Chapter Text
Being two and twenty, Charlotte was approaching spinsterhood, or so she perceived her life going when she returned home from London without a marriage offer. Many in her small town of Willingden were already whispering about her ill-fate. She had gone to London for the marriage season once when she was eighteen upon her godmother, Lady Susan Worcester’s, request and refused to return. Aunt Susan, as she liked to be referred to, paraded Charlotte around and taught Charlotte all about what to look for in a husband and also who to avoid. She was taught etiquette on how to dance with a man and turn down a dance if she didn’t wish to dance with a particular gentleman. She was taught the art of conversation and how to make a gentleman find her appealing. She was even taught how to promenade in the park and what were acceptable conversation topics at dinner parties. There were rules for everything, and a lady was not permitted to break any of those rules. She wasn’t taught any of this growing up in her small town, and it all became confusing as time passed. She knew her godmother was merely trying to help, but she was miserable in London. Many gentlemen called on her. At first, she liked the attention, but the visits made her uncomfortable. She felt uneasy when a man would sing a love song, rather poorly on most occasions. Or when a man would start to recite sonnets of love and romance to win her favor. She wasn’t sure how to react to such gestures of affection. Her godmother merely instructed her to listen politely and clap at the end if it seemed necessary. She was taught not to look away from the man’s face while they tried to appeal to her in such grand ways. Charlotte hated every moment of it.
By the end of the season, Charlotte had been offered five marriage proposals. This was rather shocking after feeling so out of place for most of the season. Susan tried to coerce her to accept the offer of the wealthiest of them, Lord Wentworth. Although, he was who Charlotte despised more than all of them. She wasn’t sure why she disliked the man as much as she did, but she turned him down on his offer as she did to all the others as well. She couldn’t shake the feeling that all the gentlemen interested in her were merely hoping to gain favor with Susan, who was a direct line to the Prince Regent. This was how her own father had land and was considered a prominent gentleman in Willingden. Susan and Charlotte’s mother, Anne, were dear friends growing up. They regarded each other as sisters, and their bond remained over the years. Although they both took different paths in life and rarely saw each other, they remained friends and often wrote letters to each other.
Charlotte couldn’t bring herself to marry a man merely for wealth or position. She wanted something more. She wanted someone who loved her, and she loved in return. The men in London who made offers of marriage, she barely knew. She certainly didn’t have the opportunity to connect with them, which meant she didn’t love them.
Since Charlotte turned down all proposals, she had developed a reputation in London as a lady with unrealistic expectations and someone who strung men along for sport. She was accused of being problematic. This was the reason she never wanted to return to London. Nothing said about her was true, yet it was accepted as truth the moment someone said it.
She returned to her home with her family and refused to return. Susan persisted and sent her a request for a visit as the marriage season approached each year. Charlotte politely declined, finding much more enjoyment in staying home.
She may have a reputation of being problematic in London, but in Willingden, she had the reputation of being the youngest spinster since all assumed she would never marry. She might as well accept her fate as a spinster now. Honestly, she didn’t mind. She was finding men to be unappealing anyway. Their antics never interested her, nor did their tight restraints on a woman upon marriage. She refused to be subjected to a life of remaining in the house and only leaving if her husband approved. She did not need a husband’s approval for anything. She had always been free to come and go as she pleased while at home. Why would she give up that freedom for a husband? Spinsterhood seemed far more appealing.
Charlotte and her younger brothers, Jon and William, sat very still in the tall grass, waiting for their prey to appear. Charlotte crouched down in the grass, pointing her rifle towards a small rabbit in the distance. She narrowed her eyes, focusing on her shot while cocking the rifle to prepare to shoot. The shot echoed through the air, and Charlotte saw the small rabbit fall to the ground. A pleased look of satisfaction spread across her face.
In the mere seconds of watching the rabbit fall and smiling with pride, she also heard the distinct sound of a horse whinnying loudly and a man shouting with fear. Charlotte hopped up from the ground and glanced at her brothers. The expressions on their faces made it clear that they heard it too. They scanned the horizon, looking towards the trees and along the road. Charlotte placed her hand on her forehead to block out the sun and saw a horse, still agitated and stomping about among the trees.
