Love and Affection

by MissToni

Summary:

Charlotte Heywood believes in love and affection. Sidney Parker believes in being an outlier. Despite all their differences, there is one moment that binds them together. Forever, as it turns out.

This story is basically about two people doing things in the wrong order: first getting engaged and then falling in love with each other.

Wait, wait, wait, wait… they are getting engaged? Yeah, and with one Sanditon storyline gone wrong, the others will need some fixing as well. Picks up at the beginning of Episode 3.

❤️ A brooding hero, a feisty heroine, misunderstandings, substantial conversations, cricket, dances, romance and a happy ending, or: Sanditon. As it should have been.❤️

Notes:

I’m sure the story’s premise has been done before. I wanted to ignore the whole idea, but it was a bit like Arthur and a cake stall: I could not walk past without trying at least a tiny little piece. And once I had tasted the crumbs, I wanted the full cake.

I’m a friend of historical accuracy in historical fiction, but I have to admit that I did not put much research into this. So if you spot any horrible Regency blunders, please let me know, and I’ll try to correct them (or explain them away).

Update June 2021:
When I started posting this story in February, the renewal of Sanditon was nothing but a whisper that slowly grew louder over the following months.

Like so many others, I was crushed when I learned in May that the Sidlotte happy ending would never happen. Yet, in the end, it only made me more determined to give my story the most joyful ending I could think of.

With today's knowledge, some of the chapter notes don't make any sense anymore. However, I decided to leave them unchanged since they are testimony to my thoughts and feelings at the time.

Now grab a cup of tea or coffee, relax, and join Mr Parker and Miss Heywood on their journey to mutual love and affection.

Chapter 1: Indiscretion

My characters shall have, after a little trouble, all that they desire. (Jane Austen)

 

 

Insufferable man!

He was lounging in his brother's chair, boots up on the desk, puffing his disgusting tobacco, rolling his eyes and glaring at her from behind the newspaper: “Can’t I even read the news in peace?” – as if it was perfectly acceptable for him to occupy the study; as if he had every reason to be here and she none at all. And he had the nerve to call her ubiquitous!

“If you don’t wish to be disturbed,” Charlotte said, chin up and not shying away from his irritating gaze, “you might choose somewhere more secluded.”

“I tried that,” he informed her, looking her square in the eyes. “It wasn’t entirely successful.”

He was a brute; he really was. Only the most odious and offensive ruffian would dare to remind her of their embarrassing meeting at the cove. A gentleman – a true gentleman – would never have referred to that moment again.

But Sidney Parker was a gentleman in name only. She knew that very well. Forgetting her name, rebuking her at the ball, rejecting her apology, and then, to top it all, that… that encounter at the cove. He was nothing but a rich man who believed personal wealth, a handsome face, and a certain experience in life were enough to justify baseless prejudices and bad manners. 

But before Charlotte could put her opinion on Mr Sidney Parker’s character into more than an angry frown, she was interrupted by her host. 

“Charlotte! Sidney!” Tom Parker stormed into the study. “Come on; it’s time to leave. You don’t want to miss… what is it, Wickens?”

The servant bowed. “Mrs Parker is requesting your presence in the drawing-room, sir. – Yours and Miss Heywood’s,” he specified.

“Oh, we don’t have time for that, Wickens. Tell Mrs Parker that we are about to depart for Dr Fuchs’ fascinating demonstration of his skills at Sanditon House.”

“Mrs Parker was very adamant, sir,” Wickens said. “Mr Hankins is with her.”

“Splendid!” Mr Parker beamed. “He can accompany us to Lady D’s. A man of the church meeting a man of the science. I’m intrigued as to what the good vicar will have to say on the principle of hydrotherapy. Aren’t you too, Charlotte?”

Charlotte quickly nodded, tearing her eyes from the newspaper behind which Sidney Parker continued to puff his tobacco. She followed her host to the drawing-room where, indeed, Mrs Parker was sitting on the sofa, looking slightly careworn as always – or perhaps even more so right now. The vicar stood and bowed at their entrance, then positioned himself on one of the chairs beneath the window, sitting very upright, his hands folded on top of his knees, his chin held high, his face an expression of complacency and self-righteousness. Charlotte realised that whatever had brought him here, it was definitely not curiosity about Dr Fuchs and the miracles of hydrotherapy.

“My dear Mr Hankins!” Mr Parker walked straight towards his visitor. “What happy timing! Would you care to join us for a most fascinating medical demonstration at Lady Denham’s? I have been fortunate enough to lure a truly renowned specialist to Sanditon. You must have heard of Dr Maximilian Fuchs…”

“Indeed I have not,” Mr Hankins said. “And for the moment, I am in no mood to indulge myself in shallow sensation mongering. I am here on a matter of conscience, sir.”

“Oh,” Mr Parker said, visibly taken aback. Charlotte followed Mrs Parker’s gaze and took a seat next to her hostess on the sofa. “A matter of conscience,” Mr Parker repeated. “What might that be? And how can I be of help, vicar?”

“As you know, sir, there is an exceptional garden of gentle young lilies blossoming on Sanditon’s shores right now,” Mr Hankins explained. “The young Misses Beaufort, Miss Lambe of course, Lady Denham’s nieces, Miss Brereton, Miss Denham, and your own guest, Miss Heywood.”

“Yes. And glad we are to have so many young ladies with us.” Mr Parker smiled first at Charlotte, then at Mr Hankins. The vicar did not smile back.

“As the spiritual leader of our community, I sense it is my duty, if not my responsibility, to ensure all rules of propriety are strictly observed lest the innocence of these young ladies should not be compromised.”

Mr Parker laughed. “If you are referring to our sea-bathing expeditions, I can assure you, Mr Hankins, there is no impropriety at all,” he said. “The ladies take their turns from the safe havens of the bathing machines while we gentlemen venture down to our part of the beach. It is all conducted in the strictest privacy and to the benefit of us all. You find sea-bathing very invigorating, Charlotte, don’t you?”

“I do,” Charlotte agreed, not sure what to make of this conversation.

“And yet,” Mr Hankins said, ignoring her, “yet I had to witness two members of your very own household, sir, entangling themselves in the most shocking breach of propriety.”

“What?” For once, Mr Parker looked dumbfounded. “Mary?” he asked after a second, turning to his wife, as always when in need of help. “What is this about?” And as his wife said nothing but only searched for the hand of her young guest, he added: “Charlotte?”

And Charlotte, feeling her heart sink and her colour rise, understood that their encounter at the cove had not been as private as both she and Sidney Parker assumed.

 

*

 

With Miss Heywood and his brother gone, Sidney leaned back and took another deep draw from his cheroot. In truth, he did not smoke the stuff because he so much enjoyed it, but because it was even more efficient than a cane or an angry scowl if one wanted to keep the rest of the world at bay. Especially young girls from nowhere who presumed to know everything. Miss Heywood again! Truth be told, she was ubiquitous, not only in person but also in his mind. 

More truth be told, he quite enjoyed her absolutely apparent inability to forget what had happened at the cove. He even more enjoyed her struggles at behaving with a young lady’s decorum when faced with the memory of their encounter. Her vivid facial expressions and sharp rhetorical arrows were way more entertaining than Georgiana’s unending complaints, Tom’s selfish rants or Crowe’s terrible singing. 

Even more truth be told, the most enjoyable part of it all was the way Miss Heywood breathed in and breathed out when she was exasperated (usually about him), setting her whole body and especially her lovely cleavage into motion. During their dance at the ball, that cleavage – and the effort it was taking him not to stare at it – had distracted him thoroughly. He had been exceptionally grateful when Georgiana’s appearance offered him an excuse for an honourable escape.

All in all, if Miss Heywood was suffering from what she had seen at the cove, it was only just. He was suffering as well, and from more visions than just one. 

He drew on the cheroot again, trying to concentrate on the newspaper. The society section was not the most fascinating part of the news – especially for someone who considered himself an outlier. And yet there was something that caught his eye, hidden between an announcement of a ball at a Mrs Maudsley’s and some speculations about who the Prince Regent was currently simpatico with. Just a short passage, but enough to stop thinking about Miss Heywood: The lovely Mrs Campion, this correspondent understands, is about to come out of mourning and will soon grace London society with her wit and beauty again.

Mrs Campion. Eliza.

He shoved the paper aside, extinguished the cheroot, took his boots off the desk and grabbed his jacket: time for another round of bracing exercise down at the…

“Sidney!” Tom stormed into the study, his cheeks showing a dramatic red colour, his long arms rotating like the sails of a windmill. “Here you are! Come with me immediately!”

Sidney scrambled into his jacket. “I’m sorry, Tom, I’m not going to join you for Dr Fuchs’s demon-…”

“Ah, Dr Fuchs!” Tom ran a hand through his hair, leaving it in a somewhat dishevelled state. “Wickens!” The servant appeared from behind a pillar. “Wickens, send a man to Sanditon House… the Parker party is inconsolable, but we are delayed… we are delayed most tragically. - If we are to lose Dr Fuchs because of this, it will be down on your head as well, Sidney!”

“Can’t take the blame,” Sidney said. “I’ve never met the chap. Actually, I’m going out for…”

“You are not going out, Sidney!”– and with a rather uncharacteristic display of elder-brother-authority, Tom took him by the elbow and pushed him towards the drawing-room.

“Tom?”

“This is serious now, brother! This is truly serious!” Tom’s eyes seemed to pop out of their sockets as he opened the drawing room’s door.

And it was serious. It was evident the moment Sidney stepped into the room: the vicar, upright on his chair and as stiff as a poker, his face the very picture of self-righteousness. Mary, apprehensively clutching Miss Heywood’s hands. Miss Heywood, staring down at her feet, her cheeks burning with a shame he had seen only once before.

At the cove. 

His heart sank. If that was what this was about… if they knew…  Miss Heywood raised her head, her dark eyes boring into his. Ashamed she might be, but she had lost none of her spirit – despite a slightly trembling underlip. Her expression for him, however, was full of defiance. This is down to you, her gaze said. Now find a way to get us out of it.

“Mary… Miss Heywood… Mr Hankins – how can I be of assistance?” He slumped down on the next chair, his mouth twitching, his hands folded in front of him. Regretfully, he had left his cane along with the coat and the hat in Wickens’ care: it was such a powerful accessory to underline the part of the nonchalant ruffian that he was apparently expected to play. 

“Oh Sidney,” Mary softly said as Tom started pacing up and down the room and Mr Hankins showed an expression as if he was Sanditon’s one and only rightful arbiter of decency and decorum. Finally, Tom spoke.

“The vicar here has given us a rather dreadful account of a most unfortunate encounter that occurred between you and Miss Heywood in the wake of Lady Denham’s luncheon party. No need to deny it, Sidney – Miss Heywood has already confirmed the incident.”

Sidney checked his timepiece. “I wasn’t going to deny anything, Tom. I’m just wondering how Mr Hankins might have obtained such information.”

“Ahem,” the vicar said. “I was looking out for Mrs Griffiths in the hope to support her in her search for Miss Lambe. Your ward had gone missing that afternoon, as you may remember, Mr Parker.” Sidney flinched at the friendly reminder of how woefully he had neglected his duties as a guardian on that day: carousing in the bar of the Crown with Babington and Crowe, then taking a swim while Georgiana’s desperation culminated in a desperate and unsuccessful attempt to flee Sanditon, ultimately resulting in her befriending another bad influence – Miss Heywood. “Thus,” Mr Hankins explained, “walking towards the shoreline, I found myself in the unique position to become an eyewitness to the unfortunate incident.”

“Right,” Sidney said, trying to gain time. It would have been easier if the vicar had just divulged third-party knowledge. “But if you were there, sir, you can also confirm that it was nothing but a fleeting encounter.”

“A fleeting encounter?” Mr Hankins repeated. “I would not call it that, sir. Certainly, I was positioned too far away to gather any details, but I can safely say that a sort of conversation took place between you and Miss Heywood.”

“But that was about nothing!” Miss Heywood was obviously unable to hold back any longer. “Mr Parker, you must believe me!” She turned to her host.

Mary was stroking her hand. “No one’s blaming you, Charlotte.”

“Although,” her husband added, “it was of course rather unfortunate that you would amble along such a remote part of the beach all on your own, my dear.”

“So,” Sidney said. “With that clarified, can we all return to what we were doing? Tom, I suppose Lady D and Dr Fuchs are expecting you?” In fact, he could not wait to get away from the sanctimonious priest and Miss Heywood’s rather confounding presence.

“I don’t think we are finished here,” the vicar interjected. “Or in fact, if we are, that is just another proof of the sad decline of morals here in Sanditon.”

“Mr Hankins!” Tom exclaimed. “That is a very unfair charge! And a dangerous one as well! If you spread such rumours, they might jeopardise all our efforts at establishing Sanditon as a fashionable new resort.”

“Your efforts, Mr Parker. Solely your efforts. I’m definitely not an advocate for the frivolousness and debauchery that usually follow in such places.”

“Frivolousness and debauchery!” Tom repeated. Sidney saw his sister-in-law blanch. Mary Parker was undoubtedly the very opposite of frivolousness and debauchery. And yet, a lack of precisely those qualities was what had made Babington and Crowe eager to leave Sanditon.

“I haven’t slept well ever since I became an involuntary witness to your brother’s recklessness and Miss Heywood’s folly,” the vicar went on, speaking to Tom exclusively. “My conscience has been nagging on me, and yet, I believed, with your brother being a gentleman, and Miss Heywood a young lady, the matter would be resolved quickly and discreetly within the circle of your family. – And now I see that that has not been the case.”

“There was no matter to be resolved until you chose to make it one,” Sidney said, rather impatient now. Mr Hankins gave him a condescending look.

“Even without a witness, God sees all our deeds, Mr Parker.”

Miss Heywood leaned forward. “But surely then God must know that nothing untoward has happened, sir?” Admirable as her logic was, it was lost on the vicar. 

“Nothing untoward, Miss Heywood? In fact, there is a dramatic decline in decency in Sanditon. Only yesterday, I had to witness Miss Lambe, a young lady… merely a girl of no worldly experience whatsoever… I had to witness her display a… a wildness… a ferocity during her drawing lessons…” He shook his head in distress, turning to Sidney. “I assume you have been made aware of the incident, Mr Parker.”

“Indeed I have,” Sidney confirmed. “It’s the reason why I’m still here. I intended to leave for London yesterday.” He caught a quick glance by Miss Heywood, implying  If only you had left. Did she know what was in Georgiana’s painting? Mrs Griffiths had seen herself unfit to give him any other details than that it was not the work of a lady. 

“But this is unacceptable,” the vicar said. “How is Miss Lambe to understand the importance of moral integrity when her guardian will not stand up for his own repulsive actions against an innocent young woman?”

For a moment, there was no other sound than the ticking of the grandfather clock. Three pairs of eyes were staring at Sidney – the fourth was Miss Heywood’s, and she was staring not at him but at the vicar. Sidney felt his mouth twitch.

“I… um, I’m fully convinced that Mrs Griffiths will fulfil that educational duty,” he finally said. “She’s being paid well enough for it.”

“But the vicar is right,” Tom said. “You are Miss Lambe’s guardian, Sidney. You must lead by example – your behaviour sets the tone for her.”

“And so it will,” Sidney declared, standing up from his chair. It was really time to end this nonsense discussion. “I have learned my lesson, vicar, and I promise I’ll be a more conscientious role model for Miss Lambe in the future.” For a second, he considered adding an apology to Miss Heywood for the incident at the cove, but upon seeing her upset expression, he decided against it. Better never to mention the encounter ever again. “Good day,” he said and moved towards the door. His brother intercepted him.

“Sidney! Where are you going? This is far from over. I cannot afford to have Sanditon’s reputation sullied through your carelessness.”

“I wasn’t careless, I was sea-bathing,” Sidney said. But that wasn’t true, and the moment he said it, he knew it. Yes, he had been sea-bathing. And the other Yes was that once Miss Heywood had discovered him, he had done nothing to hide himself from her. The easiest thing would have been to dive back into the waves: yet he had stayed where he was, in her full view. And even worse – instead of turning around, he had moved closer towards her. And to find spunky Charlotte Heywood finally lost for words had quite amused if not excited him. So yes, he was careless. And maybe even debauched.

“So you were sea-bathing,” Tom said. “And if you are so fond of sea-bathing, brother, then why not enjoy it at the men’s beach, as the other gentlemen do? Why be so reckless and go to the open shoreline?”

“I prefer my solitude,” Sidney replied through clenched teeth. 

“Obviously not that solitary if both Miss Heywood and the vicar managed to discover you.” For a moment, Sidney wondered whether Tom was actually enjoying this. Whether he relished that for once, he was not the elder brother who had to petition the younger for his support, his connections and his money. That for once, he was holding Sidney’s destiny in his hands and not Sidney his.

“Brother,” Tom went on. “This is not only about one unfortunate coincidence. This is about the future of Sanditon. How am I to fill my empty houses with respectable clientele if we have a reputation for frivolity? If it is known that a young lady cannot walk Sanditon’s beaches without the danger of being compromised? If Lady Denham hears about your antics, she may decide to withdraw her investment, and that…” He shook his head in sorrow. “That, brother, would be the end of us all.”

“But Mr Parker, how is Lady Denham to know about… about this, if we don’t tell her?” Miss Heywood asked, all eagerness and logic.

“Charlotte’s right,” Mary seconded her. “Surely there is no reason to blow the incident up when all who know about it are in this room and agree to keep silent.”

“I haven’t told anyone about it,” Miss Heywood said. “Not even my sister Alison, and she’s my closest confidante. And I trust Mr Parker has not been indiscrete either.” Sidney felt her gaze searching his, her large brown eyes pleading for confirmation.

He cleared his throat, trying to gain time. 

“Mr Parker?” she repeated, her tone more urgent now. 

“I… um.” He coughed, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “I might have mentioned the incident to Lord Babington and Mr Crowe.”

“What?” Miss Heywood cried, and “Oh, Sidney,” Mary softly said. The vicar made an unspecified sound that could be interpreted as “I told you so”, and Tom simply sank down on the next chair as if mortally wounded.

“There’s nothing to fear from them,” Sidney quickly added, knowing only too well that this was not going to help. “They are gentlemen.”

“Lord Babington and Mr Crowe,” Tom mumbled. This was obviously not the kind of promotion he had hoped to receive from his brother’s fashionable friends.

“But Mr Crowe is a chatterbox,” Miss Heywood said. She must know. After all, she had been sitting next to him during Lady Denham’s luncheon party. And as Sidney had been sitting on her other side, wilfully ignored by her for most of the event, he knew exactly how lively their conversation had been. Lively enough for Crowe to call Miss Heywood spunky afterwards.

“If Mr Crowe is to spread the word in London, we are ruined,” Tom summed up. “How can we hope to attract the most noble members of society if we cannot protect their daughters from being compromised? How can we advertise as a family resort if we don’t behave according to family values?” 

Sidney twitched his mouth. As usual, his brother was forgetting in all his Tom-ness that this was not entirely about him. It was also about Miss Heywood. A young, inexperienced girl from the countryside whose reputation would be shattered before she had even come close to spelling the words “Polite Society”. And if he could see it, so did Miss Heywood: she was staring at him in sheer horror, her eyes large and luminous, her mouth half-open, the lower lip trembling, her chest heaving in agitation.

“There is only one remedy,” Tom concluded. The vicar nodded emphatically.

“I have been saying so from the very beginning, Mr Parker. There is only one way to restore propriety and godliness to the soiled shores of Sanditon.”

Sidney saw Mary press Miss Heywood’s hands in a kind gesture of comfort and encouragement. He saw Miss Heywood shake her head in desperate disbelief, her dark curls flying about her shoulders, her whole body in agitated motion.

Bloody hell.

But there were worse prospects, after all. 

“I expect you, Sidney,” Tom said, displaying all his elder-brother-authority again, “to offer Miss Heywood your hand in marriage.”

Notes:

Tom-ness: the essence of being Tom Parker, courtesy of Infopidge

Chapter 2: Principles

Notes:

Thank you for the warm welcome back!
In case no one’s told you today: you are a truly special and wonderful bunch of people. You very much deserve a happy Sidlotte ending, and until we get that officially, it’s my pleasure to help out for a while.

 

Previously…

 

How simply shocking: Mr Hankins has witnessed the encounter at the cove. Charlotte and Sidney try their best to talk themselves out of the compromising situation, but when Sidney admits to bragging about the incident to his friends, Tom sees only one way to save Sanditon’s reputation and Lady D’s investment…

 

***

 

“I expect you, Sidney,” Mr Parker said, looking very grave, “to offer Miss Heywood your hand in marriage.”

Charlotte shook her head in desperation, making her brown curls dance up and down. “But Mr Parker, I…”

“No, no, my dear.” Bending his long body towards her, he patted her hand. “Don’t reproach yourself. I could never forgive myself if you or your reputation came to any harm. Your good father was so anxious about your integrity… trust me, we will put this wrong right.”

“But I could… I could not accept… ” she started, unable to finish the sentence as long as Sidney Parker was staring at her from where he was sitting, his expression a thunderous mix of indignation and displeasure. She was afraid he might explode any moment like a firecracker. That would solve her present problem but as so often, only for the price of creating new ones.

“My dear,” Mr Parker said, patting her hand again. “We all remember your passionate plea about love and affection at Lady Denham’s luncheon table. Admirable as it was, that is not how the world is working these days. Unfortunately, marriage is very often mostly a question of reason and economy, as you will understand when you are more experienced.”

“Tom!” Mrs Parker cried, probably wondering whether her own marriage was a result of reason and economy as well. Her husband gave her an indulgent smile. 

“Oh, we were blessed, of course, my dearest, combining economic necessities with the wishes of our hearts.” Mrs Parker did not seem to agree entirely but was intercepted by the vicar.

“I presume that means I can read the banns this coming Sunday?” he asked.

“Yes,” Mr Parker said, and “No!” Charlotte cried. Sidney Parker did not say anything. He got up from his chair and started pacing the room.

“Of course, we will have to wait for Mr Heywood’s consent, vicar,” Mr Parker explained after a moment. “But that will be a mere formality. It is, after all, a very advantageous match for Charlotte.”

“Tom!” Mrs Parker said. “Surely, you cannot force them.”

Charlotte was still searching for her voice. Until half an hour ago, Sidney Parker had been her host’s insufferable brother. Now she was supposed to spend the rest of her life with him? As a result of one unfortunate misstep? Be careful, she heard her father say. She shook her head and stood up. “Mr Parker, this will not do. If my presence here is such a threat to the reputation of Sanditon, I will leave and return to my family at once.”

“Oh, no, no, no, no, my dear.” Mr Parker shook his head most decisively. “That would be very ill-advised. Questions will arise as to why you had to depart so suddenly…”

“It can always be explained with an emergency in the family,” Sidney Parker said. Charlotte found his comment both helpful and hurtful at the same time, especially as an indifferent shrug of his shoulders accompanied it.

“And Lady Denham will be most inquisitive,” Mr Parker added, ignoring his brother’s input. “She does enjoy your conversation, Charlotte. I dare not disappoint her.”

“May I interject that simply removing part of the problem is not a cure for the whole body. We will not be relieved from the moral obligation we are holding,” the vicar said. “In my experience, young women often find it very hard to resist temptation.” 

Temptation? What was the man thinking about? Charlotte gave an exasperated gasp. But she did not say anything. Mr Hankins would only take her retort as further proof that morals and decorum were on the decline in Sanditon.

“Enough!” Sidney Parker’s fist went crashing down on the table, drawing all attention on him. “If this is about a prospective marriage, exactly two people should be having this conversation. – So. Vicar, Mary, Tom – can I ask you to leave me alone with Miss Heywood?”

Mrs Parker stood and gave Charlotte another encouraging pat on her hand, and even Mr Parker moved towards the door. The vicar, however, remained where he was: “Given the delicacy of the situation, I presume I might act as a chaperon and mediator here.”

“Two people,” Sidney Parker repeated in a firm tone, glaring at the priest, and for a second, Charlotte believed she understood why he was such a successful businessman. He simply scared all opposition away. And if that did not work, he took out his disgusting tobacco stuff and engulfed them in his smoke until they begged for mercy.

When the vicar and the Parkers had left the drawing-room, Sidney Parker gave a deep sigh, moved his chair and sat down facing Charlotte directly. “So. Miss Heywood. Quite a checkmate we have landed ourselves in.” His voice was deep and a bit hoarse, his expression serious, and when he moved, she caught the smell of cold tobacco and the whiff of something else, something that made her think of a fresh sea breeze. She shook her head. As always, she found it hard to make him out. The sooner this ridiculous conversation was over, the better. 

“I’m not going to marry you,” she said. 

“I haven’t asked you yet.” Was that a glimmer of amusement in his eyes? Insufferable man!

“And I would be very obliged if you did not ask at all, to save us both the embarrassment.”

“Understood.” He leaned back, eyeing her undeterred, a frown on his forehead, his fingers tapping the armrest of the chair. “Now, Miss Heywood. Any other suggestions on how we might stop Mr Hankins from destroying my brother’s life’s work?”

“How would I know – inexperienced as I am, having been nowhere and having learnt nothing?” Was that amusement again in his eyes? What a brute he was! 

“At least you know how to stand up for yourself, Miss Heywood.”

“If that is a compliment, Mr Parker, it will do nothing to alter my decision.”

“It is a compliment.” Charlotte paused for a moment. He was paying her a compliment? Did that smoke stuff affect his brain?

He was leaning back on his chair now, hands folded in front of him, his long legs in black leather boots stretched out. Lounging was a more appropriate description for what he was doing in that chair, for sitting like a civilised person – upright, chin up, and shoulders back – was something completely different.

If he did not manage to behave like a gentleman, she certainly knew how to comport herself like a lady. So she sat upright on Mrs Parker’s sofa, her hands neatly folded, ready to listen to whatever he had to say to her.

“You see, Miss Heywood, I’m a businessman,” was what he had to say to her. “I review every possible transaction from different angles. What do I have to invest? What do I stand to gain? Is there a risk? And if there is, does the potential profit justify taking the risk?”

“I see,” Charlotte said, though what his business routines had to do with a discussion of marriage was beyond her understanding. 

“So if I regard our situation as a business transaction,” he continued, “what do I have to invest? A certain sum to set up a home and a household for you. I suppose you will not mind staying in Sanditon?” He did not seem to expect an answer, for without so much as looking at Charlotte, he went on: “And my brother will be glad to let me one of the houses on Waterloo Terrace. Can I afford that house? Yes, I can. Can I afford your upkeep? Again, yes, I can.” 

With an expression of complete self-complacency, he removed an invisible flake of dust from his waistcoat, then shot a quick glance at Charlotte as if to make sure that she was still listening, and seeing that she was, continued: “What will I gain from our connection? Difficult to say. At first glance, only Lady Denham and my brother seem to profit if Sanditon’s reputation remains intact, but as I have an investment in the project as well, I win where they win, and I lose where they lose.” Ignoring – or perhaps missing – the frown on Charlotte’s face, he came to his final reflections: “On a more practical level, you seem to be going on well with my ward, and even though I don’t sanction all your actions, I certainly see Miss Lambe’s need for a confidante. You might be useful in that aspect.” 

Useful?

“Besides,” he continued, undeterred by Charlotte’s little gasp, “I’ll gain someone to care for me in old age, especially as you are so much younger than me. – How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-one,” Charlotte said, trying hard to keep her hands folded and her face civil. Care for me in old age?  She would lovingly carry an ailing husband his slippers and a blanket… an ailing husband bound to her by mutual love and affection. Sidney Parker, however, was very welcome to shiver and have cold feet.

“Very well, ten years then,” he now said and added, staring out of the window: “I also expect that you will give me an heir. I don’t mind leaving what I have to my nieces and nephews, but my own child… A daughter or a son to care for, that puts a new perspective on everything, don’t you think?” For a fraction of a second, Charlotte believed she saw a different man, a man much younger and more sensitive than the brute she knew. But with her next breath, that stranger was gone, and the old scowl was back.

She found it impossible to agree or disagree with what he had said or to point out that the child he was talking about was not his, but hers as well – or to say anything at all right now. Sidney Parker did not seem to expect an answer anyway. In fact, he did not even seem to notice her indignation, for he went on, studying his nails: “Is there a risk in marrying you? – There certainly is, again based on our acquaintance so far. You are too headstrong and too outspoken with your opinions, and I’ll tell you freely that I consider myself ill-suited for marriage.”

Charlotte looked up, feeling puzzled despite her anger. Ill-suited for marriage: What a sad thing to say about oneself. And he was wrong, anyway: she believed that in the end, the success of any relationship was a matter of compatibility. However, judging by what she knew about the man in front of her, she had little hope of being compatible with him, so she kept her thoughts to herself.

Sidney Parker went on with his assessment. “Does the potential profit justify taking the risk?” he asked and provided the answer himself: “I should say so, yes. After all, if we find life in each other’s company too disagreeable, you can stay in Sanditon while I conduct my businesses from London. Conclusion: Considering the profits, marriage is a risk I’m willing to take.”

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the grandfather clock chiming the hour. 

“Is that all?” Charlotte asked when the chiming had stopped and she understood that there was nothing to follow. 

“That is all,” Sidney Parker confirmed. 

“That,” Charlotte slowly said, “was the most repulsive proposal I’ve ever heard of. – And I really did not expect the bar to go any lower when you so offensively rejected my apology after the ball.”

Sidney Parker shrugged his shoulders. “I was just giving an honest and objective assessment of our situation.”

“Of your situation, Mr Parker! What about me? What about my  wishes, my expectations?”

He shrugged his shoulders again. “You’ll have to throw your notions of a love match overboard. That’s what you have to invest, Miss Heywood. But I assume you understand that such perfect happiness is nothing but an illusion anyway.”

“Is it?”

“It is,” he confirmed with that twitch of his mouth that forbade any further comment. “What do you stand to gain?” he said, after another pause, returning to the original topic. “Quite a lot, I believe. The independence of a household of your own. A name that is respected and recognised both in local and London society. And – as I understand your own family is rather large – a chance to support and bring out your brothers and sisters. A task definitely more difficult if your reputation was smeared.” 

Charlotte gasped. For all the hurtful and offensive things he was saying, he had a point here: if she threw all her principles overboard and became Mrs Sidney Parker of Sanditon, she would be able to take a great worry off her parents’ shoulders. She could promote and sponsor her many siblings – maybe even have Alison come to live with her. As Miss Heywood, sent home to Willingden in a suspicious hurry, she would not be able to support anyone, not even herself. On the contrary, any whiff of a scandal would reflect badly, not only on her but on her family as well.

Mrs Sidney Parker. But no. That could not be: the idea was utterly ridiculous. There had to be some other way. 

Mr Sidney Parker, however, was still weighing up costs against benefits. “Is there a risk for you?” He shrugged his shoulders once more. “Try as I might, I cannot find one.” 

I might meet someone I fall in love with, Charlotte thought, wondering what it would actually feel like: to be in love. With someone who shared her values and convictions. Who believed that a good marriage should be based on mutual love and affection, not on business considerations and the need for a caregiver in old age. 

I would come to reproach myself for betraying my beliefs. I might become unhappy in a loveless match, she thought. But she was not going to offer Sidney Parker another opportunity to belittle and hurt her any further, so she remained silent.

“All in all,” he concluded his evaluation, “it’s a profitable transaction for both sides, with you gaining even more than I do.” He was looking at her seemingly indifferent, yet with a strange shine in his dark eyes. Was that… expectation? Hope? Or even insecurity? Sidney Parker, insecure? The notion was completely absurd.

“And yet I’m going to decline your kind offer,” Charlotte declared firmly. His expression changed, turning into something more emphatic as he leaned forward as if trying to bridge the gap between them. 

“Miss Heywood…”

A knock on the door interrupted him. Mr Parker stuck in his head. “Have you come to an agreement, Sidney? I don’t want to put any pressure on you, but I do wish to join Doctor Fuchs at Lady Denham’s as soon as possible. I’m a bit concerned about the good doctor all alone in Lady D’s hands.”

Sidney jumped up. “We are in negotiations,” he announced and closed the door into his brother’s face. Then he started restlessly pacing up and down the room, his hands on his sides.

Charlotte tried to look the other way, which was not very easy, given his aimless movements. If only she could wipe that picture of him at the cove from her mind! But she could not: it was there, burnt into her memory, Sidney Parker and all the secrets of male anatomy revealed in their greatest glory. 

Despite a lack of comparison and experience, she understood perfectly well that he was a marvellous example of male beauty, one of the Greek statues from her father’s books come to life – a fact that made her blush again. However, his character was so much less admirable. One might give him credit perhaps for not outright rejecting the idea of marriage. Yet, an open refusal might have been less hurtful than his cold recital of pros and cons for a potential business transaction.

He stopped pacing around and stood in front of her. “There is a simple fact at the core of the matter, Miss Heywood,” he said. “You and I made a mistake that is putting the success of Sanditon in great peril now.”

“I didn’t…” He held up his hand.

“Even if you didn’t ambush me on purpose-…”

“I didn’t ambush you!” Charlotte cried. “I was taking a walk.”

“On your own. Unchaperoned. Why did you not return to town with Georgiana and Mrs Griffiths?”

“Because… because…” Because it was such a lovely afternoon. Because it was so exciting, discovering the shoreline, picking up shells and pebbles and flotsam, enjoying herself, enjoying being on her own, not being followed by a throng of siblings as she usually was at home. Be careful, she heard her father say. Because she had not listened to her father’s advice.

“You see?” Sidney Parker said. “Carelessness is often an explanation for our mistakes, but never an excuse. And we were both careless, you and I.”

“But you bragged about it in front of your friends!”

“Yes. And that was an even bigger mistake. For which I am going to accept the consequences.” But he was not going to apologise for it. Charlotte shook her head, exasperated.

“I cannot see how it would work… – between us,” she added belatedly, finding this “us” very odd.

“Neither can I, but we will find out.” She ignored him.

“And I cannot see my father give his consent. He’ll think it… very strange that I should want to get married so quickly.” And yet even her dear papa would see that with Charlotte married well, her siblings’ chances of doing likewise would rise significantly. And if he knew about the cove… 

“Again,” Sidney said, “we will have to find out. – And you’re of age. Technically, you don’t need your father’s consent.”

“Nevertheless, I would prefer to have his blessing,” Charlotte replied, remembering again how her father had told her to be careful, that these seaside resorts were odd places where the normal rules of conduct tended to be relaxed. But even relaxed rules of conduct did not sanction such incidents as the meeting at the cove.

“Very well. So is that a yes?” Sidney finally sat down again, searching her gaze, his expression a little impatient.

“No! No, of course not. The mere idea goes beyond all my principles!”

“Ah. Here we are again. Love and affection.” He leaned back. “Is it also part of your principles to be selfish, Miss Heywood? To take, but not to give back? To take all you can get from Sanditon, from my brother’s generosity and my sister-in-law’s hospitality, but to flee the scene once the waters get murky? Is your courage in words only and less in actual deeds?”

Charlotte had to gasp for air. Twice, in fact – it was the only way to keep herself from grabbing the poker from the fireplace and hurl it at Sidney Parker. Odious, presumptuous man! 

“If that is the way you fancy to woo a lady, Mr Parker,” she informed him, “I am no longer astonished that you have reached the age of thirty-one without any success in the matter.” His expression changed immediately, his lip curled: there he was again, the cold and arrogant man from the ball room’s balcony.

“Do not presume to know anything about my expertise in courtship and its consequences, Miss Heywood,” he retorted icily, turning away from her. He walked over to the fireplace, propped up his elbow on the chimney sill and rested his chin in his hand, staring into a distance – or a past – only visible to him.

Charlotte was looking at his back, lost for words. She remembered Mrs Parker saying her brother-in-law did not think highly about their sex: something having to do with a bruising experience in the past. Had she accidentally hit the one sensitive spot of Mr Sidney Parker? Had he been in love – and been wounded for his feelings? In short: was he a human being, after all?

“I’m sorry if I spoke out of tone,” she softly said, moving towards him. “I didn’t mean to… provoke hurtful memories.”

He remained silent for a while, keeping his back on her. When he finally turned around, she noticed a strange shimmer in his eyes, indicating an emotion she could not name but found deeply unsettling. 

“Hardly your fault, Miss Heywood,” he said, not meeting her gaze, his voice hoarse. “After all, we do know too little about each other.”

“Yes,” she agreed, wondering whether that meant the marriage topic was off the table – and if that was the case, why was she feeling a small pang of disappointment now?

“I presume no one, not even Mr Hankins, would advocate a rushed marriage that will provoke new questions about our motives,” Sidney said after a moment. “But if we agree on an engagement period that stretches until the end of the summer, we might… we might find the opportunity to get better acquainted with each other. And you’ll be free to terminate the engagement and return to Willingden if you’ll find the idea of marriage still repellent by the end of the season.”

“Terminate the engagement?” Charlotte repeated, frowning. To her ears, that was just another business term.

“That’s the lady’s prerogative,” Sidney said.

“Usually followed by a scandal, gossip and a tainted reputation.”

“It’s a backdoor,” Sidney admitted. “Suppose a small scandal and some gossip is easier to tolerate than married life in misery. You may sit it out in Willingden.”

“Why is it always the women that have to pay the price?” 

He shrugged his shoulders. “That’s the way the world is made, Miss Heywood. Unless you are a wealthy widow who can afford to follow the whims of her heart.”

Charlotte walked over to the window and gazed out onto the street. Just another busy Sanditon day, with tradespeople and workers hurrying past, housewives and servants doing their shopping, visitors and guests ambling along, and seagulls sitting on the rooftops, watching it all. Such would be her outlook every day if she accepted Sidney’s proposal: the bustle and excitement of a town in development, of a place where strangers and newcomers mingled freely with the locals. A place by the sea, a place of freedom and adventure, of sea-bathing and beach walks, of balls and events. 

Was it selfish to prefer Sanditon so very much to sleepy Willingden where truly nothing ever happened? Was it mercenary to consider all the advantages her marriage into society would bring to her family? Was it feeble to betray all her principles and accept a match that was based not on love and affection – or even compatibility – but the goal to save Sanditon’s reputation?

Yes, it was feeble. And it was mercenary. But it was also right to try and protect Tom Parker’s Sanditon and his family. How to weigh the one against the other?

And there was her family to think of. She could scarcely imagine her father’s reaction to the incident at the cove. Old school gentleman that he was, he would expect Sidney Parker to marry her, whether they liked it or not. That was why he had told her to be careful; that was what he had foreseen: Charlotte finding herself torn between what was deemed proper behaviour by society and what her conscience was telling her. He knew her too well, her dear papa.

But what if love and affection found her one day after all? If a gentleman caught her heart, someone like James Stringer, who was always friendly and attentive… but no. That was not very likely to happen. She would have her household to look after, and her friendships with Mary Parker and Georgiana, and maybe Alison for company, and as to love… well, she would have children, and she would love them, whatever her feelings for their father were. 

Children. Sidney Parker’s children as well. He had made it very clear that if this joke of an engagement were to go ahead, they would not have a sham marriage but a full union. They would be man and wife in every biblical and legal sense. She was still largely in the dark about the more intimate details of married life, but after twenty-one years of life on a farm, she knew enough to understand that children were not conceived by running away from a naked man on the beach. 

She leaned her forehead against the window, feeling the glass cool her flushed cheeks.

What an irony: that she had to get engaged now for something that was nothing but an innocent and unfortunate accident. And at the same time, Clara and Sir Edward Denham got away with their trysts because no other than Charlotte had kept her mouth shut about their secrets.

Was there any way to make a match with Sidney Parker actually work? That one sensitive spot that she had hit, that split second in which he had let his guard down when she had ridiculed his potential ways of courtship, the moment when he had spoken about children, and later admitting that he considered himself ill-suited for marriage: Was it just another deception? Or was it conceivable that behind that smelly tobacco cloud and underneath all those angry scowls and hurtful tongue-lashings, a different man was hiding? A man she would like to meet? Was there any chance if not for love and affection, then at least for respect and friendship? 

She caught Sidney glancing at her, his expression as impenetrable as ever. Mrs Sidney Parker.

The door was opened again. “Sidney, I can’t wait any longer.” Mr Parker marched into the drawing-room. “The idea of Doctor Fuchs alone with Lady D is driving me to distraction. And if you haven’t come to an understanding by now, I daresay you never will.”

Sidney, who had been waiting by the fireplace, looked at Charlotte. “Miss Heywood? Do we have an understanding?”

Charlotte turned around, meeting his cool, indifferent gaze. “We do, Mr Parker,” she said, her heart beating wildly. She saw his mouth twitch as he quickly looked down, then met her gaze again. Was that a smile she detected? Unlikely.

“Good,” he said.

Chapter 3: Misfortune

Notes:

Thanks again for all your feedback! You are a wonderful group of readers - I cannot mention it often enough. Here's something I forgot to say before: as long as real-life does not interfere, I’ll update this story at least twice a week. 

Today’s chapter is a short one with some inspiration from Kate Riordan’s Sanditon novel – in some scenes, she gives us much more detail than what we saw on screen, and in this case, it was really helpful.

Previously: 

 

Sidney discussing their potential marriage like a business transaction does not actually endear him to Charlotte. But when he lets his guard down for a second, she believes she is catching a glimpse of a very different personality. Is there hope for mutual love and affection after all? Pressured by Tom and feeling an obligation towards her family, she accepts Sidney’s proposal.

 

***

 

“Splendid!” Tom Parker cried, clapping his hands enthusiastically. “Excellent! Mary, Vicar… come in, there is happy news to celebrate. – I’m off to save the good doctor from Lady D and to relay the glad tidings of your engagement to her ladyship myself. When I come back, we’ll discuss all the details… a romantic wedding! What perfect way to promote our town!” 

Charlotte wanted to remark that this was not the speed at which she wished to proceed – and judging by Sidney’s expression, he was sharing her reserve. However, some hustle and bustle at the front door and in the hallway stopped her from voicing her concern. After a few moments, the missing half of the Parker siblings rushed in: Miss Diana Parker, a sorrowful expression on her round face, and Mr Arthur Parker, breathing hard and wiping something resembling mud off his chubby features.

“Oh brother, this is too awful!” Diana cried, and as Charlotte was standing closest to her, she grabbed her arm for support. Charlotte paused for a second – how could Miss Parker have heard about her brother’s betrothal? But Diana had a different awful event on her mind. “Doctor Fuchs has fled Sanditon!”

“What? That cannot be!” All joy about the happy engagement drained from Tom Parker’s face. “What has happened?”

“It was like an earthquake,” Arthur said, still slightly out of breath, shaking his head at the memory, his eyes large with horror, his eyebrows nearly touching his hairline. “I thought I might faint the way Lady Denham went after the poor man.”

“First, she accused him of bringing parasites into her home,” Diana explained. “They were, of course, just worms for enhancing the circulation of blood. I should have gladly volunteered for a demonstration, but Lady Denham was adamant she would not tolerate such creatures in her drawing-room. She called the doctor a quack and a fabulist of the most dangerous kind… how I wish you had been there to reign her in, brother!”

“This is most unfortunate,” Tom sighed, looking smashed. 

“We are taught to trust in the Lord as a healer of the soul as much as of the body,” Mr Hankins said, probably in an attempt to remind everyone of his presence. No one was listening to him, Arthur’s input being so much more interesting. “Doctor Fuchs then suggested Lady Denham tried his excellent vital essence – I used some of it on my face, and I can say I feel positively rejuvenated… but her ladyship was not convinced.”

“She claimed he was a travelling mountebank who knew nothing about the benefits of drinking seawater and donkey milk!” Diana cried, her large eyes even larger than usual. “But the good doctor insisted on massaging his essence into her hand, and then…” She shook her head, clearly in horror and despair when remembering the scene that had ensued.  

“It all went wrong,” Arthur explained, wiping a tear – or perhaps a bead of sweat – from his sturdy cheek. “It was a chain reaction. A most unfortunate chain reaction. My heart races at the mere memory… When Doctor Fuchs administered his cream, Lady Denham wrenched her hand away…”

“… so forcefully that the poor doctor stumbled backwards and hit the table with his concoctions and instruments and the worms, of course,” Diana continued the tale. “The table toppled over, and poor Miss Brereton…”

“…poor Miss Brereton had to jump back to save herself from a worm attack,” Arthur concluded.

“Only when she did that, she got herself entangled in the tarpaulin hiding Doctor Fuchs’s great innovation,” Diana took up the tale again. 

“The therapeutic shower-bath,” Arthur explained. “A magnificent apparatus. Though dangerously unstable, I daresay.”

“Dangerously unstable,” Diana repeated and shook her head in sorrow. “Poor Miss Brereton in her entanglement tore down the tarpaulin, and then Sir Edward rushed in to help her, but they both stumbled and crashed into the tub of the shower-bath, and the boiler kettle collapsed.”

“Thankfully not in their direction – they would have been boiled alive,” Arthur said, his expression mirroring the horror of the event. “But within moments, the drawing-room’s floor was flooded in hot water.”

“Oh, my God.” Tom Parker, pale as death, sank on the next chair.

“I nearly went deaf from the insults Lady Denham started hurling at the doctor,” Arthur continued. “And the poor man practically fled the stage and Sanditon.”

“Which was very unfortunate because apparently, Sir Edward sprained his ankle when he fell into the tub,” Diana added. “Oh brother, if only you had been there to guide Doctor Fuchs.”

“Very unfortunate,” Tom Parker echoed weakly. He looked very much as if he required a doctor himself now. “Very unfortunate indeed.” Holding his head between his hands, he breathed evenly until his usual face colour returned while his dearest wife stood by his side and squeezed his shoulder in support. “This is down to you!” he finally cried, turning to Sidney. “I knew I should have been there!”

“Tom!” his wife warned, and “Sidney?” his sister asked. Diana’s eyes, which were large and round by nature, grew even larger and rounder now. “What does Sidney have to do with this?”

“Nothing,” Sidney growled, his mouth twitching, his whole attitude breathing anger.  Nothing?  Charlotte thought. Is that what I am to him? 

“We only lost the doctor because I was being held up by Sidney’s affairs,” Tom clarified. 

Charlotte stepped forward. Unchivalrous as her newly betrothed’s manners were, she was not going to let him carry all the responsibility: they were in this together, after all. And they would be for a long time. But she was not going to let his cold behaviour guide hers.

“I am to blame just as much as your brother, Mr Parker,” she said. “Because you were held up on my account as well.” Sidney threw her a glance that did not exactly speak of gratitude. Diana stared from her brothers to Charlotte and back, her expression even more concerned than usual. 

“I don’t understand,” she said. “What is this about?”

Mr Hankins cleared his throat, reminding them all of his presence again. This was probably the moment he had been waiting for. “Mr Sidney Parker and Miss Heywood have become engaged and will solemnly confirm their union in the face of the Lord,” he gravely announced, sending a shiver down Charlotte’s spine. Solemnly confirm? Union? There was no union, clearly not, especially now that Sidney Parker looked as if he was going to throttle the priest. And in the face of the Lord? There was no way of betraying Him… He saw everything, even what had happened at the cove, and He probably also knew that so far, Sidney Parker had skipped every Sunday service at Mr Hankins’s church.

“Engaged!” Diana cried. “What a surprise!”

“Hooray!” Arthur beamed, clapping his hands. “We will be brother and sister then, Miss Heywood. How wonderful is that?”

“Very wonderful,” Charlotte quickly said, and indeed it was, for Arthur Parker was a kind soul who would always keep a toast fork on the fire and a bottle of brandy in the cupboard for those dear to his heart.

“I would ask you to refrain from spreading the word, though,” Sidney said, taking on his usual part as a killjoy. “Mr Heywood has yet to give his consent.”

“But surely, he will,” Diana said, pressing Charlotte’s hand. “Oh, such a fine match! And I’ll have another sister! Yet how strange… I never noticed you and Sidney being close, Charlotte. What fine actors you both are! Such excitement – might be too much for my nerves on one day… Oh, if only the doctor had not left.” 

But he had, and there was no chance of bringing him back – not after flooding Lady Denham’s drawing-room, nearly boiling Clara Brereton and leaving Sir Edward with a sprained ankle. Yet somehow, Tom Parker’s energy returned. The one positive aspect of having a head full of plans and projects was that when one scheme flopped, a diversion was quickly found in the next idea. “Tomorrow,” he announced, “tomorrow at first light, we are to leave for Willingden, Sidney.”

“We?” Sidney asked. 

“We.” His elder brother patted his shoulders. “Of course, I’m going to accompany you. Introduce you properly to Mr Heywood, make sure everything is handled with delicacy and decorum, remove any obstacles.”

“Very well,” Sidney mumbled, not meeting his brother’s – or his fiancée’s – gaze. He was probably considering how to present his business proposition to Mr Heywood. In all likelihood, Charlotte thought, he was going to tell her dear papa that if he invested in his eldest daughter’s marriage, the return for her siblings and her family would be promising and manifold.

At least she would not have to endure her father’s scrutiny: that was her fiancé’s challenge, and he well deserved it. Mr Heywood could be very stubborn as anyone knew who had tried to lure him more than five miles away from home. She would thoroughly enjoy the idea of Mr Sidney Parker being grilled in her father’s study while she would roam Sanditon without any fear of bumping into him.

“I shall call on you again for a thorough lecture of the Scripture, Miss Heywood,” Mr Hankins interrupted her pleasant thoughts. “We will concentrate on the passages pertaining to marriage and a wife’s duties. I believe our lessons will teach you to understand and prepare for your future role as your husband’s helpmate.”

“What a splendid idea!” Mr Parker cried, shaking the vicar’s hand. “We are so grateful, Mr Hankins,” he added as if religious teachings were just another pleasure to extend the long lists of Sanditon’s delights. Charlotte caught her fiancé quickly averting his gaze. Was that a smirk again? Of the two people in this engagement, only one needed Bible lessons, and that was not her. 

She excused herself some moments later, citing the letter she now had to write to her father. But sitting at the small desk underneath the window in her room, gazing at the beach and the sea and the seagulls circling in the sky, she found it hard to explain to her dear papa why Mr Sidney Parker was just the right gentleman for her to marry. After all, just as he had said, they knew too little about each other, and what little she did know about him did certainly not justify becoming engaged to be married. 

Esther Denham came to her mind, telling her to be on her guard, that Mr Sidney was unstable and unreliable, and that she would come regret ever setting foot in Sanditon. How wise Miss Denham was behind that haughty façade!

Staring at the empty sheet of paper in front of her, Charlotte felt a single tear roll down her cheek. It was all a terrible mistake, and if she did not want to find herself in the slavery of an unhappy marriage, she better returned down to the drawing-room right now and ended it before it was too late.

There was a light knock on the door, and “Charlotte?” Mary Parker softly called. 

“Come in,” Charlotte asked, wiping away the tears. 

“Oh my dear,” her hostess said. “I just wanted to make sure you are not crying your eyes out.”

“I’m fine,” Charlotte said. “Just fine.”

Mary moved closer, sitting down behind her on the bed. “He’s a good man, you know. He can be abrupt, but he’d never be outright cruel.” Unless you were making assumptions about his brothers, Charlotte thought. Or trying to apologise for those assumptions.

“And he’ll make sure you’ll be well provided for,” Mary went on. “Tom likes to reproach him for leaving everything until the last moment, but I’ve always believed that’s just because he has no one other to look after than himself. I believe he will change once he has someone to care for.” She leaned forward, taking Charlotte’s hand again. “In fact, I hope… I hope you might help him to think a little better of our sex again. Help him overcome his… disappointment. And lack of trust.” She sighed, shaking her head and squeezing Charlotte’s hand.

This was the second time Mary was referring to her brother-in-law’s disillusionment with women. Charlotte thought of those few moments during his proposal in which he had appeared nearly human, and of his statement that he believed himself ill-suited for marriage. She longed to simply ask Mary what exactly had happened to make him come to such a sad conclusion, but she feared that it would be indiscrete to do so. It would only add to his poor opinion of her if he found out that she was discussing his past life with his sister-in-law behind his back. If there was anything she ought to know, she better waited until Sidney Parker told her on his own behalf – even if that turned out to be never.

“It all happened so quickly,” she said. “It doesn’t feel real.” Mary gave her an indulgent smile.

“Once your father has given you his blessings, and the announcement is out in the paper, it will feel very real very quickly,” she promised. “And you don’t have to marry tomorrow. You may get to know each other a little better during the engagement period.” Then she turned serious, tentatively touching Charlotte’s arm. “Charlotte, my dear… if there is anything… anything you wish to know about married life, please consider me your confidante.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte whispered, blushing deeply. There was quite a lot she wished to know about married life – but for the moment, asking the relevant questions seemed to be even more impossible than asking what it was that had left her new fiancé disappointed in her sex.

Chapter 4: Persuasion

Notes:

Well, you don’t cease to amaze me, you dear Sanditon sisters. Here I am, merrily typing away my stories, thinking that what you want to read is our handsome hero telling our lovely heroine something about being his best self etc., plus some happy / silly / fluffy Sidlotte banter. However now, three chapters into the fourth story, I come to realise that what you want, what you really, really want is not more Sidlotte, but a scene of Mr Hankins studying the Bible with Charlotte.
The vicar is most eager to follow your request. I am happy to comply, too. Unfortunately, though, whenever I mention the idea to Charlotte, she turns into a little… umm, seagull and flies away. I’ll see what I can do about it.

Previously…

When Arthur and Diana arrive on the scene, they have shocking news to relate: Doctor Fuchs’s demonstration at Sanditon House ended in disaster, leaving Sir Edward’s ankle sprained, the drawing-room’s floor flooded, and Lady D enraged. The poor doctor flees Sanditon.  

Charlotte struggles with explaining her engagement in a letter to her father, and Mary once again alludes to mysterious events in Sidney’s past.

***

 

Sidney would have preferred to arrive in Willingden alone and on horseback, but since he was going in Tom’s company, and any horse turned nervous the moment Tom Parker climbed on it, they had to take the family coach. Being confined with his brother to the coach compartment meant that he had to listen to Tom’s idle talk about plans, projects and pagodas without any hope of escape. 

He was sure that he was in no need of Tom’s assistance, support or input when meeting Mr Heywood. How difficult could it be to convince a gentleman farmer of limited means (but with twelve sons and daughters to provide for) that marrying his eldest child to an affluent businessman was a clever investment for the remaining eleven? An investment yielding manifold profit for all of them; a gift from heaven for the Heywood family. Speaking of heaven: Sidney remembered the look on Charlotte’s face when the vicar suggested reading the Bible with her, and he could not help but smirk. No doubt she would try anything to escape those lessons.

“How good to see you smile, brother,” Tom remarked. “Thinking about your lovely Charlotte?” he added with a wink. Sidney turned off the smile and gazed out of the window.

They were now approaching the countryside around Willingden. Tom’s focus changed: There was a bend in the rough lane leading to the Heywood family’s abode, and there was a copse, and just beyond it – here, actually, right here – was the spot where the Parker coach, going way too fast, had hit on something and was overturned. “And that’s the hill your Charlotte came charging down to save us,” Tom added, pointing the tip of his cane at an elevation beyond the road. No Charlotte there now, just a flock of sheep munching good green Sussex grass and bleating happily in the sunshine.

Your Charlotte. Whether it was due to his quick adaptability to new circumstances, another symptom of Tom-ness or just an attempt to repeat a lie often enough to make it become the truth: Tom had already convinced himself that the connection between his brother and his summer guest was nothing but a love match and Charlotte Heywood therefore  Sidney’s  Charlotte. Strange as it was, Sidney did not want to reject the notion of Charlotte being his completely. 

He was in little doubt about her motives for accepting him – economic safety for her family, a reputation intact and a future for Sanditon. When he pondered his own reasons for fulfilling the vicar’s demands, however, he had to admit that lingering beyond the duty he owed to his family was the undeniable fact that he was attracted to Charlotte Heywood. Physically attracted, mind you, not emotionally. The last time he had been emotionally attracted by a woman was ten years ago. He had no wish to repeat the experience. 

Charlotte Heywood, though: The prospect that she was going to be his wife was surprisingly agreeable. She had born his talk about children rather coolly: no terrified shrieks of the innocent virgin that she undoubtedly was, no girlish giggling. Just some blushing, which was entirely justified, given his bluntness with the subject. 

He found himself wondering what it would be like to make love to her. Not a rich society widow seeking moments of passion from a younger lover. Not a girl at Mrs Harries’s establishment, paid for the shallow and short-lived joys she was providing. But his very own, legally married wife. Mrs Sidney Parker. Maybe it would be more real with her, more lasting, more satisfying. As long as he managed to keep Charlotte from making assumptions about him. That, he feared, would put an immediate end to any pleasure.

Though she did have a vivid, intelligent mind. Yes, she gave her opinion too freely, too openly, but on the other hand: she was not too shy to have an opinion in the first place. She was no perfectly accomplished little doll, like Clara Brereton. Neither was she proud and haughty like Esther Denham, who seemed to believe being the step-daughter of a baronet’s second son set her aside from the rest of the world. 

And she was not… well. Like Eliza.

Charlotte Heywood was completely herself: outspoken, artless and innocent. And very often too much of all that.

“Ah, there’s the river,” Tom announced. “We are nearly there.” They crossed a small stream on an ancient stone bridge and turned into a walled alleyway. 

“At last, the Heywood residence,” Tom declared, using a very kind description for a timber-framed building that looked as if several houses had been shoved together to form one family home. Were it at Sanditon, Tom would not hesitate one second and knock it down to make room for a state-of-the-art apartment building.

In the cobblestoned courtyard in front of the house, a group of dark-haired children, boys and girls alike, played a game of cricket, whizzing off the pitch once they saw the four-horse carriage heading for their playing field. “They are very good and hospitable people,” Tom said, patting Sidney’s arm. “Frank and honest, like your Charlotte.” Sidney rolled his eyes. If only his brother would stop talking as if theirs was a love match of two kindred spirits. 

Tom, who knew how to make an entrance, waited for his footman to unlock the coach door and fold down the step before he appeared in the door. “Mr Heywood! How good to see you again!” he beamed, lifting his cane and opening his arms. He was addressing a middle-aged, bearded gentleman in the attire of a country squire who was waiting on the doorstep of the timber-framed-house: Charlotte’s father, the gentleman who famously never went more than five miles away from home. At least, Sidney thought with some relief, his own choice of boots and leather waistcoat for the journey fitted rather well into the rustic environment.

“Mr Parker,” Mr Heywood said in a sceptical tone his future son-in-law found surprisingly endearing. “Is everything alright with Charlotte? Are you bringing her home?”

“Your daughter is as happy and healthy as a young lady can be,” Tom said, cordially shaking Mr Heywood’s hand. “In fact, I’m carrying letters for you and for Miss Alison here close to my heart.” He tapped at the relevant spot of his coat. 

“Good.” Mr Heywood sighed a breath of relief, then eyed Sidney. “And this gentleman is…”

“… my younger brother Sidney. – Sidney Parker, businessman, of London and Antigua.”

“Mr Parker,” Mr Heywood said, offering Sidney his hand. Charlotte’s father had a firm handshake, and his fingers bore the calluses of a man used to physical work. Yet his demeanour was that of a gentleman. “May I invite you to come in for a refreshment?” he asked. 

“Very kind of you, sir, very kind indeed.” Tom bowed. “I keep telling Sidney how lucky Mrs Parker and I were to have fallen amongst such hospitable friends after our… our road adventure.”

Mr Heywood merely nodded and led his unexpected guests into the house and through to a large and airy panelled room that seemed to serve both as the family’s dining and drawing-room. Mrs Heywood, a calm and soft-spoken lady, came to greet the new arrivals and gave instructions for refreshments to a dark-haired girl of seventeen or eighteen: the famous Alison, Miss Heywood’s closest sister and confidante. Confidante enough to know about Charlotte’s unfortunate clashes with her host’s brother? Sidney wondered as Mr Heywood offered his guests the best chairs close to the fireplace. But if Alison Heywood knew something, she did not show it. 

Sidney looked around. The room’s furnishing was simple and obviously chosen for practicality and durability rather than taste and elegance. There was a bowl of apples on the table and a vase with a bouquet of wildflowers in the window. The place was light and friendly and impeccably clean. Yet try as he might, Sidney could not imagine Charlotte sit anywhere here with her piano and her embroidery, waiting for someone to come along and take her off her parents’ hands. In fact, the Heywood family did not even seem to own a piano. And besides, Charlotte was not the waiting but the meddling type. How terribly he had misjudged her – while telling her off for her own judgements. 

“So,” Mr Heywood asked as his wife, assisted by Alison, went about pouring tea. “What news about Charlotte? How is she doing?” 

“Excellent,” Tom said. “Miss Heywood is a true asset to Sanditon society, easily making friends with our highest and mightiest – Lady Denham, that is.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” Mr Heywood said, and so was his wife, who, along with Alison and some more dark-haired children, had taken a seat by the family table and listened in on their conversation. 

“And she has done miracles to my administration and shows a most unusual energy and expertise in regard to our construction work,” Tom went on. 

Mr Heywood smiled the smile of a proud father. “Well, that is our Charlotte you are talking about, sir. Always moving forward. She’s been helping me with the estate since the day she managed to scribble her name. Practically organised the renovation of our workmen’s cottages all by herself.”

Piano and embroidery. Sidney groaned. He was lucky she had not shoved him off the balcony for that. Mr Heywood leaned forward.

“Is anything ailing you, sir?”

“No… um, no.” Sidney took another sip of tea: hot and strong and bitter. He was craving something more substantial to fortify himself for the conversation ahead. Crowe’s hip flask would be useful right now, he thought, realising that his business proposition would be more difficult to sell to Charlotte’s father than expected.

“You were saying that you’re carrying letters for us?” Mr Heywood turned to Tom. 

“Indeed I do, sir.” Again, Tom tapped the spot over his heart where Charlotte’s letters were buried in his jacket. “But there is a matter we would wish to discuss first… in fact, a matter that requires a certain privacy.”

“I see,” Mr Heywood said, standing up. “We shall retire to my study,” he suggested, casting a severe side glance at the table where the children started giggling as if they had found a Beaufort sister amongst them. Even Mrs Heywood, a very quiet lady, looked rather intrigued now and eyed Sidney with fresh interest when he followed her husband outside.

Mr Heywood’s study was located down the corridor, away from the buzz of the family’s drawing-room: a neat office with shelves attached to every wall and even underneath the window, holding diligently labelled document files – probably regarding the estate – and a well-assorted library with a focus on philosophy, encompassing everything from the eminent ancient Greeks to contemporary thinkers.

Piano and embroidery? Sidney thought again. Books and studies, more like. No wonder Charlotte’s conversation was so different from any other lady’s in Sanditon. With a small sigh, he settled down on the chair Mr Heywood offered, imagining her here at the desk, bent over a heavy tome full of knowledge, exchanging ideas with her father. And no wonder that she felt so free and confident to share her opinions.

“Now you’ve got me on tenterhooks, Mr Parker,” Mr Heywood said to Tom, an amused twinkle in his eyes. “What is the matter that requires a certain privacy to discuss?”

Sidney felt that maybe it was his turn say something now, though he had no idea what that might be. The whole business transaction idea suddenly seemed ridiculous. Fortunately, it was Tom who took the lead, clearly enjoying the suspense of the situation.

“It is about Miss Heywood, of course,” Tom announced with a meaningful smile. “Or, as Mrs Parker and I hope to call her very soon, our dear sister Charlotte.”

“I don’t understand.” Mr Heywood kept a perfect composure, not one single nerve in his wrinkled face twitching treacherously. “Charlotte is one of many siblings already.”

“Yes.” Tom laughed, a little too nervously, glancing at Sidney, who found himself completely tongue-tied. This was not going to work. Mr Heywood was no fool. He would see through their motives, and he would not only deny his blessing but also demand his daughter’s immediate return to Willingden. “We hope,” Tom went on since Sidney so obviously would not, “to welcome your daughter into our family through the holy bonds of marriage.”

“Ah,” Mr Heywood said, still appearing not to be remotely impressed. “Maybe your brother has to say something on the matter, Mr Parker?” he asked, turning to Sidney.

Sidney felt his mouth twitch, as always when unwilling to do what others expected of him. “I… um, I have come here to… ahem… in fact, Miss Heywood…” This was worse than ten rounds of boxing against Brighton’s champion. Mr Heywood kept looking at him dispassionately, and even Tom did nothing now to help him. How could this be so difficult? It was only words, after all. He settled his gaze on one of the volumes on the shelf behind Mr Heywood. HERACLITUS, the golden letters embossed on the spine said.

“I wish to marry your eldest daughter, Mr Heywood,” he told Heraclitus. “And I have come here to ask for your blessing.”

“I see,” Mr Heywood said. “I was actually not aware of your courtship, Mr Parker.”

“But do we always have to go according to the rules of courtship?” Tom asked, clearly exasperated at his brother’s lack of enthusiasm. “When sometimes, a connection is so evident, so clear that all we have to do is to take one bold step to find perfect happiness?” Mr Heywood gave Tom a slightly irritated look. 

“I understand it is your brother who wishes to marry my daughter, sir, not you,” he said. “And even though Charlotte is my first child to be married, I believe the general custom is for the gentleman to back up his wooing with some compliments about the lady. – You may wish to praise her appearance, her conversation or her skilful needlework, Mr Parker,” he added, addressing Sidney. 

“I believe Miss Heywood is not much given to needlework,” Sidney said before thinking. Her father, however, nodded.

“No, in fact, she is not. Much to the sorrow of her mother.”

“But very well-read,” Sidney went on, feeling safer now. “Which shows in her vivid conversation.”

“Again, you are right. And again, much to the sorrow of her mother. – Any comment on her appearance, Mr Parker?”

“None other than that she is loveliness herself,” he said without thinking. He regretted it immediately. What a silly thing to say. Or was it? It was definitely more sensible than telling the man how much he admired his daughter’s cleavage. And Charlotte’s father seemed to be pleased: his nod clearly meant approval. 

“Very well, sir. You have ticked all the relevant boxes. I suppose now is the moment for the hopeful suitor to present himself to the prospective father-in-law. – I understand you are not based in Sanditon, sir?”

“I’m not, no,” Sidney said, feeling more confident now. Presenting himself to a potential new business partner: that was something he was used to. “I’m conducting my affairs from London. – We have a family home in Bedford Place.”

“And your businesses are…”

“Import. Export.”

“From here, there and everywhere,” Tom merrily added. Mr Heywood frowned.

“Forgive me for asking so bluntly, Mr Parker. – Are you in the sugar trade?”

“I was. I have renounced that trade long ago.” Yet it sticks to me like too sweet syrup, he realised. Like Antigua. And the memory of El… no. Very wrong place and time to waste a thought on her.

“My brother also has an investment in our Sanditon venture,” Tom explained, seeing that Sidney was distracted. 

“I can’t really see Charlotte in London,” Mr Heywood said. “She’s a country girl, through and through. She might be happy in Sanditon, with the sea beneath her feet and fresh air in abundance… but city life: no. That’s not for her.” This was not a good moment to tell Mr Heywood about the plan to set up a house for Charlotte in Sanditon while her future husband would be leading his life apart from her in London. 

“All in all,” Mr Heywood said, leaning back in his chair, “I thank you for coming here, Mr Parker, and I value your… efforts at convincing me of your passion for Charlotte…” (was that an eyebrow lifted in irony?) “… but I cannot give my blessings to the match.”

“What?” Tom cried, and Sidney felt his mouth twitch, wondering why he was hit by a pang of disappointment when what he should be feeling was relief. “But Mr Heywood,” Tom went on. “This cannot be your last word. Do you seriously want your daughter and my brother to become star-crossed lovers?”

“If only I were to see any love,” Mr Heywood said. “No offence meant, Mr Parker.” He turned to Sidney. “I’m disposed to believe in your admiration for Charlotte’s conversational skills and her pleasant appearance. Upon my own experience, however, a good marriage should be based on more than momentary infatuation.”

