Chapter Text
Autumn and Winter days passed quickly in Willingden, for they were so short. Charlotte Heywood rose with the rooster, moon still strung in the sky. She would not begin to squint in the sun until two hours into her waking day, and by the time she rested her head, it had been dark for three hours at least. These short days made for nights that were too prolonged. In her agony, Charlotte wished she could but dream of the next days’ tasks, but it was never to be. Instead, she dreamt of her season in Sanditon, where the machinations of the world outside her family’s farm both bewildered and inspired her. Sanditon, where her heart had been torn asunder by a Mr. Sidney Parker.
Upon meeting her, acquaintances were quick to tell Charlotte that Mr. Parker was not to be trusted; that he was unreliable, unstable. The only exception was Mrs. Mary Parker, his sister-in-law, who had advised her that while abrupt and inattentive, he had a good heart. Now knowing him intimately, Charlotte considered his temperament to be much improved. He had opened his good heart to her and left it quite vulnerable. Their hearts were so open to the other, so in synchronicity that he had intimated he would be making an offer of marriage, but it was not to be.
A fire struck one of the terraces in town. It destroyed months of hard work and with it stole a most beloved father to her friend Mr. James Stringer. Mr. Tom Parker, Sidney’s brother and Mary’s husband, had foolishly failed to insure the buildings, but even so, it was tasked to Sidney to seek further funding in London. Charlotte yearned for his success and sure subsequent proposal for seven days. On the seventh day, she had been writing a letter to her sister Alison, expressing that her future also rested on Sidney’s return, and hoping to soon be able to share the most exciting news, when Mr. Sidney Parker returned to Sanditon. In order to resolve the situation of his brother’s enormous debts, he had been obliged to engage himself to an old flame, a wealthy widow by the name of Mrs Eliza Campion.
She had met Mrs. Campion the very week before the fire. Charlotte was thoroughly belittled by her, and each young lady accurately assessed the other as a threat to their own happiness. Every sight of Mr. Parker and Mrs. Campion together and presumably laughing at Charlotte’s expense sent a new crack through her heart. Upon hearing news of their engagement, the cracks ruptured and shattered her heart into hundreds of pieces.
Charlotte left Sanditon with the intention to forget all about Mr. Parker, but on the cliff, her carriage was halted. There sat Mr. Parker on his faithful horse, blocking her path. Why couldn’t he let her go? she begged herself. Perhaps he had come to tell her that his situation had changed, her heart whispered, the pieces of it threatening to fuse. Instead, he selfishly said his farewell, full of forbidden feelings.
“I couldn't let you go without— Tell me you don't think too badly of me.”
“I don't think badly of you.”
“I don't love her, you know.”
“You must not speak like that! She loves you and you've agreed to marry her. You must try to make her happy.”
“Yes. Yes, you're right. I have to fulfil my side of the bargain. Goodbye, Charlotte. I wish you every happiness.”
“Goodbye.”
However much Charlotte wished to believe Mr. Parker to be a good man who made only necessary decisions, the personal injustice of it all was too convincing to be ignored. As she pieced together the remains of her heart, the jagged edges cut her soul and scarred her being with every recollection it connected to. In her anguish, Charlotte could not bear to rip up or burn her letter to Alison. It contained the last of Charlotte’s hopes. Instead, she would read it every now and again to taunt herself, and to warn herself against ever becoming hopeful again.
It was as if the memories possessed her, compelled her to see out every scenario that may have changed the course of the night. If only Mr. Tom Parker wasn’t so foolhardy and insured the very place of the fire! If only Mr. Stringer had joined his son at the ball, then he would not have perished in the flames! If only Sir Edward had not interrupted at the moment Mr. Sidney Parker may have proposed! Charlotte would weep, wishing and wishing to turn the hands of time back so she might change the course of the Midsummer ball with the knowledge she had now. After an hour or so of ruminating, Charlotte would then berate herself, repeating the words as a harsh meditation.
‘I must be grateful for what my experiences have taught me about the world. I must have compassion for those who lost more in the fire than I did. I must practice humility and keep from melancholy.’
After several repetitions, Charlotte would emerge hardened, but stinging from the flagellation. Upon the persistence of these futile intrusions, Charlotte concluded she must be callous, and so did away with her sentiments. In her own internal fire, she burned the pieces of her heart one by one to cauterise herself from her feelings. She was decided. Marriage was no longer a consideration.
