. Just a few weeks ago, you were telling me why the Poppys were perfect, and now you are back to playing games.”
“You should know about games, Mother,” she snapped feeling annoyed.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Her mother demanded.
“I am not playing games,” Charity said, sighing as she thought of Lord Wentwell, saying,it’s all a game isn’t it?The thought put her completely out of sorts.
“I am not,” Charity repeated. “I am the one who wants an honest relationship. How can I find honesty if everyone is wearing a mask?” Charity complained. “You most of all, Mother.”
“Charity, that’s enough.”
“It’s true.”
“Charity, I don’t know what to do with you. Do you even want to get married?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then why would you reject Michael Poppy when just a fortnight ago, you were telling me why I should consider him?”
“I don’t love him, Mother.”
“Then we are back to the beginning,” Lady Shalace said. “You need to…”
“No!” Charity shouted. She wanted to put her hands over her ears. She could not hear one more direction, one more reason why she was a failure. “No. Just stop. I cannot. I cannot do this anymore. I can’t be what you want me to be.” Charity burst into tears, feeling like she would never measure up, not as a daughter or as a wife. “I will always be a disappointment to everyone,” she said as left her Mother’s room for her own. She threw herself across the bed and unmindful of the disorder she was making of her dress. She cried until her face was a blotchy mess, and she did not care one whit.
~.~
When Lady Charity had cried herself out, she stood and washed her face. She did not know what to say to her mother. She was such a disappointment to her. She was a disappointment to everyone, most of all herself. She decided that she would go and visit with her father. Even if he had no advice for her, it was comforting to sit with him. Perhaps she would read to him. She knew he was going to take the waters later in the day, but she hoped that he would feel well enough to talk for a while.
She wanted to speak with him about her suitors since she could not see eye to eye with her mother. She fixed his blankets and fluffed his pillow and then sat beside him. First she told him about Michael Poppy’s proposal and why she had to reject him, and she began to tell him about her feelings for Lord Wentwell, but he interrupted her, sharply. “I don’t care about your dross, woman.”
The statement struck to her heart. “Do you remember me?” she asked plaintively.
“Of course,” her father said brightly. “You are the young lady who comes every day to read to me.”
She sighed, and her breath shook with pain. “Father, it’s me, Charity,” she said. “Your daughter.”
“Of course,” he replied, but she wasn’t sure he actually knew who she was. In a moment he demanded, “Girl, read me the Times.”
“Father,” she persisted. She needed him to know her. She needed her father. “Please, Father, I am your daughter. I am Charity.”
“You are not!” he said. “You only think yourself above your station, and if you continue in such a manner, you will find yourself in want of a job. Do you understand me, girl?”
Charity blinked back the tears. “I understand, sir,” she said.
“Now read the bloody paper or get out.”
She wanted to run, but she stayed. Her lip quivered a little as she began to read to him, but after a few moments she got control of herself. It did not matter that he did not know her. She knew that he was her father. She read to him until his man came to get him ready to go and drink the medicinal water. She hoped it helped him.
Saddened and frustrated, Charity came back to her room, after her father left for the waters. Jean did not try to talk to her. She just brushed her hair until it shone and twisted it into a simple style. It was still hours before dinner and Charity was at loose ends. She decided to walk with Jean along the path to the shops.
“We will buy something beautiful,” she told Jean.
“As you wish, my lady.”
Her mother would be furious to be left behind, but Charity felt that Jean was chaperone enough, and she did not want her mother with her right now. It was a beautiful sunny day and she didn’t want to spend half of it waiting for her mother and the carriage to be readied and the other half fending off her mother’s barbs and trying to explain herself.