Momentary infatuation? What was the man talking about?

“And I want a good marriage for my daughter,” Mr Heywood continued. “You understand that, don’t you, Mr Parker?”

“I do,” Sidney mumbled but was drowned out by his brother. “Yet we haven’t heard the lady’s opinion on the matter,” Tom declared and pulled Charlotte’s letters from his jacket: one for Alison, one for her father, and… why was there a third? Who was the third one for? Or had Charlotte written two different versions? 

Tom checked the address lines before returning two letters to his pocket. He then placed the third one on Mr Heywood’s desk like a trump card, a confident smile on his face. 

Mr Heywood eyed first the letter, then Tom suspiciously. “Have you read it?” he asked. 

Tom raised his hands in innocence. “Of course not, sir. But I trust in your daughter’s sound and sensible judgement.” 

Sidney tried to read his brother’s expression as Mr Heywood put on his reading glasses, opened the letter’s seal and unfolded the paper. Did Tom really not know what the letter said? Or had Charlotte told his brother? And if Charlotte had told Tom, why had she not told him? He was supposed to be her fiancé, after all. Another unexpected pang hit him. Jealousy? Ridiculous. 

Mr Heywood read Charlotte’s words carefully, sighing once or twice, furrowing his brow, casting more than one thoughtful glance at his daughter’s suitor, nodding or shaking his head here and there. When he was finished, he reread the whole letter, folded it, put it in his pocket, and gazed out of the window for a long while.

“Very well,” he finally said, taking off his reading glasses and addressing Sidney. “Would you care to accompany me for a walk, Mr Parker?” 

Sidney followed his host outside, leaving Tom to entertain Mrs Heywood and her youngest children. In the courtyard, the elder siblings had resumed their cricket game, bowling, batting and running enthusiastically and without much consideration of their father and his guest. “Careful,” Mr Heywood warned when Sidney had to duck from a misdirected ball. He turned around and found the famous Alison smirk at him, shrugging her shoulders in a mock apology. These Heywood girls were quite a handful. 

“This way,” Mr Heywood said, walking down the stone-walled alley. Within moments, they found themselves surrounded by a flock of geese gaggling angrily at the intruders. A young shepherd boy hurried by, tugged his forelock to Mr Heywood and tended his flock away. “Country life,” Mr Heywood said with a smile. “I suppose you are used to a different lifestyle, Mr Parker?”

“I know something about life at sea and life in the colonies,” Sidney said, wondering whether he was coming across as a spoilt city boy who could not take a hardship – despite the leather waistcoat and the fact that he had forgotten to get a shave this morning.

“I see. You are well-travelled then?”

“Mostly in the Caribbean, but yes, I have come around a bit.”

“Charlotte has never been away from home before,” Mr Heywood said, leading the way down to the stone bridge. “I did not mean to doubt your choice of lifestyle, Mr Parker, but your experiences of life and its challenges are very different from hers. - Fact of the matter is, sir, I’m faced with a conundrum.”

“As to what?” Sidney asked.

“I know my daughter.” Mr Heywood was leaning against the bridge’s stone parapet, looking down into the tumbling water that vanished under the two bows. “I know she can be headstrong and opinionated, but I also know her to be kind, courageous and principled. So principled that only the deepest love and affection for her suitor would make her accept an offer of marriage.”

“Yes,” Sidney said, grateful he had not to tell an outright lie now. “We have… discussed that principle.” Mr Heywood acknowledged his words with a nod.

“And yet, I receive this letter from her asking me for my blessings for her engagement to you, and I receive you, Mr Parker, informing me that it is your wish to marry Charlotte.” Sidney felt his mouth twitch and wondered what exactly it was that Charlotte had told her father in that letter. “I don’t mean to be presumptuous,” Mr Heywood went on. “But I do wonder: how can such a deep attachment be formed within the course of just a few weeks?”

And as Sidney merely kept staring into the water – for he had no better answer to that question than that he did not consider himself an expert in matters of love and affection – Mr Heywood went on: “Which leaves me with the painful assumption, Mr Parker, that something untoward has happened.” The man was as observant as his daughter. 

“No one in Sanditon would doubt Miss Heywood’s integrity,” Sidney quickly said. 

“But her reputation –”

“Her reputation is spotless. As my brother said… She is quickly making friends. My ward, for example, -” Mr Heywood looked up. 

“You have a ward, sir?” 

Sidney realised that Georgiana might become his lifesaver in this. What better character reference than the wardship of an heiress with a fortune worth one hundred thousand pounds? “Miss Georgiana Lambe,” he said. “The daughter of a late business partner of mine. She’s a little younger than Miss Heywood and… um, very much in need of the sort of guidance a guardian cannot provide. I trust your daughter has mentioned her in one of her letters.”

“I believe she has,” Mr Heywood said. “Though Alison might be more acquainted with the details. A young lady from Antigua, am I right?”

“Exactly.”

Mr Heywood furrowed his brow. “Very well. So I am to believe that Charlotte’s friendship with Miss Lambe has furthered a bond with her guardian?”

“Miss Heywood fully well knows her own mind, sir. We would not be having this conversation without her authorisation,” Sidney said, hoping to change the subject.

“Indeed we would not,” her father agreed. “And you seem to be knowing your own mind as well. I assume you are enjoying vivid conversations, the two of you?”

“We do,” Sidney confirmed. Again, it was not an outright lie.

“May I be so bold as to ask why you are not settled and married yet, sir?” Mr Heywood said. “A man of your age and means…”

Sidney felt his mouth start to twitch but managed to control the impulse and turn it into a half-smile. “I spent seven of the last ten years abroad, building my businesses from scratch. Marriage was not much on my mind during that time.”

“But now that you have returned to England, it is?” Mr Heywood cocked an eyebrow. Sidney decided to study the stonework of the bridge instead of meeting his host’s gaze. 

“Yes,” he said. “It is on my mind, now that I have the means to support a family and offer my wife a comfortable home.” Again that was no lie: marriage was on his mind whenever he thought of Tom’s happiness. The adoration in Mary’s eyes, that readiness to forgive whatever folly entered her husband’s wild mind! That unconditional love Alicia, Jenny, Henry and even little James were eager to prove anytime! Sidney did not doubt that Tom would be only half the man he was without Mary and the children. Sometimes, it made him wonder which version of himself he might become with the right woman by his side. And whether such a woman existed.

“Hm,” Mr Heywood said after a while of quietly watching the river. He moved over to the other side of the bridge, where the river and the outlook were basically the same: green hilltops with sheep bleating across the hills. “I’m not blind to the fact of how advantageous this match would be for Charlotte. And her family, in fact. As I expect you to be not blind to the fact that there will be not much of a dowry.”

“I can afford the luxury to choose my wife based on herself, not on her dowry,” Sidney said, wondering immediately whether that was the silliest thing he had said during the entire conversation. Mr Heywood, however, seemed to like his reply. He acknowledged it with another nod, then put on his reading glasses, took out the letter from his pocket and started studying it all over again. Try as he might, Sidney couldn’t decipher anything of Charlotte’s handwriting.

“I can’t see how this makes any sense,” Mr Heywood finally said, pocketing the letter in his waistcoat. “But I can’t see either how I might keep you two apart if you both are so determined to go through with your engagement. So I ask you again, Mr Parker: Do I have to fear for Charlotte’s reputation?”

“No, sir,” Sidney said. Now, this was a lie – but was it really a lie if it was meant to protect Miss Heywood? Her father sighed deeply.

“Only promise me to be careful, Mr Parker. I will not suffer to see my Charlotte hurt by love.”

“I promise,” Sidney said, feeling oddly solemn as he shook the other man’s hand.

Chapter 5: Casualties

Notes:

Welcome back! It's another quiet Sunday afternoon in my part of the world - perfect for some Sidlotte escapism, I think.
I just managed to catch up with yesterday's Twitter conversation #CoveFic and I can safely say that all of your questions regarding letters, motives and She Who Must Not Be Named will be answered. In good and perfect time though - not today. Today it's time to shake things up a bit.

Previously...

Faced with girls playing cricket in Willingden and a missing piano, Sidney realises how terribly he has misjudged Charlotte. Despite many question marks, Mr Heywood gives his blessings to the match. Charlotte’s letter to her father seems to play a role in his decision.

***

 

“But you said you did not like him!”

“No, I really… I cannot quite explain it, Georgiana.” Charlotte sighed, feeling way out of her depth and very much left alone. Their mission in Willingden accomplished a few days ago, the Parker brothers had not returned to Sanditon but gone up to London: Tom Parker claiming some appointments with his bankers and the search for a new physician, Sidney Parker claiming his business and the announcements that needed to be placed in the papers.

There was no way back once the engagement of Mr Sidney Parker and Miss Charlotte Heywood was advertised to the world – or at least to the part of the world reading London newspapers. Charlotte was all too aware of it. She desperately wanted to explain everything to Georgiana before her friend heard the news from a giggling Beaufort sister or a gleeful Mr Hankins.

But somehow, it all went wrong. She had never expected Georgiana to be excited or happy about the match, but now she was outright angry, glaring at Charlotte. “It was all a lie! You were trying to gain my confidence, spying for him!”

“No, Georgiana! That’s nonsense, and you know it.” If only Georgiana’s guardian had returned directly from Willingden, relaying the news personally to his ward… But so far, he had only sent kind regards in Tom Parker’s latest letter to Mary. That was all.

“How am I supposed to trust you now?” Georgiana asked. “You said you find him very impolite and cold, and he called you a bad influence. What do you want me to believe? That you woke up one morning, thinking: oh, maybe he is not that disagreeable after all? Or that you decided that selling yourself into slavery and becoming his property might be bearable as long as it is sugar-coated with a fine income and access to the beau monde? What happened to mutual love and affection, Miss Heywood?”

“Nothing,” Charlotte replied. “I still believe…”

“I really don’t care what you believe. Either you’re engaged to Sidney Parker, or you stand by your word.” Georgiana looked the other way. 

“Sometimes, first impressions deceive us,” Charlotte carefully said after a few moments of agonising silence. “And sometimes, things are not quite the way they seem. There is…”

She was interrupted by a quick knock on the door. “Georgiana. Another visitor,” Mrs Griffiths announced.

Clara Brereton walked in, looking very lovely with her blonde curls, blue eyes and a pink flush on her porcelain skin. “Miss Lambe… I hope I do not disturb you….” The ladies stood and curtsied to each other. “And Charlotte. I did not expect to see you here,” Clara smiled.

“Miss Heywood is about to leave,” Georgiana announced, sitting down again and inviting her new guest to do likewise. 

“Such a pity.” Clara looked at Charlotte, who tried her best to keep her expression neutral. She had considered Miss Brereton a friend once, but ever since the disturbing incident with Sir Edward Denham in the deer park and the strange conversations at the ball, she found it difficult to trust her. Georgiana’s outspoken honesty was far more to her taste – but now, it seemed, that friendship was another price she had to pay for her engagement.

“I was running errands in town for Lady Denham,” Clara explained. “And I thought I might call on you, Miss Lambe, and see how you are settling in.”

“Thank you, Miss Brereton. That’s very kind of you.” Georgiana shot Charlotte a look that said: Why are you still here?

“Oh, please call me Clara. I feel we have so much in common… cast away from our homes as we both are… and I’m sure you wish to hear about the fiasco that was Doctor Fuchs’s demonstration…”

“Miss Heywood?” Georgiana asked. “Didn’t you say Mrs Parker was expecting you?”

“Yes.” Charlotte nodded. “Of course. How could I forget my obligations to the Parker family? Goodbye, Georgiana. Clara.” She curtsied and quickly left the room, leaning against the door from the other side for a moment, fighting down the tears of humiliation. 

“Miss Heywood?” Mrs Griffiths had appeared out of nowhere. “Is everything alright with you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m… I think it’s just hay fever.”

“Hay fever?” the governess repeated. “In a sea climate? Now, that is very strange. I hope you don’t need a doctor.”

“I won’t,” Charlotte promised, thinking that at least her affliction was not a contagious one. 

 

Down in the street, she stopped when she saw the vicar a few steps ahead of her, walking purposefully towards Trafalgar House, looking even from behind very eager to deliver his teachings to his new pupil.

Charlotte immediately turned around and walked in the opposite direction. First Georgiana’s rejection, now a lecture on her duties as Sidney Parker’s wife according to Mr Hankins: that was too much punishment for one afternoon. What a hopeless mess this engagement was, leaving everyone with a mountain of questions and no answers whatsoever.

And yet her papa had given her his blessings. No easy decision for him; he had written her as much: that he respected her wishes and would not object to their marriage. Charlotte sighed. Letters were the easy part; explaining everything from face to face would turn into a challenge.

For a few moments during Sidney’s proposal, she had believed she saw a different man, a vulnerable man, someone she might come if not to love, then at least to like. Such a ridiculous notion! Even the seagulls, watching from the rooftops, seemed to be mocking her these days.

But she knew how to raise her spirits. Distraction was always easy to be found in Sanditon and nowhere quicker than at the construction site. 

 

The smile had returned to Charlotte’s face by the time she reached the poster wall promoting the many delights of the town: a rendition of Cinderella, Mr Thomas Parker’s bathing machines and an exhibition of a giant sea serpent, to name just a few. But the main delight was, of course, the miracle that was to be Waterloo Terrace. Now that Charlotte knew this was where Sidney Parker wanted to buy a home, she regarded the nearly finished buildings with new interest. 

“Miss Heywood!” James Stringer had detected her, lifting his hat and waving at her. “Well met.”

“Well met indeed, Mr Stringer,” she replied, answering his smile. A little chat about dormer windows and the choice of roof tiles was definitely more to her taste than a discussion with Mr Hankins about spinners, toilers and the entire flower garden. 

 

*

 

All the way back from London down to Sanditon, Sidney had been trying to ignore Tom’s conversation, which was a wild mix of enthusiasm (about the prospect of a romantic wedding), fear (that Lady Denham might work out the reasons for the engagement) and accusation (because he had not succeeded in finding a new physician for Sanditon and now blamed his brother for the loss of Doctor Fuchs). 

Sidney had hoped to work out his next steps with Miss Heywood, on how to relay her father’s words to her, how to discuss the future that, like it or not, they would face together now. Maybe apologise for piano and embroidery. Or even tell her that he did not regret their engagement as much as he had expected to. 

But that was obviously the wrong thing to say to one’s fiancée, however true it was. And then he realised that of the many wounds the Eliza affair had inflicted on him, the worst one was definitely that he had forgotten how to court a woman. How to be kind and attentive and pay a compliment. How to invite her for a dance, a walk or a carriage ride. How to feel anything but the greatest terror at the idea of trust, of opening up, of sharing his truest self with someone.

“Aaah,” Tom exhaled as the carriage was nearing the town. “Sea air! Sanditon air! Still better than any medicine or tonic!”

Sidney nodded, hoping that would suffice to make his brother shut up. He had to follow those previous thoughts. How to court a woman. Did he want to court Miss Heywood? And if so, would she want to be courted? And what was the use of it since they were engaged already?

 

By the time the carriage drew up in front of Trafalgar House, he had come to the conclusion that maybe there was some profit in trying to rewrite his history with Charlotte Heywood. 

“Hello!” Tom cried merrily when, despite an open front door, no one came out to meet them. “We are back!” A terrifying cry of pain was the answer. “Oh! Wickens! What’s going on here?” 

Sidney followed his brother inside, finding himself facing a scene that was absolutely reminiscent of a battlefield. In the drawing-room, the table had been converted into a makeshift stretcher for an elderly man who was crying for his dear life in agony. Young Stringer was holding him down while Wickens was pouring Tom’s best liquor into his mouth, and Miss Heywood – his Charlotte – was using Mary’s finest table cloth to catch the blood that was streaming from a ferocious looking wound on the man’s leg. “He’s losing too much blood,” Charlotte said, not paying attention to the new arrivals. “Wickens, give me a hand here… Mary, we need more water… keep the children out – Mr Stringer, just tell him… tell him about the sweetest memories of your childhood…” She sounded like an admiral giving orders in a naval battle, and a battle it was, no doubt. 

“Oh, my God.” Tom paled, then stumbled and sank on the next chair. Sidney did not care. Dropping his cane, shedding his hat, coat and jacket and rolling up his sleeves, he was by his fiancée’s side. “What has happened? What can I do?”

“Just hold him down really tight,” Charlotte said without so much as looking at him while applying a tourniquet on the smashed leg. “Mr Stringer has fallen off a ladder on the building site. We brought him here for treatment.” What did she have to do at the building site again? He had never heard of a woman so fascinated by bricks, tiles and mortar. Somehow, he had hoped their reunion would be a chance to… Old Stringer let out another howling cry of pain, and Sidney swallowed his annoyance. There were more pressing issues to tend to right now than his hopes and his fiancée’s choice of walks. 

“Mr Robinson has gone for the surgeon but –” she started, then cast a glance at Young Stringer. Sidney understood. If the surgeon did not arrive soon, his father would die from loss of blood. If the surgeon did arrive, he would probably declare the leg beyond saving. The Sanditon surgeon was a veteran from Napoleonic battlefields: he was known for not being fussy when it came to taking off a limb if it helped save the rest of the body. Either way, Old Stringer was about to lose either his life or his livelihood.

“This is terrible,” Tom mumbled somewhere in the background, and “Father!” Young Stringer cried as his father let out another blood-curdling groan. 

“Here’s the surgeon now!” Mary called from the door as a sturdy, bearded man pushed his way through, followed by Fred Robinson, Young Stringer’s second in command at the building site. 

“What do we have?” the surgeon asked, opening his leather bag and displaying all sorts of gruesome instruments.

“Mr Stringer has fallen off a ladder from a height of approximately ten feet,” Charlotte explained. “His lower right leg is broken. I’ve applied a tourniquet, but the bleeding won’t stop.” The surgeon nodded, putting on a leather apron and surveying the leg in question. If he was surprised to be briefed on the situation by a young woman, he did not show it. Maybe the years on the European battlefields had taught him not to wonder about anything anymore. 

“Well done, miss,” he said, testing the tourniquet. “The leg’s beyond saving, though, I’m afraid.”

“What?” Young Stringer let go of his father’s hand. 

“Sorry, young man. I’ve seen this too many times.”

“But…” Poor Stringer paled so quickly that Sidney hurried over to keep him from falling. Robinson took his place by his father’s side. 

“You cannot be serious,” Tom said from the background, then added: “If only we had a proper physician here at Sanditon!”

The surgeon turned away from his patient for a moment. “Sir, I have served on the battlefields of Corunna, Wagram, Jena, Auerstädt, Leipzig and Waterloo, to name just a few. I may not own the expertise to cure a lady’s cold or a gentleman’s headache, but I do recognise a smashed leg when I see it.”

Tom raised his hands in surrender. “I did not mean to doubt your aptitude for the task, surgeon. I was merely… considering our options for Sanditon.”

“If you think this is the appropriate moment to do so, sir,” the surgeon replied, returning to the table. “Now, as I said…”

“But that cannot be your last word!” It was Charlotte, of course, somehow managing to stare a man down who was one head taller than herself. “If you take his leg, he will lose his livelihood.”

“If he keeps his leg, he will lose his life. Can’t see how that would help him.”

“Please, sir,” Young Stringer pleaded. “My father is a stonemason. He cannot work with just one leg.” On the table, his father cried out in agony once more. Tom covered his ears.

“How can you be so cynical?” Charlotte turned to the surgeon again.

“I’m not cynical, miss. I’m a surgeon. I’ve learned my trade.”

“On the battlefields! But this is not a battlefield! This is Sanditon! This is a civilised society! You don’t have to hurry from casualty to casualty… this is just one man in need of your help. – Help,” she repeated, her eyes large, her expression passionate, her chest heaving with agitation. “Not service.” 

“Miss, this is hardly your business.”

“Is it not? It’s about a man’s livelihood! And you seem to be willing to condemn Mr Stringer to a life in poverty and dependency just because it will take more time to heal the leg than to take it off!”

The surgeon looked from Old Stringer to her. “Who are you again, miss?”

“I’m Charlotte Heywood. And the longer you wish to argue with me, the more Mr Stringer will suffer.” The surgeon shook his head, then eyed the leg a little closer. 

“You may build up a reputation,” she continued, calmer now. “As a surgeon. As a surgeon who rescues even the most hopeless cases.”

“What do you think?” the surgeon asked Young Stringer. “Do you accept the risk for your father if I try to set the leg?”

“I do,” Young Stringer said, nodding emphatically and staring at Charlotte as if he wanted to fall on his knees, kiss the hem of her dress, her hands and… probably even other parts of her anatomy. Time to get the announcements out, to make the engagement official, Sidney thought.

“This is going to be ugly,” the surgeon said. “You might want to leave, miss.”

“I’m not afraid of a little blood,” she replied. Sidney looked at Young Stringer, whose pleasant face showed a strange mix of sorrow and admiration at the same time.

“Come on, Mr Stringer,” he said, guiding the younger man towards Tom. “No one should have to see their father in such a state.”

“But…”

“My brother is right,” Tom agreed immediately, taking his foreman by his arm, probably grateful for an excuse to leave the scene himself. “Come with me, Young Stringer. We will wait this out in my office… divert ourselves with some fine new construction plans. Have you given the pagoda another thought?” – as if the pagoda were on top of the list of James Stringer’s cares right now.

“Well then,” the surgeon said, cleaning his hands. “Let’s get to work then, gentlemen… and… ahem, miss.”

Chapter 6: Confessions

Notes:

Thanks again for all your feedback. You seem to like jealous Sidney. So do I. He’ll be back. But first, there is another most pressing issue we have to attend to on our way to perfect happiness.

For some mysterious reason, the layout of this chapter was all messed up. I think it's sorted now, but in case someone stops speaking mid-sentence: just read on.

Previously…

 

Georgiana rejects Charlotte’s friendship when she hears about the engagement and welcomes Clara into her drawing-room. Sidney considers courting his fiancée, even though he has little idea how to do that. On their return to Sanditon, Tom and Sidney find Trafalgar House turned into a makeshift hospital. As Charlotte tries to save Old Stringer’s leg, Sidney realises he’s not the only one to admire her resourcefulness (and her cleavage).

***

 

Charlotte found Young Stringer pacing up and down the office, not remotely diverted from his father’s sufferings by Tom Parker’s prattle about a pagoda, a seaside promenade and a fountain square for Sanditon. His strong hands clenched into fists, the foreman looked as if he was going to use them any moment – either against Tom Parker’s model of Sanditon or against his employer himself. His hands and his overall expression only relaxed when he noticed Charlotte.

“You can see your father now, Mr Stringer,” she said with a warm smile.

“Miss…” He grabbed for her hands, covering them with his, then, realising the impropriety of the action, let go of them immediately. “His leg…”

“The surgeon believes there is a chance of a recovery – but to which extent, he would not say.”

“We are so grateful, miss.” She returned his smile.

“Just go and see him, Mr Stringer. Mr Robinson is fetching a cart, and then you can bring him home.”

“Thank you.”

“What a welcome after our journey!” Tom Parker shook his head and drained a glass of sherry when his foreman had left for the drawing-room. “I had no idea you were so experienced in surgery, Charlotte.”

“Comes with many siblings and life on a farm,” she explained. “Someone’s always grazing their knee or falling from a tree.”

“Quite impressive, my dear, quite impressive.”

“I’ll just go and get changed,” she said, for her pretty white dress was not that white and pretty any longer. But when she turned around, she found herself face to face with her fiancé. 

“Mr Parker.”

“Miss Heywood.” 

Now that they were no longer fighting for Old Stringer’s leg, Charlotte was strangely tongue-tied. Yelling orders at Sidney Parker during moments of drama had been easy, and he had proven that he was a quick-thinking and reliable help when called upon in a crisis, not complaining about being ordered about by a woman. However, in essentials, he was still Sidney Parker, glaring down on her now from mysterious dark eyes. 

“But who will insist on such formalities now, Sidney, Charlotte?” Tom cried merrily. “In fact, it would seem very strange once the news of your engagement is out in the papers.” Charlotte saw Sidney’s mouth twitch as if the idea of using her first name was causing him physical pain. Or maybe hit was just his brother's meddling that he disliked.

“Let us move forward at our own pace, Tom, will you?” he asked. 

“Of course, of course. Only… I think… you and Charlotte are such excellent proof that happiness can be found on the shores of Sanditon…” Did he seriously believe they had found happiness? Charlotte wondered. She definitely had not and judging by Sidney’s expression, neither had he. Unperturbed, Tom Parker went on: “A large wedding party… that will work miracles on our reputation, don’t you think, brother?”

“I suppose Miss Heywood will wish to be married from her father’s house in Willingden,” Sidney said, nodding at Charlotte. Certainly, that was the custom, yet she had not expected him to be mindful of such details. 

“Oh, do you?” Tom asked large-eyed.

“I believe my parents will insist.”

“It may also add to the propriety of the occasion,” Sidney said. A young lady getting married away from home always implied that her family disapproved of the match. However, with his broody manners, disconcerting leather breeches and general disdain for decency, Charlotte had expected him to be precisely the type of man who did not care for such proprieties but would bundle his intended into a carriage and take her to Scotland for a quick wedding, no matter what the family said. A girl he had chosen for himself, of course. Not someone thrust upon him by a prudish clergyman.

“Then all we have to do now is to have the banns read and to set a date,” Tom determined, but before he could add another “Splendid” and proceed with the idea, Mary entered the office. A sorrowful looking Young Stringer was following her, accompanied by his sturdy friend Fred Robinson. 

“They are ready to leave now,” Mary said.

“Excellent,” Tom said. “Mr Stringer, all the best for your father. You shall see; he’ll be back to his best shape in no time at all.”

“I doubt it, sir, but thank you.” And turning to Charlotte and Sidney, the foreman added: “Miss Heywood… Mr Parker: thank you for… for everything you did.”

“I’ll call on your father in a few days,” Charlotte suggested. “Just to see how he is faring.”

“That would be very kind of you, miss.”

“Old Stringer had a lucky star shining on him, no doubt about that,” Tom declared, beaming at Charlotte. Fred, who had remained close to the entrance, looked up.

“A lucky star, sir? The man nearly lost his leg, and he’ll not be able to earn his living for weeks!”

“Fred,” Stringer quietly said, but Fred did not stop.

“And what was he doing on that ladder in the first place? He’s a stonemason, after all. He’s not supposed to be climbing up the scaffolding with a load of bricks. – Yet you know why he was up there, don’t you, Mr Parker?”

“Watch your tone, Mr Robinson,” Sidney warned. “You’re at your employer’s house.” Charlotte saw a vein throbbing on his forehead. But she also saw Tom Parker blush. 

“My employer!” Fred scoffed. “That same employer that has been promising more labourers for months without delivering any, forcing an old stonemason like Isaac Stringer to perform duties he’s not actually fit for? The same employer who has not paid us a penny in weeks?”

“What?” Sidney said.

“Tom?” Mary cried simultaneously, clearly aghast.

Charlotte wished for a second she could slip out of the room, but obviously, she could not: this was looking like a family matter, and she was a future part of that family.

Tom shrugged his shoulders, not meeting anyone’s eyes, his face a mess of nervous twitches. “A momentary situation. To be resolved as soon as the first houses are let.”

“Momentary?” Mary asked. “How can you be planning balls and weddings while our labourers don’t know how to feed their families, Tom?”

“Now you’re clearly over-dramatising, my dear.”

“I don’t think so, Tom,” Sidney said, very calm and severe now, turning to Stringer and Fred. “You will be paid; I give you my word on that. Please, see your father home, Mr Stringer, and come here again to meet me tomorrow in the morning.”

“Thank you, Mr Parker,” Stringer bowed his head.

When he and his friend were gone, Sidney turned to his brother again. “Now tell me what is going on here, Tom.” 

“Shouldn’t we be asking the ladies to leave?” Tom suggested.

“I don’t think so. Mary is your wife, and Miss Heywood is… my bride – don’t they deserve to know what they have let themselves in for?” Mary was in fact clutching Charlotte’s hand now, and Charlotte, feeling uncomfortable anyway because of her soiled dress and Sidney Parker’s presence, blushed at the word bride. Now, however, was not the moment for being over-sensitive.

Sidney made the ladies settle down in the armchairs in front of the fireplace while waiting for an explanation from his brother. Tom Parker kept pacing around the plaster model of Sanditon like a wild animal in captivity. “How bad is it?” he finally asked since his brother was not going to start the conversation. 

“It’s nothing beyond remedy. If only we attract the right kind of guests…”

“If,” Sidney said. “The labourers are entitled to their pay now .”

“A physician for Sanditon would have been an important improvement… the right signal…”

“I fail to see how a physician would ensure Mr Stringer and his men are being paid on time,” Sidney said. Charlotte realised that he was quickly losing patience. If only Mr Parker would spill it out. And was he again trying to blame his brother for the unfortunate doctor’s flight? 

“Maybe we can make a list of your obligations, Mr Parker,” she suggested, hoping to find a solution for what was obviously a grave situation. “Sort them by date and urgency. Then we’ll have a general overview and sum up a total.” She was already by the desk, collecting the stack of invoices she had sorted a few days ago. Sidney shot her a gaze that was nearly appreciative.

“Labourers’ pay,” he said, taking the papers from her and leafing through them. “Suppliers’ bills… building materials… the musicians for the ball… Is that all, Tom? Is there anything else we should know?”

“Ah… well…” Mr Parker’s eyes were darting everywhere and nowhere – but never to his wife or his brother.

“I’m going to pay Stringer and his men tomorrow,” Sidney said. “And I’m going to take care of these,” he added, wielding the invoices and leaving Charlotte wondering how wealthy the sensible, successful brother – her future husband – actually was.

“Brother, I cannot ask that of you.”

“You don’t ask me. – I choose to do it. But only if you’re honest with me. So is there anything else we need to know?”

“Tom!” Mary beseeched him.

“There is… ahem… in fact…” Mr Parker coughed and blushed even deeper while he righted the severed head of an ancient statue that was lying on its side on the mantelpiece. To no avail: the head would not stay in the vertical.

“There’s what?” Sidney asked, impatient now.

“Well, there might be the matter of the insurance,” Mr Parker finally admitted, turning the colour of a beetroot now. 

“Which insurance?” Again, there was a vein throbbing on Sidney’s forehead. Charlotte knew little about insurances, but she knew for certain that her father, careful man that he was, had his property insured against hazards such as fire or lightning. He could not afford, he claimed, to have his large family left with nothing should the worst happen.

“The insurance,” Mr Parker explained, now searching his brother’s gaze as if all further information might be communicated through their eyes and not to the ears of the ladies. But Sidney Parker was not going to consider female sensitivities.

“Are you telling me that the Sanditon venture is not insured, Tom?”

“Technically, it is insured,” his brother said. “Though the premiums have not been paid.”

“Leaving the insurance cover invalid,” Sidney filled in, blanching and nearly stumbling backwards against the plaster model of his brother’s dream of a seaside resort. Next to Charlotte, Mary moaned and held a hand to her mouth. “Tom…” she muttered, tears welling up to her eyes.

“My dearest…” her husband started, but she turned her head away from him, covering her face. 

“How much?” Sidney asked in a very calm voice – too calm, Charlotte thought.

“What do you mean?” Tom said, busying himself again with the severed head that would not stay upright.

“How much is Lady Denham’s investment?” Sidney clarified, impatiently tapping his thumb on the plaster model and nearly knocking over the lighthouse in the process.

Tom mumbled something unintelligible.

“I didn’t hear you!” his brother roared, making Charlotte shiver.

“Eighty-thousand,” the great projector clarified in a hushed voice, addressing the severed head.

Charlotte gasped. Eighty-thousand pounds? Was such a sum even possible?

“Eighty-thousand!” Sidney yelled, and with that yell, he seemed to grow and tower over his brother. “You are responsible for a development project worth an investment of eighty-thousand pounds, Tom, and you don’t even bother to take a safeguard against peril?” Tom did not meet anyone’s eye - not even that of his dearest wife. “What kind of businessman are you, brother?” Sidney went on. “Or are you no businessman at all but a reckless gambler?”

“Now this is very insulting, Sidney!”

“Insulting? You are insulting your investors! And your wife and children! What if a storm front hits Sanditon, destroying your building site? If there’s a flooding, damaging the foundations? If a fire breaks out and burns down half of the town?”

“You are painting a very black picture,” Tom said peevishly. “These insurance brokers are worse than highwaymen, you must know. They will tell you the end of the world is nigh and charge you accordingly.”

“I do know!” Sidney shouted, and now Charlotte realised that the last time she had seen him so angry was back at the ball, when she had told him… oh. Had she actually told him that she believed Tom Parker was careless in his devotion to Sanditon? “I do know,” Sidney repeated, “because I take out insurance cover for my businesses as well. Because the highest premium is a better price to pay than subjecting your family to the misery of a debtor’s prison!”

Mary looked up, panic in her eyes. But Sidney was not going to be merciful: “Or where do you expect to end should Lady Denham call back her investment before the place yields any profit?”

Tom Parker opened his mouth but closed it again without saying a word, resembling a fish out of the water. Suddenly, Sidney turned to Charlotte. “You may wish to reconsider your consent to marry into this family, Miss Heywood. You may get out of the engagement honourably, claiming that you have been deceived about our financial situation.”

“But that would be most unfortunate in the present situation,” Tom Parker quickly said, wiping his forehead. “Send the very wrong signals to our investors.” Sidney’s mouth twitched, and for a moment, Charlotte feared he would launch himself at his brother and beat the lights out of him.

“I’m not going to decide such a matter in the state of emotional turmoil we are all in right now,” she quickly said.

“Right,” Sidney nodded, calmer now. “Your decision. Just wanted to make you aware of the possibility. – Now, Tom. I need all details about the insurance. After my meeting with Stringer tomorrow morning, I’ll be heading straight back to London to sort that business out. – No,” he raised his hand, seeing his brother prepare for another objection. “I don’t want to hear anything from you. I’m going to bail you out of this, and in the meantime, you take care of your wife and family.” He gently squeezed Mary’s shoulder. Charlotte had another idea.

“But Mr Parker?” As both Mr Parkers looked at her, she turned to her Mr Parker. “If the building site is so vulnerable… maybe… maybe we should engage a watchman? During the night and for the hours the labourers are not there, at least until the insurance situation is resolved? Surely, it’s another expense, but…”

“Better safe than sorry.” Sidney nodded. “I agree.”

He agreed? With her? The situation must be really grave, or he in too deep shock about his brother’s actions, or probably both, if he voluntarily agreed with her. 

“Well then,” she said, blushing. “I’d… I’d like to go and change if I’m no longer needed.” Since it was obvious that she had to get out of the dress stained with Old Stringer’s blood, no one objected. 

 

How confounding everything was, Charlotte thought when she had retired to her room. She was standing by the window now, the change of clothes forgotten, gazing out at the sea and the seagulls circling towards the blurred horizon. Had her father known about the Sanditon venture’s volatility, he would not have given his consent to the marriage. She was sure about that. Tom Parker, acting so recklessly! Sidney Parker, taking charge of the situation so forcefully and resolutely. He was the sensible brother indeed, clearly knowing which path of action to take to resolve Mr Tom's predicament… even finding a backdoor out of the engagement they had trapped themselves in.

All she had to do now was open that door and walk through it. 

Chapter 7: Mediation

Notes:

The only way I can thank you for all your feedback and support is by adding another chapter: so here it is.

I suppose you have locked the back doors to keep our Charlotte from making an escape?

 

Previously…

In the wake of Old Stringer’s accident, Tom’s debts come to light. Sidney steps in and promises to take care of the labourer’s pay and the outstanding insurance premium. Charlotte is impressed by his forceful and resolute manner but is thrown into doubt when Sidney points out that his family’s precarious financial status might open a door for her to back out of the engagement honourably…

***

 

After a short and restless night in his room in The Crown, Sidney returned to Trafalgar House early the next morning, claimed Tom’s desk in the office and told his brother to entertain his wife and children. Then he rolled up his sleeves and immersed himself in the finances of the grand project that was the development of Sanditon – and more than once found his mind wandering into an entirely different direction.

Charlotte Heywood.

Would she take the bait he had offered her and back out of an engagement she had never wanted in the first place? And since he would be free of any obligation towards her if she did: Why did he not feel outright relief at the idea? 

Because in the mess and turmoil of the previous day, she had turned out to be a sound voice of reason. He could not think of many women of his acquaintance who would treat a smashed leg without fainting, shout at a battlefield-proven surgeon, stay level-headed when faced with financial disaster and even show the good sense to send a watchman to an exposed building site - all within one hour. 

Yet, however admirable her actions were: no man ever wanted to marry a woman who sounded like the voice of reason. A man in need of a voice of reason would turn to his mother. Or sister. Well, maybe even sister-in-law, in his particular case.

Men on the marriage path looked for accomplished women: someone like Clara Brereton, who would make a formidable housewife and provide a comfortable home – if one cared for the pleasures of piano and embroidery. 

Or they wanted to marry a woman because they were befuddled by her deceptive beauty: a woman like Esther Denham who would always pretend to despise her husband just to remain desirable to him.

Or they wanted to marry a woman because they were complete fools and believed they had found perfect happiness with the sweetest angel that walked the earth. The type of woman inducing that illusion he knew very well. The one smiling and simpering and flattering and whispering sweet promises. The one who made a man believe himself in heaven, only to drop him until he found himself in hell. Or in Antigua. Paralysed, with a jaded heart and frozen emotions.

He sighed and looked up, realising belatedly that there she was: the voice of reason. The girl that knew nothing about piano and embroidery, the girl that was too honest to be deceptive, the girl that never simpered and flattered, especially if Sidney Parker was involved: his fiancée, standing by the plaster model of Sanditon, gazing at him timidly. He stood and bowed. “Miss Heywood.”

“Mr Parker.” She curtsied. Her voice was slightly husky, as he had noticed it to be when she felt cornered. “I’m sorry. – Good morning that is. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You’re not disturbing me.” Indeed, she was not. Voice of reason or not, she was such a pleasant sight in her unpretentious white morning dress, wearing her hair parted sideways in her own unique style, the curls tumbling down on her shoulders, her complexion fresh and healthy with those tiny little freckles on her button nose, her eyes wide and shining, her lips full and rosy, the sweet little dimple in her chin only adding to the general charm of her countenance. “I’m actually glad to catch you alone for a moment,” Sidney said, clearing his throat. “We did not have the opportunity to talk yesterday.” 

“No,” Charlotte replied with a small smile. “We were all rather busy.”

“You were. And I must admit… you have given a good account of yourself. I should never have guessed you were so… resourceful.” You have given a good account of yourself?  Was it conceivable that, along with his jaded heart and frozen emotions, he had forgotten how to pay a woman a compliment? Especially an honest compliment that she fully deserved? 

But if his fiancée found his choice of words condescending, she was kind enough not show it. “Because I did not faint at the sight of a little blood? Or upon hearing about your brother’s debts?” she asked, a bright sparkle in her eyes, the small smile still on her lips.

“Because you saved a man’s leg and thought about guarding a building site worth eighty-thousand pounds?” he suggested. Somehow, the sudden blush on her face made his jaded heart feel very much alive for a second.

“Is that a compliment?” she asked.

“It is,” he confirmed. There was nothing flirty in her demeanour: of course, she had to make sure he was not going to rebuke her for unladylike behaviour or yelling orders at men before she accepted his praise.

“Thank you. But you were very helpful yourself.” Helpful? He cocked an eyebrow.

“With Old Stringer or my brother’s predicament?” 

“Both. And especially since you seem to be the one paying the price for both incidents. – I think I owe you an apology, Mr Parker.” She was very serious now. Sidney cleared his throat again. Somehow, her large luminous eyes seemed even larger when she looked up to him like that. 

“You don’t owe me an apology, Miss Heywood.”

“But I do. When you discussed… when you discussed our… engagement as if it were a business proposition, I was stunned by your apparent lack of empathy and emotion,” Charlotte explained. “But yesterday, you offered so quickly to help your brother and to make sure the labourers are getting the pay they are due.”

“That’s a business proposition again, Miss Heywood,” he said levelly, walking over to the fireplace to get out of her sphere. Tapping the mantelpiece with his thumb, he added: “I have an investment in Sanditon as well. Small, compared to Lady Denham, who is the principal financier, but there it is. If the venture goes down, so does my investment… and my reputation, should my brother end in debtor’s prison.” A cute little frown appeared on her face.

“Is that really all you are thinking about? Business and profit and your reputation?” Cute?  Sidney cleared his throat. As a side-effect of being engaged, he was obviously going soft in his head.

“No. It’s not all I’m thinking about. But it’s an area of thinking I’m feeling comfortable with. – Have you considered yesterday’s offer?” he added before she could inquire which areas of thinking he was not feeling comfortable with.

“I have, but I haven’t come to a decision yet. You’ve met my father… I’m sure it wasn’t easy to get his blessing.”

“It was not, no. He turned me down the first time and only agreed after he had read your letter.” Again, Sidney wondered what she had written in that letter. And why there had been a third letter. But since they were discussing ending the engagement now, it seemed pointless to ask. 

“And after that difficulty and urgency, and with the announcement due in the papers today, how am I to explain to my family that it was all a mistake? That it’s over before it actually began?” Charlotte sighed. “I have written to Alison. I’ve asked her what Papa thinks about the engagement, now that he’s had time to get used to the idea, and how he might react if I end it.” 

Of course, the famous Alison. So their destiny was in the hands of an eighteen-year-old country girl that had tried to hit him with a cricket ball? Sidney tapped the mantelpiece again. He had made the mistake of underestimating a Miss Heywood once before – he was not going to repeat it.

“I fear if I return to Willingden now, my father will never let me go anywhere close to society again,” Charlotte went on. “Or any of my sisters, for that matter. He’ll just see his point proven that it is safest to stay at home.” So would she maintain the engagement because she did not want to go home? Sidney wondered. 

“Who would have thought that being engaged is so complicated?” she asked after a moment, looking up to him with a droll questioning smile. 

Sidney did not return the smile. He felt his mouth twitch. Unknowingly, she had hit a sensitive spot again. It was his second engagement, and with every day passing, it became even more complicated and doomed than the first one. Clenching his jaw and struggling for a neutral expression, he asked: “So we’ll keep the door open but not walk through right now?”

“Yes. Unless… unless there is a reason for you to wish to end it.”

Sidney frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe there is someone you truly wish to marry? Not following your brother’s orders?”

“I still consider myself ill-suited for marriage and destined to remain alone. That fact hasn’t changed over the last week.”

“I see.” She stared down at her feet, biting her lip.

“What is it?” he asked. He knew that expression too well. There was something on her mind. When she looked up, she fully met his gaze.

“I was just thinking about how sad it is to say something like that about oneself. That you are destined to remain alone. – And now you will tell me that I speak out of turn and that you don’t care a fig about what I have to say.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I asked you to speak your mind. Actually… there may be some value in what you say.” And on top of that: it did not feel wrong to share these thoughts with her. And it felt even better to know that she cared about what he was thinking about himself.

Wickens came in, interrupting their conversation – or whatever it was. “The foreman is here to see you, sir. Mr Stringer.”

“Ah, yes. Send him in.” Sidney turned away from Charlotte, concentrating on the task at hand. 

“Do you mind if I stay?” she asked.

“Not at all.” 

“Mr Parker!” Young Stringer rushed in, his hat in his hand, then suddenly stopped when he noticed Charlotte. “Miss Heywood. Well met.” He bowed, beaming now. 

“Good morning, Mr Stringer.” She returned his smile. “How is your father doing today?”

“We had a bit of a rough night, but I trust he’ll pull through. It’s all thanks to you, miss. You saved his life.”

“Only his leg, Mr Stringer. And that was mostly the surgeon’s work.”

“Yes, but without you…” Young Stringer shook his head, and underneath the sorrow about the previous day’s events, Sidney detected the familiar admiration for his fiancée. An admiration that went beyond gratefulness for a saved leg: an admiration that expressed itself in luminous eyes at the sight of Charlotte Heywood’s smile and an apparent inability to look anywhere else than at Charlotte Heywood herself. Who was either too artless or too naïve to notice. 

“Ahem,” Sidney said, reaching into his pocket and holding up a leather pouch. “I’ve got the pay for your men here, Mr Stringer. That should be enough for what is outstanding, for the coming weeks and additional labourers.”

Finally, the foreman took his eyes off Charlotte. “Thank you, sir.”

“Just check the sum and sign the receipt here.” While Stringer counted the coins, Sidney tried to read Charlotte’s expression. She seemed to be genuinely happy to see the young man, but was that because she admired him or his work? Or was she in all her goodness generally glad to see the foreman’s troubles solved? Would it do to tell her to stay away from the building site while he was in London? No, it would not. She would most likely get angry and think him overbearing. Which would only give her another reason to walk through that back door.

“I’d also ask you to organise a watchman for Waterloo Terrace,” Sidney said as Stringer concluded the counting and signed the paper. “For the night and when there’s no one on the site.” The foreman looked up.

“Any reason to worry, sir?”

“No. Just a precaution.” He shot a glance at Charlotte, who was quietly leafing through Tom’s correspondence with the insurance company. “And… Mr Stringer, two more things. If the situation ever becomes that grave again, please come to me directly.”

“I will, sir.”

“And I expect this matter to remain between us. I don’t want to hear any harsh words from the labourers about my brother and the state of the works.”

“Understood, sir.” Stringer pocketed the leather pouch. “Good day, Miss Heywood.” She looked up from the letter she was reading.

“Good day, Mr Stringer. And give my best wishes to your father. I’ll call on him soon if I may.” 

“We would be honoured, miss,” the foreman said with a small bow. Sidney felt his mouth twitch. He could hardly ban his fiancée from visiting the sickbed of a man whose leg (or life, or both) she had saved. Bans, he had an inkling, would not work with her at all.

“That’s it then,” he said, folding the receipt. “I’ll pay a visit to Georgiana, and then I’m off to London again.”

“Oh, Georgiana…” Charlotte blushed. “I’ve been meaning to inform you… I… I told her about the engagement. She wasn’t actually exhilarated.”

“No.” Sidney sighed. “I didn’t expect her to be.”

“But her anger is mostly with me.”

“Again, no surprise, since she’s angry with me already.”

“She believes I’m your spy, trying to gain her confidence.”

“I fear nothing I can say will convince her of the opposite.” Sidney was actually feeling a little sorry for Charlotte. He would have to cope with Babington’s and Crowe’s teasing once they had opened today’s newspaper and seen the announcement, but he would not have to sacrifice their friendship.

“She basically threw me out when Miss Brereton came to call yesterday,” Charlotte went on. 

“Miss Brereton? Well, there’s someone to teach Georgiana female accomplishments and ladylike behaviour,” he said without thinking. Charlotte raised an eyebrow.

“Because you so much appreciate women who are sitting in their guardian’s house with their piano and their embroidery, waiting for someone to come along and take them off your hands?”

Sidney gasped. “No, I…” 

Why, oh, why did it always happen again and again? Why was he utterly incapable of having a conversation with Charlotte Heywood without offending her at some stage? – And why was he feeling guilty about it if she was the one who time and again wound him up?

“I believe you are a friend of Miss Brereton’s as well,” he said somewhat frostily.

“Yes, I believed so too for a while,” Charlotte replied without looking at him. He sighed; he was a businessman trying to save his brother’s grand project and reputation. He had no patience for tales of jealousy among the young ladies of Sanditon.

“Anyway. Time for me to leave. We'll continue our conversation when I come back from London, Miss Heywood.”

“Goodbye, Mr Parker. I wish you every success with the insurance company.” The smile she bestowed on him was nothing compared to the beaming face she had had for Stringer, and it made Sidney feel oddly lost and cold. The back door was still open, and he was sure she was only waiting for the right moment to walk through.

 

 

Notes:

It may take a little longer until the next update, I’m afraid. RL is calling. Keep an eye on the back door!

Chapter 8: Interrogation

Notes:

Thank you for keeping an eye on the back door while I was out in RL!
I understand the door is nailed, glued, bolted, locked (several times, with the keys thrown away), secured with a chair wedged under the knob and a bookshelf in front of it, and guarded by a number of Sanditon sisters, a watchman and at least one angry dog. That should do the job.

This chapter is a bit of a mess. It ended up much longer than I anticipated and contains some of the silliest lines I’ve ever written. I apologise in advance and just add a gentle reminder that I am not a native English speaker. If what you read does not make any sense at all: that’s the explanation.

Previously...

Before leaving for London to sort out his brother’s insurance business, Sidney has an open conversation with Charlotte, complimenting her on her resourcefulness during crisis. However, when Young Stringer enters the scene to collect the labourer’s pay, jealous Sidney returns, and they part on less friendly terms. 

Charlotte has written to Alison for advice on her engagement: the question of the back door remains unresolved for the moment.

***

 

If Tom Parker had one admirable quality, then it was how easily he managed to forget his past failures and put his energy into the next scheme. In this case, it was the happy announcement the London newspapers brought to Sanditon, namely the engagement of Mr Sidney Parker, Bedford Place, Bloomsbury, and Miss Charlotte Heywood, Willingden, Sussex. 

Tom Parker walked about his little town as if he was the sole engineer of happiness, and when asked about the joyful event, he twirled his cane and gladly implied that he had known his brother and his guest were meant for each other from the very second they first met. 

It did not matter that he had not been present for the meeting, or that the only other witness – his dearest wife – had a slightly different memory of the encounter: he was now determined to promote Sanditon as the place where young ladies from nowhere were safe to find their prince charming. And as the experience of being humiliated by two of his labourers in front of his wife, his brother, and his future sister-in-law had taught him not much, he was utterly oblivious to any doubts or misgivings – or even the bride’s feelings on the matter. It would have helped if the humiliation had occurred in front of a larger audience – let’s say a crowd of spectators during a game of sports – but that was not the case, and Mr Parker remained full of his very own Tom-ness.

Charlotte found it very difficult to accept the various congratulations and good wishes. She found it difficult to bear the giggle of the Beaufort sisters when she called on Georgiana. She found it difficult to handle Georgiana’s refusal to see her. She found it difficult to navigate Sanditon’s street without bumping into the vicar, who was most eager to start his educative bible lessons with her. She found it difficult to accept Alison’s reply to her letter: that their dear papa, while still not happy about the speed in which the engagement had come about, was warming to the idea of having his eldest girl married to a severe young businessman. Careful man that he was, Mr Heywood very much preferred professional seriousness in a suitor to youthful folly.

But what Charlotte found most difficult to bear was Tom’s bragging about how his brother was a changed man now that he had found happiness. 

Sidney Parker was definitely not a changed man. His strategy of allowing her to come closer only to push her away even more forcefully did nothing to increase his chances of ever finding happiness. For some precious moments during the dramatic events around Old Stringer’s accident and the following morning, Charlotte had allowed herself to believe that there was a way, if not to mutual love and affection, then at least to mutual respect and understanding. She had even hoped to find out how his feelings had been wounded, how he had come to believe that he was ill-suited for marriage. 

Instead, they had parted on bad terms once again, and with every well-wisher on her engagement, the back door Tom Parker’s mismanagement had opened for them closed a little further.

A few days after the announcement and on her return from another futile morning visit to Georgiana, Charlotte stopped once more in front of Sidney’s portrait in the hallway of Trafalgar House. 

How that painting had fascinated and vexed her from the very first moment! Just like its sitter. It was very much like him – and not at all at the same time. And how strange it was to have the likeness of one’s younger brother on display at such a prominent spot of the house! The portraits of the late Mr and Mrs Parker were relegated to the upper corridor. The parents were hardly ever referred to by either of their children, but whether that was due to negligence or lingering pain about their loss, Charlotte could not say. 

Mary had told her that Mrs Parker, née Jane Sidney, had succumbed to an unspecified illness when Arthur was but a toddler: here was an explanation for Diana’s protectiveness. Mr Henry Parker had died when all children but his eldest son were still underage, leaving Tom at the age of twenty-two as the guardian of four younger siblings. Four younger siblings? Charlotte thought but did not dare to ask further: as the eldest of fourteen that were now only twelve, she knew how agonising the loss of a brother or a sister was. And maybe the responsibility Tom Parker had taken on so early in his life explained something about his astonishing ability to bend any situation in a direction that would suit him.

Charlotte’s gaze returned to Sidney’s likeness, the defiance in his eyes, the arrogant line around his mouth. And yet, as in the real man, there was something – 

A sharp knock on the front door interrupted her musings. Wickens hurried to open, and Charlotte looked her doom and destiny straight into the eye: It was Mr Hankins, lifting his flat vicar’s hat and bestowing a complacent smile on her. “Miss Heywood. I was hoping to find you in the safe haven of your hosts’ home.”

“Oh, I… I…” Charlotte started, desperately searching for a chore that might keep her from seeing the vicar now but unable to remember any. It would not help anyway: Mr Hankins would persist and return. And Sanditon was a small town. She would not be able to escape him forever. So with a small sigh, she resigned herself to her fate, put on a brave face as the vicar handed his hat and coat to Wickens, and invited her guest into the drawing-room.

“It is my sad understanding,” Mr Hankins said as he settled down at the table, “that a date for your nuptials has not yet been set.”

“No, we… umm…” Charlotte sought an excuse that did not include back doors and potential financial ruin. “We’ll be getting married in Willingden, and of course, my parents have a say in the matter.”  

“I see.” Mr Hankins eyed her suspiciously, stroking his rather impressive sideburns as he did so. “I do consider contacting your father to apprise him of the particular delicacy and urgency of your situation.”

“That will not be necessary,” Charlotte quickly reassured him. “Mr Parker has seen my parents and received their blessings. In fact… in fact, I have just had a letter from my sister telling me how much our father values Mr Parker. – But Willingden is a farming community, and an event such as a great wedding has to be arranged around the harvest schedule,” she added, hoping that the vicar was not all too familiar with said schedule. “I believe it will be all done by the end of the summer.” With a sinking heart, she realised that the back door out of her engagement was closing further with every word she spoke.

“This will provide me with a broader timeline to prepare you for your future tasks, Miss Heywood,” Mr Hankins announced. “It is my fundamental duty to ensure that you enter the holy state of matrimony in a humble mind and fully prepared for your new role. I should wish to point out though that I do not condone long periods of engagement. It’s a sensitive time in a young woman’s life in which her innocence is often troubled by temptation.” He cast a stern glance at Charlotte, who choked on the remark that so far, she had only been troubled by the temptation to shove her fiancé off some elevated point, be it the ballroom’s balcony, the building site’s scaffolding or the clifftop.

Seeing her mind wandering, the vicar cleared his throat. “You will be safe once you’ve settled under the protective wings of your husband, who will provide you guidance in all matters... in all matters,” he emphasised.

Rather than guidance, my future husband is more likely to provide an endless succession of assumptions, repercussions and misunderstandings, Charlotte thought with a soft sigh.

“I presume you are familiar with the words of the Apostle Paul, Miss Heywood?” Mr Hankins went on. “Neither was the man created for the woman; but the woman for the man. Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord.”

“Yes,” Charlotte confirmed, hoping they might skip over this part very quickly.

“And why is that so?” the vicar asked, opening his Bible. Charlotte shrugged her shoulders.

“Because… that’s what the Apostle says?” she suggested.

“Because that’s what the Lord says,” Mr Hankins corrected, a rather smug expression on his face as if he wanted to add: I knew you’d be in dire need of these lessons, missy. “And the Lord God said: It is not good that man should be alone; I will make him a help-meet,”  he read.  “A help-meet, Miss Heywood. Someone to support and assist their husband in all his plans and aspirations.”

“I believe if I look up to Mrs Thomas Parker, I will find a perfect example of how to be a good wife to a husband full of plans and aspirations,” Charlotte said. 

“And yet it was under Mrs Parker supervision that the regrettable incident occurred which led to your current situation,” Mr Hankins reminded her. “A virtuous paragon is not easy to be found. I suggest you raise your eyes to the excellent Mrs Griffiths.” He fondled his sideburns again. 

He had actually very thick and long sideburns, Charlotte thought. Very different from Sidney Parker, who wore his sideburns short and trim, not as means to hide part of his face, but merely to accentuate his ears – very fine ears, one had to admit, the auricles forming completely regular ovals ending in perfectly shaped earlobes. 

She gave an exasperated sigh. Why would she be thinking about Sidney Parker’s ears? 

Because everything would be so much easier if only her… her grumpy… her grumpy crumpet of a fiancé did not look like a dashing hero who had stepped right off the silly romance novels her younger sisters loved to read.

“Ahem.” The vicar clearing his throat made Charlotte return to reality. “Do I have your attention, Miss Heywood?”

“Yes. Of course. I’m sorry. I was distracted.”

“Distraction is a state a young woman is quickly found in. And it is a dangerous state, I daresay, as a young lady’s reputation is fragile and easily compromised once she is about to be... to be plucked. – We were discussing the qualities of a pious woman. It is in synergy with her husband that she will thrive… that she will blossom… blossom like a flower.”

“I see. Thank you.” Charlotte had a sneaky feeling that Mr Sidney Parker would deny being in need of someone to share synergies with, considering himself an outlier as he did. And he would roll his eyes at the idea of the ubiquitous Miss Heywood blossoming like a flower: he would claim she was a very persistent weed.

Mr Hankins, however, having returned to his favourite botanical theme, went on: “You will soon find that in a marriage, the husband is like a tree… strong and solid, rooted into the ground, the mighty canopy offering protection and a safe haven in moments of need and peril.” For a few seconds, he stared into the distance, apparently lost in awe of himself and his own powerful words. Then he returned to his subject: “The dutiful wife, however, will be like the ivy, wrapping herself around his solid trunk, clinging to him for the relief his forceful strength will provide.” 

Charlotte did not know what to say, especially since the vicar was stroking his sideburns again and seemed to have forgotten her presence entirely. “Thank you,” she finally uttered. “I shall keep that in my mind.” Mr Hankins looked up.

“Umm. Ahem. I suggest we proceed by reading more of what the Apostle has to say on…”

Mercifully, a knock on the door averted any further teachings.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt, Mr Hankins.” Mary stuck her head in, and never had Charlotte been so grateful for seeing her hostess. “We will have to suspend your lessons. Lady Denham has sent a message for Miss Heywood. – She expects you to come to Sanditon House this afternoon, Charlotte.” This was a quick return to reality.

“She expects me to come to Sanditon House?” Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “That is an interesting way to phrase an invitation.”

“I fear it’s not an invitation but an interrogation.” Mary sighed, her expression sorrowful as always. “She’ll want to hear all about the engagement.”

“Then I better make sure I’m well prepared.” And there went the afternoon she had hoped to spend by the river with Alicia, Jenny and Henry.

“We shall continue our lesson soon,” the vicar announced, collecting his Bible. “Good day, Miss Heywood.”

 

Mary insisted Charlotte accepted her maid’s services, first to dress her hair, then as a chaperone to accompany her on the walk to Sanditon House. There were no more lonely strolls outside Sanditon town for Charlotte: feeling she had neglected her duties as her hostess once, Mary was now adamant when it came to appropriate behaviour. Nevertheless, Charlotte enjoyed the exertion, the view and the opportunity to recollect her spirits after the vicar’s somewhat confounding utterings.

Lady Denham was expecting her guest in the drawing-room, a huge cave-like hall whose frightening more-than-life-sized paintings and sinister red mosaic snake on the black marble floor made Charlotte shiver. The room was sparsely furnished, with two chairs and a side table in front of the empty fireplace, a piano – now occupied by Clara – and a sofa on which Sir Edward Denham was lounging, resting his sprained ankle on a low stool – a reminder of Doctor Fuchs’s unfortunate demonstration in this very room. Esther Denham was by her brother’s side, leaning her elbow on the armrest and her chin on her hand, forming the very picture of haughtiness and ennui.

Charlotte made her curtseys, said her how-do-you-dos and received their congratulations – if, in fact, they were meant as congratulations: “Such passion,” Sir Edward said. “Who would have thought that of Sidney Parker?”

“Yes, who indeed,” Miss Denham added with a yawn. Clara stopped playing the piano and smiled sweetly. 

“I wish you all the best, Charlotte. I tried to convince Miss Lambe not to take her grievances with her guardian out on you, but she still feels very upset about your breach of confidence.”

“I see,” Charlotte said, now feeling upset as well. There was a time – not too long ago, actually – when she had hoped to be friends with Clara, but ever since witnessing that strange incident in the park and Clara’s and Sir Edward’s attempts at blaming each other for whatever she had seen, she had found it difficult to trust her fully. Clara endearing herself to Georgiana combined with Sidney Parker naming her as a beacon of female accomplishments did not improve the situation.

“Miss Heywood!” Lady Denham barked from her armchair. “Come here, sit with me.”

Charlotte duly sat down with her ladyship. Cold and empty as the drawing-room was, its sheer size meant that she was now out of earshot of the Denham siblings. Clara had returned to playing the piano, and Miss Denham simply continued staring into the void, looking distant and aloof and as if she was not aware of Sir Edward watching Clara with a disturbingly hungry expression on his face.

“Tell me, Miss Heywood,” Lady Denham said. “Has Mr Tom recovered from the fake physician’s scandalous flight?”

“I believe Doctor Fuchs is a learned man who provided excellent credits, ma’am,” Charlotte replied, suppressing a sigh. There seemed to be no end to the saga of the unfortunate doctor.

“Poppycock and nonsense!” her ladyship cried. “Mr Tom Parker is far too gullible, but I have a sharp eye; I recognise a charlatan when I see one. – Everything about that man was fake. His hair dye, his glasses, even his accent… with a little research, this celebrated Doctor Fuchs from some fancy German place will turn into a very ordinary Mr Fox who was previously selling spring water claiming it was tonic from Scarborough spa.”

“I’ve never tried tonic from Scarborough,” Charlotte said, feeling slightly confused. 

“Of course, you haven’t.” Her ladyship shook her head. “I didn’t expect you to. Half a tumbler of seawater every day, that’s what  I  recommend. – Well, at least the drawing-room floor received a good scrubbing down after being flooded.” – and for a few moments, she contemplated that very same floor with the shiny red mosaic snake poking its tongue at them. “Now,” Lady Denham finally said. “This engagement of yours, Miss Heywood. I want to hear it all. Were you and Mr Sidney being caught during an act of indecency?”

“What?” Charlotte sat up straight. “What makes your ladyship think that?” Lady Denham shrugged her shoulders.

“A pretty young girl… catches the eye of a handsome gentleman… it would not be the first time.”

“I assure you, ma’am…” The old lady raised a hand.

“Oh, don’t assure me, Miss Heywood. You assured me once you were not here for hunting a fortune. That wealth would not come into the matter, and you would only marry out of mutual love and affliction.”

“Affection,” Charlotte corrected, frowning.

“Affliction… affection… I should say it’s the same.” Lady Denham shrugged her shoulders again. “Now we’ll get to the bottom of it. Is this one of Mr Tom Parker’s schemes? Promote Sanditon as a marketplace for advantageous matches?”

“Ma’am, truly… do you believe either Mr Sidney Parker or I would participate in such a plan?” Lady Denham regarded her for a moment, then shook her head. 

“No. You are far too honest, and he is far too reserved. You are such an odd couple and not much of a recommendation for any matchmaker. – Where are you going? I haven’t dismissed you, Miss Heywood!”

“I suppose if you have invited me only to insult me, Lady Denham, then I might be free to leave,” Charlotte said, feeling her heart pounding violently as she stood in front of her ladyship.

“Insult you, Miss Heywood? I’m honouring you with my attention.” Clara ended her piano play mid-tone, turning her head at her aunt. Over on the sofa, Sir Edward moved his stare from Clara to Charlotte, and even his sister now looked at their visitor.

“I can’t see how it is an honour to be accused of indecency, mercenary intentions and incompatibility with my fiancé,” Charlotte claimed. Even though there was some truth in Lady Denham’s observations. Yet, it was not her ladyship’s part to make assumptions and pass judgement.

To her surprise, Lady Denham laughed. “I’m only teasing you, Miss Heywood. You amuse me. - I’m not used to such candour in the younger generation,” she added, glancing at her nephew and nieces. Miss Denham quickly looked the other way, and Sir Edward rose and limped over to the piano where Clara had resumed playing. “I’ll turn the pages for you, Miss Brereton,” he declared, leaning on his healthy foot.

“Idleness and indolence,” Lady Denham commented. “They only wait for me to die and leave a fortune to them so they can keep on being idle and indolent in even more style. – Your Mr Sidney is cut from a different wood. And so are you. But you know that, of course.”

Charlotte sat down again, wondering what to say. Over at the piano, a sheet of music was slowly gliding to the floor. Sir Edward bent down and picked it up, openly grazing the full length of Clara’s arm and searching Charlotte’s gaze as he did so. What a despicable man!

And his aunt did not even notice, being too busy getting to the bottom of Miss Heywood’s engagement.

“What irks me is the speed in which you proceed. How long have you known him? A few weeks? I had not expected you to accept an offer of marriage so easily.”

“Once you’ve found the person you wish to marry, it’s a fairly simple decision, ma’am,” Charlotte said – and it was a fairly simple thing to say, considering that she had no real wish to marry Mr Sidney Parker.

Lady Denham frowned, clearly not happy with romantic poppycock. “And your family approves, I presume? It’s an excellent bargain on your side, after all.”

“Mr Parker went to Willingden and received my father’s blessings,” Charlotte replied. There was no need to mention that he had received those blessings only at the second try and with the help of her letter, just as there was no need to refer to the second part of her ladyship’s assertion.

“It must be a great relief for your father to see you being taken care of. – Now, Miss Heywood. Tell me truly and freely: Is this the love match you so eagerly claimed at my luncheon, with Mr Sidney sitting by your side?”

Charlotte felt herself blushing. There was no way to tell her ladyship an outright lie – just as there was no way to tell her the truth. “I see no reason why I should have to justify my actions – or Mr Parker’s – to you, ma’am.”

“You give back as good as you receive, Miss Heywood.” Lady Denham chuckled. “However, your answer tells me all I need to know. And I am feeling sorry for you – to see that you have to give up on your principles so quickly. Though I am, of course, not at all surprised that you have to give them up in the first place.”

“I…” Charlotte started to protest. Lady Denham shook her head and touched her hand. 

“No… no, my dear. You will soon understand that a mercenary match has its advantages. My first husband, Mr Hollis, was a very wealthy man. It’s his money that the Denhams are profiteering of right now; it’s his money that bought this house… but it’s Sir Harry’s title that makes the fortune truly sparkle. Choose your marriage partner well, and it will ultimately grant you freedom.”

“I don’t understand,” Charlotte said, frowning and trying to suppress her horror at the idea of marrying her way up the social ladder. That Sidney Parker was a rich man was nothing but a fortunate coincidence. She was sure she would find happiness by the side of a man from a modest background, a man like James Stringer – if only they were bound to each other by mutual love and affection. Her thoughts must be plainly visible on her face, for Lady Denham shook her head.

“To love someone is to be held captive. And marriage is a long journey. Do you want to spend it in captivity?”

“But surely, if there is love on both sides…” 

“You cannot help it, can you, Miss Heywood? You must have an opinion and give voice to it.” Her ladyship was more amused than annoyed. “Love on both sides… but how long do you think that love will last?”

“Your ladyship seems to have more experience on the matter than I,” Charlotte boldly replied.

“And indeed, I do! – Don’t look at me like that, Miss Heywood,” Lady Denham said, for indeed Charlotte had raised her eyebrows and was staring at her hostess now. “I was a girl once too… long before you were born, of course. Young and energetic and full of hope and confidence… and pretty, I might say. He was the handsomest man in Somerset, but I believed him to be the handsomest man in the world. And he knew it, of course. My heart would pound so hard whenever he came into the room. Very exciting. Very exciting at the time.” Lady Denham was looking at the more-than-life-size-painting adorning the wall, lost in her memories and as if there was any chance the depicted god might turn into the handsomest man in Somerset if only she kept staring at him.

