Page 64 of Lady of Milkweed Manor

Anne jumped to her feet. “I shan’t be long. But do not blame me if the tea is cold, Papa. You did not tell me you would be joining us today.”

“Do not hurry on my account, sweetheart. I am quite fond of cold tea.” He sat down on the blanket and folded his long legs, knocking over the tiny sugar bowl as he did.

Charlotte righted it again and confided quietly, “The sugar is make-believe but the tea is quite real.”

He grinned. “Then I shall endeavor to be more careful.” He looked about him. “Such a small bit of earth we have here. Barely worth calling a garden.”

“How fortunate, then, to have such a large plot at your disposal at the Manor.”

“Yes.” he said distractedly, then cleared his throat. “There is something I wish to discuss with you.”

“Yes?”

“I’ve had a letter from our old friend, Dr. Webb.”

“Dr. Webb? It is good news, I hope?”

“Yes, rather. He has decided to retire—plans to move north to be nearer his grown son and grandchildren.” He plucked a forget-me-not from the grass and twirled the stem in his fingers. “He has offered me his practice. His home in Doddington, his offices, all for a very reasonable sum.”

She stared at him, but he kept his gaze on the weed in his hand.

“But—that would mean giving up your practice here and your work at the Manor.”

“The Manor Home is my father’s life’s work. Not mine. I merely stepped in while he was unable. I can leave it in his hands now. He and Thomas can manage the place—and Preston—quite nicely without me.”

“Have you told him yet—your father?”

“No, not yet. I wanted to speak with you first.”

She was not prepared to ask why. “You would really leave London?”

“Yes. I tire of city life. And, in truth, there are too many memories here—in this house and at the Manor both—and not all of them pleasant. I quite enjoyed my time in Kent. It is so peaceful and lovely there on the north downs. So much open land. So much green.” He lifted his face and smiled at her.

“And, as you may recall, I was quite fond of its residents as well.”

She smiled briefly in return, but felt a surge of fear rising within her. Were Dr. Taylor and his daughter leaving her behind? Or was he assuming she would return to Doddington with them?

“Your father will not be pleased at my return. But should I allow the opinion of one man to keep me from something which, I believe, will bring much happiness?”

She assumed it a rhetorical question, but then saw he was studying her, waiting for her response. Waiting for her to answer the same question of herself.

“Charlotte?”

She studied her hands, tightly clutched in her lap.

“Charlotte. I will not take you back to Doddington as Anne’s governess.”

She looked up at him, oddly relieved. She had inwardly cringed at the thought of returning to her home village as a servant.

Of facing the disdain of her former acquaintance—especially her father and sister.

Though at least governess was one of the more respectable positions of service.

No, easier to remain in anonymity in London.

Perhaps with Sally and Thomas, or Sally’s sister.

Or she could return to Crawley, as she had once thought she might do.

“You will find another governess, once you are settled in Kent?”

“Yes. I will.”

“I understand.”

“No, I do not think you do. I would not take you back to Doddington as a governess. But I would take you there—as my wife.”

She stared at him, saw the grim determination on his face, and her heart pounded dully, a dozen different emotions flooding her mind.

“Here it is!” Anne sang, running back to them and plopping back down. “Now I shall pour you some tea.”

As she did so, Charlotte felt Daniel’s intense gaze on her profile.

“Will you, Charlotte?”

She looked up sharply from her thoughts. “Hmm?”

“Yes, Missy, will you have more tea?”

“Thank you.”

As Anne refilled her cup, Charlotte glanced at Daniel, tilting her head in his daughter’s direction, silently indicating that their conversation would have to wait.

That evening, after Charlotte had gotten Anne into her nightclothes and her teeth cleaned, Daniel came in as usual to tuck in his daughter and hear her prayers.

Charlotte silently hung the girl’s dress in the wardrobe and gathered up her soiled stockings. As she did, she heard, without meaning to, Anne’s sweet prayer:

“Thank you for Papa and Grandfather and Missy. And Constance too. Tell Mother not to be sad because we are all happy together. Amen.”

His arm around his daughter’s shoulders, Daniel looked at Charlotte over Anne’s little bowed head. “Amen,” he echoed, his gaze still holding hers.