Lady Esther Babington, née Denham, had prophesied Tom’s bankruptcy in her first conversation with Charlotte. In the same breath as warning Charlotte of the Parker family — excluding Mrs. Parker — Esther had told her that she would altogether regret stepping foot into Sanditon. Charlotte took such pains to ignore her warnings. Cold, disdainful Esther, who remained at a distance from society so she might better predict their moves, as though she was observing a great chess board. Charlotte remembered her with admiration. Perhaps if she had prised leaves out of Esther’s closed book, she would not be so affected by all the happenings. Nevertheless, even amongst all the pain at the end, Sanditon was the greatest adventure of her life.
Upon her return, Charlotte had settled into the monotony of daily life on the farm. Arise, awake and dress her younger siblings, prepare to break their fast, educate the children, visit her father’s tenants, write her letters, read in the crocus field, perhaps play a game or two, settle the children for bed, see to Mama, and then herself. Each day only offered slight variations.
The best variations came when Charlotte was able to saddle one of the work horses and ride across the fields. Being draft horses, they weren’t bred for bolting, but there was little more exhilarating than letting them run as fast as they could. Mr. Heywood saw no use of a side saddle, as Anthony and Checkers were not intended to be ridden, especially not by his daughters, but he kept two saddles for emergencies. However, even if the Heywoods owned side saddles, they were not yet safe for the type of riding Charlotte did.
She had been exceedingly careful in preventing her family from seeing her ride, for it would surely bring them shame. A young lady, sitting astride a horse and cantering— neigh, galloping! And with a split skirt! Charlotte had hunched for several hours under candlelight, cutting two slits in an old skirt and hemming it to protect it from being trampled by the horse. Simply pulling her skirt between her legs to form breeches did not make for safe riding; there was no room to move, it was still far too restrictive. She still preserved her modesty and safety where she could. This was done by borrowing a pair of her brother John’s pantaloons to wear underneath the skirt, and then layering an apron atop the skirt to disguise the splits in it.
Once out in the fields and quite alone, except for Anthony or Checkers, Charlotte would hang the apron on a tree and mount the horse. Checkers was as swift as a bullet from a gun; Anthony as enduring as grief. She rode at dawn when Willingden was at its stillest, with dew emulating emeralds as it glistened on grass. Charlotte’s hair fell out of its style and trailed behind her, flowing in the wind she created. Riding gave her the freedom, agency, and power she so craved, and greater trust with the horses which was its own reward. She often thought of men, who were permitted to take their horses at a moment’s notice and ride wherever they chose, and would be struck by pangs of envy. Before she departed for Sanditon, Mr. Heywood had warned her that, as a seaside resort, it could be odd, with normal rules of conduct relaxed or flouted. Women riding horses whenever they so pleased was unfortunately not a defied code, although Lady Denham was keen to have everyone riding asses along the sand.
As well as her secret rides at dawn, Charlotte kept another clandestine idea from her family. Under the guise of developing her father’s cottages, she had begun to improve her technical drawing skills with some tutelage from him, but whenever she was alone she pulled out another page that was filled with ideas for Sanditon. So inspired was she by Young Stringer’s designs for a pagoda, and Mr. Tom Parker’s plans for the terrace, that she began to make plans herself. Tom had even sent her a copy of Hargreave’s catalogue of plans to work from!
The days with post were the most exciting of all. Corresponding with Tom about architecture helped her mind whir into all sorts of shapes. Alongside architecture ran mathematics, for there was load bearing and angles to think about. Tom had also sent her books from his own library about mathematics to aid her understanding. Such encouragement was thrilling, and Charlotte would daydream about becoming a lady architect instead of an architect’s secretary, which she had imagined as the most viable career.
The post also brought letters from Mrs. Mary Parker, Lady Esther Babington, and Charlotte’s particular friend Miss Georgiana Lambe. Respectively, they each wrote of Sanditon affairs with optimism, newly married existence, and of Sanditon affairs with pessimism. Georgiana was morose to remain in the dreary seaside resort under the watchful eyes of Mrs. Griffiths, but there seemed to be something afoot she could only allude to in her letters.
Oh, how different her life had been but a few miles south! Charlotte so missed the bustle of a seaside resort, the variety of strangers she would become acquainted with, and mostly how each day differed. Charlotte was often tempted to make the journey on foot, for she could not leave the farm without a horse. However, she was greatly needed at the farm. With her father’s biannual dividends paying less, and profits from other ventures dwindling, he had greatly reduced costs. In addition to the financials, the young farm hands had sought work from more diverting parishes, for nothing happened in Willingden. Mr. Heywood still kept his shepherd as a lone employee, and the rest was tasked to the family. Mrs. Heywood was excluded from menial labour as she was nearly due their thirteenth child. Being the eldest and in most need of distraction, Charlotte eagerly accepted her duties, monotonous though they might be.