“But you didn’t marry him,” Charlotte observed.

“No. I didn’t. He kept me dangling for a while, trembling for a kind look, a smile or a tender word, and then he married a girl from Gloucestershire with forty thousand. – He had debts, you see, and could not afford to marry me. It should have been obvious to me at the time, but I don’t have to tell you how young girls are. Full of hope for mutual love and affection.”

Charlotte did not know what to say. Sir Edward had returned to the sofa, sitting slightly closer to his sister now than before, and Clara was all-immersed in her piano playing.

“There you have it, Miss Heywood,” Lady Denham said. “Love is not the key to happiness.”

“Then what is?”

“Money, of course.”

 

*

 

On her walk along the cliff and back to Trafalgar House, Charlotte recapped Lady Denham’s conversation again and again. Thankfully, the maid Mary had sent with her as a chaperone was not of the talkative kind, leaving her enough space to ponder about what had transpired. 

Her first thought was that the back door was closed now. First the vicar’s visit, now the lady of the town giving her blessings to the match… There was no way to declare it all null and void and a terrible mistake unless they wanted to create exactly the kind of scandal their engagement was meant to prevent.

Her second thought was how sad it was that Lady Denham had once loved and that that experience had left her disillusioned and a cynic. Love and affliction, indeed! Was that what had happened to Sidney Parker as well? What had left him cold and… ill-suited for marriage, in his own words? Had he been ditched by a lovely young lady who had chosen a handsome fortune over his handsome face? – And had she just thought of him as having a “handsome face”?

She sighed deeply, making the maid stop. “Is everything alright, miss?”

“Yes,” Charlotte said. “I was just… I was just thinking.” 

Of course, he had a handsome face. It was one of those irritating, infuriating things about him that had misled her from the very beginning. Especially on the ballroom’s balcony: that his offensiveness, his insults and insinuations were concealed behind such a pleasing appearance. It was very unfair.  

If only they found a better way of communicating with each other! 

If only he had never brought up Clara Brereton as a role model for Georgiana. And Clara befriending Georgiana! What Charlotte had witnessed today had only strengthened her belief that something was going on between Clara and Sir Edward, something sinister and inappropriate. Sir Edward, staring at her while fondling Clara… that was truly sickening. Try as she might, she could not imagine Sidney Parker playing such games in public. And try as she might, she could not imagine recoiling from Sidney Parker’s touch as she would from Sir Edward’s.

That was really strange now. She stopped and stared out across the sea, feeling her heart pound heavily. Sidney Parker’s touch. Why did that thought send a shiver down her spine?

Next to her on the path, a young herring gull landed on a rock, shaking its brown juvenile plumage and staring at her from grey eyes as if it wanted to say: Any trouble, dear? Share it with me!

And now I hear the birds talking to me, Charlotte thought with another sigh, and walked on, quickening her pace.

“You look a bit flushed, miss,” the maid said.

“It’s just the exertion of the walk.” But it was not. It was the idea of Sidney Parker grazing her arm just as Sir Edward had grazed Clara’s. Not in public, but in private. In a very different scenario. Sidney Parker, talking about heirs and children. Surely, the one was somehow linked to the other, yet she knew so little about these things, and she wished there was someone to enlighten her. Mary? No, Mary Parker was a kind woman and a dear friend, but she was also his sister-in-law.

It was all so very confounding. Was it possible to like and dislike someone at the same time? And if it was possible – was there a name for it?

 

Notes:

Grumpy crumpet: cousin of the grumpymuffin I lately met on Twitter (@tipsmom3). I simply could not resist - sorry!

Chapter 9: Tipping Point

Notes:

This chapter comes with a deep bow to the wonderful CordeliaJane70, who is a tireless FB and Twitter personality, an ardent campaigner for more dinosaurs in Sanditon fanfiction, and the co-author of the lovely Love in a Minor Key. If you ever wanted to see Grumpy Maestro Sidney in fairy hair clips: that’s your story.

In THIS story, however, it’s time to check the back door’s security status again.

Previously…

Sidney is in London, sorting out Tom’s business mess. In Sanditon, Charlotte faces very different challenges: the knowledge provided in Mr Hankins educative Bible lesson is not really helpful, and Lady Denham doubts the motives for the engagement, coming dangerously close to the truth and confirming her opinion that not love but money alone will lead to happiness. Sir Edward’s behaviour towards Clara remains questionable. Realising that the back door is closing fast now, Charlotte is struggling with her emotions.

***

 

Sidney returned to Sanditon some days later but earlier than expected, feeling cautiously optimistic. He had managed to sort out Tom’s insurance mess and cover the whole Sanditon venture against every possible disaster. With all debts paid, the banks had shown more willingness to extend Tom’s credit line. However, their conditions were atrocious and would leave his brother at their mercy for the rest of his life. Sidney’s own funds, despite far from being depleted, were not endless either. Especially now that he had the future Mrs Sidney Parker and their family to think about.

Mrs Sidney Parker. What a strange thought. What a pleasant thought. If only he ever managed to have a conversation with the future Mrs Parker without offending her. Babington’s comments and Crowe’s teasing on the news of his engagement had been surprisingly mild. Babington was too preoccupied with his own hopeless courtship of Esther Denham to say more than: “Do you think your Miss Heywood might put in a good word for me with Miss Denham?” And Crowe, the man whose self-proclaimed main interest was to carouse and make an ass of himself, had merely grinned, raised his hip-flask and said: “Good. Good for you, Parker”, leaving Sidney wondering whether his friend saw something he himself had overlooked. And if that was the case: What exactly was it that he had overlooked? And what if Charlotte had decided to walk through the back door after all?

He travelled down from London by stagecoach, sandwiched in the Sanditon Flyer between a solicitor from Gray’s Inn and a young physician from Lewes. The solicitor was not very talkative – and if he talked, it was inheritance law. The physician, however, enjoyed a little chat, especially when Sidney asked him whether he might be interested in coming to Sanditon. After all, he did feel some guilt about his part in the flight of Doctor Fuchs.

Unfortunately, this Dr Mantell was very content with his position at a hospital in Lewes: it allowed him to follow his true ambition, which was digging up fossils in the chalk escarpments of the Weald. Just recently, he had found some teeth far too large for any living mammal. The good doctor was convinced he had discovered the remains of a gigantic reptile from an era ages and ages before humankind… At this point, Sidney dosed off. He was not interested in gigantic reptiles: he had an ill-tempered ward and a reluctant fiancée to deal with. Compared to that, an oversized but extinct predator was harmless.

Sidney’s first stop in Sanditon, even before calling on his ward, was Trafalgar House. His brother was in his usual flutter, babbling excitedly about tents and rowing boats, followed up by Mary, who kindly explained to Sidney that along with the Midsummer Ball, Tom was planning a grand regatta now, an occasion to promote the delights of Sanditon to the world. Or to England. Or to the London beau monde.

“Very well,” Sidney said, feeling his mouth twitch because he was torn between the idea – not a bad one, as it happened – and the fact that Tom’s funds did not allow for such an event, leaving him in little doubt as to who was going to cover the costs. “Where’s Miss Heywood?” he asked. They would discuss the regatta later. For now, he wanted to see his fiancée, tell her… he was not exactly sure what it was that he wanted to tell her, but in any case, the mere thought of seeing her was very appealing. Perhaps she would wear that white dress that accentuated her cleavage in such a lovely way. Perhaps she would smile at him, and perhaps he would pluck up the courage to take her hand and place a chaste kiss on her knuckles, and perhaps they would stop misunderstanding each other.

“You’ve just missed her,” Mary said. “She’s gone to call on old Isaac Stringer. So kind of her… sees to him nearly every day.” Grumpy Old Stringer or his smitten son? So much for smiles and chaste hand-kisses. Sidney groaned. He clearly was not cut out for this whole courting business. 

“I’m off to see my ward,” he said, trying to put the image of his fiancée smiling at the foreman aside. “And when I come back, and Miss Heywood has returned, we’ll discuss the new financial situation, Tom.” And I’ll tell her to stay away from that grinning fool, he added for himself.

“As you say, brother, as you say.” Tom was quite diverted by his eldest son, who was attacking him with a wooden sword, claiming he was Admiral Nelson, ready to sink the French fleet.

 

Sidney spent the short walk from Trafalgar House to Mrs Griffiths pondering about the necessary expenses for the regatta but found himself again and again distracted by the image of Charlotte Heywood smiling at Young Stringer. She never smiled at him like that. Or was that because he was giving her so little reason to smile? And what did it say about himself that he was feeling… jealousy? Was that the word? No, there had to be another one. 

Impatiently, he knocked on Mrs Griffiths’ front door until Georgiana’s maid Crocket opened, looking somewhat alarmed. “Oh, it’s you, sir.”

“Yes, it’s me,” he said and walked through to the drawing-room, startling the Beaufort girls during a fit of laughter and the vicar and the lady of the house in a moment of mutual admiration.

“Mr Parker!” At the sight of her employer, Mrs Griffiths jumped to her feet. “I had no idea you were back to Sanditon.”

“Neither had I, but here I am. – Vicar.” Sidney acknowledged Mr Hankins with a sharp nod. He could not help but think of another drawing-room scene a few weeks ago. Judging by the Beaufort sisters’ behaviour and Mrs Griffiths’ face colour, Sanditon’s self-proclaimed arbiter of moral and decency was in desperate need of a lesson of his own teachings. “I came to see Georgiana.”

“Alas, she is not here.” Mrs Griffiths clasped her hands. “Miss Brereton was kind enough to take her out for a walk. – A very accomplished young lady, if I may say so, sir, and an excellent influence on Miss Lambe.”

“I agree,” Sidney said. There was much to learn from Lady Denham’s niece, sensible and prudent as she was. Maybe even for his fiancée. Level-headed Miss Brereton never landed herself in the predicaments Charlotte seemed to attract wherever she went. “Has Miss Heywood been here to call on Georgiana?”

“She has. Every day but…” The governess shook her head. “Miss Lambe has declined to see her.”

“Right.” And no surprise. What a good and faithful friend his fiancée was, trying to make it up with Georgiana. It seemed as if whomever she let into her heart, she was not disposed to let out again. Tom. Mary. Arthur and Diana. The children. Georgiana. Young Stringer. It had been easy enough for them to slip in. Then why, oh, why was it so difficult for him? “Send me word when Miss Lambe returns,” he said. “I’ll be either at the Crown or at Trafalgar House.”

“Very well, sir.”

Back on the street, he thought that at least at the Crown, he was not in for a disappointment. No one was expecting him there anyway. He would drink a few glasses, and if he were lucky, there would be a boxing match to get rid of some energy and frustration. 

He lit a cheroot and took a deep and satisfying draw. There was nothing better than a cloud of smoke to shield him from the rest of the world. Only then did he realise that even though he had not been expected at Sanditon, he was about to meet some acquaintances: Miss Brereton came walking down the street, marching an extremely sulky looking Georgiana by the elbow as if she was a petulant child. Two steps behind them, carrying a picnic basket and looking rather glum, Sidney detected the very last person he had ever hoped to find in Georgiana’s company again. 

“Mr Parker,” Miss Brereton said upon seeing him. “I’m so glad you are back. I should say I have saved your ward from a most improper meeting with this individual.”

 

*

 

Charlotte had made it a habit to call on old Mr Stringer every day. Not because he was such pleasant company – in fact, he was not – but because it gave her a perfect pretence to be out of Trafalgar House in case the vicar came to see her for additional educative lessons. Those, she was sure, she would not survive without beating Mr Hankins over the head with his very own Bible. Officially, however, she was simply interested in hearing the surgeon’s comments on Old Stringer’s healing process. 

Less officially, she also enjoyed her conversations with the convalescent’s son. James Stringer knew so much about building works and architecture, and he was so calm and patient with his surly father who would complain about everything from the surgeon’s job on his leg – “I have known far worse” – to his son’s householding: “Wasted three candles!” That comment referred to a drawing Young Stringer showed Charlotte, a detailed architectural depiction of a Chinese pagoda. 

“Those candles were hardly wasted, sir,” Charlotte said. “It’s a work of art.” Truly, there was some talent required to render such a beautiful image.

The old man sneered. “My son is a foreman, miss. It is not his place to be drawing up fancy buildings during the night.”

“But if a man is blessed with talent and prepared to work hard, might he not elevate his position?” she suggested.

“I beg to differ, miss. A man must make the best of the hand he’s dealt, and it’s a fool who says otherwise. It’s a woman’s privilege to improve her station in life through marriage.”

“Father!” Young Stringer cried, blushing deeply. Charlotte felt her own cheeks flame up as well.

“What’s wrong? Miss Heywood here is to be congratulated on her engagement, I hear.” 

“Thank you,” Charlotte said and then claimed that it was really time for her to end her visit and return to Mr Tom Parker and help him plan the regatta.

“I’ll walk you home, if I may,” Young Stringer offered.

“Sure,” she smiled, glad about his company and eager to discuss more architecture with him.

“You must forgive Father, miss,” he said when they were out on the street. “He’s worked for his own keep all his life, and now he’s forced to sit idly by the fire, dependent on what I bring home. Makes him bitter.”

“There’s no reason to apologise,” Charlotte assured him. “Though I will always think that ambition is to be admired. – Now tell me more about the pagoda. Is it part of Mr Parker’s designs for Sanditon?”

It was, and there were many more designs Young Stringer was eager to make. They spent the whole walk to Trafalgar House chatting amicably about fancy landmarks for Sanditon, Charlotte providing the ideas and Young Stringer the architectural details. This was the most pleasant conversation she had had for days – so much more enjoyable than the vicar’s strange insinuations and Lady Denham’s interrogation! 

“Truly, Mr Stringer, I believe you’re not a foreman but an architect at heart,” Charlotte said, smiling broadly at her companion. They had nearly reached the Crown now and were but a few steps away from Trafalgar House.

“Do you really believe that, miss?”

“Absolutely! You have a talent that deserves recognition, and…” She stopped, and so did Young Stringer, for ten feet away from them was someone else who deserved recognition: her fiancé. Standing in front of the Crown, one hand on his hip. Surrounding himself with another disgusting tobacco cloud while glaring at Georgiana and a young gentleman Charlotte had never seen before. Clara Brereton was waiting a few steps behind them, her expression a strange mix of innocence and complacency.

“Mr Parker,” Charlotte said, walking up to Sidney, her heartbeat quickening. “I did not expect you to return today.”

Sidney barely acknowledged her, his eyes trained on Georgiana and her young man. “Good afternoon, Miss Heywood. I’ll meet you at Trafalgar House shortly.”

“But…” Charlotte was well aware of Clara glancing quickly from her to Sidney and back. If Clara was to report to her aunt about a curiously cold reunion of the engaged couple… no, that would not do. Resolutely, she stepped forward, looking at the strange young gentleman in their company. “Is this a London friend of yours?” she asked.

“Mr Molyneux was about to leave,” Sidney said, puffing on his tobacco instead of meeting her eye. The young gentleman – Mr Molyneux – checked his timepiece.

“The London coach is not due to depart for another two hours,” he said. “I might as well take the time to sample some more of the pleasures of Sanditon.”

“Don’t you dare!” 

“I’m a free man, Mr Parker. I don’t see how you would keep me from taking a walk where I wish to.” Charlotte saw a vein throbbing on Sidney’s forehead, and she saw the knuckles of his free hand go white as he clenched it into a fist. But what was going on here? Who was this Mr Molyneux with the engaging smile and the boldness to stand up to Mr Sidney Parker?

“Miss Brereton,” Sidney now said. “Would you kindly accompany Miss Lambe back to her lodgings?”

“Certainly, Mr Parker.” All readiness and reason, Clara rushed forward and took Georgiana by the elbow. Her grip must be really tight, for despite Georgiana’s efforts to free herself, Clara remained by her side. “You don’t want to make a spectacle of yourself, do you, Miss Lambe?” she hissed.

“But what is going on here?” Charlotte asked, seeing the long and longing look the young man gave Georgiana, and Georgiana returning it, gazing over her shoulder as Clara marched her away like a prisoner. Was this a lovers’ tryst gone wrong? Sidney ignored her, glaring at Mr Molyneux.

“If I ever find you within a mile of my ward again, I shall not be responsible for my actions. Am I understood?”

With the object of his admiration gone, Mr Molyneux seemed to lose most of his bravado. “Perfectly,” he replied, casting his eyes down. Somehow, he seemed to shrink under the gaze of Georgiana’s guardian.

“Allow me to assist with your passage,” Sidney offered, reaching into his pocket. Now the other man looked up, an expression full of disdain on his face.

“I have no need of your money, sir.” Sidney arched an eyebrow.

“You don’t? Then you have no need of my ward either, do you?” 

“This is beneath you!” Mr Molyneux leapt at him but was intercepted by Charlotte.

“Whatever this is about, can you not discuss it as gentlemen?”

The young man straightened his coat. “Tell that to Mr Parker, miss.” She saw Sidney breathe heavily. 

“Get out of my sight, Molyneux!” he roared, and for once, Mr Molyneux obliged, walking down the dusty street. 

“Now, what was this about?” she asked.

“Nothing to concern you,” Sidney said, casting a quick glance at Mr Stringer, who was watching the scene from the other side of the street. He sent another tobacco cloud into the air. Charlotte fanned it away. 

“Nothing to concern me? You were about to beat another man on the open street, and I’m not meant to be concerned? Do you not at least want to give me your version of events before Georgiana tells me hers?” Sidney scowled, looking down at her. If only he were not that tall, if only he would not always make her feel shorter than she already was!

“Do you think Georgiana will receive you, Miss Heywood? She does not seem to be so fond of you lately.” Charlotte gasped: that hurt. It hurt even more than seeing poor Georgiana being led away by Clara like a sinner – as if Clara Brereton was the vicar’s assistant in upholding decency and good behaviour in Sanditon.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll be left to my own assumptions,” she said. “Which are that this Mr Molyneux is pursuing Georgiana romantically, and that for some mysterious reasons only known to your mighty self, you don’t approve of him doing so.” 

“Well done, Miss Heywood.” Without looking at her, Sidney took a final draw from his disgusting tobacco stuff and started walking towards Trafalgar House.

“But why?” Charlotte was following him, trying to keep up with his large strides. “He seems a fine enough gentleman to me. Why not at least allow them the chance to court?”

“I see no reason to justify my decisions about my ward to you,” he said, flicking the tip of his cheroot away.

“You don’t? You may not be aware of it, Mr Parker, but we are still engaged.” Even though he had obviously no clue about what that meant. No surprise, as long as he considered himself destined to remain alone. Oh, he was not a grumpy crumpet but a grumpy slice of burnt toast. “There may come a time when your decisions might well influence my life,” she explained. “And then I would like to know what they are based on.”

“You might want to know, but you are not necessarily entitled to an answer.”

“What?” Charlotte stopped abruptly and in the middle of the street. Sidney turned around to face her, a disdainful expression on his face she knew only too well.

“I suggest you acquaint yourself with some details of the common law, Miss Heywood. The moment we marry, everything you own becomes mine. In other words: you.” Charlotte shook her head, feeling nausea wash over her. He just scowled at her, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry if that disappoints you. But you’ll find yourself behaving according to my rules. No more gallivanting around the construction site, I should say. No more flirting with Young Stringer…” 

“Flirting? With Mr Stringer?” The man supposed to be the sensible brother had clearly lost his mind.

“I don’t know about the custom in Willingden, but in most civilised societies, you don’t get betrothed to one man and then start walking about the town with another one.” He looked at her as if she and not Georgiana had engaged in a secret tryst with an unwelcome admirer.

“We were not walking about the town – Mr Stringer was seeing me home, discussing architecture with me.”

“Discussing architecture.” Sidney scoffed. They had reached Trafalgar House now. He knocked on the front door, banging his full fist impatiently against the wood as if he suspected another secret suitor behind it. But it was only Wickens who saw them in. “I wish you’d discuss decorum and ladylike behaviour with Miss Brereton,” Sidney added, still scowling as the servant took his hat and helped him out of his coat.

“Miss Brereton?” He must be drunk. Clara Brereton of all people! 

“The most sensible, level-headed and accomplished young lady I know of in Sanditon. A fine example for yourself.” He did not even look at her as he adjusted his cravat and leather waistcoat.

“I’d rather discuss us  with  you !” Charlotte cried. Her irritation about the past week was boiling up now: the horrible “lesson” with the vicar, the interrogation by Lady Denham, that thing going on between Sir Edward and Clara. Her own troubled emotions. And now, to top it all, the leather waistcoat again! “All I see is a man so blinded by his past that he does not care about his own or other people’s happiness!”

“And what do you know about my past, Miss Heywood?” 

“Nothing! You take pains to be unknowable. But if you are an outlier, that’s because you are determined to remain one. God forbid you give something of yourself!” Charlotte shook her head, feeling frustration and disappointment overcome her. “All I can assume is that you were made to suffer for love a long time ago and that instead of healing, your heart turned into a stone.”

For a moment, she thought he was going to strike her down. Then his expression changed, and for a split second, she saw indeed a young and vulnerable man whose heart had been chopped into tiny little pieces. But then the image was gone, and right in front of her was an angry man glaring down on her with a thunderous face.

“You speak out of turn. I have no wish to listen to your assumptions any longer.” He marched off towards his brother’s office.

“And now you’re walking away rather than facing a fact,” she called after him. He turned around, more infuriated than she had ever seen him before.

“That is enough!” His roar was so violent that his own portrait seemed to shudder in its frame. He was breathing heavily now, his lips parted, his eyes piercing hers, his whole body tensed as if he was going to launch himself at her, and yet his expression one of disbelief at her boldness. Behind him, Tom Parker appeared in the office door, large-eyed and clearly alarmed by the shouting in his hallway.

“What is going on here? Sidney? Charlotte?”

“Ask your guest,” Sidney scowled.

Charlotte faced the inevitable. If the back door stayed closed, she would take the front door. Even if she had to shove poor Wickens out of the way. “I think the engagement is off,” she said.

Notes:

(Oops. Sorry.)

***

Dr Gideon Mantell: In 1822 “His attempts to reconstruct the structure and life of Iguanodon began the scientific study of dinosaurs.” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gideon_Mantell

Chapter 10: Game-change

Notes:

Welcome back! And thank you so much for all your thoughts about back doors leading to front doors - here and on FB and Twitter. Even if I cannot answer all your comments, they are highly appreciated.
Without further ado, let's start fixing the mess tyrannosaurus sidney has created (the mess being a big one, this will take more than one chapter).

Previously…

 

Sidney’s return to Sanditon is not a smooth one: first, he finds his ward in the company of a most undesirable suitor, then he finds his fiancée in the company of James Stringer. Jealous Sidney ends up in another shouting match with Charlotte, claiming she will have to behave according to his rules once they are married. Charlotte gives back as good as she can by calling him out on the state of his jaded heart. When Tom Parker arrives on the scene, she speaks the words even the best-secured back door in the world cannot stop…

***

 

“I think the engagement is off,” Charlotte said.

“What?” Tom Parker’s eyebrows went up, nearly touching his hairline. “No, no, no, no, no, my dear, that would be very wrong.”

“I’m sorry, Mr Parker. But your brother and I… we are not… compatible. Not at all.” 

“You cannot force her, Tom,” Sidney added with a sullen look, his arms crossed in front of him. 

“Poppycock and nonsense!” Mr Parker laughed. “One little crisis does not mean anything in the course of a lifetime together. – Mary! Mary, come here, my dearest, we need your wisdom on married life.”

“Look, Mr Parker,” Charlotte said. “We really tried, but it does not work.” Tom Parker gently took her by the elbow, patted her hand, led her away from the front door and into his office and sat her down on one of the chairs in front of the fireplace. 

“But my dear, if something does not work immediately, it does not mean that it will not work at all. Sometimes, it requires a little practice… and sometimes a little patience. – Just look at the Sanditon venture… it’s a long-term project, and it’s painful at some stages, but once the profit rolls in, we’ll all be very merry.”

“But that is Sanditon,” Charlotte reminded him. “We are talking about marriage.”

“Which is very much the same, as Mary will tell you. – Mary! Where are you?”

“I’m here, my dear,” Mary said, hurrying into the office. “I’m sorry, Henry was in tears because his wooden sword is broken.” And taking in the scene of Charlotte quietly wiping her eyes and Sidney looking rather depleted: “Oh my, whatever is the matter?”

“They are having a bit of a crisis,” her husband explained. “It’s all nerves, of course. Can’t say we never experienced them, can we, my dearest?”

“Of course we did, but I’m not sure you can compare our…” Catching her husband’s glance, Mary stopped and extended her hand to her young guest. “Why don’t you join me in the drawing-room, Charlotte, and we’ll have a cup of tea together?”

“Excellent,” her husband exclaimed. “The ladies will have tea, and you and I will have something stronger, brother, and then we’ll all calm down.” He put an arm around Sidney’s shoulder.

Charlotte allowed Mary to lead her next door and to sit down by her side on the sofa, her hostess gently pressing her hand. 

“Now Charlotte, my dear, please don’t believe yourself under any obligation to Sidney… or to us,” Mary said. “If you feel that you can’t go through with this engagement, it’s your absolute right to end it. Even the vicar cannot force you… or my husband, for that matter.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte said, searching for a handkerchief. “I’m... I’m...” It was difficult to explain it all: her futile hope that something good might come out of this engagement, her frustration at the vicar and the whole Denham clan, her own troubled emotions when thinking of her fiancé, her disappointment about Sidney Parker once more turning into the unfeeling brute she had met so many times before. “I’m sorry,” she finally mumbled because that was the easiest way to say it all. Mary shook her head.

“You don’t have to apologise, Charlotte. Your situation is so unusual, and you’ve carried it through so bravely so far.” With a smile full of sympathy and affection, Mary cupped her young friend’s cheek. “I would love to welcome you into our family and call you my sister, and I would love to see you make Sidney smile again, but if it’s not to happen, then it’s not to happen.” 

Make Sidney smile again?

“I think I’ve never seen him smile.” Perhaps for a very short moment up on the balcony, when she had called him the sensible brother – before calling Tom reckless and Arthur over-indulgent had made those smiling lips curl and twitch with anger.

Mary shook her head. “No, it’s not in Sidney’s nature to be lighthearted, I’m afraid. I… I was hoping he might change a little under your influence.”

“Under my influence?” Charlotte repeated, surprised that anyone would expect her to have any influence at all on Mr Sidney Parker. Mary smiled at her affectionately. 

“With all your cleverness, I tend to forget how young and inexperienced you are, my dear. Sometimes a difference in temper can be just the right factor to make a match work. And not only to work but to balance each other out – to complement each other where the partner is wanting.” Charlotte furrowed her brow.

“I cannot see Mr Sidney Parker and me complementing each other.” Not before and definitely not after saying all these horrible things about flirting with Mr Stringer and behaving according to his rules. Mary squeezed her hand again.

“No, you might not see it. But I thought I did.” She sighed. “He was so very different when he was your age, and sometimes I think I find a shadow of that younger Sidney when he is with you.” Mary must have an eagle’s eyesight, Charlotte thought. Grumpy, arrogant, cold and condescending, ready to throw the most hurtful assumptions at her: that was what he was. Anything but a man worth her love and affection. Yet her curiosity was stirred.

“Then what happened?” she asked. “What changed him?” 

“A woman.” Mary paused for a moment, gazing out of the window before clarifying her answer. “I’m not privy to all details – I was preparing for my confinement with Alicia at the time, and you know how Tom is when it comes to bad news – he tried to keep it all away from me, especially as I was in such a delicate state. But I  can  tell you that the whole affair left Sidney deeply bruised and disillusioned when it comes to our sex.” 

Charlotte blinked: so she had been right; it was disappointed love that had turned his heart into a stone. But was that not a very simple excuse for offensive behaviour and hurtful comments? Especially since whatever had hurt him had hurt him ten years ago and was by no means her fault? Why make her feel the pain? Why think badly of her? Yes, she did see that her calls on the Stringer household might be misinterpreted. That walking merrily about the town with the foreman while her fiancé was trying to save the Parker family fortune in London had not been the most sensible and sensitive choice. On the other hand: why doubt her so easily?

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Why would he punish me for what happened to him ten years ago?”

“You see, I have been asking myself the same question.” Mary gave her a knowing smile, stroking her hand. “I gather there is something… something about you that lights a spark for Sidney. That stirs him more than anything has stirred him for years. For once, he’s not in control, and it scares him. That’s what makes him act irrationally, if not foolishly. – You have made him come out of his shell, Charlotte. At least a little bit.” Charlotte furrowed her brow, trying to process this curious piece of information.

“But it looks as if I’m paying the price for it.”

“Are you, my dear? – Men can be very contrary… and the Parkers are a kind for themselves. No one knows that better than I do. But whatever he’s said and done today, I’ll ask you not to make a rash decision. Give him a chance to ask for forgiveness and redeem himself.”

It would be easy to say no. Say no, end the engagement here and now. Walk through the front door and bear the consequence. Which was that her time with the Parkers would come to a quick and sudden end. She would be bundled up in the family coach and sent back to Willingden, never to return to Sanditon. And how Lady Denham, Sir Edward, Clara Brereton (Clara of all people!) and the Lord knew who else would gloat about the farmer’s daughter who had hoped to become a wealthy businessman’s wife!

Very unstable and unreliable. I advise you to be on your guard. Miss Denham’s words rang shrill in Charlotte’s ears.

“Don’t decide now,” Mary asked her, pressing her hand again. “Not in the state you’re in. Perhaps sleep over everything for a night?”

Charlotte bit her lip. Part of her still wanted to leave and wipe Sidney Parker from her life and memory. And part of her knew that that was easier said than done. Sidney Parker would stay with her, even if she returned to Willingden right away. 

So she would sleep over it and decide on the next day. And perhaps dream of how everything might have turned out if they had met not out and about on the windy cliff top but in the relaxed family atmosphere of the Trafalgar House drawing-room.

 

*

 

Over in the office, Tom Parker handed Sidney a glass of stronger stuff than tea and sat next to him by the fireplace. “Now tell me, brother. What has been going on between you and Charlotte?”

“Nothing,” Sidney said glumly, staring at the empty fireplace.

“Then it has been a very noisy nothing.”

Sidney took a sip of his brandy, evading his brother’s gaze. That was much better than having to tell Tom that he had turned into his worst self in front of Charlotte. That he had started shouting at her in the middle of the street because he had seen her smile at Stringer as she never smiled at him. That her feistiness had prompted him to declare her his property. That he had lost it completely when she had assumed his heart had never healed after being broken a long time ago. 

And that he had not kept his promise to her father. Charlotte was hurt, and it was his doing entirely.

No young lady, however humble her background, would want to tie herself to such a brute. Especially no clever, self-confident, lively, beautiful, oh so beautiful girl such as Charlotte Heywood. She may not have much of a dowry, but she had so many other assets to recommend herself to any suitor.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Tom,” Sidney said when the silence of his brooding was drawing on. His brother rose to pace up and down the room, immediately creating a restless atmosphere. “I’ve done as you and the vicar told me to do, asked for her hand, received her father’s blessings, tried to make it work… but it doesn’t.”

“Then we’ll have to find a way to make it work,” Tom said. “Ending the engagement is out of the question, not with the regatta and the ball coming up.”

“What?” Sidney frowned, trying to find the connection between the regatta and his betrothal. “If Miss Heywood wants to be free of me, I should at least once behave like a gentleman and let her go.”

“But brother, this is not a Shakespeare drama with everyone either heartbroken or dead when the final curtain falls. - This is Sanditon!”  Tom added, pointing at the plaster model. “In a few weeks, I expect to welcome London’s beau monde here, and I cannot do that with gossip and scandal hanging over my family. – No, Sidney: I can’t have you act selfishly. You’ll have to pull yourself together and sort yourself out with Charlotte.”

Sidney stared at his brother, dumbfounded. “I have just bailed out your whole business venture, using my assets,” he said after a few seconds. “I’ve neglected my ward in the process, and I’ve lured my friends to come to Sanditon, much to their displeasure. I’ll be supporting you at the cricket. I’ve become engaged to a girl I… I hardly know, and I’ve chased across the county to talk her father into consent. – What more do you expect me to do for you, Tom?” Tom shrugged his shoulders. 

“I thought you might captain our rowing boat at the regatta. – We intend to hold a rowing race. Splendid idea, don’t you think? I haven’t picked up an oar in years, but Charlotte says…”

“Charlotte?” Sidney shouted. Her ubiquitousness was beyond reasonable. “What does she have to do with the regatta?” Tom stopped pacing about and stood in front of him.

“Well, if only you ever talked to her civilly, you would know. It was her idea… or rather: she prompted me to have the idea of the Sanditon Grand Regatta. Saw me re-enacting the battle of Trafalgar with Henry, and that’s how it came about. Truly, Sidney, she’s a little gem, and you’d be a fool to let her go.”

Sidney closed his eyes and exhaled. “Tom, I’m anything but an expert on marriage, but the fact that you are exceptionally blessed with Mary does not mean that I might find the same happiness with someone I haven’t even chosen for myself.”

“Because you don’t even try to, brother! You scare any girl away with your arrogant manner. And those black leather breeches and the waistcoat… Poor Charlotte must be thinking you are some sort of predatory reptile. Why not wear something nice and friendly? Something to please a young girl’s eyes? The green waistcoat with the brass buttons, for example?”

“Really, Tom…” But Tom was in full elder-brother mode now.

“How many ladies have you courted since… ah, let’s not mention her name.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Is it not? But then what is the point? Here’s a clever young girl, pretty, understanding, far too principled to drop you should a better offer come along – and all I hear is shouting matches and complaints. No wonder she’s in doubt about what is going on with you.”

Sidney groaned in frustration and ran his hands through his hair, making it stand on end. Tom was at the same time absolutely right in everything he said and completely wrong as well. 

But how could he explain something to his brother for which he himself did not have the words? Why did it infuriate him to see Charlotte smile at Young Stringer? Why did it unsettle him that she had seen beyond his façade of tobacco smoke and arrogant manners and called him out on the state of his jaded heart? Why – and this was the disconcerting part – why did he really want her to be his? And not in the sense of property (that had been an awful thing to say) but in a sense of desire he had last felt for Eliza? Why did he want to pull her to him whenever he pushed her away? Why did he want to lose himself in her luminous eyes when all he did was make those eyes cry? And why, oh why did he always end up saying the wrong words to her when all he wanted to say was the right words?

“Brother.” Tom had sat down and pulled his chair so close that he could lean forward and lay his hands on Sidney’s knees. “It’s been ten years. You’ve been indulging that ghost for far too long. Time to lay the memory at rest, don’t you think? Or do you really want to give her  the satisfaction to have ruined yet another chance at happiness for you?”

Sidney hung his head, feeling tired, saddened and defeated. She was gone. Charlotte was gone. He had lost her, and this time, he could not blame it on Eliza for the rest of his life. This time, he was the only one to blame. “I suppose I’m better at ruining than at building relationships,” he conceded quietly, not meeting his brother’s eyes.

“Indeed, you are.” Tom jumped to his feet. “But then, why do you have a brother in the building business? I know something about construction works, Sidney, and I can tell you that what you and your dear Charlotte need is a solid foundation. I blame myself, of course – circumstances have forced us to build your house starting with the roof instead of the groundwork. Now. We will start again. – Come with me; we’ll join the ladies.”

 

*

 

Charlotte was just taking the first sip of tea when Tom Parker came into the drawing-room, followed by his brother, who for once did not look angry or grumpy but rather downcast and dishevelled.

“Mary,” Tom Parker said, beaming happily and bowing to the ladies. “Miss Heywood. – Splendid, splendid. Miss Heywood, may I present my younger brother Sidney? – Sidney, this is our dear houseguest from the charming village of Willingden, Miss Charlotte Heywood.” Irritated, Charlotte rose.

“How do you do, Miss Heywood,” Sidney mumbled, bowing to her without meeting her eyes. Out of habit, she replied: “How do you do, Mr Parker,” and curtsied. 

“Miss Heywood is to spend the summer with us,” Tom went on. “Her excellent father was kind enough to offer us shelter and hospitality after our… road adventure. – Mary, would you have a cup of tea for us as well?”

“Of course.” Mary, who had followed the proceedings with a puzzled expression, filled two more cups as the gentlemen sat down at the table. 

“My brother is in the import and export business, Miss Heywood,” Tom chatted. “A very vibrant business. He’s based in London, but usually to be found here, there, and everywhere… and sometimes even in Sanditon.” He laughed, nodding happily and with a little wink at his wife. “Have you ever been to London, Miss Heywood?” It was a pretty straightforward question, yet Charlotte found it difficult to answer.

“In fact, I have not,” she said, not daring to glance from Tom Parker to his brother. “I… I have never been away from Willingden before.”

“And how do you like Sanditon?” She looked up, for it was not Tom but his brother who had asked that question – a perfectly normal, innocent and appropriate question in a conversation between civilised people meeting for the first time.

“I like it very much,” she admitted. “It’s… um, stimulating.”

“I shall take that as a compliment for our efforts,” Tom Parker declared, winking again. “Coming from a young lady who indulges in such exciting pastimes as shooting and cricket.”

“I’m... I’m also fond of reading,” Charlotte told her teacup, hoping not to come across as a rampant tomboy. 

“There is not much shooting in Sanditon,” Sidney told his teacup. “But a library and… um, cricket.”

“Ah, it’s the highlight of the summer,” Tom Parker cried, clapping his hands. “Well, one of the highlights. Sanditon boasts the distinction of being the place where beach cricket was invented, and my brother is an excellent bowler.”

“I’m… um… not bad,” Sidney informed his teaspoon. 

“I suppose… in a crowded city like London, it might be difficult to find a place for training,” Charlotte said to the sugar tongs.

Sidney nodded gravely before he replied. “You’re right, Miss Heywood. Being an outdoor sport, it’s… err, difficult to practice indoors.”

“More tea, anyone?” Mary offered and, without waiting for an answer, refilled Charlotte’s and Sidney’s cups.

“I’ve told Sidney about our plans for the regatta,” Tom said. “And he has volunteered to captain the Parker boat.”

“Have I?”

“Don’t you remember?” Tom patted his hand, grinning. “Always too much on your mind, brother.”

Charlotte sipped her tea. How strange it was to be sitting quietly in the Parker family’s drawing-room, having something like a conversation with Sidney Parker… no yelling, no assumptions, no accusations, no talks about property. A little stilted, of course, for everything that had been said before was clearly still on their minds, but yet: a conversation two people might be having when carefully getting acquainted with each other.

“We are also planning a fishermen’s boat race at the regatta,” she explained, feeling that she had to contribute something to that conversation. “And a sandcastle competition for the children.”

“I suppose I don’t qualify for either activity,” Sidney said, smiling regretfully. Or was he being playful? Oh, dear. Sidney Parker, playful?

“You may act as a judge on the sandcastle competition,” she suggested.

“I’ll be highly biased if my brother’s children are to participate.”

“So will I,” Charlotte said, and for one strange moment, she found herself smiling as timidly at Sidney Parker as he was smiling at her.

“I… um…” he suddenly said, putting down his teacup and rising to his feet. “I forgot… I have to look after my ward. – Miss Heywood.” He bowed to her. Charlotte stood and curtsied.

“Mr Parker.”

“Do come and see us tomorrow morning, Sidney,” Tom said, patting his shoulders. “We have some work to do, but if the weather keeps fine, we might all go for a walk together.”

“Until tomorrow then. – Mary – Tom.” Another quick bow and he was gone.

“What were we doing right now?” Mary asked when they heard the front door close behind Sidney. 

“We are laying the groundwork, my dear.” Tom beamed and rubbed his hands. “We are laying the groundwork for a very happy union. – What do you think, Charlotte? Now that you have finally met my middle brother? Is he not a handsome young man?”

Charlotte blushed. Of course, he was a handsome young man. Even more handsome now that he was not shouting at her. But the fact that he was so terribly handsome and that the idea of him touching her had been troubling her for days (and again so when he had handled the sugar tongs and his teacup)… all that did not extinguish what had happened before. It would take more than a pair of… oh, darn it! – a pair of deep and repentant dark eyes to make her forget those horrible words. You’ll find yourself behaving according to my rules.  A civil conversation on beach cricket was not enough to gloss over his - their - previous behaviour.

“Really, Tom,” Mary said now, giving her husband an indulgent smile. “I think you did sound a little like Lady Denham extolling Sir Edward’s qualities to poor Miss Lambe.”

“Did I? Perhaps. But Sidney is a Parker, my dearest. There is no end to extolling his qualities.” Tom laughed, beaming broadly and rubbing his hands, more pleased with himself and his very own Tom-ness than ever before.

Notes:

Tom Parker's views on his brother in leather pants are his own, not mine.

Chapter 11: Substantial Conversations

Notes:

Right. I suppose we can all agree that in addition to his many other flaws, Tom Parker knows nothing about leather pants. On a personal note, just let me add how much fun I had writing the previous chapter and how much I was looking forward to sharing it with you. So reading your feedback gave me another big wide grin!

Today’s chapter, however, turned into a bit of a writing nightmare. First, both Mr Sidney Parker and I were suffering from severe cases of Wortfindungsschwierigkeiten*. When we had overcome them, the laptop developed a major hiccup and swallowed several paragraphs, and when I started rewriting what was gone, someone raised their hand – or shall I say wing – and… well, read for yourself. 

*Wortfindungsschwierigkeiten: having difficulties in finding the appropriate word or expression

Previously…

When Charlotte threatens to end the engagement, Tom Parker steps in: he won’t accept such bad publicity for Sanditon. Charlotte and Mary have a girls talk, Mary implying mysterious events from Sidney’s past and asking Charlotte to give her fiancé the chance to apologise. Sidney is treated to some brother talk from Tom, who strongly recommends a new dress code plus opening up to Charlotte. They meet again for a stilted but surprisingly peaceful teatime. The question of the engagement, however, remains unresolved.

***

 

“Georgiana? Miss Heywood is here to see you,” Mrs Griffiths announced, opening the door for Charlotte to walk through to her charge’s bedroom. Crocket was busy brushing out the light blue dress Georgiana had worn the day before to her doomed picnic, and Georgiana herself was sitting by the window, staring out at Sanditon’s roofs, looking very sulky. But she did not outright decline to receive Charlotte.

“Has my guardian sent you to spy on me again?” she asked.

“What? No, indeed he has not!” Charlotte blushed. Georgiana’s guardian was at Trafalgar House right now, discussing finances with his brother, and Charlotte had sneaked away, still in doubt about what to do after the previous day’s events. As decreed by Tom, they would all go out for a clifftop walk later. She was wondering whether her fiancé would take the opportunity to apologise – and if so, if it would incline her to stay. Until then, calling on his ward seemed to be a clever idea to calm her nerves and curb her anger.

“I don’t trust you,” Georgiana said.

“So you keep saying.” Charlotte sighed. This was not the diversion she had hoped for. “And yet… if I really were his spy, don’t you think I would have known the name of the young gentleman you were meeting yesterday?”

Georgiana frowned. “Maybe you’re not his spy, but still…”

“I’m your friend, Georgiana, as I keep telling you. Mr Parker is my fiancé, and I’m absolutely capable of differentiating the one from the other.” Especially today, with the future of their engagement even more in the balance than the future of Sanditon. 

“Miss Brereton also said she wanted to be my friend, and then...”

“I’m not responsible for Miss Brereton’s actions,” Charlotte replied, slightly exasperated and cursing the day Clara Brereton had sneaked into her life with her sweet smile and humble manner.

“And would you have walked me away from the one thing I love, as if I was a prisoner?”

“I don’t actually understand what happened yesterday, Georgiana.”

“He hasn’t told you?” 

“We were not… not exactly discussing you yesterday.” 

Sidney’s ward raised an eyebrow. “Are you discussing anything at all with your fiancé?” 

Charlotte shrugged her shoulders. “The weather?”

Georgiana looked at her maid, who was still brushing out the light blue dress. “Leave us alone for a moment, Crockett,” she asked and only continued when the maid had curtsied and closed the door behind her. “I had arranged to meet Otis in the bluebell wood by the river for a picnic,” she explained, inviting Charlotte to sit down by her side.

“Otis… that would be Mr Molyneux?”

“Yes. But I’m not allowed to walk about on my own, not like you.”

“I’m not anymore,” Charlotte said. “I’m allowed to walk from here to there if it’s within the town, but otherwise, Mrs Parker sends her maid with me now.”

“Does she?” Georgiana raised an eyebrow again. “Why is that?” 

“I suppose she wants to… be careful.” But Georgiana was more interested in her own story than in Mary Parker’s sudden whims of propriety.

“Anyway, I was in need of a chaperon, and I asked Miss Brereton to accompany me. She had made such a point about wanting to be my friend and how we were both outliers to Sanditon society…” She was trying to get into the good graces of the wealthiest and most lonesome girl in town – and her guardian, Charlotte thought with a shudder. Was it conceivable that Clara was anything but kind and sweet, but cold and calculating? That she was trying to endear herself not to Georgiana – who was still the heiress – but to Sidney, who was guarding the heiress’s fortune? Had Clara’s low station in life and delicate position in Sanditon House left her with no other choice?

“You didn’t tell Miss Brereton about Mr Molyneux, though?” she asked. Georgiana shrugged her shoulders.

“I thought it would be better for her conscience if she knew as little as possible about our plans. She was all kindness and sweetness, but the moment we met Otis, she became all priggish and proper and insisted we return into town. She’s more virtuous than the vicar, believe it or not.”

No, she’s not, Charlotte thought. But Clara Brereton’s actions were not the point here. “Is this Mr Molyneux the reason why Mr Parker brought you away from London?”

“Oh. It’s still Mr Parker, is it?” 

She ignored the question and any implications it carried. “Is he the reason?”

“My wretched guardian thinks Otis is interested in my money only.”

“And he’s wrong?”

“Of course he’s wrong! Whose side are you on, Charlotte?”

“I’m always on the side of love.” Yet, with Georgiana’s fortune and Sidney’s responsibility for it, Charlotte did understand why he would be cautious about any suitor. “Now, tell me more about your Otis.” 

Georgiana’s face lighted up. “We met at a ball. He mistook me for a servant and demanded that I fetched him a cup of wine.” That sounded familiar somehow. New maid?  “He was very offensive. I thought him rude and overly self-confident.” Again, that rang a bell. What was it about all these gentlemen that they believed they had a right to act condescendingly towards any woman that would not simper and flatter at the sheer sight of them? 

“I was uprooted,” Georgiana went on. “Longing for Antigua and mourning my father. Otis restored me to life. Those three months with him were the happiest in my life. – Until your fiancé took it upon himself to lock me away in this… this backwater.”

“I’m sure Mr Parker had your best interests at heart,” Charlotte said.

“Did he? And what are they, pray?”

“I don’t know. You might… just ask him?” 

Georgiana scoffed. “I know the answer already. This is what your father wanted for you, Georgiana. But however hard I try, I simply cannot imagine my father wanted me to lose my mind in the company of that gorgon and the silly Beaufort girls.” 

But I’m sure he did not want to see you and your fortune wed to the first suitor that comes along either, Charlotte thought, sighing deeply. Georgiana’s money, her family background, the prejudices she would always face when entering London society: as much as she hated to admit it, Charlotte did see how Sidney’s difficult task as a guardian was made even more challenging by his ward’s unusual circumstances. It was a heavy responsibility he obviously had never asked nor sought for, and Georgiana throwing herself at the very first suitor that came along did nothing to lift the weight.

How confounding everything was again! And how wrong Lady Denham was to believe that money bought a woman freedom and happiness! In Georgiana’s case, her fortune left her imprisoned in a golden cage with little to no hope of escape. And in her own case, Charlotte realised, it would be easy to walk free of Sidney Parker – but it would be difficult to find freedom in the consequences of a broken engagement.

 

*

 

“And they told me I was over the weight limit! For a donkey ride!” Arthur Parker’s usually amiable face was flushed with indignation. “It was very unfair, very unfair. What do you think, Miss Heywood?”

“I think it was very kind of the donkey guides to decline their services to you, Mr Parker, because if they had taken you out on a ride, I would not be able to enjoy your company right now,” Charlotte said. Arthur beamed at her, all kindness and affection in his eyes.

“How very lucky we are to welcome you into our family, Miss Heywood. We’ll never be short of encouragement again, don’t you agree, Sidney?” Sidney nodded, fiddling with his coat’s sleeve that had become caught with one of the brass buttons of his green waistcoat. 

Unbeknownst to Arthur, it was far from assured that Miss Heywood would become a part of the Parker family. The next stage of Tom’s agenda did not go according to plan. With Arthur and Diana joining the family walk along the cliff, he had a competitor for Charlotte’s attention. So instead of plucking up his courage and trying to find the right words for an apology, Sidney was discussing the donkey rental, with Arthur absolutely unwilling to move from Charlotte’s side. Mary and Tom were walking ahead of them, Diana and the girls were dawdling behind, and Henry was everywhere, running after a young herring gull on his short legs, cheering whenever he believed himself close to catching the elusive bird.

“Have you ever tried a donkey ride, Miss Heywood?” Arthur inquired now. Charlotte shook her head. 

“Indeed, I have not. I have two very fine feet to carry me.” Her companion laughed. 

“Well said, Miss Heywood, very well said!”

Tom Parker turned around, waving his younger brother by his side. “Arthur, come and tell Mary about that cold you lately recovered from. It seems Jamie has a little cough, and without a proper physician in Sanditon, we might need your expertise.”

“Oh, dear.” Arthur bowed to Charlotte. “My services are required, Miss Heywood.” Charlotte saw him off with a kind nod as he hurried to join his sister-in-law. But before Sidney could think of what to say now that he was alone with her, two merry little ladies came running up to them, each grabbing one of his fiancée’s hands. “Charlotte, will you help us with the sandcastle competition?” Alicia asked.

“I’ll be the architect,” Jenny announced with a very serious expression. “There will be a moat and turrets and towers.”

“It will be the best sandcastle ever,” Alicia added, nodding gravely.

“Then how can I resist?” Charlotte laughed, showing that beautiful smile that illuminated her eyes and made her whole pretty face glow, that beautiful smile that she bestowed so generously – but never on Mr Sidney Parker. – Wait, wait, wait, wait… if she agreed to help with the girls’ sandcastle, did that mean she intended to stay? Or was it just a ruse to divert Jenny and Alicia?

“Why don’t you go ahead and tell your father that you have recruited me?” she now suggested. Sidney watched his nieces storm forward and beleaguer Tom. He slowed down, allowing Diana to pass them with a knowing smile, then leaned on his cane and gazed out at the sea. It was a slightly hazy day, leaving the coast, the sea and the horizon in diffuse shades of grey. 

He took a tighter grip of the cane. Charlotte was still by his side, gazing at the sea just as he did, yet keeping a good five feet distance from him. As they watched the waves crash on the shore below and the seagulls circle in the sky, the silence between them dragged on and quickly turned into awkwardness. It was now or never, Sidney realised: If he did not manage to open his mouth now and say the right words, he would lose her altogether.

“Miss Heywood,” he began, turning to her. She was just adjusting her bonnet, trying to catch a stray strand of hair that kept blowing into her face. How he wished he could simply raise his hand and tuck it behind her ears! She glanced up to him from the side, her head slightly tilted, her dark eyes questioning him, the strand of hair flying back into her face.

“Miss Heywood.” Well, if nothing else, he would simply repeat her name until she forgave him. Or shoved him off the cliff. He cleared his throat. “Miss Heywood.”

“I know who I am, Mr Parker,” she said, giving up on the loose strand, her voice slightly impatient.

“Yes. Of course. I’m… umm, I…” Henry came racing towards them, chasing the young herring gull again.

“Henry!” Diana called him back. Sidney watched his nephew turn and run back into his aunt’s opened arms. With a sigh, he picked up his thread again: “To be honest, Miss Heywood, I don’t seem to be knowing who I am lately.”

Charlotte cocked an eyebrow. “The sensible brother?”

With a short, sharp laugh, he shook his head. “No. Definitely not the sensible brother. All facts considered, that must be Arthur. - I feel more like a traveller to a distant country who unintentionally ignores all local customs and manages to affront everyone.” 

“I’ve never travelled to distant countries,” Charlotte admitted.

“No, of course not.” As he knew well, she had hardly ever been away from her father’s house. He should have chosen a better figure of speech. “You see? It’s just happened again. I’m trying to explain myself, and instead, I’m coming across as bragging about my travels.” To his surprise, she shook her head.

“That’s entirely your interpretation, Mr Parker. And it’s wrong. - I understand you wanted to express that your present situation is new to you and that in your insecurity about it, you tend to act foolishly.”

“Yes.” He could not help but stare at her and marvel at the fact that despite all their misunderstandings, she seemed to understand him better than anyone else did. How was that possible? A slip of a girl from nowhere with freckles and an upturned nose?

“Well,” Charlotte said, keeping his gaze, her voice calm and composed. “When uncertain, most people would find it helpful to ask someone who might know better.”

“Hmm.” Sidney cleared his throat. “I suppose I… I’m not very much in the habit of asking others for help.”

“Because usually, you are the one who is prevailed upon for help?” 

Surely, Charlotte Heywood deserved a prize for being the most intelligent and insightful woman to be found in the whole of England? How did she know that years of being the sensible brother had left him rather insensible to his own needs?

She slowly walked on, turning her gaze away from him and at the sea again. He hurried to catch up with her. “So… err… Miss Heywood… if I wished to make amends… if I wished to apologise… what would you suggest I do?” She stopped, examining him with that clear, intense gaze of hers.

“Is this about what happened yesterday?”

“It is,” he admitted, feeling his cheeks burn with the shame of those awful words. You’ll find yourself behaving according to my rules.

“Then I’d suggest you… tell me what you wish to apologise for, and we discuss how we might prevent such conversations in the future.”

Henry’s young herring gull had returned: it was sitting right in front of them in the middle of the footpath, tilting its head and looking at Sidney from grey eyes as if it wanted to say: Do it, Mr Silly Dunderhead, or clear off from my lovely cliff.

But even without this avian encouragement, he would have spoken now. It was his only option, for even though he was unable to grasp all the consequences, he understood suddenly and with astonishing clarity that he really wanted to marry Charlotte Heywood. Not out of duty to Tom or because he desired her. Two perfectly valid reasons. Yet more important was another undeniable fact: that she was the one woman who had the potential to complement him where he was wanting, to make him a better man. 

Turning fully to her and inclining his head so that he could meet her eyes, he said with a voice hoarse and full of regret: “The way I spoke to you on my return to Sanditon was disrespectful and harmful, Miss Heywood. My words were born out of anger and frustration, and I wish I could make them unsaid. I should never have taken out my irritation on you, and I’m asking you to forgive me. Please believe me that I… I don’t actually think marriage is about owning the other person.” A small breeze carried his last words away as he kept her gaze: her dark eyes, warm and wise, unwavering searching his as if she needed to make sure that his expression matched his words, that what he was saying was more than an empty formula to comply with Tom’s demands.

Sidney felt his lips part and his heart throb under her all-seeing scrutiny, and he found himself clutching his cane in a way that made his knuckles hurt. However, clutching the cane was the only thing that kept him from going down on his knees and grabbing her hands. He had an inkling that touching her and invading her personal space would not be helpful right now. After some endless moments, she nodded slowly.

“I accept your apology, Mr Parker.” He breathed out, feeling the tension go and turn into relief. But that was not all; she had more to say: “However, if we were to be married, the fact of the legal premise would remain. I will have a say in nothing, and you will be able to rule over me in everything. That’s not what I wish my life to be like.” Of course not. Fortunately, he had done at least this part of his homework.

“I have been thinking about that.”

“You have?” She cocked an eyebrow in surprise.

“Yes. Lawyers don’t charge their fees for nothing, Miss Heywood.” He adjusted his hat and relaxed his grip on the cane. “I believe we might draw up a… a sort of contract. It would take your wishes and expectations for our marriage into account. The exact terms would have to be discussed properly, of course, but I believe such a framework might give you some sort of freedom and… peace of mind.” A marriage contract was not that unusual after all; it would have been only natural had she more to expect from her father than an extremely meagre dowry. He could see the idea work in her mind: furrowing her brow again, she was squinting warily at him. 

“Why are you doing this?” she finally asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why won’t you let me go? We could end it now and here and both walk free. Even your brother could not stop us.”

No, but he can drive me into insanity by accusing me of ruining the Sanditon venture with my broken engagement, Sidney thought. Again, this was the wrong thing to say. His heart was beating heavily again. The right thing to say was that he wanted to stay in the engagement because Charlotte Heywood was a beautiful, intelligent young lady who would brighten up his sad and sorry existence. That, and the insignificant fact that he desired her even more now than five minutes ago and in a way that would make her blush and the vicar faint on the spot. Or the other way round. Or both. Whatever. Anyway, it was not the right thing to say either. 

Seeing that she was waiting for an explanation that did not involve his elder brother and the development of Sanditon, it dawned on Sidney that he had to give Charlotte Heywood something of himself now. He had to open up; he had to allow her a glimpse at his heart. He had to prove that he was not unknowable but human after all. He cleared his throat again. “When… umm, when I proposed to you and said that I had the funds to support my own wife and children, that was… not just empty words. Ever since Antigua, I’ve envied Tom for his happy family life. I still do.” There, it was out: he had said it - and told her what he would only have told Tom. And she did not laugh at him. Instead, she looked slightly puzzled, pinching her eyes.

“But there are so many other ladies you might marry. Why me? You don’t even like me.”

“I never said so.” He felt lighter now: light enough for some gentle teasing. Especially with Charlotte looking up to him, wary and rather cute in her indignation. 

“You said I was inexperienced with little understanding, and you accused me of frivolousness, and you quite convincingly claimed that you were not interested in my approval or disapproval, that you did not care what I think or how I feel, and that you did not think of me at all.”

“Do you remember everything I say?”

“Only your most memorable insults, Mr Parker.” He chuckled.

“And still, I never said I didn’t like you. If I remember correctly, I was the one who agreed to this engagement long before you did.”

“I don’t understand.” That cute frown returned to her face, disarming him in a most unexpected way.

“I… umm, I, look, Miss Heywood…” His saviour came in the form of Henry, who had fled his aunt’s arms and was chasing the poor herring gull again. Like his father, he did not seem to have any idea of when enough was enough – but with him being four years old and not forty, that was a forgivable flaw. Now he was running after the bird, flailing his arms as if he was hoping to get off the ground as well, and the gull, squawking angrily, took to the air again, spiralled higher and higher into the sky, and dropped a final comment before heading out towards the sea. Unfortunately, it was not the cliff grass that was hit by the comment but Sidney’s hat.

“Oh,” Charlotte said, staring at the soiled front of her fiancé’s fashionable headgear. “Oh, dear.” Henry put his hand to his mouth, his eyes turning large – but whether that was due to shock or amusement will have to be left open to speculation.

“Henry!” Tom Parker called. “Stop pestering your uncle and his girl.”

“It’s nothing,” Sidney quickly said, stuck his cane under his arm and took off his hat. It was more than nothing, of course; it was something quite disagreeable if not revolting, especially for the manservant who would have to clean the hat. And it was certainly nothing to please a young lady’s eyes. Why was it that everything – absolutely everything – he tried with Charlotte Heywood went terribly wrong at some stage? he thought as he dabbed his handkerchief at the blot.

But the glance Charlotte threw him was not one of horror or disgust. For some reason (probably because she was Charlotte Heywood), he found the tiniest little smile on her lips and a friendly gleam in her eyes: “It’s supposed to carry luck, isn’t it?” she suggested, pointing at the offensive mark.

“Is it?”

“I think so.”

“Well, then… it’s not an accident but a message of hope?” And was he just enjoying the privilege of being treated to one of Charlotte Heywood’s famous talks of encouragement and positivity for the very first time?

Instead of an answer, Charlotte shrugged her shoulders, allowing the breeze to blow another strand of hair in her face. After some more moments of silently walking side by side, she said: “I think I owe you an explanation, Mr Parker. – I did not see how my calls on old Mr Stringer would create… such a wrong impression. To me, they were a… welcome escape.”

“Escape?” He raised an eyebrow. “From what?” 

“Everything.” With a sweet expression of desperation, she shrugged her shoulders again. “Georgiana, sending me away day after day? Lady Denham, questioning my morals and motives? Mr Hankins… oh, Mr Hankins. I cannot even say how embarrassing that lesson with him was. And even your own brother, gloating and grinning and claiming he was the world’s greatest matchmaker? - Mr Stringer was the only one who would not mention the engagement every time he saw me, and I came to believe he was the last sensible person left in Sanditon. I so much preferred discussing bricks and roof tiles to having to defend you and me from everyone’s hurtful assumptions.” 

Sidney found himself staring at her again. She had been desperate. Caught in an engagement she had never wanted, isolated and pushed into a corner. Of course, Young Stringer’s smile brightened up her day, if nothing and no one else would – least of all her fiancé, who was the most horrible brute that had ever roamed Sanditon’s paths.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Heywood,” he said, hanging his head. “What a fool I was.”

“I think I was a fool as well for not seeing what was right in front of me,” she admitted. Sidney stayed quiet. He was clearly the bigger fool, but he was not going to start a new quarrel with her over the title of the biggest fool. So they remained silent, walking on along the cliff, glancing out at the sea, processing what had been said, weighing up arguments and emotions.

“Mary asked me not to make a rash decision,” Charlotte said after a while.

“I would ask you the same,” Sidney replied, tightening the grip on the brim of his hat. She acknowledged his words with a nod.

“I believe if I stay for the week until the cricket match, we’ll be able to learn more about each other and find out how… if there is any chance this might work.”

“Good.” Very good, in fact: excellent.

“I have two conditions, though.”

“I’m all ears, Miss Heywood,” he said, looking at her expectantly. 

She bit her lip before she went on: “Please don’t mention Miss Brereton to me again.” 

What was it that had ended the girls’ friendship? Was this a tale of jealousy after all? About Crowe, who had danced with Miss Brereton twice at the ball and later, at the pineapple luncheon, enjoyed a spirited conversation with Charlotte? No, this was ridiculous. There had to be another element to the story, but he did not want to press her about it. Not now when they had just reached such a delicate truce. If they really managed to achieve a better understanding, she would confide to him about her troubles with Clara in her own good and perfect time.

“No more Miss Brereton,” he confirmed. “And the second condition?”

“Next time Mr Hankins calls on me with his lessons, you will be there and listen to him as well.” 

“Is it that bad?”

Charlotte tried a smile, but it was clear that it was not a happy one. “I would say that you’ll find his teachings as… botanical as his sermons, but since you still skip his Sunday services, you have no idea what I’m talking about.”

She had a point there, undeniably: Sidney skipped the services and ran away whenever he found the vicar in Mrs Griffiths’ drawing-room, so he did not know what wisdoms the man actually preached. “Agreed,” he said. “I’m probably in more urgent need of his teachings anyway. – So. We are on trial until the cricket match?” he added, searching her gaze.

“We are,” she confirmed with a nod.

“Well, then.” He could not help but smile. If they were business partners, he would stick out his hand to confirm the deal, but this, he realised, was far from business. This was substantial.

“Well then,” Charlotte replied, not returning his smile but looking at him with a solemn expression.

They walked on, slowly narrowing the distance to Tom, Mary and the others as they walked on, saying nothing, gazing towards the sea here and the hills there. At some stage, Sidney wondered whether he should offer her his arm, bridging the gap between them. It would be nice to have her a little closer by his side, to feel her light touch on his arm, to find her looking up to him as Mary was looking up to Tom. 

Apart from his sister and his sister-in-law, he was not very much in the habit of offering ladies his arm, given that it was seen as such an intimate gesture. Again, he realised, a pleasure he had allowed Eliza to steal from him. And now it was too late anyway: while he had been brooding, Jenny and Alicia had returned to Charlotte’s side, taken her by her hands (very spontaneously and probably without thinking so much as half a second about it) and involved her in some merry chanting, leading her away from him.

Chapter 12: Rapprochement

Notes:

Thanks for all your comments again! A special round of applause goes to some eagle eyes who spotted the reference to a certain poem in the previous chapter (If you have no idea what I’m talking about, don’t worry and ignore this completely. It’s Easter time, I like to hide a little egg here and there, and I’m in a very silly mood these days).

Tom’s expert fashion advice in chapter 10 sparked a nice little Facebook conversation about our favourite Sidney-outfit. So I suppose you’ll be pleased to hear that the topic is far from being dealt with in this story.

Previously

 

Charlotte visits Georgiana and learns more about her friend’s beau, Otis Molyneux. During the family clifftop walk, Sidney finally gets his act together and manages to apologise to Charlotte. They decide to give their engagement another chance until the cricket match. But Charlotte insists on two conditions: no more Clara-talk, and for the vicar’s next lesson, Sidney has to join her.

 

***

 

All in all, Charlotte did not regret her decision to stay in Sanditon until the cricket match. Sidney Parker continued to baffle and confound her, but the way he had conducted himself during the clifftop walk had given her some hope for their future together: if not for love and affection, then at least for a relationship based on respect and friendship.

His plea for help when struggling with his apology, his idea of a contract to give her rights and independence in their marriage, his readiness to agree to her conditions: those were not the actions of a heartless brute who was doing his brother’s bidding, but of a man who had given her needs and his own behaviour some thought. And most astonishing of it all: his assertion that “I never said I didn’t like you.” Did that mean that he did like her? Was Mary right in her strange assumption that something about her stirred Sidney Parker and lit a spark for him? And if that was the case: Would she ever be able to like him back?

For the moment, however, they were still at a stage of careful, stilted conversations that very often felt as if they were both walking over glass shards with bare feet, fearful of hurting the other as much as themselves. Fortunately, Mary Parker proved to be a true friend and chaperoned Charlotte during her teatimes with Sidney, always ready to jump in with a kind remark or a friendly diversion to ease any tension. Even Tom Parker had stopped bragging about his qualities as matchmaker and relationship counsellor – probably after another intense brother talk - and discussed the regatta and the cricket match now. 

As the weather kept fine, Charlotte took up her routine of morning “dips” in the sea again, and during the day, when she was not seeing Georgiana or trying to maintain a conversation with her fiancé, she assisted Tom with his administration or Mary with the children. One such morning she was sitting by the drawing-room table, little Henry perched up on her knees, perusing a picture book of wild animals with him. Such strange creatures were roaming the wild places far away from England’s peaceful shores! They had admired lions, tigers and serpents, and when they turned the next page, they found themselves eye in eye with a particularly grumpy looking lizard-like reptile. It had a long flat snout that housed an alarming number of sharp teeth. “What’s that?” Henry asked, tapping on the page with his chubby little fingers. 

“That’s a crocodile.” Without thinking, Charlotte gathered her little charge closer to her, as if to protect him in case the predator in the book came alive. Henry, however, was unafraid.

“Is it hungry?”

“I suppose it is,” she said. Well-read as she was, her knowledge of predatory reptiles was still limited. She very much preferred Greek philosophers: they were a lot easier to handle. “If you’re that large and dangerous, you’re probably always hungry. – Very much like a scrawny little boy.” She tickled Henry’s tummy, making him squeal and giggle on her lap and tickle her back, and when she looked up, she saw her fiancé standing in the doorway, glancing at them with a calm, if not to say: pleased expression. 

