An Unpracticed Heart

Chapter Eight

Since coming to live at Ellesferth Castle, Charlotte had begun to appreciate the calm and quiet of the evening more than any other part of the day. The dishes washed and put away, the tables wiped down and the floors swept clean, she would take her seat near the fire and sew, or—if her aunt happened to turn in early for the night—read through a book pinched from the library.

Sometimes Maggie would sit up with her now that the young maid had taken on a full-time position at the estate. More often than not, they would talk about meaningless things that never failed to bring smiles to their faces or send them into fits of giggles. Tonight, the two of them were bent over the edge of a tablecloth, their fingers working over a section of damaged embroidery. A few paces away, Mrs. Faraday sat with her feet up on the hearth, her latest knitted creation coming to life beneath the click of her needles.

The hired girls had returned home for the evening and the men had retired to their rooms above the stables, where they could drink and smoke and swear without the watchful eyes of Mrs. Faraday boring into them.

Charlotte tilted a section of the tablecloth towards the fire, the better to see the stitches that needed to be removed. Her neck ached from bending over her work, but she needed a task that would keep her mind and her hands occupied.

For the entire day she'd taken on every task her aunt had given her, burrowing into the chores with a fervor that left her arms quivering and and her fingers numb with fatigue. Even now, her eyes burned and her shoulders sagged, but she wasn't ready to go to bed, to set her head on her pillow and give her mind a moment of freedom. She already knew where her thoughts would stray, how quickly her mind would settle on the image of a man with thick blond hair that shone with hints of silver in the firelight, his green eyes seeming to possess a power that pierced through her with every glance.

She hadn't seen him for three nights since, when Jenson had arrived and nearly chased her out of Lord Hartley's bedroom while wielding a stack of silk handkerchiefs and a lint brush. Unable to sleep, she'd gone into the library and curled up in one of the chairs, her head nodding only once or twice before the faint light of dawn crept through the windows.

I am here because I killed a man.

Her fingers slipped as the phrase played over in her mind for the hundredth time, the small scissors she held in her right hand accidentally snipping a bit of skin on her left. She winced and lifted the inside of her wrist to her lips, where her tongue encountered the metallic tang of blood.

"Are you all right, Miss?" Maggie's voice was low, presumably so their conversation wouldn't disturb Mrs. Faraday and her knitting.

"It's nothing," Charlotte assured her. "Only a scratch."

"No, Miss. I don't mean that." She set down her own portion of the tablecloth and leaned forward. "You've been a quiet thing all day, and you hardly touched your food at dinner."

"I am well." Charlotte managed a small smile. "Simply tired, is all. I'm sure that a good night's rest will have me back to my former self, and you can cease your worrying."

"Of course," Maggie said, but there was something in the young woman's brow that made her appear to be still unconvinced.

Charlotte tried to return to her work, but the brief exchange with Maggie had torn through the barrier she'd constructed around her thoughts. "Perhaps I should turn in early," she admitted, and set her work aside as she moved to rise from her seat.

She had barely risen to her full height when a bit of movement near the door caught her attention. And then Lord Cowden was there, walking into the kitchen, his head ducked down to avoid striking it against the top of the doorframe.