“This way, boys!” Charlotte shouted, picking up her skirts and running towards the trees. Upon reaching the horse, Charlotte saw a man lying unconscious on the ground. The horse’s reigns were still connected to him, causing the horse to stomp all over him in fear. Charlotte feared the worst. She was certain the man was dead. The guilt radiating through her was the worst feeling she had ever felt in all her life.
Charlotte was the first to reach him. She quickly pulled the horse free from the man and handed the reigns off to her brothers, instructing them to get the horse away and calmed down. Charlotte crouched down on the ground and looked at the man for any sign of life. She saw a large gash on his head from hitting a rock when he fell. Her father had spoken of horses getting spooked by the sound of a rifle before, which is why she was never permitted to bring a horse with her while hunting. She should have scanned the horizon for any approaching horses before shooting. She had always been taught to look around first, but she didn’t this time. There was never anyone approaching. In all the years she hunted, she never once saw anyone coming close.
The man let out a small breath, surprising Charlotte. “Jon, get papa. Quickly!” she ordered. Jon handed the horse’s reigns off to William and took off running through the grass. Charlotte ripped her petticoat and wrapped the fabric around the man’s head to stop the bleeding. She looked across the rest of his body, noticing many scratches from falling in the brush. His sleeves were pulled up around his elbows, which Charlotte thought was rather foolish. If his sleeves were down, he might not have been scratched as severely as he was. She pulled his shirt up, noticing the bright red blood pooling on the shirt’s fabric. The wound on his stomach was deep and bleeding badly. He also had a wound on his chest that wasn’t nearly as bad but would be a nasty bruise. The injuries appeared to be where the horse had stepped on him. Her lips pressed together as she continued her survey of his body. His leg was twisted beneath him, surely sprained, if not broken. Tears welled in her eyes when she realized his injuries were far worse than she could have imagined. Even if he were alive for the moment, he would surely die.
Determined to do whatever she could to help the man she was responsible for, she ripped another section of her petticoat, placed it on the open lesion on his stomach, and pressed her hand against it as tightly as she could. The blood soaked through the material rather quickly.
“Sir!” Charlotte yelled, trying to arouse the man awake. “Sir! Please, wake up.”
The man barely stirred, causing Charlotte’s guilt to grow deeper. The tears welling in her eyes began to fall down her cheeks while she was helpless to wipe them away. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, hoping the man could hear her pleas of remorse. “It’s all my fault. I should have noticed you approaching. Please forgive me.”
The man turned his head and opened his eyes wide, sucking in a deep gasp of air. The act scared Charlotte to her core. She stopped breathing, only hearing a ringing sound echo through her ears. The man stared up at her with the most haunting eyes she had ever seen before his head fell to the side, and his eyes closed again. He let out a long breath as if it were his last. Charlotte shook him, scared beyond belief she would see her first death at her hands, no less. “No! You cannot die. Please, sir. Please don’t die.”
“Father’s coming!” William shouted.
Charlotte sobbed with great relief that her father was coming. She turned her head and saw her father in the farm wagon, rushing across the field as quickly as he could.
“Papa!” Charlotte screamed, getting his attention and feeling the overwhelming need for him to comfort her. He shouted for the horses to go faster, seeing Charlotte and William in the cover of the trees. Within moments, Mr. Heywood pulled the wagon up next to them. He jumped off the wagon while Charlotte’s other brothers, Eric and Timothy, climbed out of the back. Poor Jon was traumatized. He remained in the seat, holding the wagon’s reigns and only staring with wide, fearful eyes.
“What happened to him?” Mr. Heywood asked.
Charlotte’s tears welled up in her eyes again. “It’s all my fault, Papa. I didn’t see him. I fired the gun without ensuring no one was near. His horse spooked.”
Mr. Heywood sighed and kneeled next to her to look at the man’s injuries. “Is he breathing?”
“He was a moment ago. He opened his eyes before he lost consciousness again and let out a long sigh. I fear he may already be dead, Papa.”
Mr. Heywood turned the man’s head and leaned his ear close to the man’s mouth. A small gasp of air escaped him. “He’s still alive. We must get him back to the house to take care of his injuries properly.”
Charlotte nodded, listening to her father’s instructions. Her brothers, Eric and Timothy, rushed over at their father’s request and helped lift the man with William and Charlotte.
