a chair and drank her morning tea. “I wrote to my grandmother. If I had known of you, then I would have written to you as well. Please accept my sincere apology.”
“Certainly I shall.” Charlotte leaned back and shut her eyes. “But I shall not get a word from her majesty upstairs, now that she has you for company. She shall have none of me, though I am so ill.”
Charlotte’s eyes were large and pale blue, lacking health and vibrancy, within a face so thin her cheekbones extended beyond the corners of her mouth. Her dress hung over her bosom in loose folds for she lacked a feminine form. To Darcy, Charlotte looked sickly, and she wondered if it were selfinflicted or the natural course of things. She hoped she could be of some help to Charlotte. Perhaps spending some time with her might lift her mood and bring her around to eating more than the crust on a piece of toast.
“I am sorry you are not feeling well. Perhaps a walk after breakfast around the grounds would help. I will go with you.” Darcy waited for an answer, while Charlotte nibbled on her bread and then set it down, with a heavy sigh, on the edge of a white china plate, edged in gold leaf and blue flowers. Charlotte’s setting was different from the others on the table, and Darcy thought this very odd.
Taking the linen napkin from her lap, Charlotte dabbed her mouth. “A walk would only fatigue me, Darcy.”
“Fresh air and exercise improves the appetite.”
“Yes, I know, and that’s all the more reason for me to avoid it. I do not wish to grow fat.”
“I doubt you would, if you do not mind my saying so. My grandmother would not mind if we leave the house for an hour or two.”
“She forgets that it takes all the strength I have to leave Meadlow, to travel over these weary roads, and sleep in a bed not my own.” Lifting her arm as if weights hung from it, Charlotte brushed her hand over her forehead.
“I imagine it would, especially if you are not feeling well,” Darcy said.
“You are the first to say so.” And Charlotte dropped her arm.
“I’m sure Grandmother is glad for your company. She must be lonely when it is just she and Mrs. Burke.”
“I suppose. But who is to say for certain. She seems content with her servant and her dog.” Charlotte leaned on the table with her chin resting in her hand. “The day has scarcely begun and already I am weary. I should rest upstairs.”
Darcy understood the cool cue. Without another word, Charlotte stood and shambled out of the dining room. The little mantle clock ticked on and Darcy stared at it a moment, then set her cup down on the saucer. She’d waste no more time. She pulled on her cloak, then went outside and breathed in the fresh country air. The urge to explore Havendale excited her, and she walked on toward the open fields. She cared little that she broke with etiquette and did not wait in the house to meet the elusive Mr. Langbourne. He’d meet her soon enough.
Looking about her, she made comparison to her home along the Potomac. Where there had been sunny blue skies, a leaden sky stretched above her. Where the air had been tepid this time of year, here it was moist and brisk. Where the water ran swift over ancient rock ledges jutting up from the riverbed, streams here ran shallow and placid. She had no fear of getting lost and tucked into her memory certain places where stones lay in heaps, where the path turned and left off, where an old willow bent over a brook.
The wind rustled through her unbound hair. Her heart raced and her breath came up short all of a sudden. Ethan had such a hold on her. She paused to lean against a sheep gate, wondered how far his home might be, if she’d ever see him again, if he were in good health.
“Whatever his actions, whatever he may feel toward me now, I pray, oh Lord, help me forgive him.”
She hiked over a hillside, down into a ravine where fog drifted. She paused, lifting her eyes to a plateau of limestone and shale a short distance away where shadows struggled. A moment later, she saw a man stagger into view. From where Darcy stood, he looked the vagabond, a forgotten man, a wanderer poor and needy. His