Therefore, Charlotte mostly preferred to measure time by quarters and farming seasons. August brought lamb-weaning, September Michaelmas, October the harvest, November hedge-cutting, December Christmastide, January maintenance, and presently, February brought preparations for calving season. Come February, Mr. Heywood’s absence was sorely felt for the few days he spent travelling to London to pay the family’s respects to the late king. The era of regency had come to an end.
The February of 1820 would also bring a Leap Year, which was highly contested amongst the Heywoods. Charlotte’s parents were on edge, superstitious they were that it would not be a good sheep year, the shepherd would be struck by lightning, the beans would grow upside down, the weather would turn, their newest child may be born on the 29th itself or even be born premature to avoid the day and perish. They had more reasons to despise the day than there were minutes in it, whereas Alison, the oldest of Charlotte’s younger sisters, was determined to take full advantage of the rights the day would bring her. She would find an eligible and amiable man to propose marriage to, for it would bring felicitations if he accepted or rejected her. Alison devised that should she be rebuffed, the man would have to pay a fine of her choosing, which she fancied to be a kiss upon her cheek.
If only the Midsummer ball had been a Leap Year ball. Charlotte winced as she succumbed to the torturous thought. Would she have had Alison’s gumption to propose? Quickly and staunchly, she refused herself the burden of ruminating upon the subject. What good would it serve, especially now she was against the idea of marriage?
Some 6 months after she had returned to Willingden single, Mr. and Mrs. Heywood had sat their eldest down alone at the dining table to enquire about her future prospects. They had not openly encouraged it before her departure, but they expected Charlotte’s quick mind and fair face would turn one or two heads, should her honest appraisals not frighten them away. For her to return without any proposals was a surprise. She had always spoken of love and marriage most favourably, and for that The Heywoods prided themselves on their own good example. Alison had let on that Charlotte’s letters implied a kinship with prospect, and they had all hoped for Charlotte to return with happy news. For a reserved Charlotte to arrive home with no felicitations to share, exuding a most melancholic demeanour and seeking solitude at every opportunity, was most disappointing.
Mr. and Mrs. Heywood decided that perhaps the love match Charlotte so desired would not come to be after all, and so they took it upon themselves to pay a visit to the Starling family. The Starlings were not unlike the Heywoods; Mr. Starling was also a gentleman farmer with several children. At three-and-twenty, Ralph was their eldest son. More importantly, he was still unmarried. Upon Charlotte’s birth soon after his, the Starlings and Heywoods had suggested an arrangement between Ralph and Charlotte, should they not fall madly in love with anyone else and elope. It would bring both families much joy should this betrothal be realised, as their land bordered. Ralph and Charlotte could tear down the fence and make a great deal more income than the two families individually.
The Starlings were delighted to have been reminded of the arrangement, for Ralph had always been exceedingly fond of Charlotte. Ralph Starling was a sensible but relatively severe looking young man, prone to plainess unless he smiled, for then he had a youthful, softened countenance that could be called charming. However, these smiles were in short supply, as he did not behold the humour to support them. He would do well for Charlotte, the parents thought. The couple were of the same status and background, they were well acquainted, their families had neighbouring land, and they were only very distantly related. The culmination of all these qualities would surely make a happy marriage.
The Heywoods only worried that Ralph would find himself out of his depth of knowledge, and their daughter would soon find herself bored of him and their life. The Starlings worried that Charlotte was too strong-willed for their son, who would be ill-equipped to deny any of her wants. All these concerns were allayed when they realised their hesitations to the match could be far more acute. Charlotte would soon settle into the practicalities of their life, as the female sex are wont to do, and Ralph would eventually grow forcible, as the male sex are wont to do. Therefore it was decided that the Starlings would inform their son first, as the obligation it created would surely win Charlotte Heywood around should her parents be unconvincing in the first instance.
They called her into the dining room, alone, creating some raised eyebrows and conspiratorial whispers amongst the rest of their children. Mr. Heywood sat Charlotte down at one end of the dining table and walked the length of it to sit at the head, where his wife was waiting at his right hand side. He imparted the news with an even countenance and a matter-of-fact sort of tone, so there would be no room for interpretation.