“Careful with his leg. I’m certain it’s broken,” Charlotte instructed. They gathered the man as carefully as possible and placed him in the back of the wagon. Charlotte climbed in next to him and pressed her hands against the wound on his stomach again. The fabric was soaked through with his blood, as were her hands, but she felt compelled to put pressure against the wound.
“Rip a fresh piece of fabric from your dress,” her father instructed. “We need to get the bleeding stopped.”
“Yes, Papa.” Charlotte grabbed the hem of her dress and pulled it as hard as possible, ripping off another piece and replacing the blood-soaked piece from before. She held her hands against the wound as tightly as she could while they made their way back to the house. Her brothers all hopped off the wagon and began to gather the man in their arms when they reached the house.
“Anne!” Mr. Jon Heywood shouted. Mrs. Heywood came rushing out of the house with a few of Charlotte’s sisters following closely behind. They all gasped when they saw what was happening. Charlotte’s tear-soaked face met her mother’s frantic gaze as if pleading with her to make it all right.
“Girls, get inside!” Anne ordered. The girls rushed back inside but were still trying to catch a peek at what was happening. Charlotte let go of the fabric covering his wound while her brothers and father gathered the man and carried him into the house. Mrs. Heywood led the way to a room and instructed them to put the man in one of Charlotte’s brother’s beds. Charlotte quickly sat beside him on the bed and pressed her blood-soaked hands back against his wound.
“He’s going to need stitches,” Mr. Heywood said.
“I’ll gather my sewing needle and some thread,” Anne said, leaving the room.
“Charlotte, it’s best if you leave now,” Mr. Heywood instructed, placing a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.
“I can’t, Papa. I have such guilt. It’s my fault. I can’t leave.”
Mr. Heywood sighed. “Very well.”
Mr. Heywood assessed the man’s leg while Charlotte watched. “I don’t believe his leg is broken. Sprained for sure, but not broken.”
“Here’s the needle and thread,” Mrs. Heywood announced when coming back into the room. “Would you like me to do it, or would you?”
“Reminds me of a similar incident many years ago,” Mr. Heywood chuckled. Charlotte was confused about why her father seemed so calm during such a catastrophic event and what he meant by how it reminded him of a similar incident. What similar incident was he referring to?
“I’m afraid I’ve yet to learn to sew,” Mr. Heywood admitted. “You will have to do it.”
Mrs. Heywood walked over to Charlotte and sat down beside her. Charlotte scooted closer to the man’s head to give her mother space. “Can you hold the lantern?” she asked.
“Yes, Mama,” Charlotte agreed, grabbing the lantern and holding it close for her mother to see. Charlotte watched closely as her mother lifted the fabric and looked at the severity of the lesion. Her eyes narrowed as she prepared the first stitch. The man flinched when the needle punctured his skin, but he didn’t wake up.
“Jon, perhaps you should stand close in case you need to hold him down,” Anne Heywood instructed. He stepped forward and held the man’s shoulders in case he started to thrash about. Mrs. Heywood made another puncture into the skin, pulling both sides together tightly. Her eyes squinted as if she was struggling to see where to make the stitches. “Charlotte, would you mind taking over? I’m afraid my eyes aren’t as good as they once were.”
“Yes, Mama,” Charlotte agreed, even though she feared sewing the man up. She traded spots with her mother and listened to instructions on what type of stitch to use and how to tighten the thread without breaking the skin. Charlotte was determined to do a good job and save the man’s life if that’s what she was doing. She couldn’t live with herself if the man perished because of her. When she was done with the gash on his stomach, her father helped roll the man to his side to stitch up the minor gash on the side of his head. After the wounds were stitched, Charlotte was instructed to pour alcohol on the injuries to clean them and then place a cloth dipped in scalding hot water on each wound. She was beginning to think this wasn’t the first time her parents had tended to these types of injuries.
“If he wakes up,” Mrs. Heywood began.
“When he wakes up,” Charlotte corrected. “He will wake up, won’t he?”
Mrs. Heywood placed a sympathetic hand other daughter’s shoulder. “Yes, when he wakes up, he will have a lot of pain. He will need some of the alcohol in his system to help ease that pain.”
Charlotte nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” She was determined to stay by his side until she was sure he would survive. It was undoubtedly the only way to rid herself of the guilt she felt.