And her fiancé was looking very fine today, clean-shaven, wearing a tight-fitting, elegant dark green silk waistcoat with a delicate gold pattern to black boots and pants of a deep and warm brown colour. Charlotte marvelled at what had happened to the leather breeches. Sidney had not been wearing them for days, which was disturbing and reassuring at the same time – mostly because since their clifftop walk, she had been suffering visions again of her fiancé grazing her arm. He was wearing those leather breeches whenever he did that, as if her arm, his touch, and the breeches were somehow mysteriously connected. It was highly confounding. “Mr Parker,” she said now, hoping he did not notice her flush. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Miss Heywood.” Sidney bowed. Henry, once more squealing with joy, leapt off her knees and ran towards his uncle. 

“Uncle Sinney, can you look at the hungry cockodrile with us?”

“Of course I can,” Sidney said, sweeping his nephew off the ground, sitting him on his shoulders and joining Charlotte at the table. “If Miss Heywood will have me, that is.”

“I will.” Charlotte gave him a small smile and moved a little to the side. Sidney sat down next to her and allowed Henry to climb down from his shoulder to sit on his knees. While his nephew settled in, Sidney rolled up his sleeves as if he wanted to say: Now let’s get down to business. And he did not even seem to notice that they were seated unusually close together now. Oh dear, Charlotte thought, glancing at his muscly forearms and catching a whiff of his scent as he leaned forward to examine the picture in the book. 

“Now that is a very unfriendly crocodile, Henry,” Sidney said. “Better make sure you run away or climb a tree if you meet such a grumpy fellow in real life.” But Henry, being a Parker, and the son of a Parker who had not exactly invented reason, disagreed. 

“I would not run away. I would punch it on the nose.” With the full confidence of a four-year-old, he shook his tiny fist.

“That’s not a good idea, Henry,” Sidney gently said. “You never tease animals. If you do, they will turn on you.” Or on your uncle, Charlotte added, remembering the herring gull that had left a comment on Sidney’s hat. Henry’s fist relaxed.

“Would the crockodrile bite me?”

“Possibly.” 

“Will it hurt?” Sidney nodded.

“Very much. Just look at those teeth. Sharp as needles.”

“Are there any crocodiles in Antigua?” Charlotte asked without thinking yet mesmerised by the idea that her fiancé might actually have encountered these fabled animals. To think that he had seen what she only knew from books and depictions! Sidney twitched his mouth. In a nice way, however, not annoyed but acknowledging her question, glancing at her. There was something very soft and relaxed in his expression now, something that made him look younger and more amenable.

“Not in Antigua, no. But I journeyed across the Caribbean to Florida once, and there I did see crocodiles. Very impressive fellows. - Look at the jaws, Henry. That’s where their strength lies. Anything else that strikes you about their heads?”

Henry tilted his own head, biting his lip. “Their eyes look funny.” 

His uncle nodded. “Their eyes are very different from ours, and they are supposed to see at night when all we humans see is pitch darkness. And did you notice how the eyes and ears and nostrils are located on top of the head? Crocodiles can lie low in the water, looking as if they were logs, hidden away from sight, but seeing everything that’s going on around them.”

“Isn’t that exciting, Henry?” Charlotte asked. Talking to Henry was definitely easier than looking at Sidney and wondering what else he might have seen and experienced. There was so much she longed to know and understand about the world outside her own little circle, and she suddenly realised that here by her side, looking at animal picture books and entertaining his nephew, was someone who had seen that world and would share with her what he had learnt. How strange it was to think that Sidney’s experience from his travels here, there and everywhere did, in fact, complement her own thirst for knowledge and sense of adventure! 

Henry, however, was moving on already. “Did you see lions and tigers as well, Uncle Sinney?”

Uncle Sinney shook his head. “There are not so many lions and tigers in the Caribbean, I’m afraid. But… lots of turtles. And dolphins. And flamingos.”

“What’s flamingos?”

“A flamingo is a bird. A large pink bird with a long neck.” Sidney made a long neck himself, coupled with a slightly silly expression on his face. Charlotte could not help but laugh, but Henry was not very much interested in large pink birds.

“Did you see pirates?”

“Fortunately not, no.” His uncle stopped making silly grimaces and turned into his normal handsome self again.

“Why?”

“Meeting a pirate can be as disagreeable as meeting a crocodile.” Henry frowned, obviously not happy with his uncle’s lack of sense for adventure.

“I’m going to be a pirate,” he announced. “Everyone will be afraid of me. Even the cockodrills.”

“Then I’ll make sure never to meet you on my travels, Captain Parker,” Sidney smiled, ruffling his nephew’s hair. “Shall we have a look at the next picture? - Miss Heywood?”

But Miss Heywood was currently distracted. Henry’s mentioning of pirates had evoked another image in her mind: this time of Sidney Parker, standing on the rail of his very own pirate ship, gazing into the distance, the wind ruffling his curls, white shirt sleeves billowing in the breeze. Needless to say, pirate Sidney was wearing those darned leather breeches again. Maybe that was a point she should address in their marriage contract. To keep the lady’s sanity intact, the husband is not allowed to wear leather breeches. Or was it: To please his lady’s eyes, the husband is required to wear leather breeches at least once a week?  Charlotte sighed deeply. Everything would be so much easier if only she had met Arthur instead of Sidney at the cove.

Now he leaned forward to open the next page of Henry’s book. His fingers and hands were, of course, as strong and well-shaped as everything else about him. That was slightly annoying because how was she supposed to look at the picture of a wild animal from a far-away place when Sidney Parker’s agile fingers kept distracting her? She gave another deep sigh. 

“Is everything alright, Miss Heywood?” he asked, raising his eyebrows, obviously concerned now.

“Umm… ah, yes, absolutely.”

Fortunately, Mary walked into the drawing-room right now. Less fortunately, she was followed by the vicar two steps behind. “Charlotte, my dear,” she said. “Mr Hankins has come to… read with you again.”

“And I see you are in the company of your intended, Miss Heywood,” Mr Hankins added, bowing to Sidney. “Mr Parker. I trust you found your fiancée wholly inspired and edified after our previous lesson.”

“And that being the case, I’m going to join you today,” Sidney replied, lifting Henry off his lap, handing him the picture book and sending him off to his mother with a friendly pat.

“Oh,” Mr Hankins said, losing his complacent expression for a moment. “I am not sure I would recommend such interference, sir. - We are touching very sensitive places in our conversation,” he added with a grave look at his blushing pupil. Oh dear, Charlotte thought. Please, Lord, not the tree trunk and the ivy again. Her fiancé, however, completely unperturbed, shrugged his shoulders.

“I suppose as Miss Heywood’s future husband, I should not be afraid of touching sensitive places -” a sudden coughing fit shook him before he finished: “- with her in conversation.”

“I’ll leave you then,” Mary announced with a very strange expression on her face, quickly taking Henry by his hand and shoving him out of the room. Mr Hankins shot a somewhat dissatisfied glance at Sidney, sat down at the table across Charlotte, and opened his Bible. 

“This is very irregular, Mr Parker. Should you indeed feel the need to prepare yourself spiritually for your upcoming duties as husband and head of a family, I suggest we reconvene in a setting more appropriate for male conversation.” 

Whatever that setting might be, the simple idea of it seemed to dispirit Sidney. There was nothing amenable or relaxed in his countenance anymore, quite on the contrary: if he had put his boots on the table next and declared with an angry scowl that he wished to read the news in peace, Charlotte would not have been surprised. Yet, he pulled himself together after a second and said: “I’ll just listen in on your conversation, vicar, and decide on my… needs later.”

“If you wish so.” The vicar cleared his throat, sending a severe glance to Charlotte. “I trust you recollect the topics of our previous lesson, Miss Heywood.”

“I believe… I believe it was… mostly about…” Flowers? Botany? Poppycock and nonsense?

“Mostly about your role as your husband’s help-meet,” Mr Hankins prompted her and, with another grave nod, touched his sideburns.

“Of course.” Maybe insisting on Sidney’s company during the vicar’s visits was not such a good idea after all. Shared embarrassment became not necessarily lighter to bear, Charlotte realised with a side glance at her fiancé. He now very much looked like the crocodile from Henry’s book: unsociable and disgruntled. Only that crocodiles did not impatiently tap their fingers on the table.

“Help-meet,” Sidney repeated, looking at the vicar in his very own arrogant way. “And what exactly would Miss Heywood’s tasks be as such?” 

“Why, to support and assist her husband in all his plans and aspirations, of course,” the vicar explained.

“Is that a mutual task?” Mr Hankins abruptly stopped fondling his sideburns.

“What do you mean, sir?” 

“Am I expected to support Miss Heywood in her plans and aspirations as well?” Sidney clarified.

The vicar scoffed. “Miss Heywood is a woman, Mr Parker. She is not meant to have any plans and aspirations of her own. Instead, like a flower, she will blossom under the diligent guidance of her husband. A delicate flower, I may add: young women are very delicate flowers indeed. They have not yet the resilience of the wild cornflower or the adaptability of the humble dandelion; no; young women, I perceive, are very much like tender roses, shyly and one by one opening the soft petals of their bud until they present their full bloom to the skilled gardener. In other words: their caring husband.” Charlotte did not dare to look at her fiancé, who for one remarkable moment seemed to be too dumbstruck for an answer. Instead, she studied his boots. “I gather you are familiar with the words of the Apostle Paul, sir?” Mr Hankins added.

“I’m afraid that gentleman was too talkative for me to remember everything he said,” Sidney uttered between clenched teeth.

“Neither was the man created for the woman; but the woman for the man. Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord.”

“I see.” Sidney shook his head, checked his timepiece and stood. “Very well, I’ve heard enough.”

“You are leaving, Mr Parker?” Mr Hankins, who had started stroking his sideburns again, stopped doing so.

“We are leaving. It’s a fine fresh day, and I intend to take Miss Heywood for a walk.” He smiled at Charlotte: a surprisingly friendly and encouraging smile, given his overall impatient demeanour. 

“But we are nowhere close to finishing our lesson,” the vicar vetoed. “You may come to regret seeing your future wife discharged into the troublesome waters of matrimony without proper tutoring.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Sidney replied. “You see, Mr Hankins, I have many demands on my time, I’m a businessman. I review every transaction for the profit I may expect, and right now, I see that I will gain more profit from investing an hour in an intimate conversation with my fiancée than from her learning something about… botany.”

“But… but…” The poor vicar’s eyes seemed to pop out of their sockets. Such disrespect! Such ignorance!

“Submit yourselves unto your own husbands,”  Charlotte quoted. “If I follow Mr Parker’s request for a walk now, that’s just perfect proof that I understood your lesson, Mr Hankins.” But Mr Hankins disagreed.

“A leisurely walk may be easily regarded as a sign of imprudence and frivolousness if it means leaving other tasks incomplete. Again, Miss Heywood, I feel a strong wish to apprise your father of the delicacy and urgency of your situation. I would have hoped the regrettable events leading to your engagement would have taught you a certain… a certain decorum and a sense of responsibility, and it grieves me deeply to see that this is not the case – neither with you nor with your husband to be.” 

“That is enough!” Charlotte’s husband to be bellowed, pounding a fist on the table. “I’d very much ask you to stop doubting Miss Heywood’s integrity, sir.”

“Oh, I’m not doubting…” Sidney ignored the vicar, looking at Charlotte, his expression upset but, for once, not upset with her. In fact, he was protecting her. Just as a husband was supposed to protect his wife.

“Are you ready for a walk, Miss Heywood?” 

“Just give me five minutes, Mr Parker,” Charlotte said, already out of the door and halfway up to her room. Five minutes: of which she needed one to gather her gloves, coat and bonnet, and four to soothe her throbbing heart.

 

*

 

Mary and the children joined them for their walk along the shoreline, and so did Tom, claiming that he had to check out the beach cricket field for the upcoming match. He was in quite a state after finding an article in the London paper that described British settlers playing cricket on the sunny shores of New South Wales. 

“The Sanditon cricket match is unique, and this year, it must be a success!” he announced. “And we must make it to the papers as well. I can’t have an obscure colony on the other side of the world take all the glory for inventing beach cricket when it was so clearly introduced in Sanditon first. – Mary, do you think I should write to the editor and demand the name of his source? Do you think it might be someone who emigrated to the Australian settlements from Sanditon? But why would anyone ever wish to leave Sanditon?”

“Tom…,” his wife started, but his mind had already jumped to the next idea.

“Sidney, next time you get to London, I need you to go and see that editor!”

“I won’t be going to London for a while, Tom,” Sidney reminded his brother with a small nod at his fiancée, who was catching up with them now after examining some flotsam with the children. Charlotte was looking very pretty in her sand-coloured coat and the straw bonnet with the long soft silk bow, her dark curls framing her sweet face, her cheeks slightly pink from the salty sea-breeze.

“I have to thank you, Mr Parker,” she said, coming by his side. “For saving me from Mr Hankins.”

“No need to thank me, Miss Heywood. I’m sorry you had to go through this alone before.” And he was, he really was. For a moment, he considered offering her his arm but then decided it was too intimate a gesture, especially after the vicar’s insinuations. “What a pompous fool the man is!”

“I just hope we won’t come to regret having displeased Mr Hankins of all people,” Charlotte said with a furrowed brow.

“I’d rather have to deal with a displeased vicar than waste anyone’s time with his drivel. – What is it?” Sidney added, realising that she regarded him with a slightly mischievous yet sweetly shy look from behind the brim of her bonnet.

“I think I’ve discovered something.”

“About me?” He raised an eyebrow.

“About you,” she confirmed, offering a tiny little smile that sent his heart into an unexpected flutter. 

“And what would that be?”

“You are not nearly as unfeeling as you pretend,” she explained, not shying away from his gaze.

“Oh.” Well, his clever and observant fiancée had indeed discovered something about him. “What makes you come to such a conclusion?”

“The way you were playing and talking with Henry? Telling him not to tease an animal?” Seeing that her assumption did not make him explode on her, her confidence and the tiny little smile grew stronger. “You were very kind to Henry. A perfect uncle. Yet for Mr Hankins, you allowed the grumpy crum… businessman to return. – You may pretend to be cold-hearted, but you cannot be so attentive and playful with a child if it isn’t in your nature to be kind. You would be found out very quickly by Henry. – So I assume the businessman with those many demands on his time is merely a ruse to distract from your true character.” Sidney found himself beaming sheepishly at his fiancée. She had found him out indeed. And what a wonderful, caring, and wise mother she would make for his children. Their children.

“I cannot fault your observations, Miss Heywood,” he said, trying to keep the tone of the conversation light. “But I’ll thank you for keeping them for yourself. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” she promised. Was that a wink he detected? It was. “Or, as Mr Hankins would say,” she added, offering a perfect imitation of the vicar: “I shall take it upon me as my matrimonial obligation to protect your unknown qualities with my dutiful reticence.” 

Sidney laughed, and try as he might, he did not remember when he had last that much enjoyed a laugh. He even wondered what her imitation of his own ill-humoured self would sound like. Better not to ask for it: he wanted to keep the atmosphere between them light and easy, just as it was right now. Right now, it was very good: perfect, in fact. But he would consider smuggling a paragraph into the marriage contract: The dutiful wife is required to make her husband laugh at least once a day by imitating a silly fellow human being.

They walked on in silence now, the distance to Tom and Mary growing. The children were everywhere, Alicia and Jenny collecting shells as decoration for their regatta sandcastle, Henry inspecting rock pools, probably hoping to find a crocodile in one of them. A family of oystercatchers was stalking along the nearest sandbar, searching for prey. The young herring gull, however, did not make another appearance. For that, Sidney was extremely grateful. It had taken his manservant hours to clean and brush his hat and wipe out every last trace of the opinionated bird’s comment. 

Just before the amiable silence between them turned into awkwardness, Charlotte stood, looked around at the beach and the mudflats stretching towards the horizon, and said: “This must be a very different shore from what you have seen in Antigua.”

“Mostly yes, though some parts of the coastline are rather rocky, actually,” he replied, slightly surprised by her choice of topic. “But the beaches are fine, and the weather is so much better, of course.”

“Listening to Georgiana, one would think it’s paradise. Yet I suppose it’s not.”

“No. It’s a place of huge contrasts… and terrible suffering.” Sidney stopped. Talking about Antigua would bring them dangerously close to the sugar trade and slavery and other facts not exactly recommended for sweet talk with a young, innocent fiancée.

“The suffering made all the more terrible because of the beauty of the place where it occurs?” Charlotte now asked. 

“Yes.” Or was it conceivable that in all her innocence, Charlotte Heywood was just the right person to tell about Antigua? He saw her gazing out at the distant horizon, her mind obviously travelling the exotic shores of the Caribbean as she shaded her eyes against the sun.

“I think with enough time, Georgiana will come to understand that any place can be paradise if you have the means for a certain lifestyle and that any place can be hell if you don’t,” she said. 

He stared ahead: Alicia, Jenny and Henry had returned to their parents’ side, with Tom twirling his cane and pointing out this and that feature of the coastline. “Yes,” he agreed belatedly. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” He would tell her about Antigua, and she would understand. Some day. Not now. Now he better sought a diversion from his past by facing another demon: “Any news about old Mr Stringer? How is his leg healing?”

“Oh, it… it seems to be healing well.”

“He must be very grateful to you.” 

“I fear it’s not in his nature to be grateful,” Charlotte admitted with a sigh. “He never stops complaining. I’ve never met a person so negative about everything and anything! And the way he keeps downplaying… even ridiculing his son’s ambitions...”

“Young Stringer has ambitions?” Sidney tried to stay calm: after all, he had incited it, he had mentioned Stringer first. Now he needed to prove that he could sustain a conversation about the man without going mad again. Charlotte nodded.

“He aspires to be an architect. He’s produced a beautiful drawing of a pagoda for Sanditon… now, with the financial situation being what it is, I suppose it will never be built… but the sheer effort and skill…” Glancing at her, Sidney saw that her colour had risen, and her eyes taken on a bright gleam. Yet, could it be that her admiration was less for the man and more for his skills and ambitions? “But all old Mr Stringer does is count the number of candles burnt in the process,” she continued. “Instead of praising his son’s resolve to leave his mark on the world!”

“Leave his mark on the world,” Sidney repeated, wondering whether she had chosen her words deliberately. Was she harbouring the same memory as he did right now? “Do you think that’s an ambition to be admired?” She looked up at him. 

“If it leaves the world in a better state than you found it, it certainly is.” He acknowledged her words with another nod, feeling too befuddled to say anything sensible. Sometimes, he found, silence was the best communicator.

 

*

 

Now that Georgiana no longer declined to see her, Charlotte called on her every day. 

Conversations with Georgiana were easy since she only knew three topics: Clara’s betrayal, her horrible guardian and her wonderful beau. As Charlotte declined to discuss Clara and Sidney, they were left with Otis, Georgiana’s favourite topic anyway.

“He was born in Africa and taken from his mother as a child to be sold into slavery,” she told Charlotte on the morning after the beach walk. “But he was lucky – he was placed in the hands of a gentleman who gave him freedom and an education.”

“But… is slavery not mercifully consigned to history?” Charlotte asked. At least that was what she had thought – but she realised that she knew too little about these things. Maybe she should have asked Sidney more about Antigua the previous day – but then he had looked so sad when she mentioned it. Georgiana shook her head.

“Otis says there are thousands who are yet held in bondage. He’s fighting for their liberty. He belongs to the Sons of Africa.”

“Sons of Africa?” 

“A movement in London devoted to ending slavery for good. Otis speaks so eloquently… when he returns, you’ll meet him.” There was a very happy smile on Georgiana’s face – happier, in fact, than Charlotte had ever seen her. 

“I was not under the impression that… your guardian would sanction another meeting of you two,” she reminded her friend. Georgiana’s happy smile faded. 

“And you?” 

Charlotte frowned. “What do you mean?” 

Georgiana’s face took on an urgent look. “Can I trust you to post this for me?” she asked, reaching into the pocket of her dress, producing a sealed letter and handing it to Charlotte, who found herself staring at the address: Mr Otis Molyneux, Seven Stars, Honey Lane, London, she read.

“Is this… a secret correspondence?” she asked. Well, of course it was.

Georgiana rolled her eyes. “I can hardly post it myself, can I? And the gorgon will only tell my guardian. Will you too?”

“Georgiana…” Charlotte said, trying to sort out her muddled thoughts. Her heart told her that Mr Otis Molyneux was a fine young man, to be admired for his goals and his ambition, and that she would gladly do anything she could to help Georgiana have some few precious moments with her beau. Yet her good senses told her that such an interference would be a great betrayal of her fiancé, whatever his reasons were to reject Otis’s courtship. And given the sensitive truce she had managed to keep with Sidney for nearly a week now, that was too high a risk. On the other side, how lonely and desperate Georgiana had to be that she resorted to Charlotte of all people for help! 

“I cannot,” she said, shaking her head and returning the letter. “If my situation were different, I would, but really… I cannot, Georgiana.”

Georgiana shoved the letter into her pocket, turning her head – and her disappointment – away. “So you’ll give me away to him. You are  his  creature, after all.”

“I’m not! I’m still my very own person! But you cannot expect me to go so explicitly against the wishes of the man…” She stopped. Of the man who had called her his property. He had apologised, yet, the words still resounded in her head. What had become of the girl that had spoken her mind so freely at Lady Denham’s luncheon table? Or was the question: What had become of the man who had said those hurtful words? “Listen, Georgiana. I’m not going to post that letter for you, but I’m not going to speak of it to Sidney either. It’s your secret, and it’s safe with me.” But Georgiana did not react to the word secret.

“Sidney,” she said instead, wiping a tear from her eye.

“What do you mean?” Charlotte asked, irritated.

“It’s the first time you called him by his name.”

Charlotte felt herself blushing. Georgiana was right, it was the first time, and she had done it unconsciously as if he no longer was that cold and distant Mr Parker but a real person. A nice person. Someone she wanted to know better. “I suppose I’ll have to get used to it.” 

Georgiana shook her head. “You are used to it already,” she said. “You just cannot bring yourself to admit it.”

Notes:

To my dear Australian readers: It’s Tom Parker who’s messing up cricket history, not me. Thank you to JazzyOz for giving me a quick and inspiring lesson on beach cricket!

Not sure about when I'll post the next chapter. After all that Hanky Panky talk, it feels as if my brain has been put through a mincer.

Chapter 13: Impulsiveness

Summary:

It's the Easter holiday (hope you can enjoy some quality time with those close to your heart) AND it's time for the annual Sanditon cricket match. Unfortunately, I still don’t know much more about cricket other than that it’s played by women in Willingden, so if you find any gross cricket nonsense in the following chapter, feel free to comment and correct me.

Previously…

With the help of little Henry and a hungry reptile, Charlotte and Sidney slowly come to a better understanding. Sidney even saves her from another lesson with Mr Hankins – leaving the vicar disgruntled. Charlotte starts to see the real Sidney behind the scowling businessman’s mask, and she likes what she sees. When Georgiana asks her to post a letter to Otis for her, Charlotte declines – but promises her friend not to mention the secret correspondence to her fiancé.

***

 

The cricket match of Mr Stringer’s labourers versus Mr Parker’s gentlemen was an annual fixture in the Sanditon calendar and one eagerly expected by everyone. When the Parker party reached the crease marked out on the beach, the labourers’ team was already assembled around their captain, warming up for the match, showing off their broad shoulders and muscled arms.

“They look in a rather good shape,” Arthur Parker said, frowning as Fred Robinson sent Mr Stringer’s test bowl far across the field. “Not that I wish to alarm.” 

“Don’t lose faith.” Charlotte blinked against the sun as she tried to make out the silhouette of her fiancé on the beach. “Appearances can be deceptive. “

“You are not shying away from a bunch of workmen, are you, Parker?” Sir Edward Denham asked, lifting his hat to Charlotte. “Good afternoon, Miss Heywood. You are looking remarkably well today, if I may say so.” 

Charlotte replied with a curt nod, wondering which ugly image Sir Edward might add today to her collection of ugly images of him.

At the tea tent, Tom Parker was gathering his team. “I’m here, willing and able,” Mr Crowe announced, leaning on Lord Babington for support and saluting his team captain with his hip flask. “Where do you want me?”

“In an airy spot where you can sober out,” Tom said. He was in his element today: the whole of Sanditon was gathered on the beach, ready to enjoy a sunny afternoon full of fun, conversation and sports, ready to confirm his belief that there was no better place on earth than his own precious little town. Nothing would deter Tom Parker on this jubilant occasion – he had even stopped accusing the good people of New South Wales of stealing the invention of beach cricket from him. “Now… Arthur, we are not here for the cake stall, but for the joy of the game,” he said, directing his youngest brother away from strawberry tartlets and similar pleasures. “Is your ankle really healed, Sir Edward? A sprained foot is not to be trifled with. Are you sure you can play?”

“I’m sure I can perform any physical exertion expected of a gentleman,” Sir Edward replied with a somewhat hungry expression.

“Right. – Lord Babington! What’s that? Where are you off to?”

His lordship turned and bowed to his host. “I’ve just seen Miss Denham arrive with Lady Denham, and I wish to pay her my compliments.”

“Very well. But don’t take too long. – Now… where was I?” But Tom was left with no time for further conversation: the umpire, none other than the vicar Mr Hankins, called both captains to the coin toss. Mr Stringer won. 

“We’ll bat first,” the foreman declared, shaking hands with Tom. There was no animosity between them, just friendly smiles. Clearly, Sidney’s money had done an excellent job: the labourers had been paid, and Stringer had kept his part of the deal and made sure there were no harsh words against their employer.

Charlotte sighed. She wished she could join the men – not only for the excitement of the game but also for the physical exertion. To be out of breath after a run, to feel the blood throb in her veins and the sun tickle her nose, to do anything but sit on the beach and smile and clap and drink tea…

She found herself in front of her fiancé, who had stuck his cane in the sand, placed his hat over the silver grip and was now shrugging off his frock coat. Somehow, he looked much younger in his near-white cricket pants and the grey herringbone patterned waistcoat. Younger, but as handsome as always. Well, but then again, he looked handsome in whatever he wore. Even if it was nothing at all. “Good luck, Mr Parker,” Charlotte said, shading her eyes from the sun with her hand.

“Thank you. I imagine we’ll need it.” Sidney tugged at his shirt sleeves which were billowing in the light breeze, then added: “I suppose this will make you think of home. – I saw your siblings play cricket in Willingden.”

“Oh… we are quite the amateurs, I fear.” 

Tilting his head, he gave her a shy little half-smile, searching her eyes. “I feel very much like an amateur myself, Charlotte,” he admitted, his voice unusually soft and warm, his gaze not faltering away from hers. Charlotte blushed and struggled for a reply, her heart beating heavily. He had just used her name for the very first time, and the way he was still locking eyes with her made her think that he was not referring to cricket when talking about amateurs. For a precious moment, time seemed to stand still between them – just until Tom Parker’s voice propelled them back into reality: “Sidney! No time for tittle-tattle with your lady friend now – you are to bowl first.”

With a sigh, Sidney walked off to the pitch, Charlotte following him with her eyes, wishing for a second she could just run after him and ask him why he was feeling like an amateur. And what a fine figure he cut among the other gentlemen! And the way he had said her name: as if it was something special, as if it was the first time ever he had said her name aloud. Maybe it was. 

Charlotte was all too aware of the significance of the day: it was not only the cricket match but also the end of the deadline she had set for the trial period of their engagement. And judging by the last few days, there were enough reasons to stay in it. Sidney Parker had proven to be a kind, chivalrous and attentive fiancé, albeit somewhat awkward and insecure at times (but then again, so was she), and occasionally a little tongue-tied in conversation. His experience, however, the knowledge he had (and she craved), the ease with which he dealt with his brother’s business mess just as with a self-important vicar: she could not help but feel fascination and excitement at the idea of joining forces with him, of learning more about the world from him, of walking through life by his side. 

And there was, of course, the undeniable presence of Pirate Sidney in her mind. Still sporting leather breeches, a wide shirt and an even wider grin, this gentleman continued to make appearances in the most inappropriate moments. His hair had grown a bit longer over the days since he had started lodging in Charlotte’s head, just as his beard stubble had grown thicker. Once, he had even shown up twirling the tips of an impressive moustache with a cheeky grin, insisting that he was not a pirate but a hussar, but Charlotte had quickly made sure he shaved it off: she very much preferred Pirate Sidney. Or, even better, the real man, looking so fine in his cricket whites right now as he was stretching his long body in preparation to bowl.

Sighing deeply, she walked over to where Mary and Diana had tea and sandwiches, but before she could settle down with them, a resolute voice called: “Come here, sit with me, Miss Heywood!” 

Lady Denham was presiding in a comfortable gilded chair under a marquee, joined by Miss Denham, who was looking extremely haughty, and Clara Brereton, who was looking extremely busy, providing tea, a cordial, a fan and a parasol for her aunt. A servant brought Charlotte another chair to sit down, which she did, feeling rather uncomfortable in this company.

“Now,” Lady Denham said. “Any news on the state of affairs?”

“Which affairs, Lady Denham?”

“Yours, of course! Are you still determined to make the world believe you are going to marry Mr Sidney Parker out of mutual love and affection? That his wealth does not come into it?” Charlotte felt both Clara’s and Esther’s eyes bore into her. On the pitch, Sidney took a run-up to bowl, taking large strides before hauling the ball forcefully towards Mr Stringer.

“I still see no need to defend my actions to you, my lady,” she said, her gaze on her fiancé. 

Lady Denham chuckled – a chuckle that turned into a cough. “Clara, fetch me a cordial. – No, you really don’t need to defend your choice of husband, Miss Heywood,” she then said. “And if you are not madly in love with your Mr Parker, you are at least giving us a good show right now to make us all believe that you are. Esther might learn something from you.”

“Aunt…” Esther started.

“A little charm is never wrong in a courtship. – What do you think, Miss Heywood? Is Lord Babington not a fine match for our Esther?”

“I believe Lord Babington is a very kind man,” Charlotte said as neutrally as possible. After all, she hardly knew him – and since he was one of the few people who were aware of the true reasons for her engagement, she was trying to stay away from him, however amiable his smile was.

“There you have it, Esther,” Lady Denham said. “A very kind man. In the long term, kindness will bring you more happiness than some misguided passion. And he’s a lord! What more do you want?”

“Mutual love and affection?” Charlotte suggested without thinking, her eyes still on Sidney, who was now shaking hands with Mr Stringer. 

“Poppycock and nonsense! Does that bring food to your table and a warm fire to sit by in winter?” Lady Denham coughed again. “Clara, the cordial! I seem to be plagued by an unquenchable thirst today. – If you don’t marry Babington, Esther, you might end up just as Clara.” Clara stopped in the motion of uncorking the cordial and stared at her aunt. “Penniless and unmarried,” that aunt specified. “And soon too old to be married anyway. Unattractive to any man. Forced to live like a parasite, off the generosity of her wealthy relatives. – A generosity that might end at any moment,” her ladyship reminded everyone as Clara placed the glass with the cordial in front of her.

Charlotte longed for a chance to escape this toxic environment and was more than grateful when she found Georgiana waving at her. 

“If you’d excuse me, my lady.” She rose and curtsied. “I think that’s Miss Lambe requesting my company.” 

“And what might she have to say to you other than insults and reproaches?” Lady Denham scoffed. But Charlotte had enough of bad behaviour, be it by the lady of the town or anyone else.

“I find that very often, my lady, the way you speak to someone is the way they will answer to you.” 

“And now you are going to lecture me on civility and manners, Miss Heywood?”

“I’m not, ma’am; I’m… merely sharing my own experiences.” She shot another glance at Sidney, who was standing by the sideline now, discussing tactics or maybe simply the weather with Mr Crowe. A mild breeze was ruffling his hair and making his shirt sleeves billow. Try as she might, she could not find a finer looking man on the pitch… or the whole beach. And how their conversation had improved since they had stopped shouting at each other! Lady Denham laughed. 

“Go on then, talk to that insolent girl, share some of your wisdom with her.”

After a bit of a fuss with the Beaufort girls and some considerable sulkiness from Georgiana, Mrs Griffiths had chosen a spot close to the workmen’s tent for herself and her three young charges. The governess seemed slightly overwhelmed by the multiple tasks of serving a picnic, handling her parasol, admiring the umpire and looking after Georgiana. It did not help that the Misses Beaufort broke out into fits of giggles whenever Mr Stringer made a run, caught a ball, or so much as lifted a little finger. 

Charlotte walked over and greeted them all before settling down next to Georgiana. “What’s that old bat been talking about?” her friend asked.

“Georgiana!” Mrs Griffiths hissed.

“Lady Denham,” Charlotte emphasised, “has been talking about her favourite topic. Marriage, and why love should not come into it.”

“And did you agree?”

“Have you ever found me agreeing on anything her ladyship says, Georgiana?”

“I’ve seen you going against your own words, Charlotte.” 

It seemed so pointless to discuss this again and again and again. Fortunately, right now, the Beaufort girls broke out into a new round of giggling and clapping as Mr Stringer’s team secured another run on the playing field. Georgiana was staring in the opposite direction, towards the dunes and the town, clearly not interested at all in the game. Whatever was on her mind? Charlotte wondered but did not dare to ask with Mrs Griffiths placed so close. Had she managed to post that letter to Otis? Had she assured Otis of her love? Convinced him to ignore Sidney’s threats and to return to Sanditon? Was she expecting him to appear between the dunes?

In the distance, the church bells started ringing. Georgiana listened to the strikes, then looked at the crease where Fred Robinson was preparing to bat for the labourer’s team.

“What’s this silly game about anyway?” she asked, rolling her eyes as the Beaufort girls swooned about Mr Robinson’s forceful posture.

“I suppose it’s about having fun,” Charlotte suggested. “Enjoying yourself. And a bit of exertion if you are lucky enough to play.”

“Looks like a complete waste of time,” Georgiana announced and stared the other way. Charlotte rose with a sigh. 

“I’ll join the Parker family if you don’t mind.”

“Do. And don’t forget to tell my guardian all my secrets.”

At least Diana and Mary did not have questions and reproaches for Charlotte. They were happy to see her, asked her to sit down with them, waved at Wickens to hand her a cup of tea and a sandwich plate, and surpassed each other in cheering for the Parker brothers. The labourers were clearly in the lead, but that did nothing to deter them: for them, it was indeed about having fun, and Charlotte gladly joined them, especially when she caught her fiancé glancing at her more or less secretly as if he wanted to make sure she was watching him.

Sir Edward was walking towards the pitch, taking his turn as a batsman. “I don’t think it’s safe for him to play,” Diana said, looking concerned. “A sprained ankle is not to be taken too lightly. If only my brother were successful in finding a physician for Sanditon!”

 

*

 

It soon became apparent that it was not a good idea for Sir Edward to play: he barely made his first run, limping along heavily and leaning on Arthur’s shoulder in the end. 

“This won’t do,” Tom said to Sidney and marched on the field. “I must interfere, Sir Edward. This is against sense and reason.”

“Oi!” Fred Robinson cried. “No cheating, Mr Parker!” Tom turned around.

“This is not about cheating, Mr Robinson. This is about a man risking his health in a leisure game.”

“Mr Parker’s right, Fred,” James Stringer agreed. “No need to take unnecessary risks, Sir Edward.” Sir Edward scowled. Clearly, limping off the pitch supported by Arthur Parker was not his exact definition of a gentleman’s exertion.

“Do you have anyone to replace him, sir?” Stringer asked Tom.

Sidney saw his brother gazing around. Of course, they did not. It was only with the conscription of Crowe and Babington that Tom had managed to round up his gentlemen’s team in the first place. And they were behind anyway: unless a miracle occurred, Stringer and his men were going to crush the gentlemen in a memorable defeat. Being one player short would do nothing to diminish the humiliation.

Suddenly, there was a commotion amongst the spectators as a short person in a white skirt and a light blue spencer started marching towards the crease, her face rigid with resolve, her black boots splashing up mud with every determined step she made. Sidney lowered his head and bit his lip to make sure no one saw his grin.

“I can play!” Charlotte called. There was such confidence in her demeanour, in the way she held her dimpled chin up and met his brother’s eye… Now Sidney could not help but beam at her like the fool he probably was. The men on the pitch turned their heads, some of them sniggering. Stringer smiled a smitten smile, Robinson grinned, but the umpire frowned.

“This is a gentleman’s game, Miss Heywood,” Mr Hankins informed her when she had reached the crease, her cheeks a lovely rosy colour, her eyes large and shining with excitement. 

“Women play cricket in Willingden,” she replied, searching Sidney’s gaze. “Don’t they, Mr Parker?”

“Indeed they do,” Sidney confirmed, figuring out how exactly he was feeling about Charlotte joining the game. See her run, see her bat, see her smile. Perhaps at him. It was too good to be true.

“Sounds infinitely livelier than Sanditon,” Crowe said with a yawn. “Can we go on?”

“Splendid.” Tom handed Charlotte the cricket bat, but before she could take it, the vicar held up his rule book as if it were the Holy Bible and the bat the Antichrist.

“I must interfere. In the sense of propriety, this is not acceptable.”

“Right,” Crowe sighed, rolling his eyes and strolling off the pitch. “I’m off to Willingden then.”

“Now please, vicar,” Tom asked, trying a charming smile (which, given the fact that he was Tom Parker, was more alarming than charming). “It’s just a game.”

“Just a game!” Mr Hankins repeated, his face white with indignation. “With a young lady at the tenderest stage of her being… soon to be pl… - intimately connected to your family, Mr Parker… exerting herself in front of half of the town? Displaying herself in frivolity and leisure? This is very inappropriate. Most inappropriate, sir, absolutely inappropriate.” Sidney saw Tom cast a doubtful glance at Charlotte. He suddenly and with a sinking heart understood that chivalrous as it had been to save her from the vicar’s lessons a few days ago, that good deed was about to backfire terribly. It would hurt her immensely - and he would not be able to protect her.

“I’m not surprised though, of course,” Mr Hankins continued, turning to Sidney now. “The sad lack of interest you have shown in the proper tutoring of your wife-to-be, sir, along with your general disdain for my Sunday services: this is nothing but a final proof of how little you care for the uphold of decency and decorum in the parish of Sanditon.”

“What?” Tom asked, staring wildly from his brother and Charlotte to Mr Hankins. “Sidney, what’s going on? Why are we discussing your behaviour again?”

Sidney felt a vein throb on his forehead as he tried to restrain himself. He did not want to have this discussion under the eyes and ears of Tom’s gentlemen and Stringer’s workmen; he did not want Charlotte to become a subject of salacious gossip. He saw her gasp and bite her lip as if preparing for a speech that would set Mr Hankins right and where he belonged (in the vicarage’s compost heap, judging by her face), but before she could start, his brother had come to a decision.

“Mr Hankins has a point, my dear,” Tom said, clearly looking for a quick and easy solution. “Excellent as your commitment to Sanditon is, a cricket pitch is not the place to display it. There is our reputation to consider… your reputation to consider.” Charlotte lifted her head in defiance.

“I’m not…” … worried about my reputation. What else would she want to say? Sidney groaned inwardly. How could this happen so quickly? One moment, they were exchanging timid smiles, leading him to make a bit more of a show than strictly necessary when he bowled, and the next, they were on the brink of significant trouble again.

“We’ll leave the cricket for Willingden, Charlotte,” he softly said, knowing fully well that this was not going to soften the blow. But there was already enough gossip in Sanditon about their engagement. A public discussion in front of the whole town would not help anyone. He remembered Mr Heywood fearing for his daughter’s integrity-

“Are you done with recruiting, Mr Parker?” Fred Robinson asked. “Offering decent payment, I gather?” Ignoring him, Tom waved at his manservant.

“Wickens! Your support is needed, come and join us!”

Sidney found Charlotte staring at him, her eyes shimmering. Then she suddenly turned away and started walking towards the waterline.

“Charlotte,” he called, following her across the field. She stopped and turned around, looking at him unwillingly, wiping a tear from her eye, her adorable little face a mess of hurt pride and disappointment.

“What is it?”

“Sometimes it’s more clever to budge; you see that, don’t you?” 

She shook her head and looked at him, squinting against the sun. “Because my decisions are immature and not to be trusted, despite all your kind words about my rights and marriage contracts?”

“I did mean everything I said about your freedom and peace of mind, Charlotte,” he said emphatically, keeping her gaze. If only they could discuss this in the drawing-room of Trafalgar House and not on the beach under a crowd of spectators! “But in this case, I believe it was better to follow reason rather than emotion.” 

“Is that what you think of me? That I am a little child, guided by my emotions?”

“No, of course, you’re not, you’re…” Something very different. 

She shook her head again, glancing at the crowd. “I suppose this is not a good moment for us to be having this conversation, Mr Parker. We’ll only embarrass ourselves again.”

“I agree. - But we will continue the conversation later,” he promised. With a shrug of her shoulders, Charlotte walked off. This time, Sidney did not follow her. She might think that they were embarrassing themselves again, but they were not. He did not want to shout at her any longer. He wanted to call her by her name and tell her that she was brave and kind and altogether wonderfully different from any other young lady of his acquaintance (even Clara Brereton) but sometimes lacking in judgement. Though that was not precisely what one said if one wanted to pay a lady a compliment, was it? But why compliment her on her smile (which she never bestowed on him anyway), her lovely complexion or the colour of her dress when what she really cared for was Old Stringer’s leg, the progress on the building site, playing cricket – and her own voice to be heard and taken seriously? 

He sighed with the realisation that not only had he forgotten how to court a woman after the Eliza debacle, he had also landed himself with the most challenging case to re-discover that art.

 

*

 

As the game resumed, Charlotte did not return to the spectators’ tables. Too painful was her humiliation to be turned down after walking onto the pitch so confidently – to be sent away like someone showing up to an event they had not been invited to. And Sidney Parker himself doing the vicar’s bidding! Not shouting at her this time, but reasoning. And what added to her humiliation: she understood that in some strange way, he was right. That her taking Sir Edward’s place would only have added fuel to the gossip their engagement had sparked. 

But to be humiliated like that in front of the other men, to be treated like a child… and no Pirate Sidney coming to her rescue, only the sensible brother calmly suggesting they should discuss everything later.

She stomped her feet into the wet ground, frightening a young herring gull that fluttered up with a nervous squawk. Mud splashed around, leaving wet stains on her white skirt. I can make my own decisions! she wanted to shout, yet she knew that the truth was far more complicated. For once, it was not Sidney Parker who had landed her in a predicament but her own impulsiveness. 

Were she only an innocent summer guest of the Parker family, the situation would have been different: neither the vicar nor any Mr Parker could have stopped her from playing. It would have made an entertaining anecdote for her siblings at home. But she was no longer a girl from an obscure village: she was about to become a part of the second family of the place, and her actions would reflect not only on herself but also on the man she would marry. And if she wanted to find freedom in that marriage, she had to accept compromises.

The young herring gull returned, landing a few steps away from her, half a strawberry dangling from its beak. Apparently, it had paid a visit to the cake stall. Charlotte wondered whether it was the same bird that had left the comment on Sidney’s hat. There was certainly something familiar about the way it tilted its head to look at her.

Compromises. Freedom. Had Lady Denham’s fortune bought her freedom? Not at all. What was one’s life worth if it was spent under the eyes of idle, sycophantic relatives who seemed to be waiting only for the moment they found their own name in her will?

And then Georgiana: Free of economic worries, but forever a prisoner of prejudice and her parentage, and not even free to post a letter to the man who owned her heart – under the order of the very same man who promised Charlotte freedom under a marriage contract!

Miss Denham and Clara Brereton? Bullied into a courtship the one, a companion to a miserly old aunt the other. Any Heywood girl in Willingden enjoyed more freedoms than the nieces of the high and mighty Lady Denham, Charlotte thought as she watched the herring gull take to the air again.

Mary Parker, perhaps? Mistress of her own household, mother of happy children, wife of a husband… of a husband she had to share with Sanditon. A husband reckless enough to leave her on the brink of the debtor’s prison. 

Yet, of all the women Charlotte had thought of, Mary was probably the one enjoying most freedoms. Despite all his mistakes, Tom Parker’s devotion to his wife was apparent, and Charlotte had more than once witnessed his dependency on her support and goodwill. And even though Tom Parker was a man who liked to treat everyone as his property, be it his servants, his labourers, his houseguest or his own brother, Charlotte did not have the slightest doubt that his union with Mary was based on mutual love and affection.

If only she had an idea of how to find such happiness with Sidney Parker. She did not want to quarrel with him again; that much she knew.

“Oi!” she heard someone shout, and then there was a whooshing sound as something sped past her head and knocked out the young herring gull in mid-air. The bird and the cricket ball dropped into a nearby water pool, sending splashes of mud and saltwater around. Charlotte turned and saw her fiancé scowl at the cricket bat in his hand. 

Amazingly enough, Sidney’s ball had not killed the gull right away but merely shaved off some of the feathers on its head, leaving it half bald with part of the plumage sticking out like the spines of a hedgehog. The bird even attempted to fly away, but after two or three giddy steps and a soft flapping of its wings, it gave up. 

“Poor thing,” Charlotte said, lifted it up and carried it over to the dunes, nestling it down in a sandy hole sheltered by marram grass. She sat down beside the gull, determined to follow the game’s final stages in some solitude to sort out her muddled thoughts and feelings. She was too far away to hear the players, but she saw Sidney run and gesticulate, and occasionally his gaze seemed to search the crowd on the beach. After the game, she would seek him out, and they would have a sensible conversation about their future.

“Miss Heywood! Miss Heywood!” The person appearing behind a parasol was Mrs Griffiths. “There you are! Is she with you?”

“Who?” Charlotte asked, befuddled for a second. Behind her, the young herring gull startled, shook its plumage and, with a huffy squawk, stalked off to new adventures.

“The stupid, stupid girl!” the governess cried, her eyes large with sorrow. “Miss Lambe. I’ve lost her!”

 

Chapter 14: The Search

Notes:

Welcome back! What a day. I spent seven hours in an online training, and I believe all I have learnt are about one hundred different ways to say "I can't hear you" and "Can you hear me now?" Somehow, Regency communication problems are much more entertaining and romantic, so here's some more Love and Affection for you.

In case anyone is wondering: the gull is doing fine after the cricket ball attack. It was last seen recovering among some cousins at Folkestone Eurostar terminal, making friends with a talented young violinist travelling to Berlin (more details in Love in a Minor Key, glorious Chapter 18).

Previously

The beach cricket match starts well, with Sidney and Charlotte exchanging timid smiles and glances. But when Charlotte volunteers to replace the injured Sir Edward, Mr Hankins intervenes and stops her from playing. Sidney, seeing his previous confrontation with the vicar backfire, cannot help her. Charlotte is disappointed and humiliated, yet the situation does not lead to another shouting match. Both hope to have a more substantial conversation after the game. Then Mrs Griffiths discovers that Georgiana has gone missing…

 

***

 

“What do you mean: lost her?” The game was over, Tom Parker’s gentlemen defeated by James Stringer’s labourers. As the winners cheered on their captain and the losers assembled for a critical review, Sidney faced his ward’s governess and tried to understand what the woman was trying to tell him.

“She’s gone! Gone, Mr Parker!” Poor Mrs Griffiths seemed to be close to fainting, held up only by her parasol and Mr Hankins, who had quickly transformed from umpire back to vicar.

“Did you not have an eye on her?” Sidney asked, struggling to understand how this could have happened. How could one “lose” a nineteen-year-old girl on a beach full of people?

“I had an eye on her, all the time, Mr Parker,” the governess confirmed, accepting a handkerchief from Mr Hankins. “But I was momentarily distracted by these silly Beaufort sisters trying to move the picnic closer to the pitch… and Miss Brereton coming over to ask whether we could spare some mulled wine because Lady Denham was not feeling well… and then I believed Miss Lambe might have gone to see Miss Heywood…”

The governess glanced at Charlotte reproachfully as if it was her fault that her charge had gone missing. The vicar, still holding Mrs Griffiths up, nodded gravely. “I have often warned that young women, when coming into bloom, find it difficult to resist temptation,” he said. “But since my cautioning fell on such barren earth, I am hardly surprised that…”

“Thank you, Mr Hankins.” Sidney interrupted him with clenched teeth, struggling not to punch the man in his complacent face. “I suggest you return to your garden now; we don't want to see your flowers wilt, do we?”

Now it was the vicar who needed to be supported by the governess.

“But what is going on here?” Tom had joined them, with his wife in tow, staring at the governess in tears and the vicar gasping for air.

“It’s Miss Lambe,” Sidney explained. “She seems to have… sneaked away.” He glanced at Charlotte, trying to read her expression. She was obviously concerned, but did she know more than she was revealing right now?

“This is Sanditon,” Tom said confidently. “People don’t simply vanish from here. – If they did, it would be a terrible blow for our reputation,” he added, paling as he realised what a missing heiress worth one hundred thousand pounds would do to his venture. It was even worse than gossip about indecent encounters.

“We can organise a search,” Charlotte suggested. “Go through different parts of the town and meet at Mrs Griffiths’.”

Without a doubt, that was the most sensible path to move forward. Little surprise, as it was Charlotte’s suggestion, and she was always one for sensible suggestions. They split up, Arthur, Diana and more men from both teams joining their forces. 

But when the search groups reported back to Sidney half an hour later at the home of the governess, what little hope he had held quickly vanished as irretrievably as Georgiana. Everyone knew her in Sanditon – it could not be helped, she was too noticeable a figure –, yet, with most people on the beach to follow the cricket match, no one had seen her, no one had talked to her. She had disappeared off the face of the earth.

“Courage, brother,” Tom said to Sidney as much as to himself when they convened with Charlotte and Mary in Mrs Griffiths’s drawing-room. “Where would she want to go?”

She would want to go to where Otis Molyneux was, the rake. London. 

“London,” Charlotte said out loud. But how?

“Mr Parker?” Mrs Griffiths arrived, clutching a handkerchief and not daring to meet her employer’s eyes, this time not the vicar but the foreman by her side. “Mr Stringer here has some news about Miss Lambe.”

“What is it?” 

Stringer bowed quickly to the ladies, taking off his hat. “One of the patrons of the Crown saw her standing outside the hotel, sir.”

“But what was she doing at the hotel?” Tom asked. “We had a cricket match going on!” 

Sidney groaned. He had never made his brother or Mary – or Mrs Griffiths – aware of the Otis situation, and he hated the embarrassing explanations he would have to offer very soon. That, and having to admit that he had broken the word he had once given Georgiana’s father… and Charlotte’s father. Mr Heywood would withdraw his consent once he learned about this. It was Georgiana’s wardship that had served as his character reference and lifesaver during their conversation in Willingden. How utterly his negligence now belied his own words!

Stringer shrugged his shoulders. “Apparently, Miss Lambe was waiting for someone. A carriage drove up, and she was bundled in by two men.”

“Bundled!” Charlotte exclaimed. The idea clearly terrified her. Mary laid an arm around her shoulders.

“What did those men look like?” Sidney asked. “Was one of them black?”

“I don’t think so.” Stringer was clutching his hat. “I suppose they would have said.” Sidney nodded. They would: a black man in Sanditon was too much of a sensation.

“Thank you, Mr Stringer. I’m grateful to you. If you hear anything else, please let me know immediately.”

“Of course, sir.” With another bow, the foreman was gone.

“This is horrible,” Tom said, paling and sinking down on the next chair. “An abduction from Sanditon’s high street. In broad daylight! How are we to keep this out of the headlines, Sidney?”

Sidney’s fist went crashing against the mantelpiece, making bits of plaster rain down to the ground. “Is there anything… anything other than yourself and Sanditon that you might be able to think about, Tom? How are we to find Georgiana? Nineteen years old, still very much a stranger to our country, now in the hands of… of…” He could not bring himself to finish the sentence, not with ladies present. Mrs Griffiths burst into violent tears, Mary looked more careworn than ever, and Charlotte… Charlotte was staring at him, large-eyed and with red cheeks. 

“Seven Stars, Honey Lane, London,” she recited as if hypnotised.

“What’s that?”

“His address. Mr Molyneux’s address.”

“Who’s Mr Molyneux?” Tom asked. Sidney ignored his brother.

“How do you know his address?” he asked, boring his eyes into hers, clenching his fists again in an attempt to keep himself from shaking a reply out of her. Charlotte was biting her lip, about to crumble under his thunderous glance.

“I… I…” She was never one to simper or cry, he knew that very well, and under different circumstances, he would have admired her for her resilience. Even now, with him glaring at her, she managed to keep his gaze. “She asked me to post a letter to Mr Molyneux. I declined; I told her I could not go so explicitly against your wishes.”

“What am I missing here? Who is this Mr Molyneux?” Tom asked once more. Again, Sidney ignored him.

“Go against my wishes? And do you expect me to thank you for that, Miss Heywood?” Well, she did not, that much was evident from her trembling upper lip and the tears pooling in her eyes. Yet he could not stop himself. “If you knew this correspondence was against my wishes, then why did you keep it to yourself? What if she managed to convince someone else to do her the service?”

“Because I’m Georgiana’s friend! Not your spy!”

“Oh.” He raised an eyebrow. “So you’ll choose your loyalty to Georgiana over your loyalty to your fiancé?” He saw Charlotte take a deep breath, ready to thunder back at him. Probably tell him what a poor job he had done. As Georgiana’s guardian and as her fiancé as well. If only he could-

“Oh, no, no, no, no.” Tom held up his hands, moving in between them. “No shouting at each other again. We will postpone this part of the discussion. – The questions now are: Who is this Mr Molyneux, what does he have to do with Miss Lambe’s abduction, and what can we do to find both him and her?”

Sidney exhaled, sinking down on the sofa, suddenly feeling terribly exhausted. And disappointed. In Charlotte. And in himself. He hid his face in his hands. This afternoon, at the start of the cricket match, he had truly hoped that they had found… that they would… - that surprised and insecure look on her face when he called her by her first name… but no. Everything had started going wrong again the moment Sir Edward limped off the pitch. Such a headstrong girl! Marching onto that playing field, determined to join the gentlemen’s team! Determined to do what she believed was right. How he would have enjoyed seeing her play!

And now they were at loggerheads again. His fiancée had more trust in Georgiana than in him. Only the presence of Tom, Mary and Mrs Griffiths kept him from yelling at Charlotte until she admitted that her loyalty had to be to him – especially when the security of a young girl worth one hundred thousand pounds was involved. Yell at her because the only other option that came to his mind was to grab her and kiss those sweet plump lips until she saw reason.

But for once, his brother was right. This was not the moment for reproaches. Or for passion. They had to concentrate on finding Georgiana and sort out everything else later. 

“Mr Otis Molyneux is a London merchant,” Sidney explained after some deep breaths. “He’s been courting Georgiana against my explicit will – in fact, he’s the reason why I brought her down to Sanditon. Yet, he’s been trying to get in touch with her ever since.”

“That does sound like an ardent lover to me,” Tom said. Sidney bit his lip and shook his head. 

“Ardent for her fortune. He’s known as an inveterate gambler in the wrong circles of London.”

Charlotte looked up. “You never told me that!”

He decided to study the mantelpiece. She had a point there. It was difficult to demand her loyalty if she did not know all the facts. Somehow, in the muddle of their own relationship, he had never thought of discussing Georgiana’s as well. Staring at the spot where the plaster had come off, he said: “We had other priorities, you and I.”

“Then how can you accuse me…”

“Charlotte,” Mary said, touching her arm. “This is not the moment.” Tom jumped up, clapping his hands. 

“Indeed it is not. But our course of action is clear now, Sidney: we must be off to London and seek out Mr Molyneux in… what was it… Money Lane?”

“Honey Lane,” Charlotte corrected. “I’ll come with you.” Sidney groaned. Tom’s volunteering was to be expected, but this was quickly turning into a family excursion. Why not bring Mary and the children along as well? And tuck Arthur and Diana to the carriage roof? And how was he supposed to spend one day in a coach compartment with Charlotte without… whatever.

“Thank you, Miss Heywood, but I’m quite capable of finding my way around London without your assistance,” he said, studying the mantelpiece again.

“Actually, I think Charlotte has a point here, Sidney,” Tom said. “Miss Lambe might be more inclined to listen to her than to you.”

“Tom’s right,” Mary seconded. “Poor Miss Lambe will be in such a state when you find her. I’m sure she’ll be glad to see the kind face of a friend.” 

Sidney scoffed, impatiently tapping the mantelpiece. His brother and his sister-in-law were doing this on purpose, of course. He was going to defeat Tom with his own good arguments: “Just as playing cricket, it would be very improper for Miss Heywood to go on such an expedition with us, Tom. I’m sure the vicar would disapprove.” 

But once again, he had miscalculated the resourcefulness of his fiancée: “Crockett can accompany us,” she said, looking at Tom, not at him. “As a chaperone for me and a help for Georgiana, once we find her.”

“Splendid!” Tom cried, clapping his hands. “Excellent. We’ll be off in a whiff. What an adventure!”

 

*

 

Charlotte generally believed she had excellent nerves. Yet it was a tough test to spend one day being rattled through in the confines of a carriage compartment with the company of her own guilty conscience, her brooding fiancé, his over-enthusiastic brother and an overawed maid. 

Sidney’s dark stares and angry mouth twitches came as no surprise, and she knew how to ignore them. Her kind suitor from the previous days was all gone; whatever walls they had managed to demolish during their conversations: he was quickly re-erecting them, clenching his jaw and keeping a tight grip on his cane, his fingers… oh. His fingers. Again. Better think of something different: Tom, on the other hand, seemed to forget the purpose of their journey the closer they came to the capital: “I will call on my bankers, once we are there,” he announced, and: “And I’ll put up another advertisement for a physician in the paper. We may even have a chance to promote our regatta. What do you think, Charlotte?”

Charlotte shrugged her shoulders. She assumed the patrons of the Seven Stars Inn and the residents of Honey Lane were neither qualified as doctors for Sanditon nor would they be very much interested in joining the regatta’s sandcastle competition.

Georgiana’s maid Crockett, hunched in her corner and holding on to a travelling rug as if for dear life, was utterly overwhelmed by recent events and not very talkative either. It seemed though – that much she was ready to divulge – that the Beaufort girls had volunteered to act as agents for Miss Lambe’s correspondence in exchange for a promise to make Mrs Griffiths move the cricket picnic as close to the field and the labourer’s team camp as possible.

“They are rather silly girls,” Tom said, leaning on his cane as Sidney snorted disdainfully. “I wish they had some of your common sense and resourcefulness, Charlotte.” Charlotte gave a forced smile: if anything was in doubt, it was her common sense. Immature and naïve: that was how she was feeling right now. If only she had understood the extent of Georgiana’s misery! If only she had trusted Sidney and confided in him.

They reached London at nightfall, and the immediate buzz of the city made Crockett grasp the travelling rug even tighter while Charlotte tried to gaze outside beyond the drawn curtains. There were light and noise and people everywhere; it seemed as if despite the late hour, the whole city was on the move. At least Sidney seemed to know where they were going: after a short discussion with the coachman, they were directed to Honey Lane. 

The coach came to a halt in a busy square by the river, the silhouette of St. Paul’s Cathedral looming in the distance. A smell of fish filled the compartment, followed by a breeze of sea air – not healthy and invigorating as in Sanditon, but foul and stenchy.

“You’ll make sure Miss Heywood stays inside,” Sidney told Crockett. Poor Crockett stared at Charlotte, who raised her chin in defiance. “Inside,” Sidney repeated, pointing the silver grip of his cane at her. “In case you dare to follow us, you’ll find yourself in Cutthroat Alley before you can so much as whine for help.”

“Sidney’s right, my dear,” Tom said, patting Charlotte’s arm as the coachman opened the door for them. “And as your future husband, he’s responsible for your safety.”

“But what about you?” Charlotte asked, ignoring the future husband. “What if you find yourselves in Cutthroat Alley?”

“Oh, don’t worry about us.” Tom grinned, putting on his hat. “I’m in the company of Sanditon’s boxing champion.” He left the carriage, merrily twirled his cane and followed Sanditon’s boxing champion, who, dark, tall and angry, took large strides across the square, pushing a drunken reveller out of the way before turning into a side street.

Charlotte leaned back in her seat, trying to ignore the bustle and the shouting around them, trying to process everything that had happened over the last day. 

Essentially, she was with Sidney where they had been before: at loggerheads, incapable of communicating with each other. They were both in the wrong, she knew it: he had been wrong in caring so little for Georgiana’s needs, keeping part of Otis Molyneux’s story from her and doing the vicar’s bidding at the cricket match. She had been too naïve when marching onto the pitch, believing that what was permitted in Willingden might be appropriate in Sanditon, and too thoughtless in staying silent about Georgiana’s correspondence. Loyalty was a fine thing, but with the security of a young girl worth one hundred thousand pounds involved, it indeed became a luxury.

Somewhere close to the carriage, a drunken voice started singing: “… when a woman appears, like the notes of a fiddle…” Crockett covered her ears with her hands. Charlotte gazed through the gap between the curtain and the window frame: if this smelly, unruly place was where Mr Molyneux lived, it did not do much to recommend him. Georgiana’s money would buy him a much more agreeable abode. Painful as it was to admit, Sidney seemed to be justified in his reservations against the man.

The carriage door was opened as Tom and Sidney returned, slumping on their seats. The defeated expressions on their faces left little doubt about the result of their mission. Tom spoke first. “He hasn’t been seen here in a week. It’s merely a place where he collects his post, and even for that, he sends someone.”

Sidney took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “Yes, while he’s hiding somewhere with Georgiana.”

“We don’t know that for sure!” Charlotte cried.

“He’s gone; she’s gone. What more proof do you need?”

“But we don’t know whether he was in that carriage that took her away!” 

Tom leaned forward. “Sidney’s right, my dear. We did only have this one lead, and now it’s gone cold. This is a city of a million people… we might as well search a golden grain of sand on Sanditon’s vast beaches.” He rapped the ceiling of the carriage with the tip of his cane and called “Bedford Place!”

“No!” Charlotte stomped her foot like a little girl, unwilling to see reason. “We’re giving up too quickly!” 

Sidney scoffed at her. “Any assumptions where they might be, Miss Heywood?”

Oh, he was insufferable. Had she truly believed they might come to a better understanding? He leaned back in his seat, his hands folded on the silver grip of the cane, his hat shading his face: nothing but gloom there anyway. Tom started prattling away about his plans for the next day in London, and poor Crockett kept holding on to her travelling rug. 

There had to be some clue; there had to be something they had overlooked. Charlotte went through everything Georgiana had told her about her beau: how they had met, how he had mistaken her for a servant, how he had helped her heal after losing her father and her home in Antigua (at least something to recommend him!). That she admired his efforts at ending… there it was! “The Sons of Africa!” she exclaimed. Sidney looked up, and Tom stopped his prattling. “The Sons of Africa! That’s a movement Mr Molyneux belongs to. If we can find out where they meet…”

Tom banged on the ceiling again. “Charlotte, my dear,” he beamed. “As I keep saying: You are quite invaluable, quite invaluable.”

 

The Sons of Africa, it turned out after some enquiries, met in an assembly hall in Holborn. Once they had reached the place, Sidney held up his hand again: “You stay inside the carriage, Miss Heywood.”

“But…” 

“Sidney’s right, my dear,” Tom said, glancing at the building as if it might house not an abolition movement but a gambling den. “We don’t know what to expect.” – and off they were again, two gentlemen going through all the excitement and the drama while Charlotte had to sit in a stuffy coach compartment with a nervous maid. 

Sidney and Tom returned after a few minutes, marching Otis Molyneux between them, shoving him inside the now rather cramped carriage.

“Back to Honey Lane!” Sidney barked at the coachman and squeezed himself next to Otis onto the bench.

“Why are we going back?” Charlotte asked.

“To find out what happened to Mr Molyneux’s mail. He claims he never sent anyone to fetch his mail, yet Mr Sidaway from the Seven Stars says he did.” 

“Then Mr Sidaway is wrong,” Otis said, defiance in his eyes.

“Very strange indeed,” Tom commented. 

“Do you think someone stole your mail?” Charlotte asked. To her mind, that was the only logical explanation. The defiance in Otis’ eyes changed to fear. 

“Tell me that’s not true,” Sidney demanded, but Otis shook his head. Charlotte leaned forward.

“Why would anyone wish to steal your post, Mr Molyneux?”

“Let me guess.” Sidney scoffed. “There’s a gentleman to whom you owe a debt? A gentleman trying to locate you so he can force you to settle your accounts?” Charlotte found herself staring at her fiancé in awe – how well-versed he was in all ways of the world, understanding the situation and Otis’ predicament so quickly! – Well, perhaps not all ways of the world, because he was still and undoubtedly bad at dealing with her. And with his ward.

Otis looked down at his hands, not meeting anyone’s eyes. 

“There’s… Mr Beecroft. I believe his men have been shadowing me.”

“Beecroft!” Sidney groaned, running a hand through his hair. He was looking somewhat ruffled now, and a bit younger, Charlotte thought. A bit like Pirate Sidney again. For some unsolicited reason, she found it difficult to take her eyes off him. Even though he was not wearing his leather breeches. But there was something in his dark and broody manner - “Beecroft!” he groaned again.

“Who is this gentleman?” Tom asked.

“I would not call him a gentleman,” dark and broody Pirate Sidney said, rapping the ceiling with the tip of his cane. “Coachman! Change of plan. We’re going to Covent Garden.”

 

“Is this… a gambling house?” Tom eyed Mr Beecroft’s establishment with a mix of wariness, disgust and fascination. 

“It’s not a lawyer’s office, I can tell you that much,” Sidney said, extracting himself from the carriage. “Ah, Miss Heywood – you…”

“… stay inside, thank you very much,” Charlotte said, rolling her eyes. Was it conceivable that she was providing all the clues but never came to the fun part of the occasion?

Tom quickly patted her arm as he scrambled past her and followed Otis outside. “Really, my dear, I don’t think this is a place where a young lady should be seen. - I’m actually in shock that my younger brother should know such houses… but then again…”

“Tom!” his younger brother called him. “We don’t have all night.”

When the three men had vanished inside Mr Beecroft’s residence, Charlotte stretched her legs and arms and stifled a yawn. She was not used to sitting on the same spot for hours on end, as much as she was not used to being ordered around by an overbearing fiancé. Tentatively, she opened the door and set her foot on the step. 

“But… Miss…” Crockett warned.  

“This is just preventing a cramp,” Charlotte said, leaving the carriage and walking up and down a few steps, mindful to stay close by and in sight of the coachman. This place was less crowded and smelly than the area around Honey Lane, yet Charlotte felt that within moments, more people had passed her than there were residents of Willingden.

After a few minutes, the doors of Mr Beecroft’s establishment opened, and Otis appeared, pushed forward by Sidney. Despite the late hour and the near-darkness, it was evident that Tom was horrified, Otis in tears and Sidney desperate. So desperate that he did not even comment on finding Charlotte outside the carriage.

“He has sold her,” was all he said.

“What?” she asked, images of Georgiana enslaved, Georgiana in chains, Georgiana calling for help shooting through her mind. Tom took her hand. 

“You must be very brave now, my dear,” he said. “According to Mr Beecroft – who is clearly not a gentleman – according to him, our poor Miss Lambe has been handed over to some dissolute rake against a promise to buy Mr Molyneux’s debt.”

“What?” Charlotte cried. This sounded like the plot of one of the silly romance novels her sisters loved to read.

“He’ll be dragging her to the altar,” Sidney added, kicking at the carriage wheel in frustration, startling the horses.

“But she cannot marry without your permission!” 

“There are no such laws in Scotland. Once they are across the border, this Mr Howard can marry her without impunity.”

“No!” Otis, who had seemed to be in a daze, looked up, tears streaming down his face. “No!”

Sidney regarded him coldly. “It’s a bit late for regret now, Mr Molyneux. And it’s not only Georgiana who will have to suffer the consequences of your selfish actions.”

“My actions? If you had allowed us to marry…”

“If anything, recent events have just proven how right I was to suspend such a connection!” But Otis had found his courage again.

“I would have made her happy. Happier than…” Whatever it was, Sidney had him by the collar first and shoved him against the carriage.

