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She looked at all the pretty baubles along the artist’s market, and thought to buy a piece or two to cheer herself. She found some exquisite hand painted combs. “Which one to you think, Jean?” she asked, and Jean shook her head. “They are both pretty,” her maid said.
Charity asked the seller to hold them because of course, she didn’t carry coin. She would send one of the servants back for them. “Wrap them both for me,” Charity had said, but neither of the lovely pieces made her feel better.
~.~
Chapter Twenty-One
As she was walking home, she imagined The Earl of Wentwell calling upon her. That would not happen. She had dressed him down. He had helped her with her father, but he had not really spoken to her socially since the quarrel. He had not responded to her letter, nor had he acknowledged her in public. She thought perhaps the reason he had not replied was her involvement with Michael, but that was ended now. What might she do about it? Would another letter be too forward? Jean had said that it was in protection of her own reputation that he had not replied, and that she should be thankful for the consideration. Still Charity just could not understand why he could speak with every other female, reputable or not, besides her.
She found herself on a familiar street, nearing a familiar townhouse. Lady Amelia Atherton would be staying there with her Aunt Ebba while she was in Bath. The thought gave Charity pause. “Shall we visit Lady Amelia?” she asked Jean, not really expecting Jean to be a naysayer.
But Jean hesitated. “It is rather irregular to do so without prior appointment.”
“But you would like to see your friends, wouldn’t you?” Charity asked. “Your sister is still her upstairs maid is she not?”
“She is,” Jean said.
Charity had not seen her friend since The Duke of Ely’s funeral and she had barely spoken to Lady Amelia since their argument so many months ago. First Charity had stubbornly felt she was right, and then after Amelia lost her father, it had felt strange to speak to her once good friend with all that lie between them. Charity realized she had jumped to conclusions then too. Was that what she did with The Earl of Wentwell? Had she spoken out in haste and anger when the man was undeserving of her ire? Was he a better person than she surmised? Charity did not know. She only knew she deeply regretted how she had chastised Amelia and she wanted to fix something. She wanted to make something right.
She had alienated her friend several months ago with her sharp words, and although Amelia had been just as sharp, Charity felt the need to speak with her. The sad occasion of Amelia’s father’s funeral had not truly allowed them time to talk. It was instead a hollow empty occasion deemed necessary by society, but it was not the place for conversation. Anyway, Amelia had been devastated. Charity found herself wanting the easy comradery that she had once had with the duke’s daughter.
Perhaps it was her own father’s condition that made her feel the closeness with Lady Amelia. The Earl of Shalace was at times as lost to Charity as Amelia’s father was to her. So it was with sudden determination she stepped up in front of the townhouse. She knew it was gauche to call without first sending word, but Charity felt strangely compelled. She marched up to the door, and ignoring Jean’s protests, knocked like a commoner. Her mother would have been upset to know Charity had done so. She did not care.
Lady Amelia was perhaps the only person who could understand her relationship with her father, since Amelia had been close to her own father. Perhaps speaking to Amelia would bring her peace. At the very least, Charity could mend the rift that was between them. That she could do.
The butler opened the door, and invited her into the townhouse. The first moment Charity saw Amelia she knew the girl would understand. She stood for moment in the foyer with Jean and when the butler went to inform Lady Amelia who was waiting, her friend did not even wait for the butler to announce her. Amelia came rushing to greet her in the foyer. She was clothed in a pale gray dress of half mourning. Amelia smiled and welcomed her friend with open arms, as if they had not quarreled at all and Charity went to her and returned her embrace to give solace as much as accept it.
“I am sorry to come unannounced. I hope your Aunt Ebba will not mind.”
“She will not,” Amelia said. “She has taken Phillip to the park.”
“It is good to see you, Charity,” Amelia said.
“And you, Amelia. How are you?” She stood at arm’s length holding her hands.
“I have been well.”
“I mean, since your father’s death. Oh Amelia, I cannot even imagine.” Charity squeezed her friend’s hands, feeling tears well in her own eyes, not for Amelia’s father, but for her own. “He was such a pillar. How do you go on?”
Amelia sighed and moved from the foyer. “Come, and sit,” she said leading the way to Aunt Ebba’s morning room. Amelia called for tea, and smoothed her dress before she spoke. “It has been difficult since father’s death, but Aunt Ebba is a tower of strength and of course, Commander Beresford.”
“Patience wrote to me of your engagement. I could hardly believe my ears, and then the rumors of your uncle were just horrible. I told Mrs. Thompson and Mrs. Sullivan what Patience had writ. I hope I did well for you.
“You did,” Amelia agreed. “You were a great help to me even though you may not have known it.
“You have my congratulations on your engagement,” Charity said. “How soon will you marry?”
Although she was interested in Amelia’s wedding plans, Charity felt she had trapped herself in small talk. She had been full of purpose when she marched up to the knock upon the door, and now it was so difficult to say what she came to say.
“Less than a seenight now. It has been hard to wait, but of course, it would be the height of impropriety to marry sooner than a year. I would not so dishonor father’s memory.”
At the mention of Amelia’s father, Charity thought of her own and felt another pang of sadness. Amelia gave her a long look before she continued. “Still, I doubt you came to speak to me after all this time merely to congratulate me on my engagement.”
Amelia had the truth of the matter.
“No,” Charity admitted gathering her courage. “That is not the only reason. I came to apologize and if I am able, mend the friendship we once held between us. I misjudged you, Amelia. I spoke out of turn and now those words cannot be swallowed again. I seem to do that quite often.” She finished, thinking of Lord Wentwell and the disparaging words she had thrown at him.
“Oh, I know,” Amelia said with a sad smile.