After breakfast the next morning, Charlotte glanced at the mantel clock and saw it was nearly nine o’clock. Daniel sat at the head of the table still, nursing his third cup of coffee and rustling distractedly with the newspaper.

“May I be excused to go play, please?” Anne asked.

“Yes, you may,” Charlotte answered and watched her skip from the room. She finished her tea, then looked at Daniel again. “Are you not seeing patients today?”

“Not as yet. I am certain I should not be able to concentrate in any case.” He put down the paper. “I am still waiting for your answer.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again. “I—”

“Tell me you have not forgotten the question.” He attempted a smile.

“No,” she laughed weakly. “I have thought of little else since.”

“And?”

“And, I think—”

A loud knock sounded on the door.

Charlotte rose to her feet. “I will answer that.”

“There is no need for you—”

“Marie has the day off.”

He sighed and rose. “Very well. But we shall discuss this tonight.”

Charlotte went down and opened the door, expecting to find a messenger or delivery of some sort.

She froze—except to quickly close her mouth, which had fallen open.

Mr. Harris stood there, elegantly dressed as usual, but his eyes, which she remembered nearly always dancing with merry teasing, looked frightfully serious.

He removed his hat and smiled at her, but his smile was brief and did not cheer his expression.

“Miss Lamb.”

“Mr. Harris.” She stood looking at him dumbly, and then the realization struck her that he wasn’t there to see her at all and she felt mortified at her own presumption. “You are here to see Dr. Taylor?”

He shook his head. “No, Charlotte, I am here to see you.”

She put her hand to her chest. “Is something wrong with Edmund?”

“No. He is fine—missing his mother, of course.”

Charlotte swallowed. “Of course.”

“Forgive me. I am handling this very ill.”

“Do come in.”

He followed her up the stairs to the sitting room. “Please, sit down.”

“Thank you.”

She sat in the chair opposite him. He crossed one leg over the other, then uncrossed his legs and spread his feet on the carpet before him, resting his elbows on his knees and playing with his hat. “I had every intention of merely paying a social call to begin. But ...”

Sitting back, he ran his hand through his hair. “But, seeing you now, I cannot pretend to a casual call.”

“Mr. Harris, you are frightening me. Are you certain Edmund is all right?”

“Well, fine in health and spirits. But it’s no good. He needs ... he needs a woman’s influence.”

“He has a governess. I met her once. She seemed quite capable.”

“You know that isn’t what I mean.”

Did she? He could not mean—Her mouth felt instantly dry.

“Mr. Harris. I am not sure my presence in your home would be in Edmund’s best interest. I fear word about me has circulated, rumors at least. Many of your acquaintance do not hold me in the same esteem they once did.”

“You do not suppose my esteem has been affected by all this.

How could it be?”

She lowered her head. “No, but it might not reflect well on Edmund. Nor you.”

“So be it. I refuse to be driven by the opinions of others any longer. You have no idea how often I have thought of you, grieved for you. Forced to work in a post beneath your station. Torn away from your family and friends—your child, worst of all. What a burden it has been, knowing it was all my doing. Do you think you might ever find it in your heart to forgive me?”

Charlotte answered quietly, “I have forgiven you. Long ago.”

“Then, this is my chance—do you not see? At last I am able to right my wrongs as best as I can.”

“You need not feel obligated. I have a comfortable place here.”

“Charlotte, this is not about obligation.”

She rose quickly, clutching her hands and walking away from him. She was trembling with nerves, afraid to presume. To hope.

“Are you asking me to be Edmund’s governess?”

She heard him bolt from his chair behind her. “Blast the governess, Charlotte. Edmund has that. He needs ...”

She turned around to face him.

“He needs you.”

Her heart ached at the words.

He stepped closer. “And not only Edmund. I—”

The sitting room door opened and Daniel strode in, pulling on a glove. “Charlotte, have you seen my other—Oh ...” He glanced up and stopped abruptly, looking from Mr. Harris to Charlotte and back again.

When he said nothing for several awkward seconds, Mr. Harris said, “Hello, Taylor.”