“You have ruined her. You have boasted with her wealth in front of the most… the most…” He did not finish the sentence but shook his head. “You gambled with her life, and you lost,” he closed. “I should avenge her honour right here and now…”

“Sidney!” Tom called, and Charlotte, fearing her fiancé might commit murder in the middle of the street, stepped between them: “Stop! What good will that do?”

Sidney, distracted, looked at her, breathing heavily. For a split second, she believed she saw his expression soften. Then the anger returned, and he released Otis with a dismissive scowl. “Get out of my sight,” he hissed. “Now!” – and stumbling, Otis vanished into the night haze. 

“I don’t know what to say, brother,” Tom began after a few moments of stunned silence, putting an arm around Sidney’s shoulders. “You’ve done all you could, but…”

“We cannot give her up,” Charlotte protested, feeling the tears well up to her eyes. Georgiana, lost to a rake who would lock her up in a cold and dingy place while gambling away her one hundred thousand. She would not survive; clearly, she would not, not with her sensitivity to the English climate and the fact that she was an outlier at best and a sensation at worst wherever she went. And to think that all that could have been prevented if only she had shown better judgement, had trusted Sidney as a woman was supposed to trust her fiancé! And what did all this mean for their engagement? Would her dear papa retract his consent once he learned about what might happen to a young woman left in Sidney Parker’s care?

“It’s over, Charlotte,” Sidney said, sounding exhausted, his shoulders sloping. The fact that he had let down his guard and used her first name again told her all she needed to know about his level of desperation and self-reproach. “They are hours ahead of us and will be halfway up to Scotland by now.”

“But… but…” She was grasping at straws. “Can we be sure that they left? Did this Mr Beecroft say so?” Tom frowned.

“Upon my word, Sidney. He did not say so.”

“Did you not say… a promise to buy Mr Molyneux’s debt?” Charlotte asked, seeing a spark of hope in the darkness now. “Not the payment itself? Would Mr Beecroft give her up before he is in receipt of the money?”

Sidney stared at her, caution in his eyes. Kindling that spark of hope into a flame, Charlotte continued: “Maybe he is holding her? Somewhere in London, even?”

“He owns a… a… boarding house,” Sidney slowly said. “In Drury Lane.”

“Splendid!” Tom clapped his hands, beaming happily. “A boarding house. She’ll be safe and sound, you’ll see. Off to Drury Lane!”

 

The closer they came to Drury Lane, the quieter Sidney went. Not that he had been very talkative before. But now he appeared present in body only, withdrawn in his shell, his hands firmly grasping the cane, his hat shading away most of his face as he was staring at the curtain that covered the window: his mind as unfathomable as ever, wandering a distant country.

The tension inside the carriage was so palpable that even Tom stopped talking, only sending encouraging nods to Charlotte and Crockett. Drury Lane, it seemed, was the spot where any Londoner went who was looking for – and could afford – nightly entertainment. The carriage was stuck in traffic more than once, and when it finally drove up in front of what appeared to be Mr Beecroft’s boarding house, Charlotte wondered why anyone might wish to board in a place of such mayhem. 

Sidney jumped down first, turning around immediately and pointing the tip of his cane at Charlotte. “Under no circumstance are you to set foot outside the carriage,” he said, his gaze impenetrable, his voice resolute and firm. He looked at his brother. “Tom, you stay here as well. Make sure Charlotte stays inside.” Apparently, he did not trust poor Crockett.

“But…” Tom and Charlotte started simultaneously.

“Under no circumstance at all,” Sidney repeated with the darkest expression ever and slammed the door shut behind him.

Charlotte gazed out through the small gap between curtain and window frame. Her fiancé, a tall, determined island with his top hat, upturned coat collar and fine posture amidst a crowd of barging revellers, fended off some unwanted attention with his cane before pounding the silver grip against the entrance door of the boarding house. He was quickly let in. 

“Upon my word,” Tom said, shaking his head. “This is like a wild scene out of a Hogarth picture… oh… my dear, where are you off to?”

“I’m going in,” Charlotte said, stepping outside. “I can’t sit here, folding my hands and hoping for a happy outcome when Georgiana is in such mortal danger.” She was already halfway across the street when Tom had recovered from his shock and managed to extricate himself from the carriage.

“Charlotte… wait… no!” His eyes large with panic, his long arms flailing like the sails of a windmill, he came running behind her. “I’m responsible for you… I really think this is not a place for… Sidney most explicitly said…”

“We are not married. He cannot order me around like a dog,” she replied, rounded a drunken couple and knocked on the door of the boarding house.

Notes:

“This is like a wild scene out of a Hogarth picture…” – The Hogarth reference is not in the series but in Kate Riordan’s novel, and it’s so perfect, I wanted to keep it.
William Hogarth was an English painter of the 18th century who, along with the usual portrait business, specialised in series of moralising engravings. Moralising means: through various scenes, he follows the downward spiral of a character when indulging in such pursuits as drinking, gambling, sinning. The main character usually ends up either dead or in the madhouse. Moralising, as I said. Not uplifting material as such, but the pictures are great to study because they are full of symbolism and tell-tale details.
If you ever happen to find yourself in the National Gallery in London, watch out for “Marriage A-la-mode”: that’s one of Hogarth’s most famous works (and an excellent warning for those Sanditon characters who consider marriage for mercenary reasons rather than for love and affection).
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Hogarth#Moralizing_art

Chapter 15: Vice

Notes:

Thanks for all your feedback on the previous chapter. It’s so much appreciated! And I love to file through the comments and pick up a thought here or an expression there. That’s how we ended up with Tom-ness and, in a different context, with Mrs Influencer.
Usually, I ask the person who left the comment whether I can re-use their expression. I believe that’s the polite thing to do. Now in this chapter, I will quote from a reply to chapter 13, and I haven’t asked that person for permission. If you’re reading this and you object, please let me know. I’m sure you’ll recognise your words. And they are still much more eloquent than anything I could have said on the matter.

Previously:

When it turns out that Georgiana has been abducted, a search party consisting of Sidney, Charlotte, Tom, Crockett and a travelling rug sets out to London. Once again, it’s Charlotte’s resourcefulness that saves the day. With Georgiana being sold to a dissolute rake, their last hope is a boarding house in Drury Lane. For some mysterious reasons, Sidney does not want his fiancée to follow him inside this establishment and leaves Tom with her as a guard. But as always, our headstrong heroine only listens to her conscience and not to anyone going by the name of Parker…

***

 

“Mr Parker!” Mrs Harries eyed Sidney with as much pleasure as surprise. She was a middle-aged woman wearing false jewellery, too much makeup and a rather low neckline – in other words, and given her profession: she was appropriately dressed for the occasion. “We haven’t seen you in a while,” she added with a suggestive smile, apparently expecting some new business. 

Sidney groaned: he had hoped that she had forgotten his name. The while since they had last seen each other was quite a while, after all. But Mrs Harries had an excellent memory, and her smile only widened. “I have some new ladies who will be delighted to make your acquaintance.”

They were standing in the establishment’s parlour, a candle-lit room filled with young women in different states of undress, lounging on divans and settees. Some were joined by gentlemen paying them various kinds of attention; others were just looking at the handsome newcomer. With all the candles in the room and so many eyes on him, Sidney quickly felt rather hot. The several layers of clothing he was wearing, including a leather waistcoat, did not help. Beads of sweat slowly trickled down his forehead. “I’m not here for… that, Mrs Harries,” he said, clearing his throat and trying to find an unsuspicious spot to train his eyes on. “In fact, I’m…”

“Sidney!” There was some commotion at the door, and then Tom stormed in. “I’m so sorry, I’m… oh. Oh.” His brother gazed around, turned the colour of a boiled lobster within a second and put a hand on his heart, stumbling backwards. “Oh. Oh, dear.” 

“And who’s this gentleman?” Mrs Harries asked, beaming now, smelling more business. “A friend of yours, Mr Parker? How about a special deal for introducing a new patron? Say twice the pleasure for the price of one?” Tom looked dangerously close to suffocating now.

“What? I’m a happily married m… oh… Charlotte… Charlotte… my dear, close your ears… I mean your eyes… I’m so sorry, Sidney. I told her to… Charlotte!” Rotating in an attempt to get hold of his brother’s elusive fiancée, Tom crashed into a flower stand and knocked down a vase, showering one lady and her beau with a cold gush of water and some equally unwelcome petals.

Charlotte, Sidney realised, his heart sinking to the bottom of the ocean, his sweating breaking into a waterfall, Charlotte was standing in the doorway, her whole small person oozing dismay, her eyes pinched in the cutest of angry frowns, her lips parted, but for once unable to utter anything. 

This was the absolute worst case of all worst cases. He would never come to kiss those sweet fresh lips. Mr Heywood, careful man that he was, would not only retract his consent: he would hunt his precious daughter’s shameless fiancé and whip him around Willingden’s village square. Because on the list of unspeakable acts a gentleman might commit with his future wife, Sidney Parker had managed an accomplishment that was not even mentioned: he had brought his innocent bride to a brothel.

 

“A boarding house, you said,” Charlotte hissed as Tom was trying to clear up the mess around the crashed vase, now being showered himself with insults from the gentleman involved.

“I told you to wait in the carriage,” Sidney said defensively and as if Charlotte waiting in the carriage would have turned the place into a Sunday school.

“I’m not your dog! You cannot order me around!” 

Mrs Harries eyed her with some interest now. “And who might this young lady be? A little puppy you want me to train for you, Mr Parker?” Sidney saw his fiancée’s face and realised that it was not Mr Heywood who would hunt and whip him, but the gentleman’s daughter herself.

“She’s a fiery one, Mr P.” Mrs Harries winked with a knowing smile.

“For God’s sake, will you shut up?” Mr P roared, his head now as red as Tom’s after a too-long afternoon on Sanditon’s sunny beach. Mrs Harries flinched. Then understanding hit her.

“Oh? The little miss is going to make an honest man of our Mr Parker?”

“Gracious!” Charlotte threw her fiancé a glance that would have killed a weaker man on the spot. Then her disdain turned into bewilderment when she realised that, in fact, she was going to make an honest man of our Mr Parker.

Meanwhile, Tom had finished making the mess he had created even messier and turned to the landlady. “I’m so sorry, Mrs… um. Mr Parker will come up for the damage.”

“What?” Sidney turned away from his fiancée.

“We are here on your behalf, after all,” Tom said, shrugging his shoulders. Being able to blame his brother made some of his self-confidence return. “Charlotte, my dear, do close your eyes. – We are looking for a young lady. Miss Georgiana Lambe,” he added. Mrs Harries’ chin went up.

“I don’t believe I’m acquainted with anyone of that name.”

“Miss Lambe is my ward,” Sidney glared, for once suppressing the urge to sling Charlotte over his shoulder and punch basically everyone else in their faces.

“Still does not ring a bell.” Mrs Harries folded her arms in front of her, taking a defiant posture.

Charlotte freed herself from Tom’s attempt to cover her eyes, making him stumble, lose his balance and land on top of a couple lounging on a nearby divan. As insults and abuse were hurled at him and Sidney helped his brother back on his feet, she took advantage of the distraction, ventured out into the corridor and started calling, “Georgiana! Georgiana!”

“Shush,” Mrs Harries hissed, running after her. “You’re upsetting the… boarders.”

Charlotte turned around. “So she’s here?”

“I never said so!”

“But if she were, and you didn’t tell us, her ruin will be down on your head!” She was indeed a fiery one, Sidney realised. Never tiring to stand up for what she believed was right. For a second, he felt immensely proud of his fiancée. “Miss Lambe is nineteen years old, a stranger in our country, sold to a man without a conscience!” she went on.

Mrs Harries faltered. Sidney saw his chance. “The authorities might turn a blind eye on vice, ma’am, but never on abduction and extortion.”

With a sigh, she gave in. “They’ll be outside in the backyard, loading the carriage.”

Sidney turned towards Charlotte. “You stay behind.”

Her dark eyes were piercing his. “As if I would,” she hissed, passing him on her way to the backdoor. He followed her with large strides, calling for his brother to join them – where was Tom when one finally needed him? It was impossible to get hold of his wayward fiancée, who kept calling “Georgiana! Georgiana!” as she opened the door leading to the backyard.

She stopped, and Sidney nearly stumbled into her, grabbing her arm: A large black carriage was waiting in the sparsely lit yard, almost ready to depart. The driver was sitting on the coach box, sorting out the many folds of his coat while a grimly looking manservant put final touches to the luggage rack at the rear.

“Stop it! Stop it!” Charlotte called, freeing herself from her fiancé’s grip, running forward and hurling herself at the manservant who shook her off as if she was an annoying insect. With a thump, she landed against the back wheel. 

“Charlotte!” Sidney cried in a moment of utter panic, but she quickly stood on her feet again, grasping for the arm he offered her. He remembered imagining offering her his arm in a very different context, on a clifftop walk, seagulls squawking in the distance, her gaze finding his…. Now she was definitely not adoringly looking up to him but trembling with fury. He carefully moved her behind his back with his free hand while taking a firmer grip on the cane. Where was bloody Tom when he was bloody needed? 

The carriage door opened, a fat and sweaty man glaring outside, and behind him, blessed be the Lord, was hovering an upset Georgiana. Never during their tempestuous relationship had Sidney expected to feel such happiness and relief at the sheer sight of his ward. 

“Georgiana!” Charlotte exclaimed, and “What do you want?” the sweaty man asked, blocking the door for his quarry.

“I’m exerting my rights as legal guardian of the young lady in your carriage,” Sidney said. “Release her at once.”

The man – presumably Mr Howard – snorted. “You must be mistaken, sir – understandable, considering her assets.” He grinned at Georgiana in a way that made Sidney want to club him with his cane. “I have a deal with Mr Beecroft. She is my…” He paused to eye Georgiana once more and lick his lips in a particularly revolting way: “… my property.”

At that, several things happened at the same time. Georgiana lounged herself at her abductor, showering his massive back with fist blows, shouting: “I am no man’s property!” Charlotte let go of Sidney’s arm and lounged herself at the man from the front, punching and kicking and echoing Georgiana’s shouts: “She is no man’s property!” Under this onslaught, Mr Howard tumbled down from the doorstep into the mud of the yard, lying flat on this back like an overturned beetle.

His servant, however, suddenly had a knife in his hand, a good sharp knife, its metal blade glinting in the light of the coach lantern. And he held that knife at Charlotte, directing her slowly away from the scene where his master hovered on the ground. Even in the darkness of the yard, Sidney saw her eyes shining large and luminous.

A hot and cold gush of emotions washed over him: panic, fear, anger (how did she manage to always – always – find herself in the middle of trouble?), and something else, something very different, something he knew and yet had not known for years, something elusive and precious, something…

“Oh,” a surprised voice from the backdoor said. “What’s this, brother?” It was just for a fraction of a second, and yet the distraction was enough: when the manservant turned his head towards the doorway, Sidney raised his cane like a broadsword and let it crash down on the villain’s skull. With a grunt, the man gave in and fell to the ground. So did the cane: as the servant tumbled, the wood broke, and the lower part of the stick, as well as the knife, cluttered away into the depths of the cobblestoned yard.

For a moment, they stood nearly frozen: Sidney holding up half a cane. Charlotte and Georgiana, embracing each other. Sweaty and groaning Mr Howard, trying to pull himself up on the footboard of the carriage. The manservant lying limp in the dirt. The coachman – who had been wise enough to keep out of the trouble – staring at the tableau under him from the coach box.

Someone clapped his hands. “Ha,” Tom said, still hovering in the doorway. “Excellent. We’ve found and liberated our dear Miss Lambe. I daresay…”

“Shut up,” Sidney roared. He lowered the remains of his cane and shoved the two young ladies along. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

*

 

It was a very sombre and quiet drive to the Parker townhouse in Bedford Place. Georgiana, huddled between Crockett and Charlotte, grabbed the latter’s hand, her lips trembling, yet unable or unwilling to relate anything about the hours of her captivity. Crockett was sharing her travelling rug with her mistress now but still held on to it as if for dear life. Tom Parker, staring from one young lady to another, asked himself aloud how his brother came to know such… such… places, how to explain all this to his dearest wife, and how to prevent the vicar and Lady Denham from hearing anything about their adventure, because if they did, it would certainly – certainly! – ruin all his ambitions for Sanditon.

Sidney didn’t say anything. He sat hunched back into the corner, staring either at the closed window or his empty, idle hands. Charlotte wondered whether he was missing his companion, the cane, but she did not dare to ask him. In fact, she did not dare to say anything for fear of breaking into tears. She could not even tell if she felt like crying because they had freed Georgiana, because a villainous manservant had threatened her with a knife, because Sidney had called her by her name (he had done that before but under less dramatic circumstances) or because he had brought her to a place about which she had heard in whispers only, a house of ill repute, a house no honourable young lady would ever set foot in. 

Though, strictly speaking, he had not brought her to that place, he had told her to stay inside the carriage. Which, nevertheless, made it even worse. Not only did he know the house, but he himself seemed to be known there exceptionally well. Now a single tear did roll down her cheek. She wiped it away, catching his impenetrable gaze that had been lingering on her for a moment – or maybe even longer.

“Ah,” Tom called out. “Bedford Place, finally. And never have I been so glad to see the fair walls of our London abode!”

They woke up the servants who, after some hustle and bustle, had a quick late-night snack prepared and bedrooms for their masters and their company.

Georgiana declined any food and retired to her room immediately, asking for Charlotte to accompany her. Now it all came out: the plan to meet Otis when everyone was distracted by the cricket match, engineered with the help of the Beaufort sisters (“I knew it would not work with those idiot girls involved,” Georgiana said). The abduction on Sanditon’s high street, the terrible realisation that the men holding her were no kind associates of Otis. The ride to London in captivity, being delivered to Mrs Harries and handed over to the Sweaty Swine (he went by no other name in Georgiana’s tale). Another realisation: that it was Otis himself who had placed her in this predicament, who had boasted with her beauty or her wit or her money (or perhaps all of it) in front of the most dissolute rakes in the whole of England.

“What do you think will become of him now?” Georgiana asked, holding Charlotte’s hand again. “The debtor’s prison? Worse?”

“I don’t know,” Charlotte said, feeling the effects of a long, exciting day and the crash with a carriage wheel. “Maybe Sidney can tell us tomorrow. – Go to sleep now, Georgiana. We won’t solve any of this tonight.” But Georgiana had too much on her mind for bedtime.

“You must think me so stupid. So naïve… reckless. That man with the knife – if he’d touched you…”

“Well, he didn’t. There’s no use in worrying about accidents that never happened.” Charlotte pressed her friend’s hand. “- And I don’t think you are stupid or naïve. And if your actions seem reckless, it’s circumstances that make them.”

“What do you mean?” 

Charlotte gave her a small, affectionate smile. Poor Georgiana: too exhausted, too shocked, too depleted to understand what was so evident to herself. Gently stroking her fingers, Charlotte said: “You are a very young woman who has been through awful things, Georgiana. You’re surrounded by people who dislike you for nothing but your parentage and yet still want to get your fortune.” She sighed, remembering her fiancé’s anything but shining role in this. “Or who see you as a tiresome duty to be dispensed with in the most efficient way. Or who just want to see you humiliated. – I’d be trying to run away as well if I were you. Especially if a handsome young man was telling me he was in love with my soul. – Anyone wishing to judge you may take a look in the mirror and reflect upon what they would do if they were in your situation.” 

For a moment, Georgiana stared at her friend in disbelief. Then she gave a sob, and another one, and suddenly she was all tears, crying in Charlotte’s arms, crying all her desperation, her anger and her frustration out: the loss of her father and her Antiguan home. The loss of respect by the highest and mightiest of Sanditon’s society. The loss of the man she loved and whose betrayal was even worse than her guardian’s negligence. 

Charlotte held her, stroking her hair, murmuring “There, there” whenever the crying fits became too violent. She was an eldest sister, after all, she had seen many tears shed, and she knew that some long and heartfelt crying often was the first step into healing. Georgiana would recover, and she would pull through: she was a strong and intelligent young lady, energised by her anger. It would not be easy, but she would make her way.

“Thank you,” she whispered after a long while.

“That’s what friends are for,” Charlotte said, wiping a tear from Georgiana’s cheek.

“I guess I… have to learn that.” 

“You’re a quick learner. You’ll manage. – Can I leave you alone for the night now?”

“Yes.” After another tight embrace, Charlotte moved towards the door. Just before she left, Georgiana suddenly asked: “Did you hear him call your name? Did you see him club the Sweaty Swine’s servant?”

“Yes.” She felt the blush on her face and was grateful for the dim light in the candle-lit room.

“Maybe,” Georgiana slowly said, “his heart is not as cauterised as I believed.” Charlotte shrugged her shoulders, hoping to appear unimpressed.

“If that is the case, it’s another conundrum we are not going to solve tonight.” 

Closing the door behind her and stepping out into the corridor, she paused for a moment. What an eventful day! So much to discuss, to consider now. Above all: her engagement. But she would not solve any of the new conundrums facing her without a good night’s sleep.

She had never been to the London Parker residence before, and even though the house was less extravagant in style than Trafalgar House, it was still a grand place for a girl from Willingden’s countryside. Only now did she realise that she had no idea which room was hers: she had been too busy taking care of Georgiana for paying any attention to where her own small travel bag was being carried. In the hope of finding a servant, the housekeeper or one of her hosts, she roamed the corridors until she found herself in what must be the drawing-room, nearly dark now, with only two or three candles illuminating the empty fireplace. Maybe the servants had forgotten to extinguish them in the overall excitement. Then she noticed a crooked figure lounging on the sofa, holding a glass of amber liquor.

“Miss Heywood,” her fiancé said, taking up a more genteel position. “Always popping up when least expected.”

 

Notes:

Off-topic: As a certain bird continues to make friends from all around the world, I’m adding a short Bonus Seagull Episode from real-life below in the comment section.

Chapter 16: Trust

Notes:

This update took a little longer than expected, I’m afraid. Real life was a bit too real for a while.
Thank you for all your comments again, especially those referring to Charlotte’s conversation with Georgiana. The words were not completely mine; this is actually where I borrowed some lines from a reply to chapter 13.
Finally, here is a gentle reminder that this story is set in Regency times, and that sexual morals back then were completely different from ours. Yes, thinking of our hero as frequenting a brothel goes very much against the idea of amour propre. And yet, in a society in which marriage was often nothing but a business deal, that was the rule.
However, it’s absolutely conceivable that the very same Regency Sidney Parker would be shocked to no end if he knew that his great-…-great-granddaughters devour stories describing his moments of passion with his dearest Charlotte in great and explicit detail. “The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.” (L. P. Hartley)

Previously

Sidney’s enquiries at the “boarding house” take an unexpected turn when his brother and his fiancée show up. Despite the ensuing chaos, they manage to intercept the carriage that is about to take Georgiana to Scotland. When Charlotte is threatened with a knife by one of the villains, Sidney sacrifices his cane to save her.

Back at Bedford Place, Georgiana and Charlotte share a moment of friendship and solace. Searching for her room, Charlotte walks into the drawing-room – and her fiancé.

***

“Miss Heywood,” her fiancé said, taking up a more genteel position. “Always popping up when least expected.”

“I…” Charlotte felt the colour rise to her face. If only he did not think she had been searching for him! “I was looking for my room. Georgiana’s gone to bed now.” 

Sidney held his glass into the light of one of the candles, making its contents shine in yellow, red and orange shades. She wondered whether that glass was his first one or just one of many. “Your room is opposite from Georgiana’s,” he said. “Come here, keep me company.”

“What? No… I think that would… not be appropriate.” Charlotte saw an entire regiment of vicars protesting, wielding their Bibles and calling for decency and decorum. Sitting with her fiancé in a darkened room in the middle of the night! But however loud their shouting was, Sidney did not seem to hear them.

“And is propriety really an issue? After everything that’s transpired tonight?” He drained the liquor and leaned forward. “Sit down with me, Miss Heywood. Please. Nothing untoward is going to happen, I promise. I just want to have a conversation with my fiancée.” 

It was hard to say “no” when he was looking at her like that: pleading, his eyes shiny in the deepest and darkest brown, his gaze so open and severe. Charlotte felt a strange little motion stir her heart. Unable to look away, she made a tentative step into the room, and then another one. Suddenly, it was easy. She found a chair next to a side table across from her fiancé, who was still lounging on the sofa, a safe distance of at least six feet away from her. Wincing quietly, she settled down, wondering how drunk he was.

“Is everything alright?” The concern in his voice was unmistakable. Maybe he was not drunk at all. Charlotte eyed him curiously. He had taken off his cravat and opened the first button of his leather waistcoat. She had expected him to be smoking one of his disgusting cheroots, but he was not. In fact, come to think of it, she had not seen him smoking ever since their shoutout on the street. “Charlotte?” he added, waiting for a reply.

“I had an encounter with a villainous manservant earlier this evening,” she reminded him, trying not to look at that triangle of bare skin that was visible now at the opening of his shirt collar. “And I think I was a little bruised when I crashed against the carriage wheel.”

“Do you want me to fetch a doctor?” He was already on his feet.

“No need to fuss. I’m fine.” And if her heart was pounding and her palms sweating, then it had something to do with the fact that she was finding herself alone with her fiancé, unchaperoned in a nearly dark room in the middle of the night in an otherwise quiet house. Her fiancé did not seem to care. He sat down again, stretching his booted legs, staring at one of the candles that slowly died, deepening the darkness around them.

“Do you realise that if that scoundrel had managed to take Georgiana to Scotland, our engagement would be over now?” he finally asked, his gaze impenetrable. 

“I believe I was too preoccupied to think about such implications,” Charlotte admitted. Sidney’s mouth twitched.

“I doubt your father would have allowed you to marry a man who cannot take care of his ward.” He was right, of course. If her dear Papa ever learned of their London adventure, he would lock his precious eldest daughter and all her sisters away and seek revenge from the man who had exposed her to such embarrassment. If the shock did not cause him a stroke first. 

“But that is no longer an issue now,” she said. “Georgiana is safe.”

“Yes.” Sidney reached for his glass and, realising that it was empty, put it down again. “So how is my ward?” he asked.

“Asleep, I hope.” The change of topic, abrupt as it was, was a relief. Georgiana was so much easier to discuss than their own muddled relationship. “She is very sad. And disenchanted with Mr Molyneux. But no real physical harm.”

“Thank you, Miss Heywood.”

“I believe that’s what friends are for.” Sidney shook his head.

“I mean not only for holding her hand and seeing her to bed.” He bent forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Thank you for insisting. For being perseverant. I doubt we would have found her without you.” Charlotte cleared her throat. This most astonishing night only continued to be astonishing. 

“I have to thank you as well,” she said, hoping to echo his friendly tone and his kind and calm expression. “For stopping that horrible man with the knife. I’m sorry about your cane.”

Sidney shrugged his shoulders. “It was just a piece of wood. But you…” He paused. “If anything had happened to you…,” he tried again, then shook his head before hiding it in his hands.

“There’s no use in worrying about accidents that never happened,” Charlotte repeated what she had told Georgiana earlier.

“You will have to teach me how to do that.” He was looking at her now from across the distance of six foot away, and yet, it suddenly felt as if there was no distance at all left between them. Charlotte did not know what to do or what to say. This was all so utterly unreal – their adventurous quest for Georgiana, the quiet house, Sidney Parker, sitting there in the flickering light, so kind, so concerned.

When her silence stretched into awkwardness, he cleared his throat. “By the way,” he started, regarding the empty glass on the side table. “I’ve been meaning to say…umm…” He looked down at his feet, then, biting his lip, looked up and finally searched her gaze again. “That… boarding house… I… I hope you were not too embarrassed.”

Charlotte hesitated for a moment. Clearly, she was entitled to a hysterical scene now. Was there anything more despicable than witnessing your fiancé’s warm welcome at such a place? Yet, a hysteric rant would not help to improve their situation. Or Georgiana’s: she was their primary care now. They simply could not afford to be at loggerheads again. And they would get married anyway: She could hardly tell her dear Papa that she wanted to end the engagement because her fiancé had brought her to a house of ill repute. Strictly speaking, he had not brought her there anyway. Quite on the contrary, he had told her explicitly to stay inside the carriage. Whether that was out of shame or concern for her reputation – or both: in his weird Sidney-Parker-way, he had tried to do the right thing.

So instead of telling him how disgusted she was – and how confused and frustrated about her own ignorance in all these matters no one ever dared to explain to young ladies – she met his gaze, and said, her voice a little husky as always when her words were more forceful than her actual courage: “Why should I be embarrassed? I  was not known there by name.”

Sidney cleared his throat again, looking flummoxed. “Yes. Very good point.” For a good while, he simply kept staring at the shadows the candles produced on the opposite wall. Finally, perhaps realising that Charlotte did not wish to continue the subject, his expression became serious and business-like again. “There’ll have to be some changes in the arrangements for Georgiana once we get back to Sanditon,” he said. “I can’t have her stay with the Misses Beaufort after this affair.”

“I’m sure they meant no harm.”

“Not much of a consolation if that man Howard had taken her to Scotland.” He sighed. “She needs better… more stimulating company. I was thinking of a sophisticated companion closer to her own age: an accomplished lady who can act as a teacher, role model and confidante. Now I know you don’t like me saying the name, but if Georgiana renewed her acquaintance with Miss Brereton -”

Oh dear, not Clara again. “That’s… perhaps not such a good idea,” Charlotte said. Sidney eyed her curiously, his head tilted.

“What is it between you and Miss Brereton? I was led to believe you were great friends. Going sea-bathing together? Sharing your secrets?”

“Yes,” she agreed. “But, umm…”

“I think she’s the most accomplished young lady in Sanditon. Well-versed in conversation, pretty dancer, even plays the piano…”

“Not to mention her embroidery skills,” Charlotte added wryly. Sidney paused, looking at her.

“I did not mean to diminish your own skills, Charlotte.”

“I have no embroidery skills. Neither do I play the piano, as you well know. As to the conversation and the dancing, you might be a better judge than I. But…”

“But?” That head tilt again. And that gaze: so soft, yet so enquiring. Asking her to trust him, telling her that he did trust her. Which was quite a lot, given their history.

“I…” Oh, dear. This was impossible. Under no circumstances could she allow Georgiana to fall under Clara’s influence. And under no circumstances could she explain to Georgiana’s guardian – her fiancé – why. 

“Tell me.” His voice was deep and hoarse now, merely a whisper.

“Why, it’s a… I… no.”

“You’re usually so free with your opinions, Charlotte.” She looked up, still irritated to hear him call her by her name. Not only because she found it so difficult to call him by his name.

“I… well, it seems… I have…” How to speak about this with a man when she could not even bring herself to talk about it with Mary? On the other hand, that man was her fiancé and a man she had shared more than one embarrassing situation with. And many more to come, considering that he would probably be her husband by the end of the summer.

Judging by Mrs Harries’ welcome, he was well-versed in the most intimate matters between men and women. Charlotte frowned. Was it conceivable that of all the people around her, the perfect person to confide in about what she had witnessed in Lady Denham’s deer park was none other than her own inscrutable fiancé, Sidney Parker himself?

He did not press her further; he just leaned back on the sofa, watching the flickering candles, listening to the sounds of the street outside, the clatter of hooves, the call of a night watchman. She had to say something now, she realised. The trail was laid, the first seed of distrust into Clara sown. Courage, Charlotte, courage, she told herself.

“But this has to remain in the strictest confidence between us.”

“Of course, Charlotte.” Sharing your secrets?  With Sidney Parker? She took a deep breath.

“I believe there is a connection between Miss Brereton and Sir Edward that Lady Denham would not approve of.” He looked neither surprised nor shocked. Perhaps such escapades were more common in his circles.

“You mean a secret engagement? Well, Lady D would certainly disapprove. Sir Edward needs to marry money, as we all know. I wonder about Miss Brereton, though. I should have expected her to be more sensible in her choice of a husband.”

If only it were a secret engagement! Charlotte shook her head. “There’s no secret engagement; I can say that for sure. It’s… it’s something I saw… and I might have forgotten about it altogether, had they not both made such a point of giving me very different accounts of what I had seen.” Sidney frowned, leaning forward now, as if hoping to reduce the six feet distance between them, looking at her with a mix of doubt and interest.

“What exactly are we talking about, Charlotte?” He really seemed to have mastered the art of saying her name, but he stumbled with his next words. “Was Sir Edward… was he… forcing his attentions on Miss Brereton?” 

“At least that’s what Clara told me.” Charlotte sighed, grateful for the bridge Sidney was building for her. “But Sir Edward said something very different. He said that she was in distress and that he had been trying to comfort her. Yet… from my perspective, neither was she in distress nor was he forcing himself on her.” She shook her head, confounded by the sheer memory. Hoping to pave over the embarrassing facts, she quickly continued: “It was in the deer park, the day when… you came to Sanditon, and we first met on the cliff top.” Of course, new maid came to the mind – obviously even to Sidney’s, for he nodded –, but now that she found herself on a straight road down to what had happened, she did not want to stop for such painful memories. “Mary suggested I look out for the deer… but… all I saw was…”

“Miss Brereton and Sir Edward,” Sidney added for her. “Enjoying a… tryst?”

“I’m not sure that’s the word.” But neither did she know what the correct word was. Or whether there even was a correct word for what she had seen. Her cheeks were burning like fire now, and it was impossible to look anywhere else but at her hands. Yet, in essentials, she was still Charlotte Heywood, and Charlotte Heywood was a fearless girl; so with another deep breath, she went on, albeit haltingly: “It seemed to me that… that Sir Edward was enjoying a moment of pleasure. And that Clara was… that she was giving him that pleasure, but… is that a stupid thing to assume?” 

“No,” Sidney said after a moment, slowly shaking his head. “That is… umm, probably a fair assumption to make.” Maybe there was a slight tinge of colour on his face now – it was difficult to make out in the low candlelight.

“I feel like such a fool talking about these things,” she admitted, studying her hands again.

“No, Charlotte.” His voice was kind, if not affectionate, and even though she barely dared to lift her eyes, she felt his gentle gaze on her now. “You’re not a fool; you’re very brave. Sir Edward is a rake without a conscience… and Miss Brereton… to risk her reputation like that - both of them… to be compromising themselves in public…” Charlotte looked up.

“Do you think it would have been less compromising if it had happened behind closed doors?” Sidney did not answer immediately. She saw the emotions work on his face, him trying to assess how to react, how to consider the delicacy of their situation, what to assert and what better to leave unsaid. 

“Look, Charlotte… after today, I can hardly pretend I’m a saint,” he finally said. “In fact… I suppose I would have made a poor saint even without what you had to witness at the… boarding house.”

“Indeed,” Charlotte agreed. He would have made a great pirate, though. Especially with his shirt open around the neck as it was now. But this was definitely the wrong moment to tell him. 

The pirate preferred to study his empty glass. “Now… these… umm… these houses merely exist for …err, gentleman to enjoy… some moments of pleasure without compromising a young lady’s reputation. – That’s where Sir Edward should have taken his desires.”

Charlotte did not know what to do with this extraordinary assertion – and with the revulsion that suddenly filled her. “That’s so… so… demeaning.” Sidney managed to pluck his eyes off the empty glass and look at his fiancée instead.

“I know it is, and I’m sorry you had to see what you saw tonight. I wish there were any way to… protect you…”

“Protect  me?” Charlotte gasped for air, feeling the anger surge up inside of her. “You once accused me of sitting idly in my father’s house, and now that I venture out into the world, you want to protect me from life’s realities?” Sidney pinched his eyes.

“Well… that’s what a husband is supposed to do, isn’t he? Protect his wife? His family?”

“I really don’t want your protection if it means you’ll keep such awful facts from me as you frequenting these… these… establishments!” Charlotte realised that despite her earlier resolve, she was quickly spiralling into a hysteric rant. Her fiancé suddenly stood on his feet.

“Is that what you really think of me? That I would return to Mrs Harries’ as soon as I can?”

“Her welcome of you was certainly inviting enough.” 

He walked over to the fireplace with a groan and tapped the mantelpiece before he turned around to face her. “Charlotte, I… I can’t even begin to imagine what your opinion of me is.” 

Charlotte looked down at her hands, hoping that he did not expect an answer. For if anything was out of balance right now, it was her opinion of her fiancé.

He left the fireplace and sat down on another chair across from her, closer now but separated by the side table. “I have not the least desire of ever going to Mrs Harries’ or any similar establishment again,” he said, his voice deep and urgent, his gaze searching hers. She kept staring at her hands. “In fact, all I want is…” He stopped, shaking his head and ruffling his hair before starting again: “Everything I told you about having my own family was true. I can’t change the man that I was. I can only strive to do better in the future. And hope that you will help me become a different man.”

“You want me to help… you ?” Charlotte repeated, finally looking up, flabbergasted by his words, the solemn expression that accompanied them and the intimacy of him being so close that she could even smell a faint whiff of liquor in his breath.

“Yes.”

Her head was spinning: piano and embroidery, Clara and Edward, Sidney… Sidney at the cove, Sidney at the… boarding house, Sidney here, so kind and honest and vulnerable as she had never known him before. Something was there, beyond all that, something she could neither grasp nor understand.

He cleared his throat. “Can we return to Miss Brereton for a moment?” That was a swift change of topic, but perhaps, Charlotte realised, he felt safer talking about Clara than talking about himself. “I can hardly guess at what made her participate in such a scenario,” he said. “Are you sure Sir Edward did not force his attentions on her?”

“I am sure.” Charlotte was still flummoxed by this whole conversation but ready to return to the starting point. Discussing Clara and Sir Edward was definitely easier than discussing… Sidney and Charlotte. Sidney and Charlotte. She gasped at the mere idea. Not meeting her fiancé’s eyes, she explained: “The following evening, at the ball, Sir Edward wished to ensure I had not misunderstood what I had seen, and that I would not mention it to Lady Denham… but I didn’t even understand what I had seen. It seemed so strange.” Sidney nodded thoughtfully, encouraging her to go on. “After you danced with me, Clara approached me. She explained to me that she had been obliged to do something with Sir Edward she did not want to do to avoid something even worse.” 

Charlotte shook her head, still puzzled by the scene. Yet seeing Sidney’s calm and gentle gaze rest on her, it became easier to continue. “She made me believe she was in some horrible predicament, but she also asked me to keep it from Lady Denham. Yet if Sir Edward harassed her, why would she not want his vile nature known to her aunt? It did not make any sense to me. – Then the very next moment, when Mr Crowe asked her for another dance, all her sorrows were gone within an instant, and she was all happiness and smiles with him. – It was so very confounding.” She looked up and found Sidney staring at her, open-mouthed and as if hit by a substantial revelation.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait – was that the conversation you were referring to when we met on the balcony? When you said it was hard to form a reliable judgement?”

“Yes,” Charlotte admitted. “I… I was utterly out of my depth. I still am, I…” There was no way to stop it now: everything about those fateful moments on the balcony had to come out. And now that they had shared the worst with each other, it was easier. “You were kind at the beginning. You smiled and said you’d give a penny for my thoughts, and… you even asked what I had observed about you. I flattered myself that you liked it when I said you were the sensible brother.”

“I did like it,” Sidney conceded.

“But then it all went wrong.” She shook her head and looked down again, still feeling Sidney stare at her: Sidney speechless.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered after several moments. “I’m so sorry, Charlotte. Had I known…”

“There was no way for you to know.”

“And yet, I should have reacted differently. Everything I accused you of was highly unfair and completely ungrounded. Not only the nonsense about piano and embroidery. – And to think that I kept tormenting you with Clara Brereton’s accomplishments…” He looked at her, pleading for mercy. “I was such a brute… even more so when you apologised at the building site. You must have wished for the scaffolding to collapse and bury me underneath.”

She gave him a small smile. “I’m not that revengeful.”

“I’m a far luckier man than I deserve. – Will you accept my sincere and honest apology now?” 

“I will.”

For a while, they remained silent with each other. Charlotte was living through their first encounters again, the luncheon at Lady Denham’s, the cove, that moment in Tom’s office when she had tried to hide under the desk. The ubiquitous Miss Heywood. From Sidney’s pensive expression, she gathered that he was chasing the same memories.

“You always gave as good as you got from me,” he finally said.

“We never went easy on each other.”

“No. Maybe it’s… umm, not that bad. Knowing the worst of each other before getting married.”

Charlotte laughed despite herself. “I’m not sure Mr Hankins would agree, but I do.” Then she realised that even though she had learnt some rather shocking facts about her fiancé today, she still did not know what had turned his heart into a stone. Would she ever dare to ask? Maybe, but not tonight. She started to feel the consequences of an adventurous quest, a confrontation with a carriage wheel, the assault by a dangerous manservant, and an emotional talk in the middle of the night. On the mantelpiece, another candle burnt down with a hissing sound: a gentle reminder of how inappropriate their situation was. “I think I’ll retire now,” she said, rising from her chair.” 

Sidney stood as well and bowed. “Of course. And thank you for being so open about Miss Brereton and Sir Edward. I understand it wasn’t easy for you.”

“Do you think I should have confided in Lady Denham?”

“No. Whatever is going on there is not our secret to tell. Though it is ironic to know that they are getting away with their trysts, that no vicar is demanding an immediate engagement.” He shook his head. “However, I do understand now why Miss Brereton tried to befriend Georgiana.”

“Do you?”

“Buttering up her toast from all sides? She’s a very poor relation, I believe, and if things don’t work out with the wealthy aunt or the baronet, being an indispensable friend to a rich heiress might help. I don’t think she has much of a choice.”

“She might seek employment?” Charlotte suggested. “As a governess, or a paid companion, accomplished as she is.”

“Yes. But then she’s not Miss Heywood, but Miss Brereton.”

“What do you mean?”

“She very much enjoys the comforts of Sanditon House,” Sidney explained, the strangest little smile curling his lips. “I cannot picture her discussing a building site, or resolving financial disaster, or shouting at a war surgeon, or playing cricket, or beating the lights out of a rogue.” Charlotte frowned.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“No. Please don’t doubt yourself.” His eyes were all dark and soft again. “I’m trying to pay you a compliment. I’m terribly out of practice, I know, but I… I do think you should go to bed knowing that you are more than equal to any woman, Charlotte.”

For a moment, she was dumbfounded – by his words, by the solemn and steady gaze that accompanied them, by his sudden closeness. “That… was a compliment,” she said several heavy heartbeats later. “And a very fine one. Thank you.” And after another second, she added, very softly: “Sidney.”

There was the most subtle change in his expression when he exhaled, the tiniest little shine added to his eyes, a nearly imperceptible curl on his lips.

“Good night, Charlotte,” he said, his deep voice merely a whisper.

“Good night,” Charlotte breathed, unable to take her eyes off him, just as he seemed unable to take his eyes off her. I’ve never really seen him before, she thought as she dipped into his gaze, realising that this was another turning point, the beginning of something new… something new and strange and exciting. Something that had been lingering in the shadows between them all the time, catching the eye only if one was mindful enough to look very closely. Hidden, like a beautiful shell covered by the golden sand of Sanditon’s beach. All she had to do now was reach out, pick it up, polish it and find out what to do with it.

And reach out she did. Haltingly, she searched Sidney’s hand, and the very moment her fingertips touched his skin, she found her own hand enfolded in an as tight as tender grip. 

They stood in the near dark of the quiet house, listening to their breathing, to their heartbeats and to the new and strange and beautiful language of their hands.

It was a conversation that went on for quite a wonderful while, just until the last of the candles went out with a loud and angry sizzle, catapulting Charlotte back into reality. Suddenly, she heard an entire regiment of vicars at her back, calling for propriety, assisted by a battalion of parasol-wielding governesses. Even Tom Parker showed up on the sidelines, asking for decent behaviour within his own house, if you please, for he could not afford to have the reputation of San-...

Charlotte let go of her fiancé’s hand and did what she had done the last time she had seen a bit too much of Sidney Parker: she took flight.

Chapter 17: Whispers

Notes:

A big and heartfelt THANK YOU for all your comments on the previous chapter, my dear readers. I’m so happy to see that you like it as much as I hoped you would.
Here’s a little bonus for you: I thought you would not mind a little more Love and Affection, so if you look closely, you’ll find that the total number of chapters has gone up from 24 to 25 (but that’s it! 25 is my lucky number, so I’m going to stick with that!)

Previously…

In a much-needed nightly substantial conversation, Charlotte and Sidney manage to come to a better understanding. Charlotte explains about Clara’s dalliances with Sir Edward, and Sidney professes his wish for a family, asking Charlotte to help him become a different man. They share an unexpected moment of intimacy when Charlotte reaches out to touch Sidney’s hand.

***

 

The effects of an adventurous search and a most astonishing conversation with her fiancé made Charlotte have a restless night. Repeatedly she found herself on the brink of sleep, only to be sitting up wide awake the very next second when remembering another detail – the look on Sidney’s face when his cane had gone down on the manservant’s head. His plea to stay with him, talk him through the night. Reacting to her tale about Clara and Sir Edward, responding calmly and empathetically to all the embarrassing details. Apologising for having been hurtful and offensive. Paying her a compliment. Searching her gaze, again and again. The small, small smile that had curled his lips when she called him by his name. Their hands talking to each other in that strange and beautiful language. 

Had she actually done that? Reached out to touch his hand? Oh dear! Once more, she hid her blushing face in the pillow. Even without listening to the vicar, she knew that holding hands with your fiancé in the darkness was not exactly on the list of appropriate pastimes for engaged couples. How would she meet Sidney after this? This time, she realised, there would be no desk to hide under. Not that the desk had helped her that much last time. And not that she regretted a single moment of holding hands with Sidney Parker.

Charlotte did not know what to think anymore and fell asleep only in the small hours of the new day, dreaming restlessly and in strange images. Was that really her fiancé by her side, walking with her down the beach towards the cove, their bare feet paddling in the sea? Sidney wearing nothing but a linen shirt and leather breeches, just as she was wearing nothing but a simple white summer dress? Why was that dream so real that she could feel the Sanditon breeze hug her face and the cold, wet sand move under her feet? 

By the time she woke up, it was midday already. She did not bother to call for a maid but made herself representable in the simple dress she had brought from Sanditon, leaving her hair down in the same open style she always preferred. Venturing out of her room, she bumped into no one other than Otis Molyneux. He was just leaving the small parlour next to Georgiana’s bedroom, and for about two blissful seconds, he took her mind off Sidney Parker.

“Mr Molyneux! You’re the last person I ever expected to see again!”

“Forgive me, Miss Heywood.” He bowed to her. “I’ve been shown a kindness I hardly deserve.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Mr Parker invited me to say goodbye to Georgiana. For us to have a proper parting.” He wiped a tear from his eye. “I want to thank you as well, Miss Heywood. For being such a steady friend to her.”

“No reason to thank me, Mr Molyneux,” Charlotte said. “I wish we had met under different circumstances.”

“So do I, Miss Heywood.”

“Goodbye then.” She watched him walk down the corridor, a man carrying a heavy weight of guilt on his shoulders. She wished she had known him better, learned more about his extraordinary life path, and his involvement with the Sons of Africa. He seemed to be an interesting and intelligent man after all – and maybe even a suitable partner for Georgiana were it not for the one terrible weakness of gambling. 

With a sigh, she walked into the parlour he had just left. Georgiana was standing by the window, gazing out onto the street, maybe hopeful for another last glimpse of her beloved. “Charlotte,” she quietly said.

“Good morning, Georgiana… or is it afternoon? I just met Mr Molyneux…”

“Yes. My guardian has been very kind. But what difference does it make now?” Georgiana looked out of the window again. “Otis claims all he boasted with was my beauty and my wit, never my wealth. That he could not believe a man of his birth could win the heart of a woman like me. Yet his actions leave us both ruined.” A silent tear slowly rolled down her cheek. Charlotte felt a crack in her heart, and she rushed by her side, taking her friend’s hands.

“Oh, Georgiana! Don’t despair. We will get over this. You’re not ruined… you’re… a young lady growing in strength through her experiences. No one knows about last night…”

“But the Sweaty Swine…”

“He better stays silent! Buying a girl for her fortune? Taking her to Scotland against her will? I’m not an expert in the law, but last time I heard, the penalty for abduction was hanging.”

Georgiana sighed and looked out at the street again. Otis was walking down Bedford Place towards Holborn, gaining pace with every step, not turning around once. “He was all my hopes and dreams,” she said.

“I know.” Charlotte pressed her hand, wondering how she would feel if some nasty person appeared out of nowhere and carried all her hopes and dreams away. “But there will be new dreams for you. Not now, and not tomorrow, but in good and perfect time. We will make sure of that.”

After some more comfort and consolation, Charlotte made her way down to the drawing-room, her colour rising a little and her heart beating heavier at the prospect of seeing Sidney again. Would he allure to last night’s conversation? To standing in the dark together, listening to the language of their hands? Would he, in the light of the day, think badly of her boldness to touch his hand? About her revealing Clara’s secrets? Would she, also in the light of the day and not hidden by the flicker of candlelight, manage to call him by his name again? Hopefully, his brother’s presence would help lift a little of the awkwardness she was feeling right now.

But Tom Parker was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Lord Babington jumped up from the chair he had been sitting on, bowing to her. 

“Miss Heywood! What a lovely surprise! You must come tonight as well, of course.”

“Come… where?” Charlotte asked, slightly overwhelmed and turning to Sidney, who was standing by the fireplace. He gave her a warm little smile that made her heart flutter. No, he was not thinking badly of her.

“Good morning, Charlotte.” 

“Good morning,” she said quietly, too shy to say his name in the presence of his friend and too overwhelmed by the gentleness in his expression.

“We have been invited to Mrs Maudsley’s masked rout tonight,” Lord Babington explained, proudly presenting a finely scripted invitation card.

“I don’t know a Mrs Maudsley,” Charlotte said. In fact, she did not know anyone in London, and from what she had seen of the place, that was no great loss.

“I don’t know her either,” his lordship beamed. “We may not even meet her tonight. But we’ll convene at her home in Grosvenor Square, and so will the entire beau monde.”

Charlotte frowned, well aware of Sidney’s gaze on her. “Thank you, Lord Babington, but… I wasn’t expecting to go to a ball in London. I have no appropriate dress, I’m afraid.” Silly as that excuse was, it was true: her ball gown and her beloved blue shoes were a day’s journey away in Sanditon.

“Don’t worry about that,” Babington said. “My sister has a wardrobe full of silk and laces. I’m confident we’ll find something for you.”

“It will be an opportunity for Tom to promote the regatta,” Sidney added. “I’m sure he would be grateful for your support.”

“Where is he, anyway?” Charlotte asked, feeling a bit cornered and hoping to change the topic.

“Gone out to see his banker and find a physician for Sanditon.”

So Mr Tom Parker would not help her out of this. A masked rout in Grosvenor Square with the London beau monde! She had little doubt that that was not where she belonged.

“I’m really not in a mood to be sociable. I think I should stay with Georgiana.”

“Georgiana will be well cared for by the servants,” Sidney said, touching her hand with his fingertips for the briefest of moments. “I promise it will be better than the last ball we attended. Please.”

Charlotte found herself mesmerised by those dark eyes gazing down on her. In her heart, she knew she would be a fool to decline the invitation. Charlotte Heywood, a gentleman farmer’s daughter, mingling with London’s beau monde? Most of the girls in Willingden – and even Sanditon – would kill for such an opportunity. Some of the boys as well, probably. And once she was Mrs Sidney Parker, would she not have to get used to this kind of events? Was that not Mr Sidney Parker’s natural habitat?

“Will you come?” he insisted quietly.

“Yes,” she agreed.

“How wonderful!” Lord Babington beamed, making Charlotte jump, for with Sidney’s gazed focussed on her, she had completely forgotten his friend’s presence. “I’ll speak to my sister instantly. – Miss Heywood – Parker – I’ll see you all tonight.”

Charlotte curtseyed to him as he left, still feeling Sidney’s gaze on her.

“There’s another reason why I would want you to attend the ball,” he said when they were alone.

“Is there?” She felt her heartbeat accelerate again. It was a strange little organ these days, her heart, and should Mr Tom ever succeed in finding a physician for Sanditon, she would definitely consult him about it. A physician might have a remedy for an affliction that made her heart flutter, pound, hammer and palpitate in the most inappropriate moments.

“It’s a good step to make the engagement more official,” Sidney explained. He sounded a bit more business-like now. “Quench any whispers. Make you more than a name in a newspaper column.”

“I see.” Charlotte realised that she had hoped for a different answer – without being able to say what that might have been. “Are there… whispers?”

His mouth twitched. “It’s London society. There are always rumours.”

“Oh.”

“There’s nothing to worry for you, Charlotte,” he said, Business-Sidney all gone. He even reached out his hand but withdrew just before touching her fingers, probably realising that this was not the middle of the night but broad daylight, and that a servant might come in any moment. “It’s just empty gossip of people sitting idly in their drawing-rooms and having nothing better to do with their time.”

“I see,” Charlotte said, looking down because she did not want him to see her blush. “I… I have met Mr Molyneux on my way downstairs,” she went on, hoping to change the topic. “I was not aware you had sent for him.”

“Well, I still don’t like the man, but I thought they deserved a proper parting.” He motioned at the chair by the side table, and just as the night before, he sat down across from her.

“What will become of Otis now?” Charlotte asked. “Will Mr Beecroft send him to the debtor’s prison?”

“I doubt it. Unless Mr Beecroft wants the financial authorities to take a closer look at his business ledgers.”

“Really?”

“I will soothe him by offering to pay a tenth of Mr Molyneux’s debts and then convince him to waive his remaining claim.” Charlotte was stunned: this was such a different world from where she had grown up. And Sidney moving so swiftly, so coolly through it!

“You would actually pay part of his debts?” she asked.

“If it helps to give Georgiana peace, yes. The man’s punishment is bad enough, he’s lost Georgiana, and his good name in business is ruined. He’ll be a stranger in his native country if he returns to Africa, and if he goes to the Caribbean, he’ll be in constant danger of being conscripted or enslaved again. I should at least give him a chance for a clean new start here.”

Charlotte did not know what to say. Never had she expected Sidney to show such kindness to a man who so deeply had betrayed his ward’s trust.

“Hello, hello!” someone cried from the hallway, and within moments, Tom Parker entered the drawing-room, beaming when he saw Charlotte. “There you are, my dear. Have you slept well? – I must say, Sidney, I’ve had an extremely successful morning. There’s a very satisfying reply to my latest advertisement for a physician – a doctor from Wiesbaden who might be able to come to Sanditon within a fortnight. Excellent references – everyone’s praising his glandular stimulations…. – And then, of course… where do I have it…” He searched his pockets until he found a letter that had been folded and unfolded many times before. “Here we are: two very respectable ladies, a Mrs Pidge and a Mrs Benedict, both thanking the good doctor most warm-heartedly for his successful treatment of their tap… how do you say it – absolutely impressive name, must be a truly serious affliction – ah, that’s it: taptikliditis. Never heard of it before, but I suppose it’s very much a ladies’ matter. – That all sounds very promising, don’t you think, Sidney?”

“It does. I’m glad for you, Tom.” Sidney patted his brother’s back. “There’s more good news,” he added, handing him the invitation to Mrs Maudsley’s rout. 

“Splendid,” Tom said, smiling happily. “An opportunity to promote the regatta and a ball to celebrate the happy conclusion of our adventures. It’s like a fairy tale, don’t you think, Charlotte?”

“Indeed,” Charlotte said, feeling flustered. If this was a fairy tale, did that mean she was about to get a happy ever after?

 

*

 

Sidney stood waiting at the bottom of the stairs, plucking an invisible dust particle from his waistcoat and grinning quietly to himself. Would she appreciate that he had chosen tonight’s waistcoat corresponding to the dress that had been delivered from Babington House earlier this afternoon? Would she think it a coincidence? He very much hoped she would notice and understand the implication behind his choice: that he really saw them as a couple now, that he wanted to go through with this engagement, more than anything else in the world, because she was brave and clever and kind, and because – it was a weird thing to think, but there it was – because he felt he was a better man with her by his side.

That moment when she had merely breathed his name and then, so shyly, yet in her own admirable way absolutely determined, grasped his hand! If only that candle had not gone out, bringing her back to reality. Or maybe that candle going out was a blessing. As much as he wanted to be with her, he had to consider her inexperience. He really did not want to compromise her, and he definitely wanted to leave a better impression on her than the other young men of her acquaintance… Sir Edward, the scoundrel, Otis Molyneux, the fortune hunter – and to some degree even his own friends Babington and Crowe. 

A movement on the landing made him look up: there she was, Miss Charlotte Heywood, his fiancée, a beautiful vision in a golden organza dress, her hair pinned up and formed to curls over her ears, accentuating the beauty of her features and the delicacy of her neckbone. She paused for a second as she walked down the stairs, twirling the mask in her hand, insecurity overwhelming her. “Does it not suit me?” she asked. “Will it not do?” 

“It will do very well,” Sidney said, unable to move his eyes from her or to hide his joy and his pride, his smile only growing wider when he offered her his arm, and she placed her gloved little hand on his sleeve. 

Charlotte was very quiet during the ride to Grosvenor Square, which he put down to nerves. Without asking, he realised that she had never been to such a grand occasion before – that in her experience, the Sanditon ball was the height of sophistication. There was nothing she had to fear, though; she was more than equal to any of the women she was about to meet. Occasionally, he found her gaze resting on him, but whenever she saw him smiling at her, she averted her eyes again, returning to her thoughts as he did to his.

He could only guess how much it had cost her to confide in him about the strange manoeuvres of Clara and Sir Edward. Now he was the last person with a right to judge other people’s moral deficiencies. Yet drawing Charlotte into their schemes, taking advantage of her innocence when concealing their actions: that made him long to punch that useless Denham scoundrel with his poetry book and hurl pieces of embroidery at his manipulative lady friend.

“Oh. What an angry glance, Sidney,” Tom said. Sidney returned to presence and reality, to Tom prattling away and his fiancée looking at him questioningly.

“I’m sorry. I was just… thinking how very hard it is to make people out,” he said. Charlotte cleared her throat.

“Did… did anyone in particular provoke that thought?” she asked, searching his gaze.

“Yes, in fact. I believe I understand only now how difficult some people can be to interpret. How easily we fall into the traps of false pride and baseless prejudice.” He kept his eyes trained on hers, dipping into her gaze, enchanted by the honesty and trust he found there.

Someone clapped all enchantment away. “Such serious talk, brother, on such a merry night!” Tom shook his head enthusiastically. “And you, my dear Charlotte, about to meet the beau monde! Would you have imagined that when you came charging down the hillside in Willingden, ready to rescue my dearest Mary and me from our peril? And look at you now: the beauty of the ball and soon to be a blushing bride. Do you see the miracles Sanditon works?” With that piece of wisdom, the carriage came to a halt in Grosvenor Square.

Offering Charlotte his arm again, Sidney led her into Mrs Maudsley’s house, which was not a house, but a magic forest of light, with dozens of young trees in first bloom creating niches and private spaces and hundreds of crystal chandeliers illuminating the ballroom. He had to remind her to put on her mask, so excited was she, making him smile again when he saw her amazement mirrored in the shining pools of her eyes. 

His brother was more impressed by the guest list than the decoration. “Upon my word, there can hardly be a person worth a fig left in London who is not here. You don’t need to see their faces to know these are people of influence.”

“Miss Heywood!” a person of rather dubious influence cried: Crowe, holding a glass of champagne in each hand. “What a spellbinding appearance. And who are these poor creatures fading away in your splendour? Your servants, I assume?”

“You buffoon,” his friend Babington laughed. “You know very well that the Parker brothers would never let her out of their sight.” 

“A man may dream.” Crowe drained both glasses, shrugged his shoulders and walked off towards the dancefloor, soon followed by Babington and Tom, who, with a parting look to Sidney and Charlotte, called: “Remember why we are here! To spread the word of the Sanditon regatta! I expect you to do your duty.”

Left alone, Sidney turned to his fiancée. “Aren’t you glad you came after all?” She shook her head, hiding behind her mask - and behind one of Mrs Maudsley’s trees as well.

“I cannot say that I am. I feel dreadful for leaving Georgiana alone. At least I am glad of this mask. I am certain I don’t belong in this company.”

“You have as much right to be here as anyone else, Charlotte. Though I’ll admit I’m… not sure I belong here either.” He faced her, removing his own mask. There was something very touching about how bravely she was trying to conceal her insecurity, how she was looking up to him from her large luminous eyes.

“I thought this would be your natural habitat,” she said as she followed him around one of the gambling tables.

“You see, there is still so much we have to learn about each other. – No, I always feel like an outlier on occasions such as these. But I suppose we should mingle and try to do our duty by Tom.”

So they mingled. Not very successfully, though: Sidney quickly realised that rather than talking about the delights of Sanditon to strangers who would not listen, he very much preferred talking about everything else with his fiancée – who practically drank in every word he said.

Yet, with all the candles and the crowd, the room was getting hotter by the minute, and Charlotte looked quite tired when she dropped her mask and said: “I think I would like to leave now, with your permission.” He raised an eyebrow.

“With my permission? Since when have you required my permission to do anything?” He took in her slightly puzzled look. How strange it was that this place intimidated her so much; that it drained all her usual confidence out of her. What would he have to do to restore it?

“I believe I require your permission since you are my fiancé, and I’m here as your guest…” she started, fiddling with her mask but deciding against putting it on again. 

Sidney closed his eyes, groaning inwardly. “Had we not agreed that I don’t want to own you?” At least not in a legal sense. “In fact,” he added, “I have come to the realisation that it’s quite impossible to own you. There’s hardly a woman in Britain with a more independent spirit.” She frowned, looking up to him warily.

“Is that one of your compliments again?”

“It is,” he confirmed with a rueful smile. Maybe next time, he really should try to say something nice about her lovely face or her expressive eyes, just to make sure she had not to second guess his intentions. “Don’t ever ask for my permission, Charlotte. Ask for my opinion instead.” He saw that idea working in her mind.

“And yet, you didn’t want me to play cricket,” she said after a while.

“I didn’t want you to be an object of gossip up and down the coast.”

“You wanted to protect me?”

“That’s what a husband is supposed to be doing.”

“But… you are very contrary, Mr Parker.” So it was Mr Parker again? He paused for a moment, pinching his eyebrows, only to find a shy yet slightly mischievous smile on her face. “What is it now for me?” she asked. “Sitting idly but safely at home and waiting for someone to take me off my father’s hands? Or venturing out into a world that is so dangerous that I need your protection?” 

“Venturing out into the world,” Sidney replied. “But with a good guide who shows you how to navigate the shallow parts.”

“And you will be that guide for me?”

“Yes. If you will allow me. – And just as I will ask for your guidance from time to time.” He saw that idea sink in with her.

“You will have to be the one to explain that concept of marriage to Lady Denham at her next interrogation,” she finally replied, a little twinkle in her eyes. “It goes very much against her idea that money is the key to happiness and freedom.”

“I don’t wish to criticise her ladyship, but I have never heard of such a case,” Sidney said. Whereas a spirited young lady with a vivid mind, a kind heart and a, well, delightful cleavage (he was a man, after all) seemed to contribute quite a lot to his happiness right now.

“Maybe the truth is somewhere in the middle,” Charlotte said after a few moments. “That regardless of the fortune involved, marriage can be a prison for both parties if they don’t see eye to eye. But that it can also be a very liberating state if they do, and if they share their thoughts and support and learn from each other.” Sidney cleared his throat, hoping his examination of her décolleté had not been too conspicuous.

“That sounds… like an ideal marriage. Though I’m hardly an expert.” 

“Neither am I,” Charlotte said. “We will have to find out.”

“Yes.” Sidney was feeling very solemn suddenly, and for some reason, also very pleased and very hopeful. Looking down on Charlotte’s upturned face, her luminous eyes, those cute freckles on her sweet nose, her half-opened mouth, he completely forgot that they were in a packed ballroom. All he wanted to do now was –

“I hate to admit defeat.” Babington materialised out of nowhere, lowering his mask, and the buzz of the crowd returned. “But the word regatta seems to be falling on deaf ears. – Have you been more successful?”

“No…” – “We…” Sidney found himself suddenly standing several feet apart from his fiancée. Mercifully, right at this moment, he heard his brother call his name from the other side of the room. 

“Excuse me.” He bowed quickly and moved over to where Tom was beckoning him. 

 

*

 

Lord Babington watched Sidney go with the indulgent smile a proud father would have for his son. “What a miracle you have worked on my friend Parker, Miss Heywood,” he said, turning his friendly face to Charlotte.

“Have I?” she stuttered. 

“Yes. I hardly recognise him. And it certainly isn’t my influence that has changed him. Or Crowe’s.”

Her gaze went back to Sidney. He was listening closely now to what Tom and another gentleman had to say, his hands folded behind his back, his head slightly inclined. No anger in his face, no condescension, no contempt, just polite interest and a friendly smile. And looking so elegant in the waistcoat matching her own dress... Lord Babington was right; the insufferable man from the balcony… from the building site… from Tom Parker’s office was all gone. Because of… her? But Lord Babington was wrong; he had to be wrong, this could not be true, this… 

“Forgive me, Lord Babington,” she gasped. “This room is rather too hot.” And so was she. “I find I can hardly breathe.” She pushed through the throng of noble guests, not listening to his lordship’s kind reassurances, catching her breath, trying to find a less crowded spot – an open window, an exit, or, if it could not be helped, another balcony.

“Sidney Parker.”

She stopped in her tracks when she heard the name, just a whisper in the crowd… a whisper… a rumour…

“I haven’t seen him yet,” the same voice said, the sweet silver voice of a woman. “Or the surprise fiancée. What is she again? A farm girl from Wimbledon? Or is it Pimpleden?” The voice was gone, leaving nothing but a quick glimpse of blond hair as it vanished into a sea of mirth and laughter.

Chapter 18: Befuddled

Notes:

Thank you for sharing your experiences of Taptikliditis with me. Strange affliction indeed - everyone seems to be quite happy with their condition, and the only cure that is wished for is called “Season 2”. (In case there is anyone out there who is not yet familiar with this mysterious illness: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theo_James )

The whisper you heard at the end of the previous chapter was of course who you think it was. I told her to stay away from my story, but you know that lady: she is very persistent. Even claims I owe her a reparation for the way I treated her great-...-great-granddaughter at the Sanditon Grand Hotel. Phew... no idea what she means.
Anyway, enjoy the second part of Mrs Maudsley's rout!

Previously

Georgiana bids her final goodbye to Otis. Tom’s search for a physician for Sanditon seems to be successful. Lord Babington arranges invitations for the Parker party to Mrs Maudsley’s ball, where Charlotte and Sidney continue their conversation from the previous night. When Babington compliments her on having “worked a miracle on my friend Parker”, a befuddled Charlotte flees the stage, but before she reaches a safe harbour, she hears someone whisper her fiancé’s name.

***

 

 

“What is she again? A farm girl from Wimbledon? Or is it Pimpleden?” The voice was gone, leaving nothing but a quick glimpse of blond hair as it vanished into a sea of mirth and laughter.

Charlotte stood where she was, blushing in the deepest scarlet, belatedly remembering to hide her face behind the mask in her hand, her heart pounding. This was Tom Parker’s beau monde? This was the society he wanted to bring to Sanditon? This was what she would have to endure as Sidney’s wife (still a strange thought), this malice, this ill will? And Sidney… so right about rumours and gossip about their engagement!

Now all she wanted was to get away. Away from the crowd, away from the heat, away from guffawing and resentment, only away! 

She walked into a bright alcove-like room with a decorative fountain in front of an open window, and stepping towards the fresh breeze, she gave a deep sigh of frustration.

“My sentiments exactly,” a voice behind her said.

Charlotte whirled around. Apparently, this room was not quite as secluded as she had hoped for. An elegant dark-haired lady in her early forties was seated in a gilded chair, marking the page of a book with her index finger while regarding Charlotte with a kind and slightly amused expression.