“I think it’s best your brothers and I take turns watching over him,” Mr. Heywood added.
“I can manage, Papa,” Charlotte argued.
“I’m certain you can. However, we mustn’t take any chances until we know his business here in Willingden. He could very well be a highwayman ready to hurt you at the first opportunity. I will not leave you alone with him.” Charlotte opened her mouth, ready to protest against his decision. He was certainly not a highwayman considering the impeccable way he dressed. He was also significantly injured. How could he possibly hurt her without hurting himself even more? “Don’t argue.” His voice was gruff and full of finality. Even if Charlotte did argue, she wouldn’t change his mind.
“Why don’t you get yourself cleaned and changed out of your torn dress?” Mrs. Heywood instructed. “Dinner is almost ready. I’d appreciate some help with getting the table set.”
Tears once again welled in Charlotte’s eyes. She felt guilty for leaving the man. “Charlotte,” her father spoke, “He will be just fine. You are not at fault nor responsible for his life.”
She tried to believe him, but she couldn’t shake the guilt. She nodded and got off the bed to walk out. Gathered in the kitchen were her many siblings, all staring at her with wide, expectant eyes.
“Is he dead?” Jon, the eldest of her brothers, asked.
“No,” Charlotte answered.
“Do you know who he is?” Alison, the second born behind Charlotte, asked.
“No.”
“I wonder where he came from,” William mused. “He doesn’t look familiar.”
“No, I’m certain I’ve never seen him either,” Alison added.
“What do you suppose he was doing in the trees?” Timothy asked.
“Passing through, I imagine,” Jon answered.
“What should we call him?” Franny, one of the youngest of the Heywood brood, asked.
“He looks like a Frank,” seven-year-old Robert remarked.
“Frank!” Rachel grumbled, disapproving of the name. “He’s not a Frank. He’s definitely a Charles.”
“You only say that because you’re in love with Charles Grandison from the book you’re reading,” Timothy teased.
“I am not!” she shouted defensively.
“We will know his name when he awakes,” Charlotte said, stopping their bickering. “For now, there is no point trying to guess. Surely we will all be wrong.”
“Charlotte,” little Sarah began, looking up at Charlotte with large fearful eyes. “Is that your blood?”
Charlotte looked down and saw the bright red stains on her hands and dress. She shook her head and smiled at Sarah, the youngest of her siblings. “No. I was not injured. You needn’t worry about me. I’m going to wash up.” Charlotte walked past them and out to the bucket of water sitting outside. She dipped her hands in and scrubbed at the blood. Her eyes welled with tears as the thoughts and images of what happened again played through her mind.
“Do you truly think he will survive?” Charlotte’s sister, Alison, asked. Directly behind her in birth order, Alison was Charlotte’s closest and dearest sister. They were more than just sisters. They were the best of friends and shared everything.
“He has to. I cannot live with the guilt if he dies,” Charlotte remarked.
“He is handsome,” Alison praised. “I wonder if he’s married. I pray he’s not.”
“Alison!” Charlotte exclaimed with a disapproving tone.
“Am I not permitted to be attracted to a gentleman who has landed on our doorstep?”
“He is injured. You shouldn’t be praying for him to be a single man. You should be praying for his recovery.”
“Oh, I will,” Alison assured. “I’ll be praying for a swift recovery and that he will remain for a time if he is unmarried. Perhaps long enough to get to know him and he to get to know us. If he is unmarried, perhaps he’d find one of us marriageable.
Charlotte rolled her eyes, appalled that her sister thought of nothing more than finding a husband. “I imagine being the one who got him into this mess, he will not find me appealing at all. I imagine he will despise me and wish to have nothing to do with me.”
“All the better for me,” Alison giggled excitedly.
Charlotte rolled her eyes again and returned to washing his blood from her hands. Charlotte hated herself for causing so much pain and suffering to the man. She was certain the moment he awoke and discovered the truth of what happened, he would loathe her more than she did herself.
Charlotte hastily walked back into the house and went to her bedroom to change her dress. She wanted to cry again when she noticed the man’s blood stained across her dress. She feared if he would live or die. Despite her fears, she put the simple brown dress on and went to the kitchen where her mother was preparing their dinner.