Daniel paused, breathed in and exhaled before responding.

“Harris.”

“Forgive the intrusion, old boy.” Mr. Harris smiled and added lightly, “I have just been trying to persuade Miss Lamb here to make young Edmund and I the two happiest males on earth.”

His smile faded, and it was his turn to look from Charlotte to the other man. “That is, unless you ...” He swung his gaze back to Charlotte. “You two are not ... You have worked for him so long with no word, I just assumed ... But ... is there an understanding between you?”

Charlotte’s face burned. She found it difficult to breathe. She could hardly raise her head, let alone meet the gaze of either man.

It was not her right to speak first. But Daniel remained silent.

Finally, she lifted her eyes to meet his.

He looked at her a moment, his chest rising and falling in exaggerated effort.

And although he answered Mr. Harris’s question, his eyes remained fixed on hers when he said, “No. There is no understanding.”

They stared at one another a moment longer. Then Daniel nodded curtly to Harris, said dully, “I wish you both the best,” and quickly bowed and left the room.

Once he was gone, Charles said, “Forgive me. I did not intend to put you on the spot in that manner. I fear there is something between you after all.”

“There is a great deal between us.” Charlotte sighed, stepping to the window and watching as Dr. Taylor appeared on the street below and strode away.

“We have been friends for nearly as long as you and I have been. I was there when his wife died, and I have nursed and cared for his daughter for more than three years. But he spoke the truth. There is no understanding between us.”

“But there might be, someday?”

She hesitated only a moment. “Yes.”

“Well, then, Charlotte. You have a choice to make. I am proposing marriage now, today. I am asking you to be my wife and Edmund’s mother.”

She looked at him.

“I suppose that last bit is quite ironic, since you have always been his mother.”

“No. That was Katherine’s privilege, in every way that counts.

To Edmund, in any case.”

“Yes. About that. I’m afraid I would have to ask you to keep the true nature of your relationship with Edmund a secret.”

The statement felt like a blade between her ribs, but of course he was right.

“I am not saying we can never tell him, but ... out of loyalty to Katherine’s memory and sensitivity to Edmund’s reputation and feelings ...”

“Of course. I understand completely. I won’t pretend it is not a painful mandate, but you know I want whatever is best for Edmund.”

“Yes, I do know that. You have proven that over and over again.

If only Bea could see—”

“Bea?”

“Yes. She, too, has taken quite an interest in Edmund. Though I am not convinced her motives are purely maternal.”

“I take it she would not be pleased to know that you are here.”

“You are quite right. She does not know I am here, but she does know ... about us.”

“She does?”

“Yes. I was quite tired of hearing her disparaging remarks about you, and the slanderous suppositions about the ill-bred scoundrel that must have ruined you. I confessed I was that man. Scoundrel, perhaps, but ill-bred on no account.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“Is that why you are here? Did she refuse you?”

“Bea refuse me? I asked nothing of her. It is you I am asking, Charlotte. You.”

“Did you did tell her ... everything?”

“I did not tell her about Edmund, for obvious reasons. She still believes your child passed on.”

She touched his arm. “When it was your own son who died—yours and Katherine’s—it must have been difficult for you, having to grieve in secret. Alone.”

He nodded. “You know a great deal about that.” He grasped her elbows. “Let us put an end to it, Charlotte. Let us neither one be alone anymore.”

She looked up into the long-held-dear face of Charles Harris.

He was still so very handsome. And he was, finally, offering his name, his protection. Perhaps even his love. She realized he hadn’t mentioned that. But what did she expect? Outpourings of romance and devotion when his wife was not long in her grave?

She knew he cared for her on some level. He always had. And oh! to be near Edmund. Her own son. To be his mother, whether he knew it or not.

But what about Daniel? She admired and respected him. Perhaps even loved him, his daughter as well. True, they had as yet no formal understanding, but he had made his desires clear enough.

At least before today. Why had he not spoken? She could guess why. He knew how deeply she longed to be with Edmund.

Could she forego a future with Daniel in order to be stepmother to her own son?

But the alternative seemed even more difficult to conceive.

For to refuse Mr. Harris would mean giving up Edmund all over again.