“I am sorry,” Charlotte stuttered. “I thought I was…”

“That’s quite alright.” The lady’s smile deepened. “I cannot blame you for seeking a safe harbour. It’s an unspeakably tedious gathering. – And now you are going to tell me that Mrs Maudsley is your mother and that I have just committed a terrible solecism.”

“No.” Charlotte shook her head. “I do not know her in the slightest. – I think I don’t even wish to know her,” she added, thinking of that ugly whisper again. If Mrs Maudsley’s guests reflected on the hostess herself, she certainly did not want to meet her.

“How unusual. – Then why are you here?” This lady, hiding away from the heat and the crowd with her book, regarding her with curiosity and warmth, was probably the one exception from the rule.

“I’m… umm… We are here to promote the Sanditon regatta…” Remembering that task and her failure in it so far, Charlotte added: “Mr Parker is hosting a grand regatta at Sanditon next week, with a boat race and a rowing contest. Sanditon is an excellent new resort on the Sussex coast, better than Brighton…” Irritated, she stopped: how did she end up talking like the great projector himself? She shook her head and returned to the subject closer to her heart: “However, I fear Mr Sidney and I were more busy discussing our… well, discussing. Mr Tom will be so disappointed! – Forgive me, I am inclined to talk too much, Mrs…?”

“Susan,” the lady said with a kind smile, apparently not minding Charlotte’s talkativeness at all. “And who might you be?”

“Charlotte Heywood.”

“Forgive me for saying so, Charlotte, but you seem somewhat… befuddled.”

“Do I? Oh, yes, I suppose I do.” And who would not be befuddled after everything that had happened since the cricket match? The search for Georgiana – the fight at the… boarding house – the midnight conversation with Sidney. Taking his hand in the darkened drawing-room. Today’s conversations with Sidney. Lord Babington’s remarks. The whisper…

Charlotte’s new acquaintance invited her to sit down by her side, smiling encouragingly. “I am engaged,” Charlotte began after a few moments of hesitation. Maybe a stranger was a better judge of the situation than herself? Especially a stranger with such a friendly smile and eyes sparkling with wit and sensibility. “To Mr Parker. Mr Sidney Parker that is,” she specified. “Not Mr Tom. There are three Mr Parkers altogether, but Mr Tom is already married, and Mr Arthur stayed in Sanditon. Which is a pity because I believe he would have liked it here so much more than I do. He enjoys company, and despite his poor health, there is no one like him to trip the light fantastic…” Realising that she was rambling, Charlotte stopped and looked down at her hands. Susan tilted her head, regarding her with a knowing expression and a very slightly raised eyebrow, encouraging her to go on.

“When I first met Mr Parker… Mr Sidney Parker that is… we… we found it so difficult to talk to each other.” Charlotte looked at her hands again, thinking of the balcony, his rebuke on the street, the cove… oh dear, the cove! And then Sidney discussing his proposal as if it was just another business transaction, and shouting at her after Georgiana’s failed tryst with Mr Molyneux. She shook her head, left her memories behind and returned to her sympathetic listener. “Yet these past days, I find Mr Parker smiles so much more at me, and that what he says is kind and reasonable. I realise that I value his opinion, just as he values mine, and I enjoy his company. I can discuss everything with him … even things I can’t discuss with anyone else. And only yesterday he said… he said he hoped I would help him become a different man. – Is that not a very strange thing to say?” 

“Not at all.” Susan gave her an indulgent smile. “Not if you are in love with each other,” she added quietly.

“What?” Charlotte jumped up from her seat. “No! I assure you, nothing could be further from the truth. He’s… such a man of the world, so experienced, so well-travelled… and I haven’t been anywhere apart from Sanditon. We cannot be… be in…” It was strangely difficult to repeat the words, just as if saying them meant making them true.

Susan’s smile was even more indulgent now as she looked up to her. “My dear girl, I believe it’s quite the fashion these days to be in love with your betrothed. I cannot see any wrong or disadvantage in it, quite on the contrary – I believe it will greatly add to your happiness.” Charlotte frowned.

“Do you really think so?” she asked, sitting down again.

“Absolutely, my dear. And I’m never wrong when it comes to matters of the heart. In fact, you have the glow of love all over you.”

“But… but he would never fall in love with a girl like me,” Charlotte reasoned as if reason was of any use against the glow of love. “Just as I should never fall in love with a man like him.” A man smoking cheroots, frequenting bars and boarding houses, participating in boxing matches, wearing leather breeches – or nothing at all, depending on the situation. 

Her new friend shook her well-coiffed head. “You cannot determine who you fall in love with, Charlotte. It’s an affliction, like the measles, but none that you want to recover from too soon, especially if you are to be married.”

“I… I…” Charlotte stammered, unable to collect herself after the blow she had just received. She… in love with Sidney Parker? Sidney Parker… in love with her? She could not decide which was the more confounding scenario. Or was the result – them being in love with each other – not confounding at all but simply the most astounding, most remarkable, most wondrous outcome of all their troubles? Should not a good marriage be based on mutual love and affection?  – Was this nothing but her own good words coming true?

“But we are so different in temperament and character!” she cried in a desperate last attempt to deny the truth. Susan tilted her head, her eyes aglow with kindness and concern.

“My dear girl, there have been many happy marriages with greater differences.”

“Really?”

“Really. – I trust if love was not the motive, then there was another reason for you and your Mr Parker to get engaged?”

Charlotte paused. Kind as her new acquaintance was, she would certainly not confide to her the story of her engagement. “Well, I… I would say that… Mr Tom insisted, and we both felt an obligation towards Sanditon.” Susan raised an eyebrow.

“You seem to be two very dutiful young people.” 

“Oh, no, it’s… umm…” She realised that she would have to work out with Sidney how to smooth their story and make it more acceptable for future enquiries.

“How lucky you are, Charlotte,” Susan smiled, all warmth and cordiality. “It’s quite the fairy tale: to enter an engagement out of obligation, only to find yourself in love with your friend and soulmate.”

Friend? Soulmate? Sidney Parker? This conversation was getting weirder and weirder.

“There you are!” In her befuddlement, Charlotte had not noticed Sidney joining them, and now that she looked up to him, she believed she saw him for the first time: a dashing gentleman with a smile that made his handsome face even more pleasant, a faithful, honest and trustworthy friend, a kind yet sometimes sweetly insecure suitor. Of course, she was in love with him. How could she have doubted it? “I was beginning to fear you had made your escape after all,” he now said, a twinkle in his eyes. 

Susan beamed at him. “Might I presume you are Mr Sidney Parker? We were just discussing the very happy circumstances of your engagement.”

The twinkle in his eyes froze for a moment as he searched Charlotte’s gaze. “I see. Am I interrupting?”

“Not in the least,” Susan assured him. “We have reached the conclusion of our conversation, haven’t we, my dear.”

“I think so,” she said, blushing, trembling and generally feeling as if she was going to faint any moment now. 

“Very well.” Sidney offered her his hand, keeping her upright. “I was wondering whether you might like to dance, Charlotte.”

“Yes,” she said, her voice a mere whisper. “I would like that very much.” He gently covered the tip of her middle finger with his thumb as if sealing it off. With another indulgent and knowing nod from Susan, he led her out of the room. The noise of the rout returned immediately. With that noise, Charlotte remembered that very unpleasant encounter that had not been an encounter at all but just a whisper, a malicious wisp in the air.

“We don’t have to dance, you know,” she said, torn between her throbbing heart and the fear of hearing that whisper again. He regarded her, his eyes so warm and soft as she had never seen them before. Through her gloves, she felt his thumb gently caress her middle finger. Of course, he was in love with her as well – how could she not have seen it? And his next words only confirmed it.

“But I really want to dance with you, Charlotte.” He pressed her hand, standing so close to her that she could merely feel the warm hug of his breath on her face. “Unless you don’t want to dance with me.”

“No. Yes. I mean… oh dear.” They were on the dancefloor now, and he gave her a questioning look. “Yes,” she said, certain now. “Yes. I do want to dance with you, Sidney.” 

“Good.” The twinkle returned to his eyes when he heard her say his name. They took their positions opposite from each other and waited for the musicians to strike up.

It was a slow start to the melancholy sounds of a harp: Sidney bowed, keeping his gaze on Charlotte as she curtseyed. She still felt a little tense, holding her arms very straight and clenching her hands in the silken gloves.

A single violin joined the harp. The melody turned into a conversation between these two instruments, and so did their dance: they took one step forward and the next one backwards, rotated around one another, then moved sideways until their shoulders nearly met. 

Following the music, they raised their hands for an all too fleeting touch – first the right, then the left, all the while keeping their gazes trained on each other. Where else to look anyway? All Charlotte wanted to see was in Sidney’s dark shimmering eyes: the acknowledgement of his feelings, the joy of being with her, the tenderness that stole her breath away.

The music switched into a more energetic melody, and they changed their positions for some waltz steps, Charlotte’s right hand firmly enfolded in Sidney’s left, her left hand reaching up to his shoulder, touching his lapel a little too closely, her eyes silently pleading for permission of such intimacy. He replied by placing his right hand as tightly as carefully on her waist when he pulled her towards him – and even though it was just five fingers and a palm resting on the cloth of a balldress, his touch tingled through her whole body as they danced together through the next segment, unable to look away from each another.

Their hands met crosswise, first the right, then the left, and they raised them together, their gazes fixed on one another. Every movement was an affirmation now, every touch a promise. Charlotte saw Sidney’s lips part as he tilted his head towards her, and she felt his thumb graze her knuckles ever so lightly just before their left hands met again over her head. Their right hands covered the other’s waist, and they slowly moved around one another in careful steps until the music struck up a faster tune, and Charlotte found herself spinning into a pirouette. All pressure, all restraint, all anxiety seemed to spiral away in this pirouette, liberating her from holding back, from having doubts, from fear of the unknown and distant country ahead of her. All that was left now was pure happiness and simple joy about the miracle that she had found her soulmate, the one man who was not only worthy of her love and affection but returned it in equal measure. 

She could see it in the sparkle of his eyes, in his broad and relaxed smile: never, never had she seen him so happy as now, when the pace of the melody quickened, and their dance became a mirror of their whirlwind emotions: large steps, small steps, a twirl, a parade, moving away from each other, converging again for another pirouette. Never had dancing felt so natural – if this was dancing after all: in truth, it started as courtship, continued as a celebration of life and love and ended in the more solemn tones of tenderness as the music slowly waned away.

When the other couples bowed and clapped, Sidney and Charlotte were still connected through the tender touch of their hands and the spell they found in each other’s eyes. Indeed, if an angry dinosaur had walked into Mrs Maudsley’s ballroom this very moment, they would not have noticed but continued gazing at each other in mesmerised adoration.

 

*

 

Several steps away, on the edge of the dancefloor, Tom Parker swallowed hard and wiped more than one tear from his eyes before clapping enthusiastically and uttering an uncoordinated mix of “Excellent!” and “Splendid!”: that the miracle had happened, that his dear brother had found love again, love, so pure and clear and apparent that even the most ignorant fool would see it (Tom Parker being Tom Parker, he did not think of himself in this context). And Sidney’s love a girl so worthy, so capable, so kind and beautiful, and, on top of it all, so very fond of Sanditon! 

That Sidney was to be happy again, after all these years, after… Tom froze in his elation. An elegant blonde lady in a burgundy dress was mingling with the couples on the dance floor now, moving slowly but determinedly towards his brother. And despite the black lace mask covering the upper part of her face, he recognised her at once.

 

*

 

“Sidney.”

The voice hit Charlotte like a gush of icy water on a cold winter day. What is she again? A farm girl from Wimbledon? Or is it Pimpleden?

Sidney’s eyes, aglow with life and emotion in one moment, faded and died into pieces of dead wood within the next. The spell was broken; the overflow of happiness evaporated in the hot and sticky air of Mrs Maudsley’s ballroom. 

Sidney was staring at the woman who had said his name. He seemed to be seeing an apparition: he even let go of Charlotte’s hands. Then, thinking the better of it, he took her left hand again, placed it firmly on his right forearm and covered it with his left, quickly brushing her fingers with his thumb in the process. Then he lifted his head, only to incline it very slightly, and said, his voice deep and hoarse: “Mrs Campion.”

“Sidney,” the woman repeated, as if his name was an incantation, and lowered her half mask. 

Charlotte could not help but stare at her: a pale, petite lady of perhaps thirty years, wearing a burgundy dress, expensive jewellery and a most sophisticated hairstyle. And a rather irritating smile on her face as she was looking up to Sidney. In fact, she reminded her of a spoilt little girl that had just found its favourite doll again – after throwing it away in a tantrum five minutes earlier. 

Sidney kept staring at the woman as if she was a ghost. Maybe she was, pale as she was.

“Excellent!” someone called, and with large strides, Tom Parker sailed onto the dancefloor, flailing arms and wide smile included. “Now that is a surprise! Mrs Campion! We didn’t know you were back in London! How do you do? Have you met our Miss Heywood? – Charlotte, my dear, this is Mrs Campion, an old…. an old family acquaintance. Mrs Campion, may I present my brother’s future wife, Miss Charlotte Heywood?”

“How do you do,” Charlotte breathed with a curtsey. She did not understand what was actually going on but realised that good manners might be helpful, especially since her future husband seemed to be too stunned to do anything other than stare at the old family acquaintance. The old family acquaintance – Mrs Campion – looked as if she wanted to strangle Tom for calling her old. 

But before she could commit ballroom murder, Tom bowed in front of her: “In fact, Mrs Campion, might I have the pleasure of the next dance?” he asked and offered her his hand. “Charlotte, Sidney – will you join us? Or are you too worn out?”

Somewhere, Sidney found his speech. “We were about to leave, I’m afraid,” he said with a curt bow, tapping Charlotte's hand again. “Good night, Mrs Campion. – I suppose you’ll want to stay, Tom?”

“I will if you don’t mind,” Tom said, blissfully ignoring the fact that Sidney and Charlotte going home alone together was not quite what Mr Hankins would have called appropriate behaviour. “I’ve made some very promising contacts for the regatta, very promising indeed,” he continued. “The beau monde is about to discover the magic of Sanditon. – Good night, Charlotte, my dear. – Shall we, Mrs C?” Tom beamed, and as the music started again, he whirled his new dance partner away.

Notes:

Have you ever watched The Dance without sound and at the slowest possible speed?
Their hands. Their eyes. Every single move.
I need a shower now. A very cold shower.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vp3xt9Z1zZ4

Chapter 19: Coming Home

Notes:

In a perfect world, I would have the time to answer all your comments and kudos with a personal Thank You. As you know, this world is not perfect, so just let me say universally how grateful I am for all your feedback – and for the fact that you like my slightly improved Tom as much as I do.

As some of you have deduced correctly, we are in for another Sidlotte conversation. However, I have to add a light warning: some of the topics discussed are not exactly romantic banter.

And finally: I have tried to keep this in tone with Jane Austen as much as possible, but the nearer we are coming to the conclusion of this story (yes, we are), the more difficult that gets. Please don’t scold me for the occasional slip of propriety; it’s enough that I hear the vicar complaining about it in my head.

Previously

Fleeing from mean whisperings at the ball, Charlotte meets  her fairy godmother   a mysterious lady with a profound knowledge of the heart. Is it conceivable that Charlotte and her fiancé are in love with each other? A question that is answered with a YES when Sidney takes her to an enchanted dance. An old acquaintance turns up to spoil the fun but is intercepted and swiftly whisked away by Tom. 

***

 

“…  but the man I knew has never quite returned.” (Tom Parker, Sanditon, Episode 6)

 

Strictly speaking, it was not fully appropriate for Sidney to accompany his fiancée unchaperoned through the London night and darkness. But no one at Mrs Maudsley’s seemed to care, and neither did Charlotte. Soon, she found herself alone with him in the dimly lit carriage headed towards Bedford Place.

Sitting across from her, he did not speak, though. He did not meet her eyes either: staring out of the window, his face shaded by the brim of his hat, he tapped his fingers on his knees and bit his lower lip. Yet Charlotte could tell that it was not anger that silenced and distanced him from her, but a far, far more complex sentiment. Embarrassment, perhaps, or maybe even shame. 

She would not press him into explaining who the “old family acquaintance” Mrs Campion was and why that woman felt entitled to flutter her eyelashes at him and call him by his Christian name. She knew him well enough now to trust that his words would come when he was ready to share them with her. 

Even for a young and inexperienced girl from Willingden, the number of explanations for Mrs Campion’s behaviour was limited: either she was an estranged member of the Parker family whom everyone – even Diana – had forgotten to mention so far. 

Or – more likely and somewhat embarrassing – Sidney followed the example set by the Prince Regent for unattached men (an example even the good people of Willingden gossiped about) and was maintaining a particular friendship with the woman. 

Or, most likely: the pale lady fluttering her eyelashes at Sidney Parker had something to do with his mysterious past and jaded heart. 

Charlotte sighed. After all the empathy and patience he had shown her when she had come out with her sorry Clara tale, the least she could do now was to mirror his kindness and wait as patiently. 

“Her name is Eliza,” Sidney suddenly said, still not meeting her gaze but staring out of the window instead. Perhaps he was missing his cane, always an excellent companion to lean on and a perfect prop for keeping the world at bay. “I met her when I was your age, following Tom to London for the first time.” He cautiously turned his gaze to Charlotte. “She had come to town with her mother, a Mrs Mathews, and her sisters. She was the middle of three.” He shook his head and sighed at the memory. “I was too young and inexperienced back then to understand the worries of a widow of limited means but with three daughters to care for. There was an uncle from the mother’s side who financed them a London season. The family’s hope was, of course, that at least one of the girls would marry well enough to provide for the others.” 

“That’s… a returning theme, isn’t it?” Charlotte suggested carefully, afraid he might stop if her reaction was too forthright. 

“Yes. Yes, indeed.” Sidney’s mouth twitched, and he stared at his hands. “The moment I saw her, I was lost. I believed I had never seen a lovelier or more beautiful creature.” He made a small pause, maybe cherishing that memory. But when he finally looked at Charlotte, he added very quietly: “Little did I know then that real beauty is not a physical aspect but a combination of body, mind and soul.”

She hardly breathed, afraid she might burn away with emotion if she returned his gaze now. Was that one of his compliments again? She did not dare to ask him. Yet she did feel some of their former intimacy return, just as she felt the flame that had burnt between them during the dance slowly rekindle.

Sidney cleared his throat and addressed the window again. “Eliza was witty. Clever. Very elegant, despite her limited means.” Sighing remorsefully, he added: “An accomplished piano player as well.” 

So that’s where that comes from, Charlotte thought. 

“I was far from being her only suitor. In fact, I had nothing to offer her; I was just a boy from a fishing village, the second son of the second family of a backwater place where nothing ever happened. – That was, of course, years before Tom started Sanditon’s development.”

“I see.” Charlotte tried to imagine that younger version of Sidney Parker: skinnier, perhaps, that frame of a man’s body not yet fully filled. But handsome, nonetheless. And less reserved, probably, less jaded, if he had been so ready to fall for this Eliza-Mrs Campion-person. Less opinionated, but perhaps also less sure of himself. 

“As I said, I was far from being her only suitor,” Sidney explained. “There was a lordship courting her, and of course Mr Campion. No title, more than twice her age, no man any girl would simper about, but rich as Croesus. – How we made fun of him! Eliza had a sharp and witty tongue, and she easily found out and called out what was ridiculous in others.” Charlotte frowned, wondering whether mocking potential elder suitors was such an amiable quality in a young lady.

Sidney took off his hat, placed it next to him on the seat and ran a hand through his hair, leaving his short curls ruffled and himself looking younger. Charlotte had to suppress a smile; there was something so unbelievably endearing about him whenever he dared to lower his guard and allowed her a glimpse at the man behind the tobacco smoke and the leather clothes. It always made her long to reach out her hand and touch him, just to see that he was real.

“But the greatest miracle about her,” he said now, “was of course that despite the lordship, the rich Mr Campion and two or three more very eligible suitors, the one she preferred was the boy with no title, no money and no connections at all. – That she chose me above the lord’s title and Campion’s money…” Sidney shook his head as if even ten years and one jaded heart later, he could not believe his good fate. 

She may have preferred a pretty young face to some pompous lordship or an old man, Charlotte thought but did not say.

“I used to believe we were the talk of the town, but I suppose that was youthful hubris,” Sidney went on. “Anyway, when the season drew to a close, I proposed to Eliza, and I was accepted, even though I had scarcely the means to support a wife or start a family.”

“So what did you do?” Charlotte remembered how he had laid out his personal situation in his proposal to her. Can I afford your upkeep? Again, yes, I can. Something told her that he had wooed the other lady in a slightly less business-like fashion.

“Once I had her consent, I hurried back to Sanditon, hoping to find a solution there,” he explained. “The war against Napoleon was still being fought back then, so the best option seemed to join the military: apply to Sir Harry Denham to sponsor me an officer’s commission, grow a moustache, join the hussars, distinguish myself in battles on the continent, enrich myself through prize money and return to England. Marry my beautiful bride and lead a happy life ever after.”

“But that did not work,” Charlotte concluded, her heart beating heavily at the thought of Sidney risking his life in battle. She did not care for the hussar’s moustache, though: he was welcome to shave it off.

He shook his head. “No, that did not work. Sir Harry’s health was starting to decline at the time, and with his frail state and Lady Denham taking over responsibility for the estate, they had more pressing worries than how to support my wish to marry a pretty girl. – When I proposed to Eliza, I had made it clear that we would have an extended engagement period, that I wanted to establish myself before I made her dependant on me. I wanted us to start properly, not in a rushed mess.”

Charlotte nodded: that was very much in keeping with the sensible brother she had met ten years later.

“Eliza agreed,” Sidney continued. “She said she didn’t care how long she would have to wait for me, as long as she knew it was I she was waiting for.” A rueful little smile curled his lips: that was undoubtedly a very endearing thing to say. Much more endearing than “Save your unpleasantness for someone else” or “You are the last person I wished to see”. Not for the first time, Charlotte wondered how matters between her and Sidney would have played out had they not gone wrong from the moment they met. 

Sidney took up his tale again. “It was more difficult to get her mother’s and her uncle’s blessings. Eliza was the most accomplished and the most beautiful of the three girls, so in her mother’s view, it was her who had the best chances of marrying well and secure her family’s future. But we were lucky; a baronet courted her eldest sister at the same time, and with that happy prospect in view, the uncle and Mrs Mathews gave us their blessings. Love, I believed, prevailed over everything.”

“So what went wrong?” Charlotte asked. Sidney did not meet her gaze: he was staring at the window, lost in the contemplation of the past. But when the carriage came to an abrupt halt and a drunken reveller’s chanting interrupted his musings, he sighed and pulled himself together. 

“As I said, my plan of joining the army did not come to anything. But I received an offer from one of Tom’s business acquaintances, Mr Lambe. He suggested I come and join him in Antigua, establish myself in the sugar trade. Profits are huge, and returns roll in quickly, making it the perfect place to start if I wanted to pave my way to marriage and happiness. I climbed on my horse and hurried to London to share the happy news with my fiancée.”

“But…?” Charlotte raised an eyebrow. Sidney studied his hands.

“I went directly to Eliza’s family’s home, without stopping at Bedford Place first or so much as scrapping the mud off my boots. I was so eager to tell her that I had found a way to advance myself… but the footman would not let me in. – Campion had made her an offer while I was away. And she accepted it.”

“What?” 

Sidney shook his head as if there was an excuse for what was inexcusable. “I knew she had been under pressure from her family. Her sister’s courtship with the baronet had come to nothing, and her uncle kept talking about the money he was spending on her London season and the return he hoped to see for his investment. Her mother was pushing her as well, of course, reminding her of her sisters’ opportunities if only she married well.”

“They must be related to Lady Denham,” Charlotte said. Or was she the one at fault? Was she really that naïve with her belief in love and affection as the base for a marriage?

“I know, it does sound familiar,” Sidney smiled so ruefully that for a second, she expected him to lean forward and touch her gloved hand in an apologetic gesture. But then he sat back and continued his story. “I was not going to give Eliza up, not like that, not for some hundred thousand pounds and not to a man whose very appearance she had been mocking only weeks before. So I arranged to meet her in secret during an outing to Vauxhall Gardens.” Charlotte raised an eyebrow: now this sounded more and more like the plot of one of the silly romance novels her sisters loved to read.

“How did you do that?”

“I used my small funds to bribe her mother’s lady’s maid and made sure I knew wherever they went. So when they went to Vauxhall one night, all I had to do was wait for everyone to be distracted by a tightrope walker or a hot air balloon and lure Eliza away. – What is it?” he asked, acknowledging Charlotte’s surprised look.

“I… I had not expected you to be so… reckless? – The sensible brother?” He scoffed and shook his head.

“The sensible brother was a twenty-one-year-old boy, Charlotte. I sincerely believed my life would be over if I could not share it with Miss Eliza Mathews. – And of course, I also believed I had to act chivalrously and save her from the clutches of old Mr Campion.”

“Was he so horrible?”

“To be honest, from today’s perspective, I would say he was a middle-aged man hoping to brighten up his days with a sweet young wife. Maybe have a son or a daughter… or at least someone to carry him his slippers and a blanket in old age. – But back then, I was sure he was a predatory monster that would break my Eliza and lock her away in the darkest closet if she did not do his bidding.”

My Eliza. Charlotte was a kind person, always had been, always would be, but right at this very moment, the idea of Eliza Campion locked up in a dark closet was rather enticing. Perhaps with some hungry little mice and a nice hairy spider for company? “So what happened at Vauxhall Gardens?” she asked, trying to suppress any ill will.

Sidney’s mouth twitched, a sure sign that he was uncomfortable with what was to follow. “We met. I made her sneak away from her group and lured her into some dark alley away from the bustle. Told her I loved her and would rather die than see her wed to Campion. – Something along that line.” He shrugged his shoulders: it was indeed very much like a scene from a silly romance novel. “And she fell around my neck and said she loved me too. We were both rather… err, passionate.”

“I see,” Charlotte whispered. Naïve and inexperienced she might be, yet she had a very clear idea that being passionate in a dark alley in a pleasure garden was something different than holding hands in a dimly lit drawing-room.

“I… err, well.” He was obviously missing his cane now, nervously playing with the buttons of his greatcoat with one hand while tapping his knee with the other. Clearing his throat, he finally said: “I suggested an elopement. I had it all planned out… a carriage ride to Scotland… a wedding just beyond the border… and a happy ever after for Eliza and me.”

Charlotte could not help but stare at the man who had treated her engagement to him as a business proposal, carefully weighing advantages against disadvantages. That the very same man would contemplate something as reckless as an elopement! But then again, she had heard both Tom and Mary say that Sidney was a different man in his younger years – that the brother who had left for Antigua had never quite returned.

“Eliza did not want to elope with you?” she guessed. Was that the solution, the element that had broken his heart?. He shook his head.

“Quite on the contrary, she was all in. We had it all planned out. But the night the carriage and I turned up in front of her house, she did not show up. – But two thugs sent by Mr Campion did.”

“What?”

“I was beaten up within every inch of my life. Still hurts just to think about it.” He made an unhappy grimace. Charlotte raised an eyebrow.

“Is that why you took up boxing?”

“One of the reasons, yes. Also relieves the frustration. – Well. They nearly killed me, threw what was left of me into the carriage and sent it to Bedford Place. The next day, as soon as I could stand on my two feet again, I returned to Eliza and started howling on their doorstep. In vain, of course. They had all gone to Campion’s estate to prepare the wedding. I was cast off by an ill-tempered steward, and instead of returning home and coming to my senses, I retired to Drury Lane and drowned what was left of my brain in liquor. Until Tom found me, paid my gambling debts, dragged me home, and locked me in my room until I was sober. The next thing I know is that I found myself on a schooner bound to Antigua.”

Charlotte was gaping at her fiancé. “But… why? Why would she betray you when she was in love with you?”

“Eliza didn’t betray me, Charlotte,” Sidney calmly said, carefully searching her gaze now. The sadness and the sorrow she found in his eyes made her gasp, and yet, there was something else she found there: hope and the will to open up to her and to accept all the implications such a step carried. With another sigh, he ran his hand through his hair before he continued. “I was just a boy from a village, underestimating the powers of a man like Campion. He had his eyes everywhere. He knew about our tryst in Vauxhall Gardens, and he knew about the elopement. My very own coachman was in his service. - So, no, Charlotte: Eliza didn’t betray me. She was key to events that would lead to shape me into the man I am today, but she didn’t betray me, and even though she broke my heart, she did not make it turn into a stone.”

“I don’t understand. Mary said…” Charlotte bit her lip. Even now, she did not want him to think she had gossiped behind his back. She saw his mouth twitch, as so often when he was uncomfortable. She longed to reach out, to touch his hands, to connect to him. It was not the vicar rambling in her head about propriety that held her back but the notion that this was Sidney’s story and that they would proceed at the speed he thought appropriate. He shifted in his seat before he spoke again.

“I know the popular opinion in the Parker family is that I was bruised by the whole Eliza episode. That the experience of being dumped for a wealthier man left me thinking not too highly of women in general. And I will not correct them. Let my siblings think what is easier for them to understand.”

“And… what is it they would not understand?” Charlotte asked, realising that Sidney was about to trust her with something he had never trusted anyone else with before. His gaze was resting on her, calm and serious, a little sad but also still a little hopeful.

“Antigua.”

“Antigua?”

“Where the suffering is made all the more terrible because of the beauty of the place where it occurs. - Didn’t you say that once?”

“I did.” Charlotte well remembered the occasion: during one of their walks along the beach, after discussing crocodiles with Henry and suffering through the vicar’s talks together. Sidney nodded as if to acknowledge that he shared her memories of the day.

“My heart healed,” he said. “Eventually. I was neither the first nor the last man to see his first love turned into dire disappointment. – But Antigua… no. Whatever was left of my soul: that place drew it out of me. Engaging in anything there is like trading with the devil.”

“But… you did engage in business there,” Charlotte stated. He averted his eyes.

“Yes. Because in the state I was in, I didn’t care whether I lost my soul or not.”

“Is it… that bad?” 

“You are so young, Charlotte,” he said, looking at her fondly. “So innocent.” His expression was such a poignant mix of sadness and affection that it made her heart pound and her tears well up. And yet, this was not about her, this was all his story, and she would bear it with him. In his voice, she heard the longing for his youth and the innocence of the young man he had been before Eliza and Antigua. “You have no idea how power can corrupt men and turn them into monsters, Charlotte. - It’s as if… as if kindness and humanity sweat away in the heat of the West Indies sun. I had to learn a brutal lesson: There is no boundary to the evil men will inflict on fellow men if given the authority to do so. I believed Eliza had been cruel to me, but how trivial… how insignificant is a girl dumping you for someone wealthier when you see a slave clubbed to death because he did not do his master’s bidding? Because all he asked for was a little humanity?” Sidney closed his eyes and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. This is probably the worst sweet talk you’ve ever heard.”

“No! No, it’s…” She found it difficult to say how touched she was by his willingness to share with her what had clearly grated on his soul for so long, even if what he shared was gruesome. That was him, that was Sidney Parker, after all, and she would not have called her feelings for him love had she not been ready to face the ugly parts of him as well.

Sidney sighed, not waiting for her to finish her reply. “Otis Molyneux is an inveterate gambler, and I don’t want to see him around any young lady I’m responsible for, but he’s a good man for his activities in the anti-slavery movement, I’ll have to give him that. That’s why I offered to take care of his debts. And because I hoped it would set Georgiana’s mind to rest.” 

Charlotte thought about this for a moment. “I suppose that’s something we have to accept,” she then said, carefully searching his gaze, for she really wanted to reconnect to him now. “That there is good and evil in us all, and that sometimes, the tiniest change of balance will suffice to send us in the wrong direction.”

Sidney regarded her for a very long while, his head slightly tilted, his lips curled by a tiny little smile, his eyes nothing but gentle dark pools of tenderness and affection. “How did you become so very clever, Miss Heywood?” he finally asked, then turned serious again before she could find an answer. “I went in the wrong direction for far too long. Even when I understood the evils of slavery and the sugar trade, I went along with it. I accepted it as the basis for my own business endeavours.”

“Is that… is that why you resent your role as Georgiana’s guardian so much? Because she’s a part of Antigua that will always stay with you? Because as long as you have to care for her, you will never be able to close a chapter that haunts you?”

“You really understand me better than anyone else does, don’t you, Charlotte? How do you do that?” The tiny little smile returned to his lips, as did the tenderness in his eyes. And something else: something so precious and beautiful that she was afraid it might vanish if she called it by its name.

“Maybe I want to understand you better than anyone else does,” she suggested quietly. Then, forgetting all decency, decorum, propriety and a Bible-wielding vicar, she reached out her gloved hand for Sidney’s and watched their fingers entwine the very moment they touched. There was such a force in his grip that it sent a shiver through her arm and directly to her heart, just as she felt the gentle brush of his thumb through the silk glove as he caressed her palm. How could a touch be so strong, so soft, and so wonderful all at the same time?

With a reluctant sigh, Sidney concluded the conversation of their hands and leaned back in his seat. Charlotte did not insist: they had not reached the end of his tale yet, and she wanted to give him the same space and respect he had given her the previous night in the drawing-room. Apart from that, right now, it seemed very much as if they had a lifetime of handholding ahead of them, so there was no reason to rush anything, especially not in a dark carriage by night.

After another sigh, he continued. “Whenever I was pining for Eliza, I was in fact pining for the boy I was. I wanted his youth back, his innocence, his optimism, his trust in the world and those around him. - But that boy is gone forever, and that island is in my blood now.” Charlotte nodded; she saw it very clearly now: how the cruelty, the injustice of Antigua had twisted that guileless broken-hearted boy into the cold and arrogant man who had jumped down from his barouche that sunny day on the cliff.  New maid? Miss…?

Sidney’s mind was still in Antigua. “It was Georgiana’s father who saved me. Mr Lamb aimed to lead a life of integrity and dignity in a place where both expressions are not part of the general vocabulary. To free his slaves was one step… but to marry Georgiana’s mother and determine in his will that his daughter should enter the London ton – that was truly bold. And it did not exactly endear him to Antigua’s society. They prefer to see the colour of a man, not his heart. But Mr Lambe died a happy man, reconciled with himself and his past. And I suppose part of his plan when he made me Georgiana’s guardian was for me to accept and reconcile with that past as well.” 

Charlotte was lost for words – not because she did not know what to say but because there was too much she wanted to say. After several moments in which nothing but the clatter of the horses’ hooves and the London night noises filled the carriage, she whispered: “Thank you for sharing all this with me.” He did not answer but merely curled his lip, not unkindly though, but in a familiar, approving way. They remained silent for some moments, listening to the outside noises: drunken revellers singing and shouting, the horses whinnying, a rat catcher offering his services, a muffin seller calling for customers.

After a while, Sidney said: “When I came home from Antigua three years ago, and my family found me so very changed from the young man who had left them, I gladly accepted them explaining it all with Eliza and a broken heart. That was so much easier than to tell them about Antigua.” 

“Of course it was,” Charlotte whispered. They were so close as siblings but always beset with worries about the development of Sanditon: she very much doubted that Tom Parker would have had an open ear for his younger brother’s sorrows, just as Arthur and Diana, dear as they were, would have failed to understand an affliction that was not accompanied by rashes, agues and swoons.

“You know,” Sidney continued, “every time Crowe jokes about carousing and imbibing, I laugh and smile, and sometimes I join in, but whenever I do, I hate myself because I know I will not find joy but oblivion, and I will wake up the next day, feeling guilty and more like an outlier than ever before.” He was facing her now, unmasked: there was no more restraint in his words. “I know the likes of Mr Beecroft because I was a gambler myself, and Mrs Harries recognises me because I was a frequent customer at her establishment. – I know that’s not what you are supposed to be telling your fiancée, but it’s the truth, and I believe you’re strong enough to handle it. That’s who I am, Charlotte. That’s the man you are going to marry.”

Charlotte felt the unwanted tears running down her eyes. Never had she expected that she would feel his pain physically, his shame, his struggle to become a better man, and even his need to share his story with her; that this was what love would be like: not a never-ending ride over the rainbow to perfect happiness, but the courage to open up, to bare oneself, to become vulnerable. She was not disgusted by his confessions, however painful they might be for a young lady’s ears: she felt a sweet and warm tenderness rise inside of her, a tenderness so strong and sincere that even without Susan’s little tutoring, she would have understood its meaning.

Through the blur of her tears, she saw him shake his head. “And now I’m making you cry.”

“No! I mean yes, but…” Somewhere inside her cloak, she found a handkerchief and blew her nose, feeling Sidney’s unwavering gaze on her. 

“I cannot help but think that you deserve a man with happier memories, Charlotte.”

“We will make our happier memories,” she determined, stowing the handkerchief away.

“I so much admire your courage and positivity.”

“Oh.” She tried a small smile, hoping to relieve some of the tension. “You’re truly improving on the compliment side, sir.”

“I mean it, Charlotte. This is not a particularly pretty tale, and you are bearing it very bravely.”

“I suppose I’m used to your unconventional way of courtship now.”

He laughed quietly but turned serious immediately again. However, his voice was more confident now, his demeanour more poised when he continued: “After Antigua, I never felt worthy of a woman’s affection again. As I told you, I considered myself ill-suited for marriage, destined to remain alone.”

Once again, Charlotte was struck by the sadness of such a judgement about oneself. And her own words rang in her ears, the words she had hurled at him in a moment of anger and frustration: “All I can assume is that you were made to suffer for love a long time ago, and that instead of healing, your heart turned into a stone,” she repeated.

Sidney shook his head. “You knew me better than I knew myself, Charlotte. Your only fault was that no one had ever dared to tell me before. Not even Tom.”

“Yet I should have chosen a more appropriate moment to voice my observations,” she said, full of remorse about how that painful scene had nearly ended their engagement, had Tom Parker not stepped in.

“I don’t think so.” His voice was hoarse with intensity now. “You forced me to wake up. To admit that ten years in a shell and scorning the courting circus would lead to nothing but more unhappiness. Your blow left a crack in that jaded heart.”

“And has that crack opened further since?” Charlotte whispered, her voice trembling, her gaze not moving from Sidney’s.

“It has. Further and deeper. Every day, Charlotte.”

She closed her eyes. She felt one more silent tear roll down her cheek, she felt her heart burst with joy, and she felt alive and happy and grateful and overwhelmed: all because of this man, all because she was in love with him, and he with her. 

Suddenly, she felt his hand, his large and warm hand against her cheek. It was all too much, and it was not enough at the same time, and that, Charlotte now understood, had been their problem from the very beginning. She felt Sidney’s calloused thumb brush her tears away, and she heard him whisper, “Charlotte”. No, it was not enough, and the only way to get more of him was to reach out and wrap her arms around him, to bury her face in the folds of his greatcoat, breathe in the scent of tobacco and sandalwood soap and Sidney Parker that lingered in his clothes, and listen to the not so steady, but slightly accelerated beat of his heart.

His arms came around her, a little awkwardly at first, perhaps because of the novelty of the sensation – or maybe even because he was not used to a young lady holding him just for himself and not the coins they had exchanged prior to the favour. Charlotte only tightened her embrace: this was so very different from hugging her scrawny younger siblings. Holding Sidney Parker, realising that he no longer was a conundrum but the man she loved: of all the adventures she had experienced since leaving Willingden, this one was the most wonderful. Sidney pulled her closer to him, resting his cheek against the crown of her head, probably messing up her elaborate hairdo in the process. But who would worry about hairdos when they were feeling Sidney Parker's warm and strong hand timidly stroking their shoulder?

“Charlotte…” he whispered again, his breath tingling her ear, and when she looked up, she found his face just inches away from hers, his eyes dark with emotion, his lips parted. 

“Yes?”

“Bedford Place!” the coachman called out, bringing the carriage to an abrupt halt.

Notes:

(I told them to behave themselves if I allowed them to travel alone and unchaperoned in a carriage. I wasn’t entirely successful.)

Chapter 20: Patience

Notes:

Here’s some LOVE and AFFECTION for you. I think you truly deserve it after the emotional rollercoaster of the last 24 hours.  

We still have to tie up some loose knots in this tale. For several unconnected reasons, the previous chapter was my personal Mount Everest. Apparently, it was well worth accepting the challenge and climbing it, so: my THANK YOU for all your feedback can’t be big enough. 

Previously…

(Sorry. If you don’t remember what was being said and done in that carriage, you’ll have to reread the previous chapter, I’m afraid. I’m not going through those emotions again. Not today.)

***

 

That daft coachman! Maybe he was drunk or secretly in the service of the vicar and paid a premium to ensure there were no improprieties inside the Parker carriage. 

His meddling was not entirely successful, by the way. With the impact of the sudden stop, Charlotte stumbled backwards towards her seat and pulled Sidney with her, making his head take a nosedive into a direction he had more than once visited in his imagination: right down into her lovely cleavage. For the blessed fraction of a moment, Sidney took it all in: Her agitated heartbeat. A mild scent of lavender soap and Mrs Maudsley’s beeswax candles. And of Charlotte Heywood. And hidden under the rustling cloth of her cloak and the organza of her dress that sweet, sweet round and promising softness of her bosom.

Sidney sat up, his head burning hot like a lobster fresh from the cooking pot. “I do apologise,” he mumbled, frantically searching for his hat, then, remembering his duties as a gentleman, suitor and devoted fiancé: “Are you alright? No harm done? I’ll have that coachman hanged if you want me to.” 

“I’m fine,” Charlotte confirmed, looking totally flustered, her elaborate hairdo in a state of dissolution now. The magic intimacy of their conversation was mostly gone, of course. What was left of it evaporated as soon as the footman opened the carriage door.

Sidney alighted first, then held out his hand to Charlotte – and she took that hand without hesitation. That was good, he thought as he pressed her fingers, even though, of course, he would have very much preferred to kiss her. And judging by her delightfully pink cheeks and slightly opened lips, she would have very much liked to be kissed by him. 

She certainly needed some extra support when leaving the carriage, given the shock of a bumpy halt, the lateness of the hour, the darkness of the night and the delicacy of her dress. It was definitely nothing but a pure wish to make himself useful that made his free hand land in the folds of her cloak and gently graze her waist as if they were still on the dance floor and such a gesture perfectly sanctioned. Charlotte did not seem to mind; in fact – difficult to say in in this light, but he was sure, nevertheless – her lips seemed to twitch into a tiny smile. Sidney sighed: for a man who had considered himself destined to remain alone, he had too vivid images of being with a very specific someone right now. 

But then again, he was not alone any longer. He had been brave enough to open up, to give himself to Charlotte Heywood, and as a reward, this valiant, kind and beautiful miracle of a girl had accepted him. Despite all the ugliness he carried with him, despite Antigua. Maybe I want to understand you better than anyone else does.

“Mr Parker! Mr Parker!” Mrs Jenkins, the housekeeper of Bedford Place, kept him from simply sweeping Charlotte up and carrying her across the threshold of his family home. She emerged from the front door, meeting them halfway on the pavement. “Mr Parker! A messenger has come, with urgent news from Sanditon!” She handed him a letter in Mary’s hand, addressed to both to him and Tom. Whatever the news was, it had to be paramount. He opened the letter in the light of the entrance hall, reluctantly letting go of Charlotte’s hand.

 

*

 

“What is it?” Charlotte asked impatiently. “Is it the children? Arthur? Diana?” 

“It’s Lady Denham,” Sidney said, studying the letter in the flickering candlelight of the lobby. He pinched his eyes. “She’s fallen gravely ill. They fear for her life… This is a terrible blow for Tom.” He was all business again. “I’m so sorry, Charlotte. What a strange night.” Maybe not all business: in fact, the moment he said her name, the softness returned to his eyes, and he took her hand again. “Mrs Jenkins!” The housekeeper was still hovering in the background, keeping an eye on them. “My brother will be needing the carriage tomorrow morning. He will wish to leave for Sanditon first thing. Miss Heywood and Miss Lambe will go with him.”

“But what about you?” Charlotte cried, feeling the pain of separation before separation was there. And it was not even worth a discussion: with everyone else gone, she could not stay in his house unchaperoned.

“I’ll come to Sanditon for the regatta,” Sidney promised, turning a little to shield her from the gaze of the housekeeper as he raised their entwined hands. “But someone will have to finish Tom’s financial business here, I’m afraid. Especially now that Lady Denham’s investment is in danger.”

“Is it?”

“If she dies now without specifications on the Sanditon venture in her will, it is. You know how fickle she has been about it in the past. In all likelihood, she’ll leave it all to Sir Edward. I assume he has no interest at all in the building business and will reclaim her investment.”

“But maybe he is not named as her heir,” Charlotte suggested.

“Yet unless she dies, we’ll never find out. And that would be the worst possible scenario for Tom.”

“And for Lady Denham,” Charlotte added. “Do you think I should have told her about what I knew about Clara and Sir Edward?”

“No. No.” He pressed her fingers, giving her encouragement. “Unless they would have tried to harm you. In which case I would also like to remind you that you have a fiancé by your side now.”

“I realise that,” Charlotte said, unable to hide a smile – a smile growing wider as it made Sidney smile too. She was on the verge of dreaming away in his eyes again when Sidney collected himself. He was the sensible brother, after all.

“Mrs Jenkins! Can you send a housemaid up to assist Miss Heywood?”

“Very good, sir.” Sidney moved around to face Charlotte again, his gaze as gentle as a sweet caress. He took her hands, lifted them to his lips and placed two tender kisses on the silken gloves, keeping his eyes locked with hers.

“Thank you for hearing me out, Charlotte,” he breathed whiled the housekeeper called for the maid. 

“I have to thank you, Sidney,” Charlotte whispered, slowly and reluctantly retracting her hands. “For being so honest with me.”

 

*

 

As Sidney had predicted, his brother was eager to leave for Sanditon the moment he heard about his main investor’s condition, as if his presence alone would rear Lady Denham back to full health. There was no way for Charlotte to stay behind alone at an unmarried man’s house, so the following morning, she reluctantly climbed into the carriage as well, joining Crocket and a still despondent Georgiana. Sidney held her hand much longer than necessary to help her inside, and in his eyes she believed she found the same disappointment as she was feeling. In the hustle of an early departure after a short night, they had not managed to find a moment alone together, and despite everything that had been said the previous night, Charlotte felt that some substantial words remained unspoken.

“Ah, young love,” Tom Parker commented from inside the carriage. “Such a sweet thing to behold.” – and at that, Sidney brushed Charlotte’s knuckles once more, closed the carriage door and knocked on the roof to make the coachman drive off. 

Charlotte did not enjoy the journey. Her mind was where it had stayed all night – with Sidney –, Georgiana was slowly turning from the despondency stage to the anger stage, and Crocket was more intimidated than ever. Tom Parker kept prattling away about how much less worried he would be if he knew a proper physician to be in Sanditon, someone to take care of Lady Denham’s treatment professionally. 

“I believe she would not be very much inclined to listen to a doctor,” Charlotte said, hoping to prevent a rant about the flight of Doctor Fuchs and her role in it. “I so often heard her praise the benefits of half a tumbler of seawater and her donkey milk.” Tom shook his head.

“But the wonders of modern therapeutics, my dear! If only this fellow from Wiesbaden were to come earlier to Sanditon… I seem to have forgotten his name… it starts with an M – his first name is George, like our good King: that is easy to remember. Two weeks, he wrote… It may be too late then. The situation is grave, Charlotte, very grave indeed.” He leaned heavily on his cane, staring at the summer landscape outside. 

Searching for a topic to distract him, Charlotte said: “We also have to decide what exactly to reveal about our stay in London.” 

Some details were clearly not suitable for delicate ears or public disclosure. For the next hour, they were well occupied with concocting a version of events that contained no gambling dens, no fights and no boarding houses: a version in which they had caught up with the scoundrels’ coach on the way to London and overtaken it in a rather daring manoeuvre. 

Tom Parker, always favouring a bit of drama, even invented a scene in which his heroic brother leapt from one coachbox to the other in full speed to grab the reins from evil Mr Howard’s coachman. Charlotte dismissed this idea as too farfetched. She gladly believed that Sidney was a courageous fighter, but she did not want him to break his neck in the process. Or lose his hat. He was the sensible brother, after all. And after sacrificing his cane for her, who would he be without his hat? So the official version was that they had intercepted and stopped the coach, and Sidney had then claimed Georgiana back, citing his authority as her guardian. He had rejected any further threats by her captors by reminding them of the penalty for abduction – which was hanging. 

“Excellent,” Tom Parker said, yawned and fell asleep in his corner of the coach for the rest of the journey, leaving Charlotte to ponder about the strange and beautiful events of the previous night: Sidney, so honest, so vulnerable, so ready to open up to her. His trust in her betrayed such deep feelings that it brought the tears back to her eyes. She wiped them away, well aware of Georgiana watching her vigilantly. 

There were one or two minor points in his tale which left her with a certain insecurity… If he had thought of Mrs Campion as my Eliza once, was he thinking of her as my Charlotte now? And what exactly did  “rather… err, passionate“ mean? 

It was all the more frustrating because she knew so little about the intimacy of lovers. Holding Sidney’s hand and pressing her head against his chest had undoubtedly stirred something inside of her, as had that embarrassing little moment when the carriage had come to an abrupt halt, and his nose ended up directly in her bosom. Well, maybe not that embarrassing, but… but… She sighed, feeling like a wanderer in the thickest fog, searching for the correct path without even knowing where it was leading to.

 

*

Back in Sanditon, Charlotte quickly renewed her routine. It was the best to do to keep that nagging feeling of missing her fiancé at bay: sea bathing in the morning, assisting Tom Parker with administration work until noon, missing Sidney at lunch, calling on Georgiana in the afternoon, a stroll along the beach with the Parker family in the evening, missing Sidney by night. 

One person left her wonderfully in peace these days: the vicar. Georgiana’s guardian – her fiancé, as it happened – had written a scathing letter to Mrs Griffiths about the Misses Beaufort’s involvement in Georgiana’s abduction. He requested the governess to engage Mr Hankins for daily and long teachings about propriety and sensibility for the sisters. This left the vicar next to no time for botanical conversations with the future Mrs Parker, especially as after the lessons, Mrs Griffiths often invited him for a cup of tea and a biscuit. They both needed such a tonic, for despite Mr Hankins’ best endeavours, the Beaufort girls were more giggly and useless than ever after having found out that their favourite silly romance novel was about to be extended into not one but even two sequels.

Between all her tasks, Charlotte quenched a visit to Old Stringer, whose leg was not healing quick enough for his taste and whose son felt obliged to apologise again and again for his father’s gruffness. There was good news too, though: a London architect had offered young Mr Stringer an apprenticeship. 

“But that is wonderful news!” Charlotte exclaimed. 

“Not sure though whether I can accept it,” Young Stringer said with a sad shrug of his shoulders.

“You have to! Your talent is going to be recognised, and you will build your own houses… your own town one day.”

“Thank you, miss. But with my father ailing… he cannot work, and I’m not sure whether he’ll ever be able to provide for himself again.”

“I see,” Charlotte said, her enthusiasm waning. As an architect’s apprentice, the foreman would not be able to earn his and his father’s living. She was not one to give up quickly, however. “Perhaps… when she’s recovered, you might apply for a stipend to Lady Denham?”

“We are no beggars, miss.”

“No, but…” Oh, this was confounding again. She did not mean to embarrass Young Stringer, and she understood his predicament, yet… his talent deserved to be promoted. How was he supposed to improve himself, to make a better life for himself and his family, if it all depended on money again? She would talk it through with Sidney. He might have an idea – and then she paused and smiled, for that was what it was going to be like from now on: they would share their thoughts and ideas and choose their paths together and try to find solutions for all obstacles in their way.

Another visit had to be paid to Lady Denham – a courtesy visit, for her ladyship was confined to her bed and hardly conscious. How strange it was to see this strong woman so weak, so close to death, and so alone. Yet, it was a destiny of her own making; her wealth had corrupted not only her manners but also her family, leaving her unloved and alone, ogled impatiently by Sir Edward, Miss Denham and Clara Brereton. Those three looked as if they could hardly wait to throttle each other once their aunt had drawn her last breath.

“We have little hope of recovery,” Sir Edward informed Tom Parker, who paled and searched for his wife’s arm for support. 

“If only she had not sent away Doctor Fuchs.” As they walked back to Trafalgar House, Tom kept repeating his new and never-ending mantra. “Now we have to wait for this new fellow… Dr George… Mafust… Mefuss… If I only ever get his name right….”

“Do we not have to cancel the regatta?” Mary asked. Tom shook his head emphatically.

“No – no, no, no, no, my dear, that would send a very wrong signal. The invitations are out, the most illustrious members of the beau monde are on their way to discover the delights of Sanditon… and Lady Denham might rally after all. Sir Edward is no physician – with all due respect: I would not trust his assumptions. Did you not think her ladyship looked closer to life than to death, Charlotte?”

“I couldn’t say for sure,” Charlotte admitted. “But I do believe Lady Denham would want us to hold the regatta, even without her – for the good of Sanditon and her investment.”

“That’s the spirit, my dear! For the good of Sanditon!” Tom beamed, twirling his cane: at least until the day of the great event, his world was in balance again.

Charlotte’s world, however, went shortly out of balance: when they returned to Trafalgar House, a letter had arrived, presented to her by Wickens on a silver plate. 

“Ah,” Tom grinned, peeking over her shoulder. “I know that handwriting. – Children, you will have to postpone your playtime with Charlotte; she’ll be very busy over the next hour.”

Blushing, Charlotte took the little parcel and retired to her room: she had seen that handwriting before on some of Tom’s business papers, and she had an inkling that in the future, she would see her name very often written in those large yet neat letters. She sat down at her little table by the window overlooking the sea and the seagulls sunbathing on the opposite roofs. Her heartbeat quickened when she broke the seal and unfolded the paper.

My dearest Charlotte,

her fiancé wrote, thereby unknowingly settling the My Eliza question for Charlotte.

I trust this letter finds you well and in good health. I’m not a great writer, I’m afraid (that’s one more fact you have to accept about me), but I wished to tell you how much I hope we can continue our conversation from the carriage once I return to Sanditon. Nothing, I fear, will ever express my gratitude for the kindness you showed me in those moments. I truly want you to understand me better than anyone else does, if that makes any sense to you, my dearest, dearest  Miss Heywood  Charlotte.

Charlotte smiled, wiping a tear from her eye: it did make quite a lot of sense to her.

Tom’s banking business is keeping me up and busy, but provided that the Denham investment stays safe, so does Sanditon. However, I’ve been to see my solicitor, and I’m including the first draft of our marriage contract for you to examine. Feel free to add your wishes, and we shall discuss the contents after my return. It is nothing but a draft, and I have aimed to include such items as I could remember from our conversations. 

I have also taken the liberty to write to your father to confirm that the date is set for the last Saturday of July, boldly assuming that my wishes in the matter are yours as well. If I’m too presumptuous, let me know, and I shall retract any steps I have taken.

Now all that is left for me to do is ask you to be my partner at as many dances at the Midsummer Ball as is deemed appropriate. I suppose you know how much I enjoy dancing with you, Charlotte.

Yours ever

Sidney Parker

 

With another smile, Charlotte breathed a little kiss on the signature. As long as the real man was away and a moment alone together still nothing but a sweet hope, his name would have to do to receive proof of her affection. Then she unfolded the draft contract. 

Back on the day Sidney had suggested the marriage contract, it seemed like a sensible idea to overcome their misunderstandings. It was meant to give her peace of mind after his brutal statement that the law would grant her no rights in their marriage. She knew how much he regretted those words, uttered in a fury and after being wound up by Otis Molyneux and her own outings with Young Stringer. 

Now Charlotte felt that such a measure was no longer needed. Don’t ever ask for my permission, Charlotte. Ask for my opinion instead:  His words from the ball rang fresh in her ears. Yet she was touched by his mindfulness to think of the contract, and she was curious to find out what it said.

As was to be expected from a sensible businessman, the draft started with specifying the economic and financial details for the future Parker household at Waterloo Terrace, Sanditon. Charlotte realised she would lead a more than comfortable life, in fact much more comfortable than she had expected. The sensible brother was apparently also sensible enough to keep his true wealth a well-hidden secret from his family. 

In addition to finances, the contract included suggestions referring to their everyday life, the education of their children and the running of the household. The penultimate line read: It is agreed between the parties involved that an open conversation taking both parties’ positions respectfully into account will contribute more to mutual happiness than a heated discussion. 

And the ultimate line said:  It is agreed between the parties involved that the future Mrs Parker will bestow her lovely smile on her husband at least once a day. Should she feel not in a mood to do so, it will be Mr Parker’s endeavour to lighten her mood and make that smile appear.

At that, Charlotte laughed. In fact, there was nothing in the draft that set her at unease or left her in doubt about Sidney’s good intentions, but since he had suggested she stated her own wishes, she took up her pen and added one final line before folding the paper with a little smile and stowing it inside her Bible until her fiancé would come and fetch it. 

 

Sidney was not due to return to Sanditon until the day before the regatta, and even then, he was late, causing much anxiety to his brother and his fiancée. Charlotte suffered quietly, but Tom could not help himself and accused his absent brother of leaving everything to the last minute, thereby endangering the success of the event if not of Sanditon itself. 

However, it was not Sidney’s fault: When he arrived late in the evening, mud splashed and dishevelled, he was in the company of Lord Babington and Mr Crowe. Lord Babington, it turned out, had started the journey from London in his brand new speedy barouche, driving a continuous race with Sidney’s vehicle – a race Sidney ultimately won when Babington landed the horses, the barouche, the luggage, himself and Mr Crowe in a ditch off Horsham. 

“Nearly broke my neck,” Mr Crowe said, recovering with large gulps of Tom Parker’s finest brandy. “Look at that!” He presented the battered remains of his hip flask. “That’s a casualty. I do consider suing you, Babbers. You’re definitely the worst carriage driver in the world. And all the trouble only to impress that miserable Denham creature. Can’t wait to hear how she’ll rejoice when she learns that you were one foot away from drowning in a ditch.”

“I have every reason to believe that she will be gravely concerned about my well-being,” Babington replied with his amiable smile. “She has finally started to answer my letters. - It was not my driving style, but the sorry state of the road, by the way.”

“Lame excuses.” Crowe refilled his glass with Tom’s brandy. “Want a bet? Tomorrow in the rowing boat, I’ll show you how to stay in complete control of a race.”

“Accepted.” They shook hands, laughing, and Tom Parker laughed as well, even though Crowe quickly drained his best liquor: this was just the clientele he was after, wealthy gentlemen pursuing gentlemanly pursuits in a leisurely, carefree atmosphere. 

Charlotte did not laugh, but she smiled because Sidney used the overall muddle of a tumultuous welcome to stand a little closer to her than propriety recommended. He caressed her fingers with his thumb and asked her how she was and how Georgiana was doing, and whether she had received his letter. “I have,” she replied to the last question.

“Do you agree with my arrangements?” he said, looking at her expectantly.

“Absolutely.”

“Any additions to the contract?”

“Just one.”

“Really? What is it about?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Charlotte said, blushing a little and wondering whether she had acted too presumptuously in adding that ---

“Well. Whatever you wish, Charlotte.” He pressed her hand, and they were gazing at each other a little longer, just until Tom Parker called everyone together for a toast on Sanditon, the regatta and the man in charge of all the pleasure: in short, himself.

 

*

 

On the morning of the regatta, Sidney woke up after a rough night’s sleep, his head full of all the conversations he hoped to have with Charlotte during this day. If only they managed to find a moment alone together in the bustle of the event! There was so much he wanted to say to her. Every single hour of those days in London had been torture, for every hour was an hour lost in which he could not tell her how grateful he was for the deep and mature insight she had shown when listening to his sorry tale of Eliza and Antigua. For not judging him but asking the right questions. For reaching out to him when he had believed himself lost in guilt and remorse. For that unbelievably precious moment when she had allowed her emotions to overcome propriety and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest, sharing her strength with him.

In the cool misty air of the next morning at Bedford Place, while watching the Parker carriage taking Charlotte back to Sanditon, he had allowed his mind to travel back to Eliza. It was only natural; she had been a too large part of his life for being ignored completely. Now that he thought of her, he was feeling nearly sorry for her. 

The way she had looked at him on the dancefloor, speaking his name as if it were an incantation that would return them both to their youth! Maybe that’s what had kept her upright during her marriage to Campion: the hope that fate would gift them with a second chance, that they would stand beside each other again. Only that when she had found him again, he was not pining for her but dreaming away in the loving gaze of a young woman eight years her junior.

He had recognised her immediately and was stunned for a second – who would not be, after their history? Yet, he did not want to go back to her, not for the world. She was still remarkably beautiful, and Campion’s wealth had certainly helped to increase if not her happiness, then at least her natural air of fashion and elegance. Under different circumstances, he might have been intrigued, approached her, made some polite conversation and asked her for a dance. In all probability, he would have found her to be still very elegant and clever. 

But the Eliza he knew would not have wanted to hear about Antigua and why he was an outlier. She would have listened for half a minute and said something witty about the perils of travelling. Then she would have opened her fan and suggested they try the latest ice cream flavours at Gunter’s.

So she was safely delegated to his past. The future was Charlotte Heywood, and this simple prospect made Sidney so enthusiastic that between bank appointments for Tom and his own business obligations, he considered running to the Archbishop’s office to apply for a special license. Then return to Sanditon, drag the vicar to his church and make him marry them then and there. 

But on reflection, Sidney realised that a rushed marriage by special license would subject Charlotte to precisely the sort of gossip he wanted to protect her from. Her family would be irritated, and Mr Heywood would believe he had broken his promise to him. His own family would assume something untoward had happened between them in London, and everyone else at Sanditon would stare at her belly with a knowing expression and expect the arrival of the next Parker baby within the next eight months.

No, what Charlotte deserved was a merry country wedding in Willingden with all her loved ones around her and her father giving her proudly away, and the next Parker baby entering the world not one day earlier than at least nine months after the wedding night. The wedding night: That was something else she deserved. A kind, tender and attentive lover who would explore with her everything that was new to her. And to him, because if Sidney was perfectly honest with himself, he had made many things to several women, but love was not necessarily among them.

With the day of the regatta finally arrived, he was determined to fully dedicate every minute to his fiancée. Yet from the moment he returned from his morning swim and knocked on the door of Trafalgar House, things started to go wrong: Tom employed him as his messenger, sending him on last-minute tasks and errands all across the town when all he wanted to do was join Charlotte at the sandcastle competition. 

When Sidney finally reached the beach, he found Charlotte elbow deep in the impressive castellation Jenny had envisioned, drilling a secret tunnel into the construction. He paused a moment before he stepped closer, for it was such a lovely sight to behold: his nieces, adding a shell here, a special touch there to their work, eyeing it all critically, little Henry, dancing around them while trying to catch a herring gull, and Charlotte, her straw bonnet left at some forgotten place, her hair wavy from the sea air, her lips red and plush, her cheeks rosy from the exertion. Oh, how he could not wait to take her into his arms and tell her – in fact, he was not quite sure what to tell her, but he was confident that the words would come with the moment.

Now Charlotte had noticed him and from a distance bestowed that lovely smile on him that he had so often searched for. But before he could join his fiancée, pluck her up from the beach and carry her to the end of the rainbow, someone called his name. He turned around. 

“Oh, brother!” It was Diana, trudging through the sand, desperately holding her bonnet in place, breathless from running, her round face one large expression of concern. “Do you know who’s here? Who’s just stepped off the carriage?” Arthur was catching up with her now, puffing and sweating.

“Not the Prince Regent?” Sidney hazarded a guess.

“No, no, it’s….” Diana stopped, too overcome with her nerves to continue. Arthur offered her an arm.

“It’s Mrs Campion,” he said, wiping his brow. “Or that’s who they say she is.”

“What?” Sidney stared past his brother at Charlotte, who was still innocently engaged in building a sandcastle. What was Eliza thinking? This was going to be embarrassing, mightily embarrassing.

And before he had devised a plan to spare Charlotte (and himself as well) any embarrassment, there she was, marching on the beach with a retinue of fashionable people, very elegant in a mustard coloured coat, a matching reticule and a bonnet adorned with ostrich feathers: “How original!” Mrs Campion told her followers with a silver voice. “A sandcastle competition! At the last regatta I attended, they raced Arab stallions. The one before that featured… - Sidney. Good morning.”

“Good morning, Mrs Campion.” Sidney offered her a curt bow. “We did not expect to see you here today.”

“Your brother was so generous with his invitations at Mrs Maudsley’s, praising Sanditon’s delights. I simply could not resist.” The feathers on her bonnet bobbed up and down with every word she uttered and as if to underline her slightly mocking tone.

“Well… welcome then,” he quickly said, suddenly remembering that he was not alone. “Have you met my siblings? Miss Diana Parker, Mr Arthur Parker.” As Diana and Arthur said their How do you dos, Mrs Campion’s eyes wandered further.

“And is that your fiancée there, playing with the children? What a useful little thing she is.” Arthur, who had followed Mrs Campion’s gaze, nodded emphatically.

“She is, our dear Miss Heywood. Practically planned the whole regatta all by herself. And such a constitution! Goes sea bathing every day.” Judging by her expression, this was not the praise Mrs Campion had expected to hear. But Arthur was not done yet. “May I suggest Diana and I show you around, Mrs Campion? We are having a remarkably sumptuous cake stall down by the river, though personally, I’ll also go with just a little buttered toast and some port. Are you fond of toast?”

Mrs Campion was looking slightly irritated now. Most of her elegant retinue had deserted her, admiring the children’s sandcastles instead. Clutching her reticule and addressing Sidney, she said: “I also came here in the hope of being introduced to Sir Edward Denham.”

“Sir Edward?” Sidney repeated, too surprised to hide his disgust about that scoundrel of a baronet. Arthur, her self-proclaimed escort for the day, shook his head. 

“Sir Edward is keeping vigil at his aunt’s sickbed,” he explained. “We fear for Lady Denham’s life.”

“That shows a kind heart, doesn’t it?”

“No,” Sidney said bluntly. In fact, he was glad about not having to suffer that rogue’s presence throughout the day. His desire to punch Sir Edward for the trouble he had put Charlotte through was as overwhelming as ever. “Why would you want to meet him?”

“Oh, must you really ask, Sidney? We share a common background. He has a title. I have a fortune.”

“I see,” Sidney said. “And it’s Mr Parker.”

But Eliza’s interest in Sir Edward Denham suddenly waned, and her large porcelain eyes turned even larger as she looked at something that was going on behind her former fiancé. He turned around: Charlotte was no longer drilling holes into a sandcastle but standing on her feet now, shaking sand off her hands and skirts and beaming and laughing with a lady wearing an elegant green and purple silk coat and a large bonnet. 

“Oh,” Eliza said, and even though that was a remarkably short syllable, it did tell quite a tale of jealousy. “Oh,” she repeated. Sidney smiled at Charlotte: how quickly she made friends, how easily she made conversation! His smile froze when he saw Tom waving at him. He walked over to his brother; Arthur, Diana, and Eliza, clutching her reticule, in his wake.

“Sidney! Come here, I need your help,” Tom called out. “Oh, good morning, Mrs Campion. Sidney, we have been honoured indeed, and all thanks to your Charlotte. Do you know who the lady is she is talking to right now?”

Sidney looked at the lady again. Now that she raised her head, there was something familiar about her –

“Lady Worcester,” Eliza gasped next to him, pouting and looking like a jealous ostrich with her feathers standing to attention again. Tom nodded.

