Page 2 of A Stranger’s Promise

His lips spread into a slow smile. “I am pleased, Charlotte.”

She let out a breath of relief.

“Then we agree,” he said. “We will wed this summer. At last.”

Charlotte choked. This summer?

“Charlotte!” a woman’s frantic voice called from behind. “Charlotte!”

Charlotte whirled. The butcher’s wife waved her apron as she ran toward them, sliding in the icy snow.

“Go home, girl, home. At once,” the woman wheezed as she arrived. “It’s Major Atchenson, your father. There’s been an accident.”

* * *

An accident. Two simple words that changed Charlotte’s life forever.

Alone in the empty London townhouse, Charlotte huddled next to the kitchen stove in a solemn mood, as howling winds brought more snow. The coal hadn’t lasted more than a week after her father’s death. Unable to afford more, she’d resorted to what wood she could find, but with harsh winter weather, everyone in London searched as well, and she found precious little. She’d been reduced to buying twisted sticks of soiled straw from the hotel stables at the end of the lane, but it flamed so fast it provided little heat.

Now, she stared at the stove, wondering what she had left to burn. The creditors had taken everything.

Well…she had her relatives’ letters.

With a bitter, mirthless smile, she tossed them into the stove, lit the match, then watched the heartless missives catch fire, all of them variations of the same we cannot provide any assistance… Cannot or will not? It didn’t matter. She’d find her own way.

Shawl drawn tight around her shoulders, Charlotte remained seated before the stove long after the last letter curled into ash. She now understood the meaning of ‘nightmare.’ She’d been living in one the past few weeks.

“An accident,” the constable had called her father’s death. He’d fallen through the ice and drowned in the Thames. She hadn’t believed them. She still didn’t. Not after seeing the elephant standing on the river ice that very same day. How could her father break ice that could withstand the weight of an elephant? The idea stretched the imagination beyond credibility, but what could she do? No one cared—even before the creditors descended upon her like wild dogs.

Tears wet her lashes. She’d returned from the churchyard, having just seen her father buried, to find the creditors hovering like vultures at the townhouse’s front door.

“What is this?” Captain Edwards had stepped to the forefront of the funeral party to confront the men. “What business have you here?”

They’d answered that their business concerned promissory notes long past due and letters from banks with demands for immediate compensation to the sum of several thousand pounds. At that, every head in the funeral party had turned. Tongues tutted. Captain Edwards’ mouth had dropped open in shock.

“Gaming debts,” someone said.

“A swindler,” said another.

“Scandal,” they all agreed.

The creditors took everything. Even her mother’s leather-bound cookery book.

Charlotte couldn’t recall much after that, except for the beauty of the snowflakes swirling down from the sky to gently kiss her tear-stained cheeks.

The ring of St. Clement’s bells in the distance jolted her back to the present.

“You weep more for the cookery book than your fiancé, Charlotte.” She laughed bitterly and drew in a long, shaky breath.

Just an hour ago, Captain Edwards stood in the kitchen and commented on the lack of coal. He then handed her the last letter, saying, “As you know, Miss Atchenson, a man of my position must choose his wife with care, a woman from an upstanding family. I have done all I can for you.”

Charlotte had stared in surprise. Yes, he’d stood by her side as they’d lowered her father into his grave, but so had many others. He’d done precious little else—ah, besides deliver the letter.

“I shall not marry you. I cannot besmirch my good name,” he’d continued, pompous to the end. “Your father…well, the evidence of his scandalous behavior is undeniable.” She stood frozen as he pulled a small leather bag from his waistcoat and tossed it at her feet. “This is my final act of kindness. Ten shillings.”

Ten? Ten shillings? Fury swept through her anew at the memory of how she’d grabbed the bag from the floor, slapped it hard against his chest, and shouted, “What use have I for ten shillings when I have more than a thousand demands for the paltry sum?” She hadn’t stopped there. She’d said the words she’d longed to say for years, “You are an arrogant ass, a fool and a bully. How thankful I am to not wed such a cruel, heartless and hypocritical man. Not even a month ago, did you not speak to me of respect, duty, and honor? Discipline? Of standing by your side through all the trials of life’s fortunes and misfortunes? Or is it only the woman who must remain faithful?”

A dark color had stained his cheeks and he’d raised his hand. She took a faltering step back, then caught herself.

They stared at one another for several long moments before his hand slowly dropped. “Do not seek me out, Charlotte. I shall no longer acknowledge you.” Then he left, his pittance clutched in his hand.

Charlotte smiled at the ashes inside the stove. Despite her destitute circumstances, she couldn’t deny the sense of freedom, the weight that had been lifted from her shoulders. “You should’ve taken the coins, Charlotte,” she criticized with a rueful shake of her head. “Ten shillings are better than none when you’ve eaten the last of the salted haddock and every doorstep you’ve stood on has turned you away.”

She’d been unable to find work, even as a scullery maid.

With a sigh, she rose and stalked to the empty parlor with its undressed windows, for the creditors had taken even the worn damask curtains. She leaned her forehead against the frozen windowpane and looked out at the winter stillness blanketing the city. Only the streetlamps shone like beacons in the night.

“Tomorrow.” She clenched her hands in determination. “Tomorrow this nightmare will end.”

Tomorrow she would find employment. She had to. If she didn’t, she’d be forced out onto London’s frozen streets or into debtor’s prison in less than a week, since her father still owed more than what his life had been worth.