“I shot a rabbit earlier,” Charlotte said, remembering that she was hunting before tragedy struck. “I forgot all about it.”
Mrs. Heywood rubbed Charlotte’s shoulder and drew her to her side for a hug of support and understanding. “It’s all right, Charlotte. We will manage without it.”
“I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to hunt again. I’ll be too afraid of hurting someone else.”
“There’s no reason for you to hunt any longer anyway. You can let your brothers handle the hunting from now on. You should be focusing on finding a husband. The marriage season is approaching again.”
Charlotte sighed with apparent disdain for what her mother was suggesting. “Who am I to marry? There’s no one suitable here in Willingden. I refuse ever to go back to London. I didn’t fit in there.”
“Perhaps you can visit another town?” her mother suggested. “I’m certain Susan would gladly host you again. She has no children of her own and always felt great pride when we chose her as our children’s godmother. It’s time for your sister to look for a husband as well. You can both go together and have each other to lean on.”
Charlotte released a long breath. “If I must go somewhere to find a husband, I only request I do not go back to London.”
“I will write Susan immediately and ask for her advice on a more suitable place for you and your sister.”
Charlotte didn’t want to marry anyone. A season was not enough time to get to know someone and form an attachment. She never understood why girls accepted marriage proposals after mere days of meeting someone. Or, for that matter, why men proposed after only meeting someone a handful of times. Her sister would surely marry the first man to make an offer as long as his appearance was appealing. As close as they were, they had very different opinions on who they wished to marry.
Charlotte grabbed the bowl of soup and placed it on the table while her sister put out the bowls. Charlotte remained silent while she placed the evening meal offerings on the table while her siblings began to gather into the room, taking their seats and waiting for the meal to start. Many were still whispering about the mystery man lying in William’s bed down the hall. Charlotte ignored all the conversations, unwilling to speak of him any longer.
She sat at the table and waited for her father to join them. Charlotte watched her father exit the bedroom and leave the man alone. “Shouldn’t someone sit with him?” Charlotte asked. “What if he awakes and is confused about where he is?”
“He needs his rest. I don’t find it likely he will awake for a while,” Mr. Heywood said.
Charlotte couldn’t help but fixate her attention down the hall where the man lay barely clinging to life.
“Charlotte!” Mr. Heywood exclaimed, causing Charlotte to jump and notice they were all waiting on her for the evening prayer.
Charlotte quickly broke her attention and took her sibling’s hands, bowing her head. “Sorry.”
Her father cleared his throat, preparing to say the prayer over the meal. “Heavenly Father, bless the meal you have provided our family for nourishment and the hands that have prepared it. We thank you for all your abundant blessings upon our family. We are humbly blessed by all the good fortune our family has been provided. Bless the man who has joined our family. We pray your hands heal him. We welcome him into our home with your guidance, as there is a purpose for all hardships and blessings. We pray. Amen.”
“Amen,” Charlotte spoke, echoing her family. Her siblings quickly began to fill their plates and bowls, tossing bread to each other and passing around the many offerings. Charlotte was still fixated on the injured man down the hall. She thought about how hungry he must be. She wondered how far he’d traveled before coming upon their farm. She also wondered where he was headed. He was dressed exquisitely, which spoke volumes of his higher social rank. What would possess a man of higher birth to travel alone on horseback? It seemed unheard of.
“Charlotte, eat your dinner,” Mr. Heywood scolded.
“Sorry, Papa. I’m not very hungry.”
“You must eat. I understand your feelings of guilt, but you mustn’t let them control you.”
“Yes, Papa,” she said, trying to focus on eating something. She poured a small amount of the soup into her bowl and sipped at it while she took small bites of bread to fill her stomach. The conversations around the table centered around the mystery man down the hall. Everyone wondered who he was and what his business in Willingden might be. One of Charlotte’s brothers even wondered if he might be a distant relative they were unaware of. Mr. Heywood laughed at this comment, reassuring his children that he was no relation of theirs. Perhaps relation to someone else in Willingden and the man had lost his direction, ending up on their farm, but he was certainly not a part of their family and had no business with them that he was aware of. After everyone had filled their bellies, Mr. Heywood made arrangements for the evening.