“Mr. Ralph Starling?!” exclaimed Charlotte after a few moments of her jaw hanging agape, for she was shocked verily. “A good man indeed, but I fear he would not find a happy match in me.”
“Nonsense. You are handsome, well-mannered, well-read, and capable of raising children. What more could a man hope for? Besides, we have been assured of him holding some affection for you. That alone should settle any concerns you might have,” said Mrs. Heywood, slightly baffled by such a reaction.
Charlotte scoffed, meeting her father’s eyes instead. “Some affection? And what of my happiness, should I hold no present or future desire for his affection?
“My dear, we cannot all be so fortunate as to experience anything more than tolerance in a marriage,” said Mr. Heywood, spreading his hands out on the table in front of him to create some stability. “We know you have designs to marry whichever man makes you happiest, but it is a luxury we cannot afford. This match must be made for the benefit of your families. I take pride in raising you all to be practical. Surely our happiness and security is of higher rank to you than the whims of your own fancy?
“I cannot answer that in the pleasing manner you so wish, nor can I respond in an appropriately honest fashion. I shall take my leave and resume our conversation when I see the pigs fly in the air with their tails backwards.” Charlotte stood and exited the room, ensuring she did so in a manner that could only be construed as haughty.
“Charlotte!” her mother called after her. “Charlotte, it is already done.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened then immediately narrowed under her furrowed brow. She stormed back into the dining room, her small hands balled into fists. “What is your meaning?”
“Sit, dear,” her father pleaded. Charlotte remained standing, unblinking, clenched jaw jutted and strong.
Mrs. Heywood continued, her tone steady as one might speak to an agitated horse, “Mr. Starling has already been informed of the match. He is exceedingly pleased indeed, as he has always held you in high esteem.”
“You would enter me into a marriage without my consent? I am of age. I do not require assistance or permission to choose a husband.”
“A right you have not yet taken up,” said Mrs. Heywood sternly. “We had hoped in silence that a match could be found in Sanditon, but evidently it was not to be.”
Tears sprung to Charlotte’s eyes, stinging like nettles. “You know not of what you speak.” She turned away in hiding, but did not leave. The intensity of her parents’ gaze scorched her back. Just another pain to endure.
“I fear that spending all that time in Sanditon amongst fashionable society has given you aspirations above our station.” Disgust laced her father’s words, and he gave a heavy sigh of disappointment.
Charlotte whipped back around with Lady Susan’s words in her ears, ringing clear as a bell. “And why should I be limited to my village?
“There is nothing wrong with becoming a farmer’s wife!” her mother objected.
“That is besides the point when I have no intention of becoming one,” replied Charlotte. “There are some women who choose not to become married altogether. I for one have realised I shall never again put myself in a man’s power.”
Mrs. Heywood’s eyes glinted. “Aha— so you are in love with another?”
Colour rose to Charlotte’s cheeks. Her parents were so triumphant she thought they might crow, with their chests puffed up and a gleeful curl to their lips. Hotly, she said, “What you perceive to be my feelings are of little consequence. I speak rationally and sincerely when I say that I will not marry Mr. Starling.”
“Really, Charlotte? You would renegue on this betrothal—”
“—It is impossible for me to renegue as I have made no promises, nor have I accepted any proposals!—”
“—to remain an unmarried woman and eventually become a spinster? We have had three bad harvests in a row. We could not afford to keep you,” said Mrs. Heywood with desperation, raising her voice to defeat her daughter’s interruption.
“I would not expect that of you and Papa. I shall keep myself.” Charlotte crossed her arms in the face of her parents, whom she had stunned into silence.
Alison, who had been listening at the door, gave herself away with a rather loud gasp. She entered in a whirl, blue eyes wide and light hair mussed from its position against the keyhole.
“Keep yourself?!” she remarked incredulously. “Think of your poor family, the shame you would bring us! I cannot have my sister as a spinster.”
A flicker of affliction appeared in Charlotte’s eyes, like a hastily snuffed candle in a dark walnut-panelled corridor. “Very well. I shall marry a man I do not care for so long as Alison does the same. Mr. Starling’s younger brother, perhaps? Shall we have a double wedding?”
“Charlotte!” cried Alison, clutching at her neck. “Not marry for love? Give me any burden and I shall shoulder it, so long as I marry for love! Sonnets flow from my heart! I crave romance and poetry as Mama craves bread crusts in her confinement! I am too fanciful to consider anything else. It will not be borne. I shall simply perish if I am forced into a marriage of convenience, I swear it.”