“No other personality than the Prince Regent’s particular friend. London society practically evolves around her,” he explained. “If we can convince her to support us, our Sanditon venture is safe. Sidney, I need you to run to Trafalgar House now and get Stringer’s plan for the pagoda for me. – I also need someone to hand out the prizes for the sandcastle competition… Mrs Campion, can I implore on you? Here’s a list….”

“I will assist you, Mrs C,” Arthur volunteered, beaming his sunniest smile on a slightly overcast morning. “And later on, you can help me with the… the… the, err, duck race. What do you say?”

“Go away,” Mrs Campion said: not to Arthur, but to a young herring gull with slightly ruffled head plumage that was walking up to her, eyeing her ostrich feathers with undeniable interest.

“Jolly good,” the youngest best Parker brother said, happily clapping his hands.

Sidney cast a longing glance at this fiancée before turning to the dune path and towards Trafalgar House: All he needed was a little more patience. They would be reunited soon.

Chapter 21: Equality

Notes:

Hi! You didn’t expect that today, did you?
The previous instalment turned into such a large and monstrous … err, dinosaur of a chapter that I had to split it into two halves when I started editing. I also had this sneaky feeling that you would not mind a quick update. So here’s the second part of the regatta for you.

Let me add the most massive THANK YOU-DANKESCHÖN-MERCI-GRACIAS-GRAZIE-TAK-BEDANKT for your feedback on the last chapter. You have no idea how important it was for me to see that you are still invested in these stories, that you still want to see the HEA we all deserve.

Previously…

After the sudden end of their carriage ride, Charlotte and Sidney learn that Lady Denham has fallen gravely ill. Charlotte has to return to Sanditon while Sidney stays in London until the regatta. The pain of separation is eased by a letter from Sidney that includes a draft of the marriage contract. Charlotte adds only one request. 

When Sidney arrives, the time and situation don’t allow for a continuation of their previous conversation. While he has mentally delegated Mrs Campion to the past, the lady herself reappears at the regatta. Arthur swiftly takes care of her and acts as her escort. In the meantime, Charlotte renews her acquaintance with her   fairy godmother   Lady Worcester.

***

“So,” Susan said, walking with Charlotte by the riverside, “the lady of the town is on her deathbed, and her heirs are flocking around their booty? How shocking!” It had taken her not too long to explain to Tom Parker that she had come to Sanditon not for him and his plans, but for Charlotte, and that she much more wished to enjoy the company of her young friend than his. In a rare moment of insight, Tom retreated: after all, all he wanted was to see his noble guest happy, and if she was happy in Charlotte’s company, so be it.

“I think it’s so sad,” Charlotte said now. “To be alone and unloved at the end of your life. To be seen as prey, even by your own family. Lady Denham kept telling me that it was money that ensured happiness in a marriage, not mutual love and affection, but so far, I haven’t seen any proof of it.”

“And you never will, my dear.” Susan patted her hand. “Money may pave the road and make it easier to cross the uneven parts, but it is love that will carry you through crises. – Speaking of which: does your fiancé know yet how much you are in love with him? Has he spoken to you?” Charlotte blushed.

“We have had a very… intense conversation after Mrs Maudsley’s ball, but then… we were interrupted, and I had to return so suddenly to Sanditon – and we haven’t really had the opportunity to be alone together since he came back from London. I’m in no doubt about his feelings, though, and he has said so much not only in words but also in… glances and… little gestures… if that’s possible?”

“Oh, that’s perfectly possible, my dear.” Susan gave her an encouraging smile. “How very sweet! Yet, there is nothing but a real declaration of love. I do understand though that a man like your Mr Parker might be a little tongue-tied when it comes to acknowledging his attachment.”

“What do you mean?” Charlotte asked. Susan patted her hand again, smiling with the insight of a more experienced woman.

“He’s been alone for such a long time… and most men are not used to speaking words of love, especially if such openness only ended in disappointment previously. I know all about his past with Mrs Campion, of course – everyone who was around ten years ago does. And now that the first subject of her affection is no longer available, she’s setting herself a higher goal and hunts a title – or so I hear.”

“A title?” Charlotte asked. 

“Sir Edward Denham,” Susan specified.

“Oh. That’s… not a good idea.” And not only because it would make them neighbours in Sanditon.

Susan patted her hand. “I suppose Sir Edward has a chink in his knightly armour? Then all you have to do is to help Mrs C find it, and you’ll never see her again. – But first, we have to arrange for you to find some moments alone together with your Mr Parker. Good things will never come to those who sit idle and wait.”

“I fear he is so much used to his solitude,” Charlotte said, thinking of the cove again. Her friend shook her head.

“A man in love only prefers his solitude until he sees the girl of his heart. I’m sure he’s only waiting for the best moment to speak to you, my dear.” Such confidence! Charlotte wished she could share it. Right now, it only seemed as if destiny (or Tom Parker with his errands) kept her and Sidney apart time and again.

They had reached the lawn with the marquee for refreshments and other stalls, and Charlotte was amazed at the number of elegant people joining the Sanditon locals. The riverbank was practically abuzz with fine gentlemen and grand ladies, Tom Parker in the midst of them, sharing smiles, jokes and laughter: this day was obviously his dream come true. “Are all these people here at your invitation?” she asked her companion.

“Not necessarily. But a social circle is like the cog of a clock. Ah!” Susan nodded at an elderly gentleman. “Lord Grasmere! How good of you to come. Have you met my new friend Miss Charlotte Heywood?”

“Enchanted, Miss Heywood,” the elderly gentleman said, lifting his hat. Blushing, Charlotte remembered the whisperings from the ballroom – how quickly they would be hushed if she were known to be a friend of Lady Worcester’s!

“I hardly know how to thank you,” she said.

“There is no need to thank me, my dear. I came here for a day of good company and diversion, and I have not been disappointed. – Look who’s coming here.” 

It was Sidney, walking purposefully to meet them at the refreshment tent. He bowed to Susan and then turned to his fiancée. “I’m sorry for leaving you alone all morning, Charlotte. There’s been such an unexpected influx of visitors – Tom’s been busy sending me around as his errand boy.”

Charlotte felt her heart beat a little faster. “Well, if that means that the regatta is a success…”

“It is. A great success. We’ve managed to raise the interest of several potential new investors. If we secure…” His voice trailed off as another guest moved towards their little group from the direction of the cake stall. 

“May I join you?” Mrs Campion asked, a silver smile on her face. Apparently, she had managed to divert her diligent escort Arthur. “What is the topic of discussion?” she inquired, the feathers on her headdress bobbing up and down.

“With these two, what could it be but marriage?” Susan beamed and moved to the side so that Charlotte would stand next to her fiancé, who immediately offered her his arm.

“Of course,” Mrs Campion said, that silver smile turning slightly metallic for a moment. “The whole of London is abuzz with whispers about your fortunate connection, Miss Heywood.”

“Is it?” Susan said, raising her eyebrows. “We must be moving in very different circles then.”

“Mr Parker is a well-established figure in London society, whereas Miss Heywood has yet to experience a full season in town,” Mrs Campion kindly explained. “It is a slightly unusual match. I am certainly not the only one to believe that it always helps to share a common background when it comes to marriage.”

“I do not doubt that you are more of an expert in matters of marriage than I am, Mrs Campion,” Sidney pointedly said. “But rest assured when it comes to our backgrounds: Miss Heywood would still be my equal if I were a duke.” A reassuring pat on his fiancée’s hand accompanied his words.

Charlotte did not know what to say. Neither did Mrs Campion: she merely choked on her own voice. It is safe to assume that back in the days when young Sidney was doing sweet-talk to young Eliza, it was never about equality amongst partners but more about porcelain eyes and the latest fashion in embroidery.

“Well said, Mr Parker.” Susan bestowed her warmest smile on Sidney. “And speaking of dukes just reminds me… Charlotte, I was going to tell you about Lady Grasmere’s lapdog. Wellington, like the Duke of – quite a cute thing to look at but requiring such an ungodly amount of care and attention without being good for anything! It always makes people laugh to see him yapping at a bone far too grand for him. – Oh, there’s my dear friend Mr Mullan – I have to thank him for coming. Do excuse me.” – and leaving Mrs Campion pouting, Sidney coughing, and Charlotte struggling to keep a straight face, Susan moved on to the next circle.

“Ahem,” Sidney said after a few moments. “Will you excuse us as well, Mrs Campion? I’ve promised Charlotte a walk along the river.” Charlotte, who did not remember any such promise, took the arm he offered her – totally willing to follow wherever he would lead her.

“Good day, Mrs Campion,” she said, feeling no wish at all to busy herself any further with that lady, and neither do I, so that was that.

 

*

 

Sidney made sure to lead Charlotte quickly away from the crowd at the tents: he was not going to suffer another disruption now that he had finally managed some moments alone with his fiancée. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Tom waving, Diana gesturing and Young Stringer looking at them from the bookstall, but he ignored them all, walking Charlotte across the lawn and towards the riverbank.

How wonderful it was to have her all for himself finally, he thought, his heart beating a little quicker, a small and slightly mischievous smile creeping on his lips: to feel the light weight of her small hand on his arm, to catch her questioning sideways glances. To have her so close: her lovely wavy curls nearly brushing his shoulder, her anything but discreet cleavage heaving with every breath. Which only made him aware of a new problem: now that they were alone together, he found himself strangely tongue-tied again. There was too much he wanted to say. In fact, he had told her everything that was on his mind many times before - but only in his imagination, and in all his excitement and befuddlement, he suddenly found it difficult to find back to the intimacy and trust of their last substantial conversation.

He did not want to refer to the meeting with Eliza, and he did not want to discuss the marriage contract either: both topics were hardly suitable for a romantic courtship, and apart from that, he had yet to receive Charlotte’s addition to the draft – whatever her mysterious request was about.

Maybe another compliment was in order to start the conversation? Something about how the sun played in her hair, adding a golden glow to her naturally shiny waves? No. She would think him daft and soft in the head or, even worse, under some evil spell from Sir Edward Denham’s poetry.

“We… we are fortunate with the weather for the regatta, don’t you think?” Charlotte said after some more awkwardly silent steps together.

“We are, yes,” Sidney agreed. “Especially since it’s an outdoor occasion.”

“Yes. That makes good weather so much of a consideration.” 

He caught her timid smile. Feeling more confident now, Sidney asked: “Are you looking forward to the ball tomorrow?”

“Very much. I love to dance.” Her eyes grew large with anticipation. Suddenly it was simple.

“And I love to dance with you, Charlotte. More than anything.” There it was: the sun returning to her face, making her eyes sparkle, her lips smile and everything about her shine.

“You’re improving so fast on the compliment side,” she said, grasping his arm a little tighter and, for the shortest of moments, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Have you been practising in secret?”

“No. Umm… well, maybe. A little.”

“Really?”

“I was told once by a very observant young lady that I better tried to be civil,” Sidney explained very seriously. Charlotte laughed again, laughing away whatever remained of their awkwardness. 

“Oh, that horrible pineapple luncheon. Feels as if it has taken place in a different life.”

“It does indeed,” Sidney agreed, all awkwardness gone. They had reached the river shore where the boats were moored and the oars laid out on the grass. There was a table for the administrative tasks of the competition, and the indispensable Wickens, along with a footman, was setting up a tent for the contestants. As it was still over two hours until the race, no one else was around. Sidney took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, curiously watched by his fiancée. Or was she eyeing his rather strong and tanned forearms? Yes, she was, and she was biting her lips, looking down now with a flushed face.

“What do you think?” he said. “Do I look ready to you?”

“If you’re referring to the race, I suppose you do.”

“Not sure what I was referring to,” he confessed, picking up a set of oars. “Come on. Join me.” And when he saw her hesitate: “A boating trip is a perfectly acceptable part of a courtship. Like a dance or a carriage ride. We are visible for everyone.” He nodded at Wickens and the footman, two rather unlikely chaperons. “Even the vicar could not object.” He stepped into the Parker boat, inserted the oars into the rowlocks and held out his hand to Charlotte. She looked so sweet in her simple white dress, her brown curls framing her dear face. And as she was still hesitating, he simply picked her up and set her down in the boat. She weighed nothing, and yet the boat started wobbling precariously under the sudden movement.

“Oops,” Charlotte said, sitting down quickly to balance it out. She sat very upright, her feet very close together, her hands grasping the wooden rails to her left and right. Sidney could tell that she was not entirely comfortable but decided that that was due to the unstable boat and not his presence.

“I haven’t picked up an oar in years,” he admitted, adding mentally: Just as I haven’t told a woman how much I enjoy her company. Or kissed her… kissed her for the right reasons.

“I’m sure it will come back to you.” Her shy gaze, her confidence, her positivity and the small gesture with which she tucked a strand of hair from her face made him smile. He rowed a few strokes to get them away from the bank. “You see?” she said as they slowly drifted into the middle of the river. “It works.”

“Thank you for your trust in me, Charlotte.”

“That’s what it is about, marriage, isn’t it? Trust?”

“And do you trust me?”

“Yes. Yes, I do. Absolutely.”

“Good.” Sidney took up the oars again and rowed them in strong, steady strokes across the water, enjoying the strain on his muscles. He felt no need to speak. In fact, it was a very agreeable, companionable silence between them now. And that, he thought, was another remarkable discovery about Charlotte Heywood: that with her, in the right moments, even silence felt like a conversation.

 

*

 

With both Sidney’s strokes and her heartbeat becoming steadier, Charlotte started to relax on her wooden bench across from him. She immersed her fingertips in the water and enjoyed the fresh and cool touch – though not as invigorating as the sea, of course. She listened to the blades plough through the water, smiled at a school of tiny fish encircling their boat, watched a dragonfly dance close to the surface and pointed at a heron hiding in the bosky riverbank. She closed her eyes to feel the sun tickle her skin – which a lady of the beau monde would never do, just as a lady of the beau monde would never forget to put on her spencer, her bonnet and her gloves and to take her parasol when she went on a boating trip with an admirer. 

She opened her eyes again and realised that Sidney admired her nonetheless; he had stopped rowing, leaned on the handles of the oars and regarded her with a candid and open gaze that sent her heart into a new flutter. 

“Can I ask you something, Charlotte?”

“Of course.”

“Why is it that now that I finally have a chance at happiness, I still cannot accept the fact?”

“What exactly is it that you cannot accept?” A stray strand of hair tickled her nose. She blew it away without much success. 

“That you will marry me,” Sidney said, raising his hand and wiping the strand of hair aside, very softly caressing her cheek with his thumb as he did so, as if that was the most normal and common thing to do in public. “A man who would shout at a girl when all he wanted to do was flirt with her. A man who would rather rebuke a girl for her apology than tell her how he admired her courage. A man who would put a girl into the most embarrassing situation and then brag about it to his friends. A man so tainted by his past that he has forgotten how to pay a compliment or court a young lady or even how to say How do you do when he’s introduced to a family guest.”

“But I was never looking for the embodiment of perfection,” Charlotte said. “Or for someone paying me endless compliments that would not get me anywhere in real life. – In fact, I wasn’t looking for a husband at all,” she remembered. Even those claims made in Lady Denham’s dining room seemed to be from a different life now. “Maybe marriage is a matter in which you only understand what you have been searching for once you’ve found it,” she said. Sidney raised an eyebrow.

“An outlier with appalling manners?”

“Don’t demean yourself, Sidney. I’m thinking of a man who is open to insight and reflection. An equal partner to discuss my thoughts and ideas with. Someone who knows more about the world than I do and can share his experiences with me. Someone who doesn’t take everything for granted but will seek improvement. That’s what you have proven yourself capable of.” 

He rowed some more strokes, lost in his thoughts, apparently processing her words. Charlotte did not mind his silence. She watched the play of the muscles in his arms, wondering what it would feel like to touch him there – really touch him, not through layers of cloth and gloves, but with her own bare hand, how it would feel to run her fingers over his arm and to press her palms against his tanned skin.

Fortunately, Sidney ended the spectacle by stopping the blades. He stared blindly at some unseen spot in the thicket of the river shore for a while, then inclined his head and looked at Charlotte again.

“Your turn,” he said, offering her the oars. 

“I don’t know how to row.”

“If I can learn, so can you. Give me your hands.” He turned the blades.

Reluctantly, she put her fingers on the wooden handles, grasping them as tightly as she could. 

“Don’t get too tense.” His large hands covered hers. “It’s not only strength; it’s also the right technique.” And the right technique apparently required him to softly caress her fingers with his thumbs. That technique did nothing to improve her rowing, but it did much to heighten the colour of her cheeks. Charlotte did not complain. “Now lower the blades and pull the handles to you. – Right. Keep your back straight.” – and without warning, his hand shot forward and checked on how straight she kept her back, and while it was there, it also grazed her waist down to her hip and over her thigh up to her knee, where it lingered for another second before it returned to the oar.

Charlotte, now entirely out of step, gasped and did not know where to look and what to do. And there was Sidney, so close, their knees nearly touching now, his head tilted, smiling the mischievous smile of a cat that had tasted the forbidden cream – without feeling even the slightest bit of remorse about it. His hands covered hers again, and together they rowed in careful, measured strokes, moving back and forth in one joint rhythm, their breathing becoming one, their eyes locked tightly, the rest of the world forgotten as the sun was shining down on them and the birds sang and the fish jumped out of the water and back in again once they realised they were invading someone’s privacy.

But there was still a river. And a riverbank full of bushes and thicket. With a whack, the bow of the boat jolted into that riverbank, shaking the occupants through.

“Oh,” Charlotte said, feeling as if she had been woken up from a dream, and “I’m sorry,” Sidney mumbled, trying to push off the boat from the bank with one oar. The blade got caught in the thicket, and so did Charlotte’s hair. Within moments, the bow tilted downward. 

Charlotte saw water rising from the bottom of the boat and around her feet, soaking the hem of her dress, and she saw a very puzzled look on Sidney’s handsome face – and then all she saw was bubbles, underwater plants and perhaps a tiny fish as she was plunged into the river.

Something was grasping for her – not a giant eel but Sidney Parker’s hands, holding her tight and pulling her up towards the light. The water surface broke, and there was air again. Charlotte gasped, feeling Sidney gather her against his chest, slowly swimming towards the shore where quite a flock of spectators had gathered, shouting encouragements and advice for the two castaways. 

Charlotte was sure that she could have swum to the shore without Sidney’s help despite her long skirts. This was just the river, after all, it was neither very deep nor was there a dangerous current. But then again, it was quite wonderful to be so close to him, so she allowed him to hold her until they came to the riverbank. Hands reached out to them, and somehow, they managed to crawl up the grassy slope. Charlotte collapsed on the lawn, embarrassed by the spectacle she was offering: soaked through, in a wet white dress that was clutching to every single curve of her body. Never had she realised how curvaceous that body was until now when it was exposed to the whole of the Sanditon regatta crowd to stare at. Sidney kneeled next to her. Gushes of river water poured out from his boots, plus some little fish and one or two tadpoles. “Are you alright?” he panted, reaching for her hand.

“I’m fine,” Charlotte rasped, gladly taking that hand. Someone threw a jacket over her, hiding her soaked figure from the spectators’ curious glances.

“I’m at my wits end with you, Sidney. And they call you sensible!” The someone – Tom Parker, as it turned out – was glaring down on them, hands on his hips. “What kind of courtship is this? What are we going to have tomorrow? A fire? An explosion? The giant sea serpent swallowing the two of you?”

Sidney looked up to his brother and started to peel off his soaked green waistcoat. “Tomorrow is the Midsummer Ball, so all we are going to have is good company and a fine dance. – We were just checking the potential for a river bathing station, Tom. I’ll always recommend the cove, though.” Tom gasped for air.

“You’re joking? In this situation? You’re never joking, Sidney. What’s wrong with you?”

“Your brother is in love, Mr Parker,” a kind voice behind Tom said: Susan, smiling indulgently. “And we are all fools when we are in love.”

Tom shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this, my lady. Now, Sidney, Charlotte – you must get home – get some dry clothes. I don’t want any more colds in Sanditon, not as long as we don’t have a doctor to cure them.” 

Sidney wrang out his formerly billowing shirt sleeves. With the wet cloth sticking to his torso, water dripping off his head, his hair tousled and damp, Charlotte could not help but gulp and think of the last time she had seen him in a comparable state. This time, she did not run away. He held out his hand to help her up, and from the twinkle in his eyes, she knew that they were sharing the same memories right now.

Her pretty white dress was ruined, of course, soaking wet and speckled with stains of grass and mud. James Stringer dashed forward, handing them blankets he had procured from somewhere. Charlotte was grateful; wrapped in the warm wool cloth, she felt less exposed. Stringer and Fred Robinson volunteered to retrieve the boat and oars, and with most of the excitement over and no one drowned, the crowd slowly returned to the pleasures of the refreshment tents.

“Oh, Charlotte, my dear.” Mary hurried by her side. “What a shock. I’ll see you to Trafalgar House.” Charlotte caught Sidney’s rueful smile and apologetically shrugged her shoulders. There was nothing to be done: They were being kept apart again. Sidney hurried to his rooms in the Crown to dry up and get a change of clothes before the rowing race would start, and Charlotte meekly followed her hostess, wrapped in a woollen blanket. 

The only people they met on their way to Trafalgar House were the strange couple of Arthur Parker and Georgiana Lambe: apparently, Arthur’s charm had convinced Georgiana to join him for a stroll to the regatta. Arthur was terrified when he heard about Charlotte’s river adventure, deduced that she must be chilled to the bones and recommended hot poultices and mulled wine to prevent a cold or worse. Georgiana rolled her eyes and said: “Now that will make you end the engagement, I hope! He’s trying to get rid of you even before you are married.”

“End the engagement?” Arthur cried. “Oh dear Miss Lambe, this must be meant in jest. Why would they end the engagement when they are so clearly destined for each other?” Georgiana frowned.

“Are they?”

“Of course they are! For years all I knew about my brother Sidney was that he had been driven to the West Indies by a broken heart and a young lady hardly worth his affection. Then here comes our dear Miss Heywood, and suddenly, he starts to live again. Smiles, now and then. Even jokes, I have been told.”

Arthur beamed so lovingly at the dear Miss Heywood that it was impossible not to beam back – even with clattering teeth. Charlotte was chilled to the bones indeed. Yet she always had a moment for a friend, so she turned to Georgiana and said: “I’m glad to see that you came to join the regatta after all.”

Her friend scoffed. “I had to. One more minute in the same house as those idiot Beaufort girls, and there would have been a case of double murder under the gorgon’s roof.”

Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“They are going completely bonkers. First, they were mad for days on end because their favourite novel had a sequel published, and when it finally arrived this morning, and they cut the pages, they found out in the first chapter that the dashing hero from the previous volume has deceived everyone and is not a gentleman, but an  ill-advised, mean, heartless, selfish, unemphatic, disrespectful, vain,   arrogant impostor who will never marry the heroine because he’s already engaged to some other wealthy lady.”

“That’s very disappointing,” Charlotte said with the empathy of a fellow book friend. “It must be very frustrating when a story you love so much is so callously ripped apart. I actually feel for the Misses Beaufort.”

“Phew,” Georgiana replied. “Shove that idiot off the highest cliff into a sea full of crocodiles and get on with your lives; that’s what I say.”

“Jolly good, Miss Lambe, jolly good!” Arthur beamed. “Why cry when there is buttered toast and port and friends in your life? - You best get home very quickly and warm up, Miss Heywood,” he added with a wink. “We don’t want you to join Lady Denham on her sickbed.”

So Mary and Charlotte hurried on – but stopped once more to move swiftly out of the way when a splendid carriage drawn by four horses approached them. 

“Now whose carriage is that?” Mary asked. In passing, Charlotte caught the whiff of a feather and a mustard coloured coat behind the window.

“I believe it might be Mrs Campion’s,” she said. 

“Do you think so? Why would she be leaving so early?”

“I suppose she didn’t get what she came for.” Charlotte tucked a wet strand of hair behind her ear and walked on. The carriage splashed up some mud and made some more innocent people jump to the side before it vanished behind the corner of the street. 

And that was the last that was seen of Mrs Campion in Sanditon. 

Will she be missed? I doubt it.

Chapter 22: Sunset

Notes:

The Beaufort girls have asked me to convey their deepest gratitude for the extraordinary kindness, empathy and support – or in fact: love and affection – you have shown them after their novel debacle. They are slowly coming to terms, and they are growing up in the process. So am I: grateful for your feedback and coming to terms (I am, however, already grown up). 

And now let’s correct yet another storyline, because: “My characters shall have, after a little trouble, all that they desire.” (Jane Austen)

 

Previously

Lady Denham is still on her sickbed, relying on seawater and donkey milk for a cure since the new doctor has not yet arrived in Sanditon. At the regatta, Susan finds encouraging advice in matters of love for Charlotte. Mrs C tries some meddling but is swiftly put in her place by her former fiancé. Charlotte and Sidney embark on a romantic rowing trip that leads to more substantial conversations but also to shipwreck and wet clothes. On her way back to Trafalgar House and a dry dress, Charlotte witnesses Mrs C leaving Sanditon forever.

***

 

 

Trafalgar House was strangely calm and quiet, with the family out and most of the servants detached to assist with the regatta. Mary rang for tea and then helped her young guest out of the damp clothes (the white dress was indeed beyond saving, unfortunately). While Charlotte was warming up in front of the fireplace, wrapped in a blanket, Mary towelled and combed her hair. At some stage, she took her hand and said: “Do you remember how we first met Sidney on the cliff path, my dear?”

“Of course.” New maid. Impossible to forget.

“I think I told you then that I was worried about his happiness, that I wanted to see him settled but feared it was not in his nature.” Charlotte felt herself blush. Somehow, Mary’s recollections were even more efficient at warming her up than hot tea and a blanket. Her hostess patted her hand and smiled. “And then I feared this engagement might be another great mistake. I know Tom means well, but his main interest is the success of Sanditon, and in that light, some of the things he says and does can come across as selfish or ignorant. He can be over-enthusiastic, and I was afraid that despite his good nature and his affection for his brother, he might neglect both your and Sidney’s happiness. That you would end up heartbroken and distraught in your marriage.” She sighed and looked so downcast and careworn at this terrible prospect that Charlotte felt compelled to squeeze her hand. 

“But we’re not heartbroken, Mary. Or distraught. Not at all.”

“No. Not at all. And I am so glad about it, my dear Charlotte.” Mary wiped a tear from her eye and stood up. “Now. We’ll not make it back to the river in time for the rowing race, but we can still aim for the prize ceremony.”

“We can’t miss that,” Charlotte confirmed. She also wanted to see Susan again before she left, hoping her friend might tell her more about the conundrum that married life was. 

Warmed up, Charlotte retired to her room and slipped on a new dress – the white one with the black flower embroidery – and to go with it, chose the biscuit coloured spencer with the wide round collar and the double button row. Her hair was still slightly wet, so she pinned it up in a simple bun and covered it with a bonnet. She so much preferred wearing her hair down and uncovered – the wide brim of the bonnet always limiting her view, as if it was meant to shield the real world away from her. But in this instance, it could not be helped, a bonnet it had to be to hide her damp waves. And she better became used to wearing her hair pinned up anyway: once she was married, the only man for whom it would be appropriate to see her curls undressed and down would be her husband.

Her husband. Charlotte sighed and smiled at the same time. If only she might find a moment to be alone with Sidney again! Despite everything that had transpired between them since they had set off to London, she felt the most important words had still not been spoken.

“Charlotte, my dear.” Mary was waiting for her in the hallway. “Such a strange day… there’s a change of plans for you. Lady Denham is requesting your company.”

“Lady Denham? Is she on the mend?”

“I can’t say. She has sent her carriage for you.” Mary opened the front door, and there was, in fact, a carriage bearing the Denham arms waiting outside. 

“Well, I… I gather I better accept that invitation.” Charlotte tried to hide her disappointment. There were so many reasons that made a return to the regatta much more attractive than a call on the lady of the town. Mary patted her arm.

“Give our regards to Lady D.” 

“I will. But will you give my regards to Lady Worcester? And tell Sidney… tell him I’m so sorry I did not see him winning the rowing race?” 

“He’ll be as sorry as you are.” Mary smiled as she handed her into the compartment. 

What was a good walk out of town, along the cliff and down into the deer park, was a quick drive in a carriage drawn by four strong horses, and soon enough, Charlotte found herself in front of Sanditon House. Once again, the building only seemed to have grown in size and proportion since her last visit. Whoever lived in this heap of stones had to be terribly lonely. Even a family of twelve children would not make the place any more hospitable, Charlotte decided as she walked into the entrance hall. 

In the distance, resounding from the marble walls, the shouts of an argument could be heard: “A third!” – “We agreed on a quarter!” Clara and Sir Edward, again. Whatever they were arguing about, it made them both loud and reckless. “The price is going up with every denial,” Charlotte heard Clara state. “I’ll make it a half now.”

“I wish I had poisoned her,” someone behind Charlotte hissed: Esther Denham, of course, looking tired, wearing her glorious red hair loose, a silk shawl wrapped around her shoulders. “Clara, that is. She’s like a parasitic worm, don’t you think?”

Charlotte frowned. “I… I don’t know much about parasitic worms, Miss Denham.” 

“No. And how would you? You are far too good.” Esther sighed. “I doubt you have yet come to regret ever setting foot in Sanditon?”

“Never,” Charlotte said honestly. She found it challenging to make Miss Denham out; like herself, she was prone to speak the truth, yet while Charlotte’s truths were sincere opinions, Esther’s truths resembled poisoned arrows meant to hurt – if not kill. Esther sighed again, then stiffened: Sir Edward was shuffling towards them, leaning heavily on his cane. His hair was tousled, his gait not quite steady, and instead of bowing to her, he looked Charlotte up and down with an expression she found simply inappropriate. 

“Miss Heywood. Come to inquire whether the old monster is slain?”

“Edward,” his sister warned. “Our aunt has requested Miss Heywood’s company.”

“Has she now?” Sir Edward raised his eyebrows and ogled Charlotte with fresh interest. “A new favourite. I’m quite beside myself.”

Charlotte had enough of these poisonous siblings. After all, she was missing the excitement of the regatta, the pleasure of Susan’s company and the joy to see Sidney (who else?) win the rowing race, all for these callous people to upset her. “May I see Lady Denham now?” she asked. Esther, glaring at her brother, led her away without further comment.

Like all rooms in Sanditon House, Lady Denham’s bedroom was oversized, dark, cold and anything but a cosy place to live in. The black window curtains were drawn, the only light coming from the wax candles on the bedside table. Her ladyship was reclining in a bed large enough to sleep half of the Heywood siblings. Charlotte saw a pale, haggard face on a starched pillow and a wrinkled hand sunk in the creases of a red silk coverlet. 

“Miss Heywood is here, aunt,” Esther announced, dismissing the servant girl in charge of her ladyship with a nod. 

“Sit down, Miss Heywood,” Lady Denham rasped, keeping her eyes closed. “Leave us alone, Esther.” As she took a seat on a chair by the bedside, Charlotte tried to hide her shock at finding the lady of the town so weakened.

“It’s nothing,” Lady Denham said when Esther closed the door behind her. “It’s a head cold.” She broke into a cough. Charlotte moved forward to hold her up and help her drink some water once the cough subsided. “Half a tumbler of seawater and my donkeys’ milk, and I shall rally,” her ladyship insisted.

“I very much hope so, my lady,” Charlotte replied. Lady Denham, leaning back again, opened her eyes for the first time.

“Yes, you do, don’t you, Miss Heywood? You don’t wait for me to breathe my last breath. Not like those… parasites infesting my home.” She coughed again. 

“I think you misjudge them. Miss Denham looks very tired and anxious to me.”

“She’s a little better than the other two, but not much.” Lady Denham motioned for the water again. How heart-breaking this is, Charlotte thought as she held the glass to her ladyship’s dry lips. The great mistress of the town, alone and gravely ill in a state bedroom, and not a person alive who was thinking of her with love and affection: all everyone cared for was her fortune. That money was like a disease, spreading throughout the body of Sanditon, corrupting Clara, the Denhams, and even Tom Parker. To be holding the regatta while his principal investor was struggling for her health! To make merry while the woman who financed it all was at her most vulnerable and only became aware of how alone and unloved she was!

“Tell me about the regatta,” Lady Denham asked, sinking back onto her pillow.

So Charlotte told her about the sandcastle competition, the fishermen’s boat race, the unexpected influx of high and mighty visitors, Lady Worcester first among them. Her ladyship seemed to like what she was hearing. “So Mr Thomas Parker’s vision is coming true,” she whispered. 

“At least for today.” Charlotte decided to exclude Mrs Whats’ernameagain from her tale and instead continued with a description of Lady Worcester’s elegant apparel and the fine food in the refreshment tents. And as Lady Denham really seemed to be pleased with what she was hearing – if a pale pink flush on her cheeks and a tiny curl of her lips were any indicators – she even included the episode of the boating accident, smoothing over two or three details. It entertained her ladyship nonetheless; she gave a hoarse, raspy laugh, followed by another fit of coughs.

“You amuse me, Miss Heywood,” the old lady finally said with some difficulty. “What is it now between you and Mr Sidney? A mercenary match? A love match? An obligation after some indecency?”

“Maybe a blend of everything?” Charlotte suggested. “Though in a different order.”

For a long while, Lady Denham did not say anything. As her breathing became steadier, Charlotte wondered whether she might have fallen asleep, and whether she was allowed to retire now, but just when she moved, Lady Denham’s cold fingers touched her hand, and she stayed on, watching her, thinking about her own happy prospects and the missed chances in the life of the woman in front of her. “You may go now,” her ladyship eventually murmured, her eyes still closed. “Go to your young man, child.” Charlotte rose from her chair and curtseyed. 

“Goodbye, Lady Denham. I hope you get well very soon.” Her ladyship made a snorting noise and turned her head away as if she wanted to say: Enough of that nonsense.

Outside in the vestibule in front of the bedroom, Clara, Esther and Sir Edward were waiting, keeping as much distance from each other as possible. “Is it over?” Sir Edward asked.

“Lady Denham wanted to sleep.” Charlotte ignored any other implications.

“I’ll get the carriage for you,” Esther offered, probably as glad as her guest to find a pretext to leave this place of spite and greed. “Did she say anything about her will?” she inquired when they were alone in the entrance hall.

“No.”

“Something is going on there… this Clara is not to be trusted.”

“That is none of my business.”

“How innocent and upright you are, Miss Heywood. I’m no longer surprised you cracked Mr Sidney Parker’s heart. I may follow his example and allow Lord Babington to crack mine.”

“As long as you don’t break it in the process, Miss Denham.”

“Now you’re the witty one.” Esther sighed. “If only Babington were wealthy enough to make him bearable.”

“I can’t see how wealth has made your aunt any happier,” Charlotte replied. And as the carriage arrived, she added with a certain relief: “Goodbye, Miss Denham.”

What a wretched family, she thought when she sank onto the comfortably padded bench, and a footman closed the door behind her. She took off the tight bonnet and shook her hair free. This was better. It was as if with her curls tumbling down her shoulders, the tension from inside Sanditon House was flowing away as well. How was any one of the Denhams to find happiness when all they were ever after was money and their own advantage?

How she longed to return to the cordial atmosphere of Trafalgar House, to Alicia, Jenny and Henry playing, laughing and singing, to Tom Parker calling for his dearest wife and to Diana fussing over Arthur. And to Sidney. To his small smiles, secret touches and affectionate glances.

The carriage passed the deer park (in which Charlotte had never seen any deer) and turned into the path towards the cliff. She moved closer to the window, for she so much loved this view. It took her breath away every time anew: the sheer width of the sea, the horizon in a sometimes blurred, sometimes incredibly clear distance, the sun and the clouds playing games of light and shadow on the ever-changing surface of the water. Today a game of pale colours, for it was evening now, but also close to Midsummer, and the sunset still two hours away, leaving the sky in a light yellow haze. And yet, the English Channel was just a tiny annexe of the vast seas, a little brother to the oceans that spanned and connected the world: nothing but a village pond compared to the waves one had to cross on the way to a place like Antigua. There was so much to see and discover in this world – 

For no apparent reason, the carriage suddenly stopped. With a brief scare, Charlotte thought of Georgiana’s abduction from in front of the Crown hotel, but when she gazed out of the window, she did not see an evil villain but Sidney Parker, jumping off his horse and taking large, determined strides towards the carriage. He opened the door and held out his hand to help her step outside.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, breathless, pleased and slightly flustered all at the same time.

“I’ve come to save you from Lady D’s.” He smiled broadly, sending her heart into a flutter. It was all very romantic, come to think of it: Sidney dashing off on horseback, intercepting the carriage, meeting her right here on the cliff, not too far away from the spot of their very first encounter. If one was perfectly honest: A bit like a hero from one of the Beaufort sisters’ novels. “I’m glad to see you made your escape without me,” he said. “How is her ladyship?” he added, walking Charlotte a few steps along, his hand loosely resting on her back.

“Not well.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the light breeze on the cliff ruffling her curls. “There’s such a strange atmosphere in that house… and I’m sure Clara and Sir Edward are up to something.” Shaking her head, she concluded: “But that’s none of my business. – What about the regatta?”

“It’s over. And a great success. We’ll be busy until next week working on the new contracts. All thanks to you, Charlotte.” Sidney gave her a proud smile.

“I merely provided the kernel of the idea,” she replied, blushing under his praise.

“No seed, no plant, no crop,” he said. “It’s as simple as that. – Lady Worcester sends her regards. She would have loved to say goodbye to you in person, but she promised to write. – Will you allow me to walk you home? Or do you prefer the carriage?”

“There’s no urgency in my return,” Charlotte decided. “A little walk is much more to my taste than a carriage ride.” Especially if that walk was with her fiancé by her side.

“Very good.” Sidney smiled again, took his horse’s reins from the footman and waved both him and the carriage away. “I’ll see Miss Heywood home,” he called to the driver.

“Did you win the rowing race?” she asked as the carriage was turning around and vanishing towards Sanditon House. 

“No. The Bridport Blades did.”

“What? How did that happen?” 

“They were really good,” he said with a rueful shrug of his shoulders. “Suppose they have been practising. They had a good start and went for victory from the first stroke. – We came in second,” he added, stopping the horse from eating his hat. “That is, after Babington’s boat collided with Stringer’s and they… well… you know how wet the river water is.”

Charlotte sighed. “Poor Lord Babington. Especially after his carriage debacle yesterday. I wish I’d seen you at the race.”

“Yes. So do I.” Sidney suddenly turned serious. He let go of the reins, and the horse trotted off to munch some windswept clifftop grass. “In fact, I… Charlotte, I…” He took off his hat as if baring his head would help him bare all of himself to her. Clutching the brim nervously, he touched her fingers with his free hand. His voice was hoarse now, merely a whisper, and he kept his eyes locked with hers. “I’ve been meaning to say… for quite a while now… I want to be wherever you are, Charlotte. All the time. Because I believe I am my best self, my truest self when I’m with you.”

Charlotte opened her mouth but found herself lost for words. The only thing she was sure of right now was the pounding of her heart, the gentle sea breeze tousling her hair, the sound of the waves crashing on the shore below them, and Sidney Parker looking at her with an expression so full of love and affection that it made her breath come short. Her breath came even shorter when he made another step towards her, leaving only a foot of space between them. “Do you remember,” he said, inclining his head, his fingers firmly enwrapping hers, “do you remember Tom telling me to offer you my hand in marriage?”

“I do,” Charlotte breathed, looking up to him. She saw him sighing softly.

“I’m all too aware that… that my proposal to you suffered from several shortcomings,” he continued, his voice a husky embrace as he kept his dark eyes trained on hers.

“It was… very… unconventional,” she whispered. She was swimming away in the depths of his gaze, and without the tender support of his hand, she would simply topple over; she was sure of that. Sidney sighed again, tightening his grip around her fingers, his face now but a few inches away from hers.

“Charlotte… Now it is not my hand but my heart that I wish to offer you in marriage. Will you accept it?”

“Yes.” And with an even softer voice, keeping the steady connection of their eyes: “If you will accept mine, Sidney.”

At first, it was just a brush, an ever so light touch of his lips on hers. Then there was his arm around her, pulling her closer, and his soft touch turned into something deeper, something more intense, something that made everything else fade away and left only the two of them as their lips shyly and carefully found a way to explore and to express what had been in their hearts for so long.

There was a lot to explore and to express; their discoveries made even sweeter by Charlotte’s curiosity and Sidney’s futile attempts to stay in control while losing himself completely.

With a nearly inaudible sigh, he ended the kiss. Yet he held on to her in a tender embrace, foreheads resting together, his nose gently grazing hers, their hearts slowly getting used to the new and beautiful beat that the joy of having found each other composed.

I’ll leave them there, in this blessed moment. We all know how much they deserve it. 

Nothing is known about the horse’s reaction to the kiss, by the way, but it is safe to assume that several gulls were squawking merrily in the yellow evening sky above them.

Chapter 23: Legacy

Notes:

Welcome back! You seem to have enjoyed my slightly improved cliff-top encounter. I certainly enjoyed writing and sharing it!
After so many happy Sidlotte moments, it’s time to return to some serious business, I’m afraid. And I mean SERIOUS BUSINESS, as we still have to tie up some storylines. It’s a rather long chapter, by the way. But I have been informed that you don’t mind long chapters, so here we go.

Previously…

Instead of returning to the regatta in dry clothes, Charlotte is requested to visit Lady Denham on her sickbed. While her ladyship is suffering from coughs and weakness, Charlotte cannot ignore the tension between Sir Edward, Clara and Esther.

 On her way back to Sanditon, her carriage is intercepted by Sidney. Finally, alone together on the cliff-top path, they confess their feelings for each other and share their first kiss. 

❤️❤️❤️

 

Charlotte spent a restless night, tossing and turning around in her bed, her head full of the conversation and the kiss… the kiss! ... she had shared with Sidney. Was there anything sweeter, more wonderful, more befuddling than that kiss? No, there was not. When Sidney finally – and after a surprisingly time-consuming walk home – delivered her to Trafalgar House that evening, she felt so elated she wanted to kiss everyone, even Wickens, who opened the front door to them and informed them that the family had already retired after the long day at the regatta: Mr Parker to the bathtub and Mrs Parker to her room. 

Sidney, unable to wipe the happy smile off his face, had bowed to Charlotte and promised to pick her up for another walk before her dress fitting for the Midsummer Ball the next day, all the while holding her hand, clearly unwilling to let her go. When Wickens had kindly turned around for a second to fix the light of the entrance lantern, Sidney had quickly leaned forward and placed a sweet little peck on her cheek, like a promise for more tenderness to come in the very near future. Then he had walked off towards the Crown Hotel, and never, never in all the weeks Charlotte had known him had she seen him walk so upright, so carefree and confident. His usual angry strides were gone. He was looking like a man with a massive weight lifted off his shoulders. Not my hand, but my heart that I wish to offer you in marriage. Was there anything more beautiful to accept than Sidney’s heart?

Now it was a new day, and full of joy and energy, she jumped down the stairs to meet the Parker family for breakfast. Mr Parker was leaning against the fireplace and holding a lecture on the success of the regatta – his regatta – and the importance of the Midsummer Ball. His less than captive audience – Mary, baby James, Henry, Jenny and Alicia – was concentrating on breaking their fast. “Charlotte, my dear,” Mary welcomed her. “We did not hear you coming home at all last night.” 

“It was rather late,” she said, blushing. Dawdling along the cliff with her fiancé at dusk was, strictly speaking, not appropriate for a young lady, but then, on the other hand – 

“How did you find Lady Denham?” Tom Parker asked. “She must be on her way to recovery if she was keeping you for so long.”

“I wouldn’t really say so, I….” There was some commotion at the front door, and moments later, Sidney Parker himself joined the family. 

“Uncle Sidney!” Henry jumped from his seat and had his uncle by his legs. “Do you want to see my new sword? I can fight Napoleon now!”

Sidney bent down to pick him up. “But we have vanquished Napoleon already.”

“We can vanquish him again.”

Sidney tapped his nephew on the tip of his little nose, smiling widely. “Very good plan, Henry. - Great moments in history should always be repeated, wouldn’t you agree, Charlotte?” he added, turning his happy smile at his fiancée, who choked on her morning coffee.

“Glad to have you here, Sidney,” Tom said. “We need to go through the new contracts. There are also some investment propositions which I would like to talk through with you.”

“That will have to wait.” Sidney set Henry down. “I’ve promised Charlotte to take her out for a walk this morning.”

“Have you?” Tom looked from his brother to his houseguest and back, dumbfounded for a second. “Well. I suppose we’ll have to understand that young love needs a bit of promotion… what is it, Wickens?”

“Message, sir. From Sanditon House.”

Tom took the message off the servant’s silver tray, ripped it open, read it, blanched, stumbled and tonelessly sank down on the next chair, all his vigour gone, the paper slowly sailing to the ground from limb fingers.

“Tom?” Mary cried. “What is it?” – but all he did was stare blankly ahead of him. Charlotte picked up the letter, and with Sidney’s affirmative nod, read it. 

“It’s from Sir Edward,” she said. “His aunt… it seems Lady Denham died in her sleep last night.”

 

*

 

The Midsummer Ball had to be cancelled, of course, and there would be no dress fitting and no walk either: Lady Denham’s demise changed everything.

As soon as he had regained his senses, Tom Parker called for Sidney and set off with him to Sanditon House to deliver his family’s condolences to Sir Edward and to swiftly ascertain the consequences for the Sanditon investment.

There was nothing to ascertain yet, though: Sir Edward implied that his aunt had probably died intestate, making him her universal heir.

“But that is very unusual, considering Lady Denham’s wealth and circumstances,” Tom said, wiping the sweat off his brow. It was indeed, and for the Parkers, it was the worst possible news.

“Is it?” Sir Edward said. “We’ll have to wait and see.” 

The whole visit was a devastating occasion: the grand lady of Sanditon laid out one final time in her oversized bedroom, her nieces and nephew dressed in black, bending their heads, dabbing non-existent tears from dry eyes, and Tom, mumbling “If only the new physician had yet arrived,” again and again and as if those words would bring her ladyship back to life if repeated often enough.

Sidney turned away to the window overlooking the deer park. Never again would Lady Denham’s affronts be excused as eccentricity; never again would she discomfort a young guest with her relentless insinuations and call it teasing afterwards. Never again would she use the cover of hospitality to insult an heiress for her parentage. The memory of the pineapple lunch! When he had failed his tasks as guardian so miserably, allowing her ladyship to ridicule and offend Georgiana, with only Charlotte and Arthur standing up for her. Sidney shuddered, realising that he had been on his best way to become an unfeeling cynic like the deceased lady of the town. It was only his involuntary engagement and the obligation to get to know the beautiful mind of Charlotte Heywood that had saved him.

“But how did this happen so quickly, Sir Edward?” Tom asked after calming down a little, interrupting Sidney’s musings. “I understood her ladyship was recovering, in particular after her wish to see Miss Heywood.” 

“I daresay that visit has worn out our dear aunt,” Sir Edward said. “Especially with Miss Heywood insisting on staying by her side well into the evening.”

“That is not true!” Sidney barked, remembering belatedly that this was a house of mourning and not the right place for barking. Or odious implications. But Sir Edward was a scoundrel, as he well knew. 

“Is it not?” Sir Edward asked, raising an eyebrow, ready to continue. His sister intercepted him. 

“Is that all you have to say, Edward? Our aunt is dead, and all you can care about is who saw her when and for how long? You know she explicitly asked for Miss Heywood, and she more than once said how her conversation diverted her.”

“I think it’s time to leave, Tom,” Sidney said, realising he would beat up the baronet if he were forced to stay for one minute longer in his presence. 

Back in Trafalgar House, the whole Parker family had gathered, discussing the latest events and planning all sorts of eventualities should Sir Edward indeed reclaim the Denham investment. Sidney was glad to have Charlotte by his side, his calm and thoughtful anchor; the complete opposite from Tom, who was wiping his brow continuously, blanching and blushing alternately, and devising the strangest schemes from starting a lottery to save Sanditon to leaving everything behind and migrating to America. Or Australia, because it was even farther away but familiar with the concept of beach cricket.

“Is it not very strange,” Arthur mused after a while, nursing his port, “to think that Lady D might very well still be alive, had she not sent poor Doctor Fuchs away? She may have become a victim of her own prejudices.”

“We’ll never know that for sure, Arthur,” Sidney said.

“No, we won’t. – But it does make you wonder how we all have it in our power to overturn our destiny for the better or the worse by switching just one little element, doesn’t it?” Sidney furrowed his brow; he was not in the mood for his youngest brother’s philosophy – though he was ready to admit that he had done Arthur a great discourtesy by dismissing him as simple-minded and fatuous. 

 

Tom’s ever-resounding theme of Sanditon did not stop over the next few days: the consequences of Lady Denham’s demise, the yet unknown content of her yet unknown and maybe inexistent will, the imminent arrival of the new physician from Wiesbaden (who, at least in Tom’s eyes, had a bad start because he would arrive one week too late to save Lady Denham). Sidney was prepared to bear Tom’s rants because on the other side, there was the miracle that was Charlotte,  his  Charlotte, as he called her to himself (and sometimes also to her), this strong, kind and lovely girl that would never stop smiling at him now. And she was adamant that Lady Denham had left a will and that it would not threaten his brother’s venture, that her ladyship would never take a step to endanger Sanditon’s success: too much would she relish the idea that she had left her mark on the world, that her name was forever connected to the development of a fashionable seaside resort, that buildings and streets would be named after her, that Sanditon would be the Denhams’ success as much as the Parkers’. Even though Sidney did not share all his fiancée’s optimism, he very much enjoyed Charlotte’s positivity and the lift it gave to his own mood. 

They had discussed the matter of Georgiana, and they had agreed that his ward needed better company than Mrs Griffiths and the Beaufort girls. It was Charlotte who suggested having her stay with the Parker family: after all, Mary Parker had proven once that she was a good friend to a young woman. The general buzz prevailing at Trafalgar House would do better to stimulate Georgiana’s mind than Mr Hankins’ Bible classes, and if there was any further need for distraction, there was always Arthur Parker to whisk her away for some fun and buttered toast. Tom’s and Mary’s agreement was quickly procured, and even Georgiana seemed to warm to the idea.

On another matter, Charlotte had requested Sidney’s advice: the case of the ambitious foreman. A London architect had offered James Stringer an apprenticeship. Charlotte eagerly wanted him to embrace this opportunity to improve himself, yet, Stringer had no financial means to support himself and his still ailing father during his training. “I was thinking of… perhaps a loan?” Charlotte said. “At very generous conditions? Considering that his father’s accident was in large part a Parker responsibility?”

“Are you suggesting I offer him that loan?” Sidney asked.

“I would offer it to him. If I had the means. But I don’t. And I suppose you do.”

“I do indeed,” he agreed. “And I would like to help him. I’m not sure though whether Young Stringer will be prepared to accept a loan from me.”

“Why would he not? You’ve helped with the workmen’s pay. He knows that he can trust you.”

Sidney gave her a loving smile. How could someone so clever and so observant be so blind for what was right in front of her? He reached out to put his hand on her cheek, which was a freedom easily taken because they were safely hidden away from the public in Tom’s office. Charlotte leaned against his palm, looking up to him, her eyes large and questioning and full of affection. 

“I fear there is something Mr Stringer wants even more than an apprenticeship at a London architect,” Sidney softly said. “And I’m the one who’s snatching it away from him.”

“Oh.” Her surprised blush was a sweet reward for the jealousy he had once suffered. “Do you really think so?”

“Yes.”

“How come that I never noticed?”

“Maybe you were too busy trying to understand your own feelings?”

“Yes,” she agreed, biting her lip, “maybe I was.” – and since they were alone in the study for a moment, he bent his head and placed a tender, yet too short kiss on her mouth.

One matter they did not discuss but simply acted on was Charlotte’s addition to the marriage contract. When she finally remembered to hand Sidney the draft, she blushed very sweetly and asked him to read it in private, and when he did that at night in his room at the Crown, he could not help but burst into a grin so wide it made the corners of his mouth ache. 

The following day, when he called at Trafalgar House, Tom was in the worst flutter ever. Apparently, Lady Denham’s lawyer had been sighted alighting from the Sanditon Flyer, which meant that: “The fate of Sanditon, and in fact, of the Parker family is about to be revealed, Sidney! – And you are running about in your leather breeches again as if you’re off to drive a race in your barouche! Didn’t I tell you once that… umm…” Tom’s gaze fell on Charlotte, who was the very picture of an innocent fiancée in her white dress, eyes downcast, cheeks rosy, curls tumbling down over her shoulders. “Well, umm,” Tom concluded, reddened and quickly returned to the safer topic of the destiny of Sanditon.

Mary and Tom had, in fact, turned into very lenient chaperons. With the wedding date set for the end of July and Charlotte due to depart to Willingden two weeks earlier, there seemed to be little sense in pious austerity. Apart from that, every member of the Parker family was delighted to see the smile return to Sidney’s face after ten years of darkish brooding and moodiness. They seemed to be in silent agreement that some privacy for the betrothed couple was a fair price to pay if it made Sidney laugh, jest and say “Please” and “Thank you” to the servants instead of snapping at them.

On that very morning of the leather breeches, Sidney soon found himself alone with his fiancée in the drawing-room. The London coach had brought not only Lady Denham’s solicitor but also the latest newspaper, and Charlotte was eager to peruse it for any report on the Sanditon regatta. At least that was her intention – for some reason, it went all wrong. The moment they sat down on the sofa and Sidney opened the paper, their hands touched, and their heads came a little too close, and once they were so close, there really was no other option but to kiss, and once they had started kissing, they forgot the rest of the world, the paper and the drawing-room. Just until the door was opened. 

“Sidney!” Tom called. “We must… umm. Ahem.”

Sidney let go of a blushing and slightly dishevelled Charlotte and rolled his eyes. “My ubiquitous brother. Can’t we even read the news in peace?” 

“Well, Sidney, if you must know, this is a family drawing-room and no place to… to read the news in peace. – We are off to Sanditon House. Lady Denham’s solicitor has summoned us. Now fix your cravat, brother; it’s Sanditon’s destiny that’s in the balance!”

For once, Tom’s theatrical antics were justified: whatever the solicitor had to say would have a significant impact on their financial status. “If Sir Edward is sole heir, that’ll be the end of us,” he declared gloomily for about the one hundred millionth time, shepherding them all to the family coach, yet so nervous that he nearly knocked himself out with his cane.

“But why request our presence when it’s all decided?” Mary said. “Or Charlotte’s?”

Her husband groaned. “You know Lady D’s sense of humour… she may leave us all a pineapple.”

At Sanditon House, they met another surprise: Lord Babington stepped off a brand-new curricle. Sidney shook his friend’s hand. 

“Are you here to see Miss Denham?”

“No hope there, now that she’s in mourning.” Babington sighed. “I was summoned by the solicitor.” This was getting more and more mysterious.

The solicitor presented himself as Mr Beard, Gray’s Inn, London. Sidney frowned for a moment: this was the same man he had travelled on the Sanditon Flyer with some weeks ago, on his return from London, just before clashing with Charlotte in the middle of the street. However, the solicitor had barely talked during the journey, and Sidney remembered chatting with a fossil-loving physician from Lewes instead.

Mr Beard was a short, business-like, humourless man who called the Denham siblings, Miss Brereton, the Parker party and Lord Babington into the drawing-room, which had an added desk for the solicitor and some more chairs for his audience. Otherwise, it was as cold and oversized as ever. Mr Beard put on his reading glasses, quickly ascertained the identities of the assembled company and then proceeded by declaring that he was the late Lady Denham’s solicitor, charged by her ladyship with publishing her will.

“There is no will,” Sir Edward said. Sidney saw Clara shoot him a look that would have killed him – had he noticed it. The solicitor glanced up from the paper in front of him.

“There most certainly is, Sir Edward.”

“But…” The man was not only a scoundrel but also an idiot, Sidney thought.

“What Sir Edward means to express is that our aunt never mentioned a will,” Clara calmly explained. 

“I clearly remember her saying that her solicitor knew where she kept it,” Esther said, sorting out her black shawl without so much as looking at Clara or her brother. Charlotte had been right, Sidney thought. Something was going on between these three, and whatever it was: it was full of poison and venom.

“She kept it with me,” Mr Beard specified. “When we wrote up the new version, her ladyship asked me to keep it with me.”

“Which new version?” Sir Edward suddenly was all alertness.

“The one I’m going to read to you now,” Mr Beard said. 

Sir Edward jumped up, groaned when he stood on his sprained ankle and declared: “This is a hoax, isn’t it? We all know she intended to leave the Denham fortune intact.”

“I suggest we listen to what Mr Beard has to read to us to find out what Lady Denham’s intentions were,” Sidney said. Tom had gone very quiet, and so had Mary and Charlotte. Babington was leaning forward, dividing his attention between the solicitor and Esther Denham. Scowling, Sir Edward sat down again.

Mr Beard leafed through the papers in front of him, cleared his throat, greased his voice with a gulp of water and started reading. “I, Lady Denham of Sanditon House, Sussex, England, hereby revoke all my former testamentary dispositions made by me and declare this to be my last will.”

“We don’t need the legal blah-blah,” Sir Edward said, lounging in his chair now. “Just tell us what it is.”

Mr Beard adjusted his reading glasses and continued with some more details required by the law until he came to the point of Sir Edward’s interest. “I hereby appoint Mr Sidney Parker of Sanditon, Sussex, as sole executor of my will.”

Sidney looked up, feeling as if a cold gush of water had hit him in the face. “What?” echoed by Sir Edward: “This is insane.”

“By doing so, I take into consideration Mr Parker’s success in all financial businesses, his experience as financial guardian of Miss Georgiana Lambe, as well as his personal connection to Sanditon.”  This was cleverly done; Sidney had to give it to Lady Denham: appeal to his sense of responsibility and bind him to the town and Tom’s project. Make sure someone was around who had a tight grip on finances.

“Do you accept this position, Mr Parker?” the solicitor asked. 

“I do,” Sidney said without a second thought, catching Charlotte’s approving gaze. 

“Very well,” Mr Beard said and made a note. “I dedicate the lump sum of five hundred pounds from my fortune to the foundation of a donkey stud in my name. ”

“This will be the most luxurious donkey stud ever,” Sir Edward said gloomily. 

“A donkey stud! Arthur will be so glad,” Mary commented. Her husband wiped some sweat off his brow: this was obviously proving too exciting for him. However, Sidney being made executor of the will was definitely a positive sign for the Parker family.

“I further grant an annuity of fifty pounds to my niece Miss Clara Brereton, currently residing in Sanditon House. In addition and as a token of my recognition for her artistry, I bequeath Miss Brereton the pianoforte from my drawing-room.”

“Fifty pounds a year and a pianoforte?” That was Sir Edward again. Clara had the good sense to say nothing. “Well, Miss Brereton, that will set you up as a piano teacher, don’t you think?”

Fifty pounds a year was a nice sum if one was the poorest of poor relations, but it was far from providing a secure future. Or the entrance to elegant society. Clara, however, remained silent, only her flushed cheeks betraying her emotions. Mr Beard continued.

“To Miss Esther Denham, currently residing at Denham Park, Sanditon, I grant an annuity of twenty-five pounds. I further bequeath to her the silverplated hairbrush set from my dressing table.”  Someone gasped: not Esther, but Babington, staring at the object of his affection. Esther, however, ice queen that she was, looked totally aloof and as if a silverplated hairbrush set was right what she had expected as her reward for shivering in the damp rooms of Denham Park for months on end. Sir Edward, now with an unhealthy red colour on his face, sniggered at his sister. 

“To Sir Edward Denham, currently residing at Denham Park, Sanditon, I grant an annuity of ten pounds. I further bequeath him the edition of Understanding English Poetry by J. Evans Pritchard from my library.”  Sir Edward choked and turned scarlet as everyone was staring at him.

“There must be a mistake,” Babington said. The solicitor shook his head and adjusted his glasses.

“I assure you, my lord, there is no mistake at all. Lady Denham was of an exemplary clear mind when she laid down her wishes.” And why not? Sidney thought. As there were no children, and the bulk of her fortune had come from her first marriage to Mr Hollis, she was free to leave her money wherever she wanted it. He cast a look at his fiancée. Charlotte was clearly as befuddled as everyone else but returned his glance with a small smile. 

“We will contest this.” Sir Edward was on his feet again. “This is a cruel, practical joke she is playing on us from her grave. What a miserly old monster!”

“Sir Edward!” Tom cried. “Show some respect to your aunt!”

“Why should I? Is she showing respect to us?”

“I suggest you sit down and hear me out, Sir Edward,” Mr Beard said. Next were some smaller grants and bequeathments for Lady Denham’s staff. However, the bulk of her fortune and Sanditon House were still hanging in the air, and the longer the list of servants and underservants became, the more impatiently Sir Edward knocked on his chair’s wooden armrest. The solicitor cleared his throat again and drank some more water. 

“We now come to the penultimate provision of Lady Denham’s will. As a sign of my esteem of good conversation and an honest opinion, I further bequeath the lump sum of two thousand pounds to Miss Charlotte Heywood of Willingden, currently a resident of Trafalgar House, Sanditon.”

“Charlotte!” – “Miss Heywood!” That was Mary, echoed by Lord Babington. Sir Edward said nothing for a change, and neither did Charlotte. Sidney realised that the last time his dearest, dearest girl had looked so shocked was when she had seen him rising out of the sea. He longed to reach over, take her hand and whisper something soothing into her ear, but that would have to wait.

“Look at that, Miss Heywood,” Clara said. “You’ve just become shockingly rich.”

Charlotte had finally found her voice. “That cannot be. I cannot accept this.” 

Mr Bear adjusted his reading glasses. “Lady Denham has made a provision that should you decline her bequest, Miss Heywood, the same amount would revert to Mr Sidney Parker, who, I understand, is your fiancé.” Well, she was clever, Lady Denham, Sidney realised. As Charlotte’s husband, her bequest would become his anyway. But if Charlotte decided to end the engagement, the money would be entirely hers. Not that they were still thinking about walking through the backdoor and ending the engagement. But by the time Lady Denham had drawn up her will, that had been a real possibility, and her money would have paved Charlotte’s way into freedom and financial independence.

“Two thousand pounds!” Sir Edward called. “For a bit of chatter? That’s preposterous.”

“Is it?” Sidney said. His desire to punch the man had never been so strong. “Maybe your aunt found Miss Heywood’s conversation as lively and interesting as I do. – Though certainly not as eye-opening,” he added, gazing at Clara, who studied her fingernails. Sir Edward gasped but said nothing further.

Mr Beard, unimpressed by double meanings and undercurrents, continued. “The ultimate provision pertains to Sanditon House, the adjoining grounds and the remainder of Lady Denham’s fortune.”

“I’m breathless with anticipation.” Sir Edward rolled his eyes. 

“The remainder of my fortune, including the investment in the Sanditon venture, and the ownership of the grounds of Sanditon House as well as Sanditon House and its furnishings, artworks, movable and unmovable assets – unless they form part of the Denham estate – I bequeath to… there is an inkblot here on the name, but the title is clearly readable." The solicitor looked up. “It is you, Lord Babington.”

There was a stunned silence. Babington stared at Mr Beard as if he had just been told that he was the Prince Regent’s lost son and heir to the throne of England. 

“Excellent,” Tom said after what seemed minutes, the smile slowly returning to his face as understanding dawned on him. “Splendid.” Now he was back to his old wide grin. “We will be business partners, Lord Babington! I could not be more delighted.” He stood up and extended his hand to Sidney’s friend. “– Actually, I have some very interesting prospects….”

“This is perverse!” Sir Edward cried, his face showing a very unhealthy colour now. He uttered some more expletives which have no place in a story written for a civilised audience. No one was paying him any attention anyway. Everyone was staring at Babington, who blankly shook Tom’s hand and mumbled: “But… but….”

“There is an explanatory note here,” the solicitor said. “It is my hope that with his newfound wealth, Miss Esther may consider Lord Babington’s courtship more bearable.”

“Monster,” Sir Edward commented. For a man at the lowest point of his life, he had quite a lot to say. The solicitor ignored him and continued with some more legal explanations. He closed with the hope of meeting Mr Sidney Parker in the afternoon for a detailed discussion of the necessary steps for the complete execution of Lady Denham’s will. However, with most of the parties involved being on friendly terms or more with each other, he expected this business to be swiftly resolved (he had to stop here because Sir Edward was leaving the room, banging the door behind him).

And that was it: Lady Denham’s legacy to Sanditon. 

 

*

 

“I’ll call on you this afternoon in Trafalgar House,” Mr Beard said to Sidney when the company broke up. Sir Edward was nowhere to be seen, and Clara seemed to have sneaked out of the room without anyone noticing her. Esther was standing by the window, her head bent, listening to Lord Babington, who quietly and gently talked to her. It was a very intimate picture, and Charlotte could not help but think that Lady Denham’s matchmaking from out of the grave was working already, that once she came out of mourning, Esther would accept Lord Babington’s suit.

What a memorable day this was.

And yet, it was all still terribly unreal. Two thousand pounds! Of course, that was but a drop in the ocean compared to Georgiana’s one hundred thousand or to the fortune Lord Babington would now call his, but for a gentleman farmer’s eldest daughter, it was a most astonishing sum. She looked up and saw Sidney coming towards her, that warm and gentle smile on his face that he seemed to reserve only for her. 

“Tom and Mary are returning home with the carriage. I was wondering whether you might prefer to walk instead?”

“I do, absolutely.” Charlotte sighed with relief: some time alone with Sidney, an opportunity to talk everything through was just what she longed for right now. They watched Tom and Mary entering the carriage: Mary was looking more relieved than Charlotte had ever seen her, now that the future of Sanditon was secure, and Tom merrily twirled his cane, musing about a pagoda, a fountain square, a seaside promenade, a concert hall and the Lord knew what else for the entertainment of his first wife and the adornment of his second.

Sidney and Charlotte set off to the deer park, quiet at first, both following their own thoughts. There was nothing awkward or unpleasant about their silence now; they had quickly come to recognise the moments when the other needed some time for reflection. And who would not be in need of reflection after becoming the executor of a grand lady’s will and an heiress of two thousand pounds?

“Look,” Sidney quietly said when they were passing a small natural valley in the park: half-hidden behind an oak, a deer lifted its heavy head, the mighty antlers swaying slowly in the shadow of the tree.

“Beautiful,” Charlotte whispered reverently. So Lady Denham’s deer were no fabled animals after all.

When they continued towards the cliff, Sidney offered her his arm. Charlotte accepted it gladly, enjoying being so close to him. Then she took off the bonnet, and feeling free now, leaned her head against her fiancé’s shoulder. “I wish I knew why she did it,” she said.

“I suppose… despite all her grandeur, she was a very solitary woman.”

“An outlier?”

“An outlier. With even less hope of redemption than the other outlier of your acquaintance. Maybe your company was giving Lady D a sense of what could have been if her fortune had not corrupted her family.”

“That’s so sad. I’m not sure I even want that money… oh, don’t look at me like that.” Charlotte laughed when she saw her fiancé’s furrowed brow. “I will take it. I wish I could use it to offer Mr Stringer a loan, but I doubt he’ll accept it from me if he doesn’t accept it from you.”

“I’ll speak with Babington about it,” Sidney promised, patting her hand. “He’s neutral enough, he’s rich enough, he’s sure to get involved in the development of Sanditon, and he’ll understand the need to have an architect at hand.”

“You see how it works?” She smiled. “We find a solution for everything if only we talk it through together.”

“Don’t you think your family will expect you to do something for them?” Sidney asked after a few moments. Charlotte shrugged her shoulders. 

“I think I’ll best discuss that with Papa when I come home. – Though I will, of course, buy a piano for Willingden,” she added very seriously but breaking into a chuckle when she saw Sidney raising his eyebrow.

“And pay someone for teaching you embroidery?”

“No. I’m hopeless at that, I’m afraid.”