“Jon, I’d like you to keep watch first. William will take the second watch. I’ll be up early to take the morning shift. The rest of you boys will sleep in the barn.”
The younger boys were giddy with excitement. Any chance to sleep outside was an exciting adventure. I’d like each of you to go into the room and gather your bedding quietly. I will help you get set up in the loft.
“Are you sure, Jon?” Anne Heywood questioned. “It could be a cold night. Perhaps it would be better for them to stay inside by the fire.”
“They will be fine, dear. Right, boys?”
The three younger boys nodded their heads with excited expressions. Mr. Heywood walked each boy into the room, one by one, to quietly grab their bedding and walk them outside. Charlotte sat by the fire, watching the flames flicker. She was entirely lost in thought, even to realize she was in a trance.
“If you stare at the fire long enough, you will be hexed by witches,” Charlotte’s mother said, speaking of old tales she had been told all her life. Many Charlotte believed as a child. Now she understood it was only a tale to scare her and her siblings into submission.
“Do you think the boys will be all right in the barn all night?” Charlotte asked.
“I’m certain your father will check on them often throughout the night. As worried as I may be, young boys need to have an adventure.”
“What did papa mean when he said this reminded him of a similar incident years ago?” Charlotte asked. Alison and Rachel listened in with interest.
Mrs. Heywood smiled as if remembering something that pleased her. “I suppose we’ve never told you children how your father and I met,” she began. “I was merely sixteen, still very much a child, and very much like you, Charlotte. I was free-spirited and wished to do whatever my two older brothers did. It’s never easy being the youngest as well as the only girl. My mother insisted on my education in the fine arts of embroidery and music. I hated it as much as you do, Charlotte.” Anne laughed at the similarity between mother and daughter. The day I met your father, I followed my brothers on a hunting excursion. They kept telling me to go home, but I followed anyway. We saw a young man who had accidentally sliced his hand open with a knife while trying to skin a rabbit he had just shot. My brothers didn’t know what to do.
“The poor boy didn’t know what to do. He was only eighteen, in all rights a man, but still much a boy. He was crying from the pain and the fear that the blood gushing out of his hand caused him. I just happened to have a needle and thread stuck into my dress from an earlier sewing mishap. I quickly went into action, tearing my petticoat to cover the cut and stop the bleeding before I used the needle and thread to sew his wound up. My brothers and the young man I’d helped all stared at me with astonishment that I was so brave and knew what to do. I honestly didn’t know what I was doing, but I thought I was doing right by him.” Anne smiled again, surely thinking back on the fond memories. “If you ask your father, he will tell you he fell in love that day. I did not. He pursued me endlessly for months after. When he prepared to go off to war, I realized what a fool I was for not accepting his offer of marriage. I couldn’t imagine him being around any longer. I gave him a lock of my hair to remember me by, and he offered me a ring asking me to wear it until he returned so no other man would pursue me during his absence. He kissed me for the first time the day he left.
“I thought I would perish without him. I was miserable for weeks after he left. I worried endlessly. The letters came sparingly and were often short. Your father is a man of little words. I did as he asked, never taking that ring off my finger. It wasn’t until many years later when he returned from the war. He had changed and grown quite a bit. Even though it had been years since we saw each other last, he still had a hankering to marry me. We were married as soon as possible, and Charlotte came just nine months later.” Anne reached over and squeezed Charlotte’s hand.
The story made Charlotte happy. She had never heard this story. She was thankful her parents overcame such hardships and found the person they loved in each other. She wanted the same.
Mr. Heywood walked into the house after being outside helping the boys set up in the barn. “Shouldn’t you girls be off to bed?” he asked.
“Yes, Papa,” Alison said, gesturing to all her younger sisters to follow to their room. Each one kissed their mother’s cheek goodnight before doing the same to their father. Charlotte was the last to leave, walking to her father and kissing his cheek. He took her hands, holding her a moment longer.
“I do not want you up worrying all night. The man is doing well enough, considering his injuries. He will not perish. I assure you. He will live, all thanks to your quick thinking. You very well may have saved his life.”
Charlotte nodded before lowering her head and turning her father’s hand over in hers. She traced the scar along his palm, understanding now where that scar came from. She always assumed it was a war scar, but now she knew the truth. Perhaps she had done as her father said and saved the man’s life.