The Heywood girls stared at their parents, both defiant and headstrong in the face of them. The Heywood parents reluctantly broke this stare, having grown very weary of their two impossible girls.
“Alison, you may leave. No one is forcing you to marry against your own feelings — not yet, anyway,” said Mr. Heywood with some resignation, beginning to regret the manner in which his wife had surely schooled them.
Alison glared at them all and returned to the hall, where she resumed her eavesdropping position.
Mr. Heywood plainly addressed Charlotte. “You and Mr. Starling are expected to open the Leap Year Ball in celebration of the families’ partnership. Are you truly rejecting him, denying your parents their one sole wish, in favour of becoming a… a working girl?” he asked, aghast.
“I am resolved not to marry. I see no shame in earning a living,” said Charlotte, her chin proud.
“Others will,” countered Mrs. Heywood.
“Pray, we urge you to reconsider. You may have some time to think on this, and we shall discuss this again after the leap day has passed.” It was a plea that begged consideration. Mr. Heywood hoped that his compromising spirit was contagious enough to catch. For example, neither he or his wife were comfortable allowing Charlotte to visit Sanditon the previous year, but in the end he had acquiesced for the good of his daughter.
Charlotte mulled on this suggestion for a few moments and deemed it agreeable enough, for now. “In the meantime, will you tell the Starlings to pause any plans of the union?”
Mr. and Mrs. Heywood glanced at each other to silently converse, and nodded to confirm their assent. “We will impart your wish.”
“Thank you. I do not imagine my feelings will change, but I am grateful for the time you have allowed— if not for you to reconcile your own feelings on my shameful future.”
Charlotte considered flouncing off, however on second glance at her mother, decided to embrace her. It was the ninth month of her pregnancy and the new Heywood was soon to arrive. Although her skin was bright, Mrs. Heywood’s eyes were heavy and dark, her posture slumped. Charlotte kissed her on the forehead and cupped her face. They never went to bed angry with another. Charlotte and her parents shared a mutual understanding, although their motives and desires were in conflict.
The uneasy atmosphere lingered in the Heywood’s home like manure for weeks, but they could not grow used to it as they did during periods of fertilisation. Even the youngest children sensed a tension so thick it could not be cut by a butcher’s knife. They clung to their eldest siblings, in constant need of reassurance that they had not done something wrong. In a rare moment of solitude, Alison found Charlotte having escaped to the stables, grooming one of the horses.
“What caused so marked a change in you to be enticed into spinsterhood?” Alison probed, not one to dilly dally around a subject. “My sister of last year had such brightness in her eyes. I have seen only sadness since her return. Is it so wrong to want to see you happy again?”
The books Alison read had surely warped her view of the world, Charlotte decided. Love was not as simple as her sister seemed to think. Charlotte looked at Alison with that familiar mournfulness in her eyes, and evaded the question. “You know what happened.”
Alison let out an indignant cry. “I do not know! How can I know when you refuse to speak of it? You have been vague and made allusions, but I cannot presume when it comes to the matter of your heart.”
“Alison, I do not wish to speak of it.” Although it was in a warning tone, Charlotte’s voice cracked, and she refused to meet her sister’s inquisitive and imploring stare.
“Then write it!”
Charlotte set down her brush and walked out of the stables towards the house. Alison called after her and followed, but Charlotte’s determined gait could not be stopped. Soon enough, she found her older sister in their bedchamber, rifling through a box of papers. Without a word, Charlotte found the letter that was never to be sent, and handed it to her sister.
Alison clutched a hand to her lips upon reading the anxious words of hope written months ago, her eyes wide as saucers, darting to and fro from top to bottom and left to right.
‘Dearest sister, it has been a week since Sidney left for London in his attempt to save Sanditon. There is nothing but trepidation in the Parker family. Tom, in particular, has been consumed with worry as he awaits news. Oh, Alison, it is possible that my future, too, could rest on Sidney's swift return. I wish I could tell you more. But it may be that very soon I will have the most exciting news to share.’
“There. It was written,” said Charlotte, finally and hopelessly, her voice as low as she felt.
With Alison holding her hand, she conveyed all that transpired after writing the letter. From the heartbreak, to the Babington wedding, to the interrupted journey home and all the months she had spent distracting herself from the incessant ruminations. Her sister dutifully listened, her eyes glistening and lip trembling upon hearing Charlotte’s pain.
When Charlotte finished, Alison closely enveloped her, determined to keep her safe from the whole situation. “Oh, sister. Why did you not tell me?”