“How am I ever to get my shirts and handkerchiefs labelled if my wife’s scorning the pleasures of embroidery?”

“I’m sure we’ll get that sorted out as well,” Charlotte said, and they both laughed, enjoying their newfound freedom of carefree banter and loving teasing.

“Never mind. I’ll marry you anyway,” Sidney finally said, lifted his bride from her feet and kissed her until she begged to be let down again. “Please understand, Miss Heywood,” he said, more solemn now, leaning his forehead against hers and wrapping his arms around her, “that I would marry you under any circumstances and even if you had turned out to be the new maid after all.” That statement warranted another kiss. By that rate, they were not making much progress on their way home – but on the other hand: who would grudge them their happiness?

They slowly continued along the cliff, enjoying the view, watching the gulls circle in the air and dive down into the sea, sharing not-so-secret smiles, holding hands, their cheeks flushed from the salty air as much as from the attention they were paying each other.

“Can I ask you something?” Sidney said when the beach and the first houses of Sanditon came into view.

“Of course.” Charlotte stopped, hoping to enjoy the intimacy of the cliff for a little longer. Smiling ruefully, Sidney entwined his fingers with hers.

“After our… engagement… when Tom and I went to Willingden to see your father… Tom carried three letters from you. One was for your sister, I understand, but the other two… I was under the impression they were both directed to your father?”

“They were indeed.” Charlotte returned the gentle pressure on her palm. “I asked Tom to judge by Papa’s reaction to your request which one he should receive.”

“But that was quite a gamble,” Sidney said, looking indeed shocked for a moment. His fiancée smiled her usual confident smile.

“No, it wasn’t. You should have a little more faith in your brother, Sidney. He had your best interests at heart in this from the very beginning.”

“Do you mean to say that I have to thank Tom for taking the right decision at least once in his life?”

“Maybe a little?” Charlotte suggested. “But I’m sure he’ll find an opportunity to remind you of his role in our courtship anyway.” Sidney sighed. However, he knew that happiness often came at a price, and if the price for happiness with Charlotte was his brother bragging about his matchmaking abilities, he was willing to pay it. (It is definitely better to think of your brother as the maker of your happiness and not as the breaker; I, for one, will never tell Sidney how close his romance came to total destruction.) 

“It wasn’t such a difficult task,” Charlotte continued. “If Papa had given his consent immediately, Tom would have handed him my first letter. It was rather short and merely said that Mr Sidney Parker had offered me his hand in marriage and that I considered it a good match for my family and me and that I was grateful for his blessings. – But I was sure Papa would not let you off the hook so easily, so I wrote a second letter.” 

“And it’s a good thing you did, Charlotte, for your father truly roasted me,” Sidney admitted. “I was completely tongue-tied, and your papa flatly turned me down when I asked for his consent to marry you. It was only when Tom gave him the letter that he changed his mind.”

Charlotte smiled to herself. “What do you think I wrote in it?”

“That you… had met a dashing young man of excellent financial standing, considered him your soulmate and desperately wanted to marry him?” her fiancé suggested, hope in his voice and remorse in his eyes. She shook her head.

“No. I told Papa the truth. He’s my father, and he trusted me when he allowed me to go to Sanditon, despite his own misgivings. I don’t want any lies between him and me. So I told him everything that had happened between us, and that the vicar was forcing us to get engaged. – I also asked him to talk to you on your own, without your brother present, and to form an opinion on you. And I asked him for his blessings if that opinion was favourable.” She pressed Sidney’s hand again and moved a little closer to him, for he was looking slightly appalled now.

“But… Charlotte… your father asked me twice whether anything untoward had happened… whether he had to fear for your reputation. I denied both times. I lied  to him.”

“I know, Sidney,” she said, freeing her hand and leaning it against his cheek, not breaking their eye contact. “And Papa knows as well. But your determination to protect me impressed him. You could have easily blamed it all on me, with me ambling all on alone along remote areas of the beach, but you never did.”

“That would not have been a very gentlemanly thing to do.”

“No, but even a gentleman might have insisted on receiving a good dowry for saving my reputation. You didn’t do that either. – That and the fact that Mr Lambe had entrusted you with the care for his daughter and her fortune convinced Papa that you were a good man. That’s all he ever wished for me. – He’s very down to earth – he probably found the other details… the fighting with each other and the tongue-lashings… a little ridiculous.” 

Sidney sighed. “Is that a good moral? That a lie would pave the way to mutual love and affection?”

“We’ll have to put the case to Lady Worcester,” Charlotte admitted with a smile. “I’m sure she’ll have something witty to say about it. Maybe that it’s not what we say or think that defines us, but what we do? And what you did was protecting me. And that was all my father needed to decide that you are a man worthy of marrying his eldest daughter.”

Speaking of protection: Charlotte felt Sidney’s arms come around her, and in a wordless reply, she wrapped hers around him, leaning her head against his chest, pressing her face into the warm folds of his coat, listening to his steady heartbeat, feeling his chin gently rest on her head: they fitted so well together. He was enfolding her in his affection, and there was no other place she would rather be. She smiled to herself, hugging him tightly, feeling deep gratitude for the gift of their love.

They remained like that for a long time; there was no need to speak. The sea breeze played in their hair, the seagulls squawked, the waves crashed on Sanditon’s shore, and somewhere out in the real world, a church bell started ringing. Sighing deeply, Sidney let go of his bride. 

“I have an appointment with a solicitor,” he said. 

“I have a fitting for my wedding dress,” she replied. After some moments of smiling at each other, Sidney offered her his arm. 

“Well then, Mrs Parker.”

Notes:

I’m no legal expert. Least of all of English inheritance law in the early 19th century. But as Lady D asserts in episode 1: she was perfectly free to leave her money wherever she liked it.
By the way, here’s one of the many Sanditon conundrums I am trying to solve: If the solicitor knew where Lady D was keeping her will, how would Edward and Clara have explained the absence of that will from wherever it was kept if she had died? Would the solicitor not have suspected foul play? I would call that a plot hole… but then, what do I know? I’m just a silly little fanfic writer.
***
It will take a little longer until the next update.
DO NOT WORRY, DO NOT DESPAIR: it only means that I can finally meet The Family for the first time in seven months and that I’m very busy being happy.

Chapter 24: Honesty

Notes:

Welcome back! Sorry for the delay – it was Family First for some merry days. I also had to take a break from social media... too many assumptions for my taste. Well, rant ends here. Let’s move on to a happier topic: a wedding. And we are NOT talking about Mr Hankins and Mrs Griffiths!

I did some research on fictional wedding nights (I have never written one before) and learned they usually come along with a seethrough garment and smouldering embers in the fireplace. Now, if that did not spark my imagination! 

The second half of the chapter is perhaps a bit cheesy and sentimental. On the other hand, we are nearing the end of the story, and what a journey it has been. So I hope you’ll forgive me for my sentimental babbling.

 

Previously

After sharing their first kiss, Charlotte and Sidney are quickly propelled back to reality when news of Lady Denham’s death hits the Parker family. While Tom worries about the future of Sanditon, our two lovebirds always find a way to steal some moments alone together.

Lady Denham’s will leaves everyone in shock: her scheming relatives get next to nothing, Charlotte inherits the respectable sum of 2,000 pounds, Babington is named universal heir, and Sidney made executor of her will – thus securing the Sanditon investment.

❤️❤️❤️

 

 

Four weeks after Lady Denham’s demise, on a beautiful summer day towards the end of July, the village of Willingden welcomed the finest and largest wedding party this blissfully remote corner of the world had ever seen. 

As a mother of twelve, Mrs Heywood was used to a certain amount of strain, but the guest list that contained, among many Parkers, some illustrious names connected to the London beau monde, did intimidate her. Mr Heywood was not much of a help: he withdrew into his study, locked the doors and opened his Heraclitus, pretending he was reading. In truth, he was musing about his family’s good fortune: Charlotte now sort of an heiress and soon to be united with a prudent and affluent businessman. 

The correspondence with Mr Sidney Parker had left a favourable impression on Mr Heywood, but what truly endeared his future son-in-law to him was the smile that appeared on Charlotte’s face whenever her fiancé was being mentioned. Mr Heywood did not understand how it had come about, nor was he in the habit of showing his emotions openly. Yet he was secretly overjoyed that his dear eldest girl was getting married for exactly the reason she had always claimed was the only reason to marry: mutual love and affection – now with the bonus of financial security and stability on top.

While her husband was musing, Mrs Heywood calmed down her nerves and, with her eldest daughters, sorted out guest accommodation and foods and drinks for the wedding breakfast. This endeavour typically began with strawberry tartlets and blackcurrant cordial and always ended with a dissection of the bridegroom – the higher the intake of blackcurrant cordial, the more thorough the dissection was. Charlotte’s future husband was generally deemed absolutely swoon-worthy, but since he was not edible, dissecting him did little to solve the food-and-drink question or relieve Mrs Heywood of her strain.

The most illustrious name adding special shine and glamour to the occasion (and extra pressure on Mrs Heywood’s nerves) was Lady Worcester’s. Her ladyship arrived one day prior to the ceremony, and as soon as she was settled in in the family’s finest guest room, she insisted on taking her dear friend Charlotte out for a walk among the fields. It was a balmy summer evening, the warmth of the day still lingering, the air filled with the scent of herbs and wildflowers. The crickets sang their evening songs in the thicket along the way, the sheep happily bleated their good night wishes across the hillsides, and the sun slowly and gloriously settled towards the western hills.

“How very well everything has turned out,” Susan said as they walked across the stone bridge. “I’m so glad for you, Charlotte.”

“So am I,” Charlotte replied. “And I wish to thank you for making me understand myself at Mrs Maudsley’s ball.”

“Oh, my dear girl, I’m sure you would have worked out your feelings for your Mr Parker very soon and without my assistance.” Susan smiled, patting her friend’s hand. “Love has a way of introducing herself. – Will you allow me one question, though?”

“Of course.” Next to Sidney and Alison, there was no one she trusted as much as her wise confidante. Susan was looking at her intently.

“When you first told me about your engagement, you said both Mr Parker and you were feeling an obligation towards your families. – I never insisted, but naturally, I have been wondering what that obligation might have been.”

“Oh, that’s….” Charlotte blushed. The encounter at the cove, the difficult first days of their engagement… all that seemed to be so distant now, glossed over by the happiness of the past weeks and the excitement about the upcoming event. “Actually… umm.”

“You don’t have to tell me, my dear.” Susan patted her hand again. “I’m curious, that is all. But I don’t expect my curiosity to be satisfied all the time.”

“No, it’s….” Charlotte drew a deep breath. She had never told anyone the whole story before. Even Alison knew nothing but a censored version of the meeting at the cove: Charlotte did not want to fill her younger sister’s head with images of her handsome future brother-in-law rising out of the sea wearing nothing but a few droplets of saltwater. 

But Susan… wise, kind Susan would understand. So Charlotte told her everything: from the first glance at Sidney’s portrait in the hallway of Trafalgar House to the disappointing first encounter of the real man and the “new maid”. How her own imprudence had left them paired for a dance at the Sanditon ball, and how her forthright assumptions on the balcony had left her in tears and Sidney in anger. How he had first rejected her apology and then attempted reconciliation at the pineapple luncheon. How all the tension between them culminated in those fateful moments at the cove. And how, a few days later, the vicar had turned up in Mary Parker’s drawing-room, demanding the instant betrothal of Miss Heywood and Mr Parker.

If Susan was impressed or shocked, she hid her emotions perfectly behind her genial façade. “What an extraordinary tale! To find love and affection after such turmoil and uncertainty. You are a lucky girl indeed, my dear.”

“Yes,” Charlotte smiled, a little abashed. “I know.” And after a short pause: “I have been wondering though…” Or maybe not? But who would be a better guide on matters of marital love than Lady Worcester? Certainly not her own mother: earlier that day, Mrs Heywood had mumbled even less coherently than Mr Hankins about a wife’s duties, and then she had made a great show of presenting Charlotte with a splendid thin lace nightgown that she had been saving in a fine box for her eldest daughter since her own wedding day– only to discover upon opening the box that a hungry moth colony had entirely eaten up the delicate garment.

“Charlotte?” Susan asked, seeing her young friend’s mind wandering. “Tell me. What is it? Nerves before the wedding day?”

“No, it’s….” Blushing, Charlotte timidly sought her gaze. “I believe it’s… nerves… before the wedding night ?”

“Oh, my dear girl!” Her friend gave her a warm, affectionate smile. “There is nothing for you to fear. Your Mr Parker adores you so very much… and something tells me that he has given you more than one proof of his admiration already.” Charlotte could not help but smile, thinking of all the occasions they had “read the news in peace” and all the times he had told her (or sometimes merely whispered) how beautiful she was and how happy she made him.

“I don’t doubt his feelings for me,” she said. “It’s just… tomorrow when we are wed… everything between us will change again.” But Susan would not allow any doubts or uncertainties.

“Of course, things will change, Charlotte. That’s what married life is about. But trust me, there’s only one rule that you should stick to, and that applies to all situations, no matter whether you and your husband are discussing the news or the colour of the drawing room’s new sofa, or whether you are, indeed, enjoying some marital bliss together.” Charlotte raised an eyebrow.

“One rule?”

“Yes.”

“And what might that be?”

“Something you are very good at, my dear.” Susan smiled fondly, cupping her young friend’s face in her hands. “Honesty, Charlotte. – Let nothing but truth come between you and your Mr Parker.”

Charlotte considered this for a moment. “I think we’ve been brutally honest with each other from the very beginning,” she then said. “But often in a way that would hurt us. We had to understand how to display such frankness with respect.”

“And you have both learned your lessons and figured out what it takes to lead your lives together. – I think you’ll be very happy, Charlotte.” Suddenly, Susan was very serious. “And when it comes to sharing marital bliss and pleasure, just trust your husband and let him be your guide. If you’re feeling uncomfortable or insecure, remember to be honest. – Promise me that, my dear, because I would not want the beauty of love spoilt for you.”

“I promise,” Charlotte solemnly said.

 

On the great day itself, the Heywoods outnumbered the Parkers by far, even if one included Georgiana, Lord Babington and Mr Crowe as part of the Parker party. Tom Parker, in full Tom-ness-mode due to the joy about his brother’s nuptials, merrily walked about the Willingden village square towards the tiny Norman church, twirling his cane and advising Mr Heywood on which construction activities to start to render the place more attractive as a stopover destination for potential travellers on their way to Sanditon.

He also found several opportunities to remind his host of his own crucial role in Charlotte’s romance. An unprepared listener might quickly come to the conclusion that Mr and Mrs Parker’s accident on the Willingden road all those weeks ago had been nothing but a perfectly planned stunt to meet the Heywood family and recruit a wife for Tom Parker’s hopeless middle brother amongst their daughters. Fortunately, Mr Heywood was a sensible man with a good memory who simply smiled and said: “Be careful, sir, don’t step into geese droppings.” 

The Parker children and the younger Heywood offspring quickly formed an inextricable knot re-enacting the battle of Trafalgar by the river (and getting very wet in the process). Mr Crowe insisted on playing a game of cricket with the Heywood team, starting a formidable partnership with the famous Miss Alison. Lord Babington suffered a tenacious hay fever attack during the wedding service; hay fever, mind you. It did not have anything to do with being slightly emotional about the fact that Miss Denham had finally accepted his courtship and that another happy occasion was expected once she came out of mourning.

At the wedding breakfast, Arthur admired all the cakes on offer so longingly that he nearly forgot to eat any, and Diana became rather merry after enjoying one or two glasses of Mrs Heywood’s blackcurrant cordial. Georgiana claimed that she was finally very content with her stay in Sanditon because compared to the backwater of Willingden, Sanditon was a thriving metropolis. 

One personality was notably absent from the festivities: the vicar Mr Hankins. He had indeed suggested joining the party, as he did not trust his colleague in Willingden to perform the necessary rites with the required accuracy and precision, thus endangering the validity of the marriage bonds. “I told him that Sir Edward Denham was in desperate need of his lectures and moral support,” Mary whispered when she embraced her new sister Charlotte. “That will keep both of them reasonably occupied for a while.”

As to Charlotte and Sidney… they were their best, truest and happiest selves all day and even more so when they departed from Willingden in Sidney’s barouche, waving their goodbyes to a cheering crowd.

Sidney would have preferred to take his lovely bride for a real honeymoon to the Continent, or at least to some beautiful spot in England like the Lake District – or the Peak if the Lakes were too distant– or maybe just a few quiet days of privacy in London. However, with his new duties as executor of Lady Denham’s will and Sanditon’s financial situation being as it was, such a prolonged absence was out of the question. Fortunately, his lovely bride was a sensible girl. There was plenty of time – in fact: a whole lifetime – ahead of them to explore London, Britain and the Continent. For the moment, she was pleased to return with him to Sanditon and their new home on Waterloo Terrace.

Riding home in an open barouche on a beautiful summer day quickly proved to be the best possible way to start a new marriage: there was quite a lot of happy giggling, handholding and kissing on the more remote stretches of the journey, and even the occasional grazing of a leg in leather breeches or a waist in a cotton dress. There was also a short discussion about Charlotte taking the reins, a request Sidney initially refused – mostly because he wanted to see the cute little frown that appeared on his wife’s forehead whenever she disagreed with him. It always made him smile. And relent, in the end.

Charlotte safely conducted them to the cliff top way that was leading towards Sanditon. At the spot that they both knew so well, she stopped the vehicle, and they took a moment to look out over the hills that gently rolled towards Sanditon House, the town that was nestling between the sea and the river bend, and the glittering waves of the Channel. The sun was standing low, casting a golden light on the landscape, and high above them, a single herring gull was singing a special wedding song. Sidney took the reins from his wife, touching her wedding band as he did so. “Coming home with me?”

“Coming home with you,” she confirmed, leaning her head against his shoulder.

At Waterloo Terrace, they were welcomed by Wickens, who had been sent over by Mary to oversee their new staff and make sure everything was fine and shipshape for the newlyweds’ arrival.

As is turned out, though, not everything was fine and shipshape in the new house: Poor Wickens, who always acted so stoically on his master’s whims, was in quite a state. “It’s the chimneys, sir,” he explained, all flushed and excited. “There seems to be an issue with the ventilation. We were unable to light a fire in your rooms, I’m afraid.”

“It’s the height of the summer. - Why would we want a fire in our rooms?” Sidney asked. Wickens flushed even deeper.

“I was… umm… Mrs Parker explicitly instructed me… Mrs Thomas Parker that is. To make Mrs Sidney Parker comfortable.”

“Charlotte?” Sidney turned to his wife. “Do you insist on a fire in your room?”

“No one needs a fire in their room in July,” Charlotte smiled, practical as ever. “I’m absolutely confident that I will be fine without one.” She was even more confident that her husband would keep her warm should she feel cold, but of course, she did not say so in front of the servant. “Thank you for all your troubles, Wickens.”

After washing the dust from the road off their faces, they made a short tour of the house and ate a quick evening snack. Then they retired to the privacy of their new bedroom on the second floor, overlooking the roofs of old Sanditon and the sea beyond. With the empty fireplace gawping at them, they stood opposite each other, suddenly shy again.

This may have been the moment for Sidney to bow and say that he was retiring now to his dressing room but would be … umm, joining his wife later again, and for Charlotte to call for a maid to help her out of her dress and into a nightgown.

But they both did not feel like leaving each other now.

“Well… then,” Sidney said after a considerable while of just looking at this wife.

“Well then,” Charlotte agreed and reached out to take her husband’s hand.

I’m not privy to all details of what happened next (it is a very private occasion, after all), but I can safely say that Charlotte managed to get out of her clothes without a maid’s assistance and that while helping her with that task, Sidney found ample opportunity to worship that cleavage he had so often secretly admired. In return, Charlotte finally came to touch all those strong and taut muscles in his forearms (and not only in his forearms) that had captivated her imagination so many times. It may have helped that Charlotte, clever girl that she was, adhered to Susan’s advice and welcomed Sidney’s attention with a good mix of honesty and curiosity, and that Sidney, after “reading the news in peace” with her so regularly, was quite confident that his wife was feeling as passionately about him as he was feeling about her. 

Is that all?

Of course not.

In the smallest hours of the new day, Charlotte woke up with a start, blinking into the flickering light of the night candle, befuddled as to where she was and why there was not a lanky little sister by her side but a bulky, warm and naked presence that had a strong and muscly arm draped over her.

Then she remembered. She was Mrs Sidney Parker, and the naked presence was Mr Sidney Parker. And he was not the only one here who was not fully clothed.

For a few moments, Charlotte just lay there, enjoying the security of her husband’s embrace, feeling the warmth of his skin on hers, breathing in his scent of sea air and sandalwood and sweat and Sidney Parker, smiling to herself, because all this was so new and so wonderful and so natural all at the same time. Love has a way of introducing herself, she heard Susan say, and Love had certainly introduced herself to them tonight. Blushing a little, Charlotte thought of those moments somewhere beyond time and reason, when they had held each other so close, and that closeness was so intense and true and simply right it made her cry out with joy and pleasure. They had laughed and cried and kissed, and then they had been silent for a while, too overwhelmed for words, just listening to the pounding of their hearts slowing down and to the distant sound of the waves breaking on Sanditon’s beach until Charlotte finally said: “So. This is what all the secrecy is about.”

“Yes,” Sidney confirmed.

“I had no idea.”

“No. Neither had I.”

“But you have….”

“And yet I had no idea, Charlotte,” Sidney gently said, kissing her tenderly on the forehead. And on the nose. And on her mouth. “I had absolutely no idea, my love.” He gathered her closer and draped his arm over her. They kissed a little more, and they whispered a little more, and they gazed at each other in a way that made them smile and giggle and start kissing again - until at some stage, spent and tired after a long day, they must have fallen asleep.

With a small sigh, Charlotte now carefully wriggled out from under Sidney’s arm and leaned forward to angle her shift from the pile of clothes that at some stage had mounted on the floor. Hidden beneath her husband’s leather breeches, she found something that came close enough to feeling like an undergarment. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be not her shift but Sidney’s shirt. She dipped her nose into the cloth and inhaled his scent. Behind her in the bed, Sidney made a funny smacking noise, moved his hand as if searching for something, then put his arm around a pillow and smiled in his sleep.

Charlotte slipped into his shirt. The sleeves were far too long, the hem nearly reached her knees, and the neckline left a gaping opening, but it was Sidney’s, and that was enough to make her feel comfortable and safe. Wedding night etiquette was still a mystery to her, and she was not entirely sure whether ambling about the conjugal bedroom wearing nothing at all was permissible or not. Sidney’s shirt was a perfect compromise, she decided.

She scurried behind the folding screen to use the chamber pot and the water basin. On her way back to the bed, she shot a quick glance out of the window. Sanditon was still asleep under the watch of the stars while the moon was painting silver patterns on the sea. If one listened very closely, one could hear the sound of the waves, and there definitely was a faint whiff of fresh and salty sea air in the room. Charlotte smiled to herself because this was her home now, and this was her view now, as long as she would live here. She remembered how after her arrival at Trafalgar House, she had stood by the window of her room and taken in that view for the very first time. It was only a little over three months ago, yet so much had changed since that day. 

She sat down at the foot of the bed, leaning against the wooden frame, and in the spare light of the night candle, regarded her husband, who was still peacefully asleep, cuddling a pillow now instead of his wife and giving just the very faintest of a little baby snore.

Charlotte chuckled, for if this was to be her life, she was going to be a very happy woman. She tilted her head for a better angle to take Sidney in – at least that part of him that was visible: a rather large foot that stuck out from under the thin summer blanket. A tanned hand, the white lines on the knuckles visible even in the light of the night candle – the scars from his fighting days. An arm, firm with muscles, ending in the perfect curve of his shoulders. What a strange thing the male body was – so taut and strong from the outside, with muscles flexing elegantly under the smooth skin, yet also warm and soft, so yielding when touched in tenderness.

From Sidney’s shoulders, her gaze travelled further up along his collarbone to his face. Never had she seen him so relaxed if not peaceful as now in his sleep, breathing evenly, his eyelashes shadow-dancing in the candlelight, the first stubble of a new beard covering his cheeks and chin, his lips slightly parted. His lips. Oh, dear. Just to think of how these lips had laid trace after trace on her skin, swiftly accompanied by his fingers, how his eyes had sought hers in the dwindling light, seeking her permission to touch her here… there… and everywhere. Miss Heywood blushed at the memory, hiding her head in the crook of her arm, but Mrs Parker looked up and chuckled because of all the adventures she had experienced since leaving Willingden, making love with Sidney was by far the most surprising and most beautiful.

She reached out to touch him by the arm, but before they had come skin to skin, his eyelashes fluttered, and he slowly drifted out of sleep, pulling the pillow a little tighter to him, the muscles in his face twitching. And then, realising in his doze that the pillow was not what he had held in his arms when falling asleep, Sidney suddenly sat up, wide awake. He searched for his wife and, finding her sitting at the foot of the bed, looked at her anxiously.

“Is everything alright with you? Can you not sleep?”

“I slept very well.”

“I didn’t snore, did I? Or talk in my sleep? Pull the blanket away from you? Or embarrass myself in any other way?” He moved closer, joining her at the foot of the bed. “I’m not used to sharing a bed, you know.”

“You will get used to it,” Charlotte smiled, raising her hand to stroke his hair – something she had become very fond of lately. “And you were just your usual handsome self.” Sidney cocked an eyebrow.

“You think me handsome?” Winking at her from sleepy eyes, dressed in nothing but a linen sheet, his hair tousled, the shadow of his beard growing darker, his lips red and swollen from all the kissing: he was not handsome, but adorable.

“You vain man,” Charlotte laughed, now tracing his stubbly cheek down to his jawline. “You know very well what I think about your looks.” 

The vain man replied with a grin that made him resemble a pirate who had found the treasure of his dreams and realised it was something far better than gold and diamonds: namely love and affection in the form of a beautiful woman. He plucked Charlotte’s hand off his face and placed a kiss on her palm. “You are quite a feast for the eyes yourself, Mrs Parker.” His more severe self added: “Are you cold? Is that why you are wearing my shirt?” Charlotte shook her head, hoping that her blushing would not be too apparent in the dim light.

“I’m wearing your shirt because it is yours and because….”

“…because?” Sidney cocked his eyebrow again, slightly amused.

“If you must know,” she sighed, “I needed to leave the bed for a moment, but I wasn’t… I wasn’t sure whether to cover myself or not.”

His amusement turned into gentleness as he carefully touched the cloth of his shirt on her arm. “Whatever you are feeling comfortable with, Charlotte. Just because your husband is a rogue sea bather doesn’t mean I’d expect the same from you.”

“Thank you,” the Miss Heywood in Charlotte said, and: “I suppose I’ll get used to your ways,” Mrs Parker added.

“As I’ll get used to yours,” Sidney replied, catching her hand. They spent some delightful moments watching their fingers indulge in their favourite game, just until their eyes met, and they both decided to let their lips continue the conversation.

 

*

 

Sidney broke the kiss just before it turned from tenderness into passion. There was no need to rush matters forward, not with so many hours of the night left and a whole lifetime ahead of them. A lifetime filled with love and affection. And many precious moments of lovemaking, Sidney realised with a small smile. Charlotte might be inexperienced, yet her honest, curious, and incredibly tender way of exploring him had disarmed him entirely, making him find a strange, wonderful, in other words: befuddling moment of absolute clarity and freedom in her arms. A freedom he did not even know existed, and that now that he had tasted it, he never wanted to give up again.

“Can I ask you something, Charlotte?” he said, making himself comfortable by resting his head on her knees and gathering the blanket around them. 

“Of course.” She buried her fingers in his hair, making his scalp tingle. He quickly searched for her free hand and placed it on his heart, sighing under her shy touch on his skin.

“Why did you agree?”

“Hm?”

“That day back in the drawing-room.” He turned a little to have her in his full view, allowing her long curls to tickle his face. “When Tom insisted I offered you my hand in marriage. You could just have declined and returned home and never thought of Sanditon again.”

“I couldn’t do that.”

“Why?”

“I would not have been able to put the memory of Sanditon from my mind,” she said, stroking his hair again, making him wonder – slightly out of context – why he had not thought of putting daily scalp massages into the marriage contract. On the other hand, by the rate things were going between them, she would probably give him the massages voluntarily, which made them even more enjoyable.

“So better marry the offensive outlier brother and stay?” he asked. Charlotte shook her head.

“No. In fact, I had three good reasons.”

“Three?” He sat up, surprised, ending the lovely massage. His wife nodded. 

“First of all, I did feel guilty about what had happened at the cove.”

“But you didn’t ambush me on purpose.”

“No, but I was walking on my own along an isolated stretch of the shoreline. I should have known better and returned with Georgiana and Mrs Griffiths. – Just imagine if it had not been you but someone… someone with ill intentions.”

For a split second, Sidney had a vision of Sir Edward, the scoundrel, creeping up on Charlotte. He closed his eyes and brought her hands to his lips to kiss the image away. “But it was me, Charlotte. – And the second reason?”

“You will think me mercenary after all,” she said, looking a bit embarrassed. “But I did realise what a great worry I would lift off my parents’ shoulders if I married well. And, how any whiff of scandal would reflect badly not only on me but also on my siblings if I returned to Willingden in a hurry.”

“I don’t think you mercenary,” Sidney said, watching their hands come together again, marvelling at the strange beauty of her slender white fingers against his dark, calloused knuckles. “Remarkable as your speech at Lady Denham’s luncheon was, I consider it the greatest privilege to be married out of love and affection.”

“Love and affection, hm?”

“Yes. Very much.” He could not help but grin like a schoolboy: she was so gorgeous in his oversized shirt, her hair tumbling down around her shoulders, her expression serious and amused and deeply loving all at the same time. Leaning forward, he kissed her again, quickly getting distracted by her scent, her warmth, her softness, the sweet eagerness with which she always welcomed him. However, Sidney Parker was a businessman at his heart, and even as a businessman deeply in love, his mind was still sharp enough to count to three. The passion would have to wait for some more moments, Sidney decided: in the end, the delay would only increase their pleasure. “And the third reason?” he asked, pulling Charlotte in his embrace, making sure he got a good hold on her lovely curves under the cloth of his shirt.

“It’s complicated.” Charlotte blushed a little, leaning her head against his bare chest and sending off a plethora of emotions in her husband by doing so. “Or maybe not. Your proposal… your business proposition was so cold-hearted and entirely based on logic and practical aspects…” Sidney sighed inwardly, wishing he had a magic wand to eliminate that particular conversation from her memory. Without a wand, a kiss on the beauty spot on her shoulder would have to do. 

“I know, Charlotte, and I….”

“No, Sidney. Don’t apologise. It was hurtful and inconsiderate, and no woman with her mind intact would have accepted your suit, but yet… between all those facts and advantages and disadvantages, I saw someone else shining through.” She laid her hand on his cheek, locking eyes with him. “For moments only, when you spoke about your wish of having children, or when you asked me not to judge your expertise on courtship. Behind all your words, there was a stranger I did not know but who made me believe it might be well worth finding out more about him.” The pressure of her palm against his cheek became a bit stronger, and he leaned into her soft little hand, closing his eyes, relishing the peace and happiness her words and her touch brought to him. “I told myself that I might be able to form a partnership with this person,” she softly said, a little husky now, her gentle and serious gaze still trained on him. “A partnership based on respect and friendship, if not on love and affection.”

For a moment, Sidney was too shaken to speak. “Did you really see this person?” he whispered. Charlotte nodded, her gaze still serious as she rested her forehead against his.

“I did. He was very shy, and I had no idea how difficult his struggle would be to come out and give himself to me.” He felt her warm thumb on his temple, gently caressing the soft skin there. “But I was proven right in the end, wasn’t I? I found young Sidney again.”

“You did. Yes,” not so young Sidney confirmed, eagerly searching her lips. Would he ever get enough of her? Never, not as long as Charlotte made him his best and truest self and turned him into someone he started to like. And that was, after ten years of inner turmoil and shadow boxing against an invisible enemy, the most precious gift her love was bringing him. He deepened the kiss, ready to continue her education on all matters concerning marital passion when he felt her slowly pulling away from him.

“Now fair’s fair, Sidney,” she said, slightly out of breath. “Why did you do your brother’s bidding and offer me your hand in marriage?”

“Can you not guess?” he asked, trying to distract her by nibbling her earlobe. 

But she was Charlotte Heywood… Charlotte Parker, after all, a very headstrong young lady, if necessary. She extracted her ear from his attentions and looked at him, that cute little frown appearing on her forehead: “Come on, I told you my reasons.” 

Sidney sighed. That delightful earlobe had to wait. As had the marital passion. “Well, first of all, Tom is my brother,” he explained, bending forward to kiss her frown away. “I cannot run away from him. He’ll always catch up with me, even though I’m the better sportsman.” He felt a light chuckle rippling through Charlotte’s body. Yet another tremendous benefit of marriage hit him: never would he have to suffer his brother’s Tom-ness alone again. He readjusted his arms around her, making sure she would not slip away from him in that oversized shirt of his. “Just imagine if I had declined to offer you my hand, Charlotte, and the Sanditon venture had foundered for any reason whatsoever. I would have heard “If only you had married Miss Heywood, Sidney” until the end of my life and beyond.”

Charlotte laughed in his arms, her breath tickling his neck. “You poor dear man,” she said, making any image of Tom go away by brushing his cheek with her thumb and leaving it to linger on his lips for a moment. “And the second reason?”

“I told you.” He pulled her a little closer. “I wanted to have a family. I wanted to be a father. I wanted to know that there would be someone to… to share my life with. Carry me my slippers in old age, if necessary.”

“I’ll carry you your slippers, a woollen blanket and a warming pan if you need them,” Charlotte promised very solemnly and leaned her smooth cheek against his stubbly chin. “But I don’t understand,” she whispered after a few moments of blissful silence between them. Her warm breath tickled his skin as her thumb gently explored the nape of his neck. “Why chose me? There are enough young ladies in London and Sanditon who would have willingly obliged you. I’m sure you if only you’d looked…”.

“I didn’t want to go through the courting circus again,” Sidney said, releasing himself from her embrace with a regretful sigh. This was too important; he wanted actually to look her in the eyes when he explained himself. “I’ve had that courtship experience with Eliza. Everyone presenting themselves from their best sides, but the true colours only showing through when in crisis. – You and I were in constant crisis from the beginning, Charlotte, but at least I could be sure… I could always trust you to tell me exactly what was on your mind.”

The cute little frown reappeared between her eyes as she shook her head. “I’m not sure that constant clashes are a very… valid reason for an offer of marriage, Mr Parker.”

He chuckled, kissing the frown away. “Maybe not. But then there is the third reason, of course, Mrs Parker.”

“And what might that be, pray?” 

Cupping her face in his hands, he made sure she looked at him. “You.”

“Me?”

“You. As I said.” He realised he must be looking a little smug now. And astonished – or rather: enchanted by her innocence. He had been sure that she had worked it out all by herself days, if not weeks ago. “I… umm… let’s say I was… intrigued. Attracted.”

“By me?” Charlotte raised an adorable quizzical eyebrow. “You said you never thought of me!” Sidney groaned.

“Yeah, well… that was maybe… what I wanted to be true at that point in our acquaintance.”

“But it wasn’t true?”

“Not at all. You were actually rather… ubiquitous in my mind, Miss Heywood.” He placed a kiss on her forehead to underline that fact and because her forehead deserved to be kissed. And not only her forehead. “I was pleased that it was you who disturbed my solitude on the balcony, and I was rather thrilled to be seated next to you at Landy Denham’s lunch, even if my conversational skills did not exactly betray it. And after our meeting at the cove, I certainly enjoyed your indignation a little too much.” Trying to look suitably rueful, he searched her gaze again, finding it full of bewilderment.

“But… Sidney… you mocked me… and scolded me… and rolled your eyes at me….” 

“I know.”

“But then… why?”

“I needed to push you away from me, Charlotte.” He did right the opposite now: he pulled her even closer to him and leaned his forehead against hers. His voice was a mere hoarse whisper when he continued: “Because if I had allowed you to come near me, you would have found me out. You would have met a man who hated himself for his past and for all the darkness in him. I was so afraid you would be repulsed by that man, Charlotte. You were so… innocent and upright and simply… good. How would a girl like you want to get involved with a man like me? – But your rejection would have crushed me, so I had to make sure you never came close to me in the first place. Never looked at me with your large eyes and that little critical frown, your nose wrinkled and your mouth all indignation….”

Charlotte shook her head. “You have a very complicated way of thinking, Mr Parker. And you had too little faith in me, I’m afraid.”

“I know.” He wiped a tear off her cheek. “And now I’m making you cry again, Charlotte Heywood, and in your wedding night.”

“It’s Charlotte Parker, and I’m crying because I’m happy.” She wrapped her arms around him and snuggled up to his chest as close as possible. Feeling her warm and soft curves through the fabric of the shirt against his naked body made Sidney groan softly. Putting off the renewal of their marital passion became increasingly difficult. Yet, he also understood that if there was one thing he owed Charlotte (apart from some physical proof of his love and affection), it was a complete explanation of his motives for getting engaged to her.

“I tell you how I fought to reject you, and you tell me that you are happy?” he asked, trying to grasp the logic of women. It was definitely even more complicated than his own. His wife let go of him and shrugged her shoulders, leaving one of them bare as the shirt shifted. 

“Since when have you been attracted to me? When you were forced to stand up with me for the first dance at the ball?”

“I think you know the answer to that, Charlotte.” Despite being slightly distracted by the beauty spot on her shoulder and the promises of her neckline, he kept his eyes on her.

“But I want you to tell me, Sidney.” Charlotte was anything but distracted. She had her clear and serious gaze trained on him.

“Well… it’s… umm.” Sidney cleared his throat, then made sure he had her safe in his embrace. “It may sound a bit silly… especially if it’s a businessman and boxer who makes such claims,” he finally continued. “But I believe… I fear it happened the second I jumped down the carriage and saw you standing next to Mary. Maybe I wasn’t attracted to you at that instant, but I believe I understood… I understood instinctively that this small and unimportant girl out there on the cliff had the power to stir emotions in me that I longed for as much as I feared them. – Hence the new maid. To put you in your place. – As I said. It’s silly.” He felt a nerve in his jaw twitch and lowered his head, slightly abashed. But Charlotte was not going to have it: she cupped his head in her hands and made sure he looked at her.

“It is not silly, not at all. Well, maybe the new maid was, but everything else….”

“You believe such things happen?”

“I know such things happen.” After a short pause, she added: “What do you think was the first thing I noticed when I came to Trafalgar House?” He raised an eyebrow. 

“Tom’s model of Sanditon? The severed head on the mantelpiece?” Charlotte chuckled, brushing against him, a handsome reward for attempting a joke. But she quickly became serious again.

“It was your portrait, of course, and I was so intrigued… it was just a portrait… and not a good one if I’m perfectly honest… and yet I could not help but look at it and think of you whenever I walked past.” Sidney broke into a grin; the idea of Charlotte being haunted by that pitiful likeness of his only added another layer to his happiness. 

“So you think we would have ended up here and like this even without the vicar’s interference because it was decided for us by some higher power?” 

“I know for sure that you don’t believe in higher powers, and I suppose you don’t believe in such things as fairy tales either,” she said, very serious now. “And I fear that we may have continued to clash and make our lives miserable for a good while, had it not been for Mr Hankins, but ultimately… I’m sure we were meant to be as happy together as we are right now.”

“I will not start believing in a higher power, not even for you, Charlotte,” Sidney said. And placing a kiss on her nose, he added: “But I may reverse my opinion on fairy tales.” Then he kissed her on her mouth, and this time, when tenderness turned into passion, neither of them pulled back. However, there was still one question left to be answered.

“Now, Mrs Parker,” Sidney asked. “Would you mind terribly much if I helped you take off my shirt?”

Chapter 25: Perfect Happiness

Notes:

Ah, you have no idea how your comments and kudos on the previous chapter made me smile, you dear people! It’s so wonderful to hear that you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Now it’s time to say THANK YOU-DANKESCHÖN-MERCI-GRACIAS-GRAZIE-TAK-BEDANKT-(insert any language) for helping me shape and develop this story with your feedback and questions, here as well as on FB and Twitter. This story was meant to be my happy place during tough times, and sharing this place with you was just the very best thing that could have happened to me in these months.

Out there, in real life, we have to accept the fact that our Sanditon adventure will not find the happy ending we were hoping for. However, I’ve said from the beginning that this tale is about fixing storylines: so let’s add the one little touch that is still missing from my Sidlotte’s perfect happiness.

Seventeen months later

December was a dark month that turned even the sunniest seaside resort into a dreary ghost town. With all guests gone, the gales did what they were not permitted to do for most of the year: they howled through the empty streets with all their mighty force, echoed off the sleek sandstone walls of the new apartment buildings, whistled wildly in the high chimneys and shook the wooden scaffoldings at the pagoda building site.

Whoever could afford to stay at home by a warm fireplace during these days did exactly that, and whoever had the misfortune to have some business to attend to in town did so huddled in the warmest of clothes, head downcast to offer the icy wind no target, turning into a shadow hurrying along the deserted streets to a safe destination. During these weeks around Winter Solstice, it always seemed as if daylight had taken a holiday, as if the sun had retreated to a distant country, leaving Sanditon to the mercy of the winds, the rain and the thick grey clouds covering all memories of glorious summer days by the beach.

On this particular morning, however, one building on Waterloo Terrace stuck out like a beacon in the wild sea. It was the residence of Mr and Mrs Sidney Parker, lit up from the cellar up to the roof, and busier than a bee swarm moving into a new hive. 

In the second floor marital bedroom, Mrs Sidney Parker was about to give birth to her first child. In the ground floor drawing room, Mr Sidney Parker was about to crash his fist – if not his head – into the mantelpiece while shouting at his useless manservant and equally hopeless cook who both insisted on feeding him breakfast when his stomach was in even worse turmoil than after his most terrible drinking days – all that after fighting a panic attack by gulping down an unholy amount of brandy before ten o’clock in the morning.

Occasionally, Mary came downstairs, laid a calming hand on his arm and informed him on the state of the business: that all was going its natural course, that Charlotte was very brave, and that there was no reason to worry (or indeed refill that glass of brandy). 

Sidney had no doubt that Charlotte was very brave. However, judging by the noises echoing down from the second floor, she was also in the most terrible pain imaginable, and his complete inability to take at least part of that pain from her frustrated him to a point where he was prepared to forsake all future marital relations, just to spare his beloved Charlotte a renewal of this experience. 

Contrary to general expectations, the new Mrs Sidney Parker had not given birth to her first child within nine months – or even a year – of her wedding. The delay of parenthood, as Tom called it, did nothing to alarm Sidney. As much as he was looking forward to being a father, he deeply appreciated those quiet first few months of their marriage: time to discover each other, to learn all the little quirks and whims of their partner that occasionally turned life together into a ride across the stormy sea. Time to reconcile when the sea had calmed. Time to adjust to no longer being an outlier and a spirited girl but a married couple. 

All that was challenging enough without a little stranger growing under Charlotte’s heart. Sidney also knew that fond of her siblings as she was, she had no wish to repeat her mother’s experience and give birth to fourteen children within twenty years, just as he had no wish to put her through such an ordeal. So instead of frantically preparing for parenthood, they enjoyed the time they had, the love they shared and the memories they created together.

But now, the youngest addition to the Parker family was on its way into the world. Sidney listened up; there seemed to be a pause in the fight his poor dear girl was fighting. The only audible sound now was another gust of wind shaking the blinds. Relieved, he slumped down in the nearest chair by the fire and ran a hand through his hair, remembering that glorious day of this year’s cricket match. Which was when Charlotte had told him. Or rather, when she had been untypically quiet and restrained all morning, only exchanging meaningful glances with Alison over the breakfast table, and, as soon as they had arrived at the beach, suggested her sister took her place in Tom’s team.

“What?” Sidney said. “No, Charlotte. I’ve been looking forward to this match for a year.” 

“Yes, I know, and I’ll be forever grateful that you fought it through for me with the vicar, but… Alison is so much better at cricket than I. She’ll increase your chances of winning significantly.”

“But she’s not you.” Sidney felt like a little boy who had his favourite cake taken away from him without even being allowed to lick the crumbs. He really had been looking forward to this: See her run, see her bat, see her smile. At him. With him. Such a difference from the previous year! He looked down at her, wondering whether anything was ailing her. Her countenance was as healthy and lively as ever, her cheeks rosy, her eyes particularly bright and shining, her nose cute and freckled and asking to be kissed. Only her mouth… something was different about her mouth: her lips twitched as if fighting to get out the rights words. For a moment, Sidney wondered whether he had messed up weeks and dates and missed her monthly curse. Her monthly- he stopped mid-thought and looked at his wife again. Charlotte’s lips were not twitching any longer but had broken into a smile: a little shy, very proud and immensely happy. 

“Charlotte…” Sidney began, unable to process what her gaze was telling him or to stare at his wife with any other expression than that of complete and utter amazement.

“Yes.” 

“When?” he whispered, feeling the sand move under his feet.

“Around Christmas, I think.”

“Good. Very good. – Excellent,” he added with a broad grin, ready to clap his hands and embrace the whole world, for a few astonishing seconds actually resembling his eldest brother. For the moment, that was all: this was Sanditon’s public beach, not Sidney’s Cove, and the place was humming with spectators cheering, and players warming up, and gulls trying to snatch leftovers from the refreshment tents. As much as Sidney longed to lift Charlotte up and kiss her and tell her that she was the most marvellous human being that walked this earth (if not the universe), he knew he had to hold back in public unless he wanted to incite another visit by the vicar. 

So all he did was give her the most loving smile of a proud and happy husband, kiss her hand, offer her his arm and lead her over to the marquee where the ladies were seated. Placing her safely between Mary and Diana and ignoring Georgiana’s questioning gaze, he announced that there was a change of plan and that instead of Mrs Sidney Parker, Miss Alison Heywood was going to join the gentlemen’s team. Mr Hankins started protesting but was quickly drowned out by Tom Parker saying “Splendid!”, clapping his hands, calling his team together and inviting an elated Alison to join them. 

In the end, it did not matter anyway: Sidney played a terrible game that afternoon, keeping his eyes on his wife instead of the ball, and despite Alison’s and Crowe’s best attempts at levelling the score, Tom’s gentlemen were crushed to defeat by Fred Robinson’s labourers.

Much later that day, when the sun had set and Mr and Mrs Parker retired to the privacy of their bedroom, Sidney placed some kisses and his large hand on Charlotte’s flat white belly. They marvelled at the little miracle their love had produced and made all the sweet and silly assumptions about their child future parents are allowed to make. At some stage, they stopped talking and just revelled in each other’s loving gaze, and then, acting on the invisible impulse that so often brought them together, they reached out for each other and indulged in some tender and passionate lovemaking.

And now, seven months later, the great day had come. Charlotte’s belly was no longer flat but round like the buoys the Sanditon fishermen used to mark their grounds. Instead of lovemaking, however careful and tender, she these days very much preferred foot massages and a cushion to support her back. 

Listening to the wind outside, Sidney returned to the fireplace, tapped his thumb on the mantelpiece and hung his head, staring into the flames and trying to breathe evenly to calm his upcoming panic. She was young; she was strong. Even without him by her side. She would go through this. 

Fortunately, a knock on the front door distracted him, followed by voices in the entrance hall and a gush of cold air that made the fire soar. 

“What a splendid day!” Tom Parker walked into the drawing-room, beaming as always, rubbing his hands together and sinking into the chair closest to the fire. “I have to tell you, Sidney, I’m starting to find these fresh winter gales more invigorating than anything else. We should consider advertising for the winter season. – Now, how’s your dearest girl doing?”

Sidney lifted his eyes to the ceiling, wishing he might see anything of what was going on up there. But Mary, the midwife and the doctor were adamant: He was not allowed anywhere close to his labouring wife. Tom did not expect an answer anyway. “The first one is always a troublemaker,” he said, putting his booted feet on a stool and pulling a newspaper from his tailcoat. “Took Mary twenty hours for Alicia. – Mind offering me a glass?” He nodded at the brandy on a side table. Sidney readily obliged his brother, his hands shaking heavily, though. Charlotte was tough. She would endure twenty hours of labour. And the last thing she needed right now was a whimpering husband.

“Don’t worry, Sidney,” Tom grinned, toasting him. “It will all go well. Your Charlotte is in the best of hands.” Of course she was. Mary knew exactly what she was going through; the midwife, a motherly dragon by the name of Mrs Featherstone, was a veteran of her profession who had delivered half of the population of Sanditon, and Dr George… Dr George was Tom’s pride and crown jewel. He may have come too late to save Lady Denham’s life, but despite that unfortunate start, he had quickly turned into one of Sanditon’s finest assets. As no one ever managed to pronounce his weird German name (it started with an M and could have been something like Mefust, Mafus or Mafust), he had been dubbed by his first name and was commonly known as Dr George.

A good-looking man in his fifties with full greying hair, a chiselled jawline, and dark, intelligent eyes, he was a great favourite with the local womenfolk as well as with the grand ladies from London who now flocked to Sanditon to profit from his treatment. Many of his patients claimed that the power of his gaze and the deep resonance of his voice alone had healing effects on them. (It has to be said though that Dr George was an absolute professional and never returned his patients’ adoration; it was also rumoured that he was, in fact, married and that his wife was still detained by unfortunate circumstances in her German hometown, eager to join her husband in Sanditon for the following summer season.)

Tom never tired of praising himself for luring this medical authority to his spa town, even though Dr George never came to show his abilities in healing the mysterious illness that had caught everyone’s attention with his application. The ladies of Sanditon had proven so completely immune against it that now, one and a half year later, Sidney did not even remember the name of the disease. Something ending with -is and beginning with tup- … or was it tip-? Top-? Tepiditis? Personally, Sidney entertained the theory that the good doctor had only invented the affliction to make his resume sound more interesting – but that was a view he only shared with his wife and never with his eldest brother.

He started pacing up and down the room again, hands on his hips, until Tom looked up from his newspaper and said: “For god’s sake, Sidney, sit down! You don’t help your Charlotte by wearing out the floorboards. She’s just another woman giving birth. Happens multiple times every day!” Before Sidney could tell his brother in a very unbrotherly tone that Charlotte was anything but “just another woman”, there was another knock on the front door, followed by a cold gush of wind, merry chatter in the entrance hall and Arthur and Diana joining them after a few moments.

“This is so exciting, Sidney!” Diana cried, grasping her brother’s hands, looking up to him from anxious blue eyes. “We came as soon as we heard. Our poor Charlotte! Is she suffering very much?”

Instead of an answer, a rather earthshattering scream came from upstairs. Diana dropped Sidney’s hands, and Arthur dropped the toast fork he had been extracting from his waistcoat. Sidney just stared at the ceiling, torn between pain, love, desperation and the urge to hit something.

“Nothing to worry about,” Tom informed his siblings, leaning back and unfolding his newspaper. “She’s going into the final stage. It will all be over very soon now. Trust me, Sidney, I’ve been through this many times.” Sidney swallowed the remark that trusting Tom Parker was not exactly a safe recipe for a happy outcome. On the other hand, one had to admit that fatherhood was probably the only area where Tom easily surpassed both his brothers.

“This might be too much for my nerves,” Diana sighed and sank into a chair next to the fireplace.

“I was going to suggest some buttered toast,” Arthur said, fiddling with his fork. “But I’m not sure I’m hungry anymore. Which is very disturbing. I hope it’s only the excitement and not an early symptom of consumption….”

“Ha!” Tom interrupted him, tapping on his newspaper. “Listen to this! It’s about Mrs Campion’s new husband!” At the end of this year’s season, Mrs Campion had indeed remarried: a gentleman with a knighthood and, as it seemed, a career in the foreign service. “He’s appointed the new governor of…” Tom wrinkled his brow. “Uh, never heard of that place. The Divergence Islands. Where might that be? Not in the Caribbean, right, Sidney?” 

Sidney shook his head. “I think it’s somewhere in the South Atlantic. Some volcanic islands that serve as a supply base for ships en route to Australia or India.” Both Diana and Arthur looked somewhat aghast. 

“Do you think Mrs C will join her husband on his new post, Sidney?” Tom asked.

“That’s the custom, I believe.” After all, the governor’s wife was the first lady of the place, a little queen, if she chose to. Even if her realm was just some rocks halfway between Africa and South America.

“Well,” Arthur said. “I can’t say I envy her right now. If it’s a windswept island in the middle of the Atlantic, she will need a warm shawl and woollen stockings.”

Sidney sighed, nearly feeling sorry for Eliza. To marry a title, only to find herself not the great lady of a castle, but the mistress of a windy governor’s house on some castaway island! How would she keep up her elegant demeanour when fashion magazines would reach her only after a two months’ journey? On the other hand, he felt relief at the idea of Charlotte being safe from bumping into her when mingling with London society during her next visit to Lady Worcester. Such meetings were inevitable, and they were bound to be embarrassing.

Another gust of wind hit the shutters, followed by more noise from the entrance hall. “Beastly weather,” Lord Babington said, shaking off the cold as he entered the drawing-room, genial and amiable as always. “Lady Babington sends her regards. All young Parkers plus Miss Alison and Miss Lambe are safely secured under her wing in Sanditon House.” Sidney replied with a grateful nod: Esther had volunteered to take care of children and house guests during Charlotte’s difficult hours.

“Any progress yet?” Crowe inquired as he followed his friend into the drawing-room, taking out his hip flask. “Has Little P already made an appearance, or will I need more of this stuff?”

Instead of an answer, there was another scream from above. Blanching, Crowe stared at the ceiling. “Heavens, Parker…” He was so shocked that he forgot to drink and stowed the unopened flask away again.

“It’s all nothing but nature’s course,” Tom explained, closing his newspaper and leaning forward. “Now, Mr Crowe, as one of Sanditon’s first supporters, would you mind if I used your good name in a testimonial to advertise the pleasures of the town?”

“Pleasures? It’s more the unbearable pains of boredom, I’d say.” That was not true, of course: despite his own words, Crowe was quite a regular, staying with the Babingtons at Sanditon House for weeks on end and inviting himself to Waterloo Terrace whenever his original hosts retreated to one of his lordship’s countryside residences. Lady Babington, who had become surprisingly fond of her husband, had started more than one attempt to set Crowe up with one of the many young ladies gracing Sanditon’s beaches and assembly rooms during the summer season. Yet he had proven remarkably steadfast in his ignorance of the word “courtship”, prompting even Charlotte to admit that perhaps he was the one exception from her rule that marriage was a matter of compatibility.

However, a lesser-known fact was that next to dancing with Georgiana Lambe at every ball and batting with Alison Heywood on the beach, Crowe enjoyed the particular friendship of a young blonde piano teacher with porcelain blue eyes whenever he happened to be in London. But that again was knowledge Sidney only shared with his wife and no one else.

“The bets are still open, I gather?” Crowe now asked, settling into one of the chairs. “Are we going for a boy, a girl, or twins? Or could a gull be a contender?”

“You are not going to bet on my child,” Sidney roared, considering throwing them all out and at the mercy of the howling gale outside. 

Babington pressed a glass of port into his hand. “Easy, Sidney. It’s his way of showing affection.”

“I’m sure it will be a boy,” Tom announced. “There is a certain streak of strong male characters in the Parker family. – Guess you’ve thought about a name already? Maybe honour those who have always promoted your courtship with Miss Heywood?” he added with a wink. Swallowing heavily, Sidney suppressed the urge to reply that one Thomas Parker in the family was more than enough, thank you very much. Fortunately, they were all diverted by more noise at the front door and the eminent black figure of the vicar entering the drawing-room shortly afterwards.

“Jolly good!” Arthur beamed. “Mr Hankins! Sit down with us. Do you care for a glass of port? Or rather Mrs Heywood’s blackcurrant cordial? I find it very revivifying, especially on days like this when one’s chilled to the bone from morning till midnight.”

“As it is not yet noon, I believe some tea would be more appropriate,” the vicar said, looking around, then resting his gaze on Sidney. “I have been notified that a most solemn and fortunate event was about to take place in your household, sir. Clearly, I have been misinformed.”

“Oh no, you’re absolutely right, vicar,” Tom beamed and even stood to offer his seat to the priest. “We are actually just moments away from welcoming a young Master Parker into our family.”

Mr Hankins raised an eyebrow. “Then why would I be entering a merry drinking party? The entry of a new life into our tumbling world is a delicate matter that has to be tended to with the utmost care and reverence. The innocence of an infant is like the fresh sprout on the ancient trunk of the family tree, a sprout that might only too easily be tainted and left to whither if-“

Crowe looked the vicar up and down as if searching for any hidden hip-flasks (he was, after all, an expert on that matter). “Are you drunk?”

“Sir!” Mr Hankins gasped. “I’m…”

“Sidney.” 

Mary stood in the doorway, her expression one of complete solemnity, her gaze searching her brother-in-law. The quiet power of her voice was enough to silence everyone. “You have a daughter, Sidney.”

(Sorry. The author of your story is in urgent need of a tissue. It’s hay fever, of course, nothing but a little hay fever … always hits me when I’m writing this stuff … Excuse me … I’ll be back in a moment.)

Mary stood in the doorway, her expression one of complete solemnity, her gaze searching her brother-in-law. The quiet power of her voice was enough to silence everyone. “You have a daughter, Sidney.”

“A… daughter…” Sidney echoed, feeling the ground shift, the room move and the world turn upside down all at the same time. Fortunately, there was Mary to hold him steady and wrap him in her loving sisterly embrace.

“A darling little girl,” she whispered. “I’m so glad for you, dearest Sidney.” – just before, after moments of stunned silence, the room erupted into cheers and clinking glasses. Everyone embraced whoever was standing closest to them, then strove to hug the new papa or pat him lovingly on the shoulders. Well, maybe not everyone – Mr Hankins gasped for air, helped himself to the bottle of blackcurrant cordial and mumbled something no one listened to. 

“A little Miss Parker,” Tom said. “Very cleverly done, Sidney. A future adornment for our ballroom!” Sidney was too overwhelmed to tell his brother that his daughter was no adornment but a lady, a princess, a queen like her mother (at least over his heart). Behind him, Babington, Crowe and Arthur were drinking to the health of Miss Parker, and her mother, and her aunt Mary. Diana started a hiccup from laughing and crying, and on the fire, Arthur’s forgotten toast burnt to bricks. Sidney wiped his eyes, swallowed the lump in his throat and turned to his sister-in-law again. 

“Can I see them?” 

Mary squeezed his hand before releasing it with a nod. Taking two stairs at a time, he raced up to their bedroom. Mrs Featherstone was guarding the door, eyeing him suspiciously. “Only for a minute, young man. And no extravagances. They’ve both laboured hard.”

Sidney harrumphed, pushing the midwife aside (on occasions such as this, his old impatient self enjoyed making an appearance). 

When he entered the room, Dr George was just stepping aside from the bed, welcoming him with the knowing smile of a man who had witnessed the unfolding scene more than once in his professional life. 

That being said, even a coldblooded physician would admit that in this case, the scene was a particularly heart-warming one: The dark and handsome, slightly mysterious and secretly powerful Mr Parker, the man who, if rumours were to be believed, was the true master of Sanditon, handling all the finances while his elder brother was running the show… the very same Mr Parker who was said to be a former boxing champion and made all the female summer guests swoon when he walked about the town in his leather breeches… that very same Mr Parker stopped dead on the doorstep for a second. He looked completely disarmed and helpless as he took in the figure in his bed, his wife, the lovely Mrs Parker, her face half-hidden behind her curls as she bent her head to regard the bundle in her arms.

The bundle in her arms.

Now Charlotte looked up, her expression one of complete peace and contentment, her eyes, however, a little wet and shiny. For a moment, Sidney felt such pride about being this woman’s husband that he expected to burst on the spot. Then her lips curled into a tiny little smile, inviting him to join her and to meet their daughter. With two strides, he was kneeling by her side, whispering her name.

Charlotte moved the bundle in her arms, and what Sidney saw was a tiny rosebud of a face, a button nose, a perfect little mouth and eyes firmly closed to the harsh world out there. And a curl of brown hair peeping out from under the soft white blanket his daughter was wrapped in. “She is…,” Sidney started, then, looking at her mother: “You are…” – yet forgetting whatever he had intended to say when his daughter first very softly smacked her lips and then slowly, ever so slowly opened her eyes. And he lost his heart completely.

The world stood still. His vision blurred. So that was it. The reason for his being on earth. Suddenly, everything in his life made sense: Eliza, Antigua, Sanditon, the fighting, the loneliness, the pain. The moment Charlotte had walked into his life. The meeting down by the cove. Even the vicar showing up in Tom’s drawing-room and demanding their engagement. All but single steps on a meandering path that would finally lead him to the reward that the bliss of this moment was.

Not half as impressed by the encounter as her father, the youngest Miss Parker drowsily closed her eyes again and fell back into sleep. Sidney detached his gaze from her and looked at her mother. “You’ve laboured so hard, my poor sweet angel.” Charlotte, indeed looking a bit outworn, her lips bitten, her hair still clinging to her temples, returned his gaze with the serious expression she always reserved for moments of great importance.

“It was entirely a work of love. Our love, Sidney.” And she was right, as always. He leaned forward to place a tender kiss on her forehead, mindful not to disturb the tiny bundle in her arms.

“Our love, Charlotte,” he confirmed. “I don’t know how to thank you. For everything.” Being the clever girl that she was, he knew she understood that he was talking not only about the child she was cradling. She carefully leaned her head against his.

“You don’t need to thank me, Sidney. But if you insist, you can help me raise our daughter to a kind and clever and confident young lady.”

“I will,” he promised, unable to keep his eyes off the miracle in Charlotte’s arms and unwilling to part from the woman who had given him the gift of love in all possible forms. They spent some more blissful moments gazing at their daughter and at each other until the midwife returned and told Dr George off for letting this go on for so long. Then she sent Sidney outside because Mrs Parker required some rest, and so did the infant, and the last thing they needed was a big bulky man stammering sentimental nonsense.

Sidney blew his two girls two kisses. Out on the corridor, he leaned against the wall for a few seconds, wiping his eyes, breathing deeply and shaking his head in disbelief at his happy fate. With the emotions still shaking him, he did not feel like returning downstairs to his family and friends. There was some other important business to attend to anyway: He walked over to the study, took a seat behind his desk and opened the Bible given to him at his own baptism. His church attendance was still meagre, and if he did go to the Sunday service, it was only to please his dearest wife and keep her out of trouble with the ever-vigilant Mr Hankins.

Some traditions, however, had to be upheld, so he dipped his pen into the inkpot. When the overflow of liquid had dropped off, he added in his very best handwriting underneath the entry registering his marriage: On this Thursday, the 21st day of December in the year 1820, my dearest Charlotte has given me a daughter, Susan Jane Parker. That was the name they had agreed on weeks ago: Jane to honour both their mothers, and Susan for Lady Worcester, who had asked to become a godmother to their firstborn child, and also in memory of Arthur’s twin, the youngest of the Parker siblings who had died of consumption while Sidney was away in Antigua.

He closed his eyes, wishing his daughter might encounter nothing but good days and happiness or that he would at least be able to protect her from all pain and sorrow. But that was not what life was like, as he knew very well. The best he could do was to make sure their little Susan grew into a fierce, warm-hearted and confident young woman, like her mother, and to be there for her whenever she needed the support, the wisdom and the love of her father. Dipping his pen again, he thought for a moment, then added: May I be a good father for my children, and may we forever rejoice in the memory of this blissful day.

❤️

On a mild and windless day in January, Mr Sidney Parker took out the two ladies dearest to his heart for a walk to the cove. Mr Parker, as always gladly obliging his wife’s request in their marriage contract, was wearing his leather breeches, which along with his greatcoat and the top hat served well to protect him against the winter air. He also carried a new cane to fend off all intruders to his happiness. Charlotte, dressed in several layers of clothes and a woollen coat, carried the warmly wrapped Miss Susie Parker in a sling over her chest. Susan Jane Parker had quickly turned out to be a particularly sweet, dear and clever baby, doing everything babies were supposed to do in an extraordinarily brilliant way while stealing everyone’s heart with her large brown eyes, her button nose and the funny little tuff of dark curls on her head.

And now it was time to introduce Susie to the place where her parents’ story had taken such an unexpected turn. Sidney helped Charlotte over the rockier parts of the shoreline, glad to see the colour return to her face as the sea air filled her lungs while she listened to the surge and watched out to the blurry horizon. Occasionally, he bent down to pick up a shell or a stone that had caught her eye, and more than once, they just stopped to share a smile or a kiss. Susie Parker, it has to be said, kept behaving well and slept through most of the outing.

Down at the cove, they rested against the rock where once – nearly two years ago – Charlotte had found a bundle of clothes. Sidney enfolded his two dearest girls in the warmth of his greatcoat as they watched out across the sea. In the shallow water close to the beach, two herring gulls were swimming, one of them with a notably damaged head plumage, the feathers sticking out like the spines of a hedgehog. “Look at that,” Sidney smiled. “Your most steadfast admirer is here.” In fact, the herring gull had become quite a regular at Waterloo Terrace, sitting in the gutter or watching out from the rooftop, following Charlotte on her walks and occasionally leaving a message on Mr Parker’s barouche.

“Seems like he’s found himself a lady friend,” Sidney added as the gull and its companion, swimming side by side now, started picking at each other’s neck feathers.

“As I keep telling you,” Charlotte smiled. “It’s all just a question of compatibility. Even for a lifelong outlier.”

“Where would I be without your wisdom and positivity, Charlotte?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “And I don’t care. Because you are here, with Susie and me, and that’s where you belong, Sidney Parker.” Sidney knew better than to contradict his clever wife: he bent forward and very lovingly and very longingly kissed her over the head of their sleeping daughter.

❤️

In the many years of their long and happy marriage, they would often return to the cove. They would bring the children, and they would have picnics and feed the gulls and build sandcastles and collect shells and stones and occasionally even find a fossil that had been washed down from the ancient hills. Sidney would teach his children how to swim (wearing more than a few drops of salt water, because as the times and the tides changed, so did the fashion for bathing costumes), and Charlotte would make sure no one got sunburnt, and if they did, she would apply buttermilk poultices and cool air and laughter and a kiss.

They would light a fire and roast sausages and toast and whatever else changed colour and taste over the flames, and they would watch the sun kiss the sea and the moon rise in the sky above Sanditon. When they returned to Waterloo Terrace, sand in their shoes and salt on their lips, the children would tumble into their beds and dream of new adventures, and Charlotte and Sidney would tumble into their bed as well – not for dreams of new adventures, though, but for kissing the salt and the sand off each other’s skin.

Needless to say, those family days by the cove created their most precious memories, and it was those memories that gave them strength whenever pain and sorrow hit the Parkers of Sanditon – for pain and sorrow were, after all, as much part of life as joy and happiness.

Occasionally, after seeing the children to bed, Mr and Mrs Parker sneaked away from Waterloo Terrace: they walked back to the cove to enjoy a private swim in the moonlight and perhaps share some love and affection. Charlotte would snuggle up against Sidney, his arms coming around her, their fingers entwined, their hearts beating as one, their minds cherishing the same memories: the first awkward weeks of their acquaintance. Their unhappy engagement. The many conversations that had sent them on a slow and challenging journey towards trust, healing and self-discovery.

And finally, the affirmation of their feelings on the day of the first Sanditon regatta: Sidney intercepting the carriage and offering Charlotte his heart up there on the cliff.

Up there on the cliff: a tall, dark man nervously clutching a top hat, a girl with tousled hair, and a kiss so sweet it seemed to last forever.

And forever is not over yet.

If you look very closely, you will always see them.

 

Notes:

“My characters shall have, after a little trouble, all that they desire.” (Jane Austen)