Page 174 of A Perilous Passion

“My little sister? Run off with a gypsy doctor? Travel around the countryside in a cart?”

“He’s hardly a gypsy.”

But the idea of Aunt Flora running off with anyone was a stark reminder of Charlotte’s own folly. She thought of Justin and how unfortunate it was that he still cared for her so deeply. Now that Rafe had cast her off, could she not return her wounded heart to Justin’s safe keeping? She’d loved him once. Surely, there was no reason she couldn’t love him again? His life and his reputation had been saved, and he was now in gainful—if somewhat risky—employment.

They could still elope… Mama would never expect the same thing to happen twice.

But heavens, no. Had she not learned her lesson the first time? To do such a thing a second time would be both selfish and childish. If she wanted to be treated as a woman, she needed to behave like one.

She and Justin would just have to wait until he obtained his majority, until his papa and her mama were so used to seeing them as a couple, they’d no longer have any objection to the match.

She stared out at the ivy again, picturing herself and Justin being showered with rose petals on the church porch, cheered on by Aunt Flora, frowned on—a little—by Mama and surrounded by the village children, all washed and brushed for the occasion.

This picture of domestic bliss came crashing down when her treacherous imagination replaced Justin with Rafe, commanding and proud, his dark eyes flashing with promise as he leaned down to kiss his bride.

Her stomach clenched as she remembered the feel of those sure, firm lips against hers. Her hands gripped the plastered stonework of the windowsill, and she sucked in a deep breath.

“I know, I know,” her mama said, bringing her sharply back to reality. “The idea is insupportable. I’m much inclined to give this false physician a piece of my mind.”

Charlotte slowly let out a breath. “We don’t know where he is. If Aunt Flora is writing to him, he’s hardly likely to be in Fortuneswell.”

“Assuming she’s telling us the truth,” Mama said darkly. “I think we should take a walk over to the Admiral Duncan and see if he’s there. Then we can walk over to the milliner’s in Byroad and get some trimmings for our bonnets. I hear that peddler, Baldwin, was in Byroad the other day, and I know Mrs. Matthews buys good silk ribbons from him to sell in the shop.”

A walk in the autumn sunshine sounded a splendid way to Charlotte to dispel her melancholy…if only for a while. And if Mama was going to take issue with Dr. Campaign, it was a scene she certainly didn’t want to miss.

Fifteen minutes later, they reached the inn yard of the Admiral Duncan, but neither the doctor’s wagon nor Aunt Flora was anywhere to be seen. Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief. The good doctor was safe from Mama’s sharp tongue, at least for now.

A child’s voice said, “Morning Missus Allston, morning Miss Allston.” It was young Jacky Scadden, busy playing in the dirt with a crudely carved whip and top.

“Good morning, Jacky,” she said.

Mama nodded briefly and walked away to read a notice pasted to the wall of the inn.

“Why aren’t you at Mrs. Carboys’, doing your lessons?” Charlotte asked him.

The boy looked sheepish and twirled the leather thong of the whip around his fingers. “I had a sore throat this morning and Ma thought it might be the croup, so she said not to go so’s not to give it to the other children.”

Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “The croup, eh?”

He twisted the thong more tightly. “I’m feeling lots better now. Must have been a fishbone or something. But I can’t go to school this late. Mrs. Carboys won’t want to be disturbed in the middle of a lesson.”

At Charlotte’s snort of disbelief, he looked away, and his hand slid into his pocket, where it fidgeted nervously with something.

Curious, she asked, “What have you got in your pocket, Jacky?”

“Nothing!” he said quickly. “Nothing important or valuable. Or secret. I’ve done nothin’ wrong, Miss Allston, honest I haven’t.”

She knelt down, her interest piqued by the child’s blatant lies, and held out her palm. After a long hesitation, Jacky reluctantly dropped something small and shiny into it.

A coin.

As she examined it, the hairs on the back of her neck tingled. “Where did you get this half-sovereign?”

He shuffled his feet. “Can’t say.”

She captured his gaze. “Can’t say, or won’t?”

“He told me not to,” Jacky said anxiously. “On pain of death.”