“What good would that have done?” mumbled Charlotte into her sister’s shoulder. “It would not change the circumstances, it would not alter the events that have happened, it would not affect how I feel.”
Positioning Charlotte within her view again, Alison shook her head and protested, “You would have been able to share the burden of your disappointment!”
Charlotte shook her own head in return.
“Did you sincerely love him?” asked Alison. “Do you still?”
A moment passed before Charlotte allowed herself to express the truth of her feelings for the first time. “It is not a matter of whether I do, but whether it persists within me. It pains me to say that it does. I wish I could extinguish it, to begin feeling anything but despair and anguish at the unfairness of the situation, but I cannot stop it. It is not a choice, though I wish that it were. But it is no use to talk about it. Nothing may be done. I can only wish him happiness.”
Lamentably, speaking it did not make them any more bearable, and Charlotte tasted the bitterness of her tears.
“Oh Charlotte, to think you have been suffering in silence all these months! It is unconscionable!” Alison wiped her sister’s cheeks with a handkerchief. As she shifted her weight slightly and took a moment's pause, Alison looked at Charlotte with what the receiver thought was a combination of sanctimony and pity. “But spinsterhood… that is no solution to your unhappiness. Resignation and acceptance? Where is your heart?”
To Charlotte, the answer was simple. “I cannot marry without love, and I cannot love without pain.”
Pensively and quietly, Alison said, “I love you dearly, but is it so wrong for me to wish for lightning to strike you so you might forget all of your time in Sanditon?”
With a sniff, Charlotte laughed. “I would not forget Sanditon for the world!”
After tears had been dried, and excruciatingly expectant writings had been secured, the sisters dawdled back to the stables, arm in arm.
“Regardless of it all, I still consider myself to have good fortune,” remarked Charlotte with distracting optimism, her words accompanying the crunch of gravel beneath their feet. “I am a young woman in a changing world, and I have the best sister within it.”
Until the end of Charlotte’s sentence, Alison had glanced askance at her with disbelief hanging upon her features. Nevertheless, Charlotte elected to ignore this, and Alison became preoccupied with feeling pleased at being the best sister in the world.
The horses strained at their doors, impatient for their afternoon feed. They whinnied at the girls with such fervour that one would believe they had never been fed in their lives.
“Easy, easy,” soothed Charlotte, stroking the diamond on Checkers’ forehead.
“I wish I could quieten them as you do,” said Alison, avoiding an irritated nip from Anthony as she fought him off with a carrot. “They do not listen to me! Oh, behave!” scolded she in an aside. However, it was no use, as the horse tore a hole in her dress.
A small smile found its way to Charlotte’s lips. “That is because you fight impatience with impatience. Once you calm your senses, then you can calm the horses.”
“I shall never quell my feelings, not even for a horse! For feelings are my kingdom, and I am no Richard the Third.” Alison’s indignation lit up her eyes, and she conceded the horse feed by dumping it into his stable and flouncing off, muttering about her muslin.
Now Alison had knowledge of all that had transpired in Sanditon, she would not quiet on the subject. She shared her exasperating thoughts aloud, much to the detriment of Charlotte’s feelings.
“Perhaps you could grow to respect Mr. Starling, or even love him?” she asked.
Charlotte glared at her, sullen. “Would you rather have me in an unhappy marriage, or content and unwed?”
“I would hardly call it content,” said Alison under her breath.
As Charlotte was resolved not to marry Mr. Starling, Alison then moved to imagining ‘romantic’ ways her sister could marry Sidney Parker.
“Perhaps Mrs. Campion will die!” suggested Alison to Charlotte’s absolute mortification.
“Alison! You should be ashamed of yourself. You cannot speak like that!”
“I was only wondering,” sulked Alison. After Charlotte’s quiet rage had simmered slightly, she enquired, “If Mr. Parker had proposed before the fire took hold, and you accepted, what would have happened? Would he have broken your engagement?”
Charlotte knew her response immediately, as she had thought of this often. She would have insisted on going with Sidney to London to seek options, entreatied Lady Susan and attempted to get an audience with the then Prince Regent. Then, if marrying Mrs. Campion truly was his only option, Charlotte would have released him. In sharing this with Alison, she added:
“There are things in life more important than love. Sacrifices must be made.”
“If that is the world, let me become a character in a novel,” replied Alison, throwing out her arms in a dramatic manner. “They always have happy endings!”
Charlotte was not so sure of this notion.