Page 72 of A Perilous Passion

Mama stared open-mouthed at Aunt Flora. “Ephraim?”

“Gracious, is that the time?” Flora said with a gasp, glancing at the mantel clock. “I’d quite forgotten—there’s something I really have to do.” She almost ran from the room.

Mama stared at the closed door for a full minute without speaking. Then she said, “Well! What do you make of that?”

There was only one explanation Charlotte could think of. “Perhaps Aunt Flora has developed a tendre for this…itinerant physician.”

“Good lord. Well, it might explain why she bought so many of his nostrums.”

“Mama!”

“I really don’t know what to think,” said Mama, spreading her hands in a gesture of hopelessness. “I was relying on her to drum some sense of propriety into you. But all this time, she’s been corresponding with a man of questionable repute beneath our very noses!”

If only Mama knew what else had been going on beneath her very nose… But no, Charlotte would not think about Rafe. The memory of his coldness last night was like a sliver of ice piercing her heart. “I’m not sure ordering medicines counts as corresponding,” she ventured.

“But she used his first name. Didn’t you hear? I don’t call any gentleman by his first name. Of that, I’m certain.”

“If there is something between the two of them,” Charlotte said, “would it be so very dreadful? She’s a handsome woman, and not exactly in her dotage.”

“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?”