The Betrothed (Cutter's Creek Book 7)

by Vivi Holt

  The three friends sat together at the table. The bowls of steaming soup and freshly baked rolls with creamy butter made Charlotte’s mouth water. She eyed the food hungrily, then bowed her head as Harry said the blessing. Tomorrow was a new day, a fresh start, the beginning of her life as an independent woman. She smiled, her fingers knitted together in front of her. Things might be looking grim right now, but she was determined to make the most of what she had.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The next day Charlotte rose before the sun and dressed in her house dress. Most of her gowns weren’t suitable for the kind of work she imagined she’d be doing, and even her house dress looked regal when compared with what most of the women in the neighborhood wore on a daily basis. She smoothed her skirts and drew in a deep breath. Nerves fluttered in the pit of her stomach as she fixed her hair behind her head into a tight bun.

  A light tap at the door announced that Harry and Camilla were ready to go. She quickly drained the last of her tea and placed the dirty cup by the washbowl. Pinning a hat to her head as she went, she hurried from the room.

  The day went by quickly, and by the time it was over Charlotte’s head pounded and her throat was dry. Her legs and back ached and her stomach growled fiercely as they walked home from the slaughterhouse. She’d washed and scrubbed benches and packed cut meat into boxes. On her feet all day, working at a frantic pace, muscles she never knew she had cried out in pain. She looked forward to throwing herself down on her sleeping mat to lie as still as she possibly could.

  But then it all begins again tomorrow. The thought made her groan inwardly and she pulled her coat more tightly around her shivering body. The cool night air whipped down the street as darkness fell around them. Their street was lined with row houses and the boarding house lay at the far end. She carried a bag of groceries on one arm. They’d stopped into a mercantile on the way home, and she’d bought a few necessary supplies to see her through the next few days.

  In contrast to her exhausted state, Harry strode along beside her, his lips pursed as he whistled a happy ditty. She glanced at him with a frown. How could he possibly be so jaunty? She hadn’t seen him all day, but she knew the men worked just as hard as the women in the slaughterhouse – she’d seen some of them as she scurried around cleaning the floors and benches. “How can you possibly whistle after a day like that?” she said, groaning as her back spasmed.

  Harry’s eyes met hers and he grinned. “It was a hard day’s work for sure. But I’m goin’ out tonight and I’m goin’ to win big.” His eyes gleamed and he rubbed his hands together as he resumed the ditty.

  Camilla stopped still and her eyes narrowed. “Harold Brown, you are not going gambling tonight!”

  He ducked his head and threw an arm around her shoulders. “Oh Cammie, you worry too much. Everythin’ is just fine – I can take care of myself. I’ve found a ripe bunch ready for the pluckin’. They’ve money to spare and don’t seem to mind losin’ it. And I don’t mind takin’ it either, so we’re a perfect match.” He chuckled and buttoned his coat against the cold.

  Camilla rolled her eyes and continued down the street with his arm still wrapped around her shoulders. “You know full well that’s how it always begins. Then you take their money and all of a sudden they’re very unhappy with you and we’re leaving town in the middle of the night.”

  “Not this time. Not this time, my dear sister. I’ve learned my lesson. This time I’ve got it all under control. I’m going to win as much as we need to get to Cutter’s Creek to stay with Aunt and Uncle and not a penny more. As soon as I have what we need, I’ll quit, I promise. Don’t worry about me – I won’t make the same mistake again.”

  “I do wish you’d just forget all about it, Harry. We’ll earn the money the hard way. Sure, it will take longer, but it will be worth it in the end. Please, won’t you leave it be?”

  He frowned and shoved his hands into his pockets. “That would take far too long. I want to get goin’ before all the land out West is taken. I don’t want to be too late. I want the very best for you and me. Don’t you know half the workers at the slaughterhouse are workin’ to save to go West and they’ve been there for years? Before you know it, we’ll have spent half our life here and we’ll be no closer to our dreams. No, not me. Not us. We’re goin’ to get our dreams and gamblin’s going to help us do it. I’ll be careful – you just have to trust me.”

  Charlotte listened to the exchange with interest. So that was why Camilla was so troubled about Harry and Ben going out on the town together. Harry was a gambler. She was very familiar with gambling as a vice, since many of men in her social circles back home were hopelessly caught up in it. Most of them had inherited their fortunes and, with very little to occupy their time, they often ended up in a terrible state of debt and ruin after becoming addicted to card games and the like.

  She shook her head in wonder. She’d never been to a gambling hall, but she’d played many a hand of whist. Not that she particularly enjoyed it – she preferred outdoor pursuits. Gambling over a hand of cards had never much interested her.

  A man with a long torch stopped in front of them to light the gas street lamps. The lamplighter turned a key in the base of the lamppost and thrust the flaming torch up into the lamp to light it. He lowered the pole and continued on his way.

  “Well, here we are. You go on in, ladies – I’m meeting Ben and will be back later. Good evening.” Harry tipped his hat to Charlotte, his eyes sparkled as they met hers and lingered for a moment.

  “Good evening, Harry.” She didn’t want to appear rude, but he really was very exasperating. Just when she thought he’d forgotten about their kiss, he gave her a meaningful look that told her the opposite. The look said he remembered the kiss and he planned to repeat it. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks as he watched, seeming to enjoy her discomfort.

  Camilla’s eyes flitted back and forth between them, her eyebrows arched in question. She stood on tiptoe to kiss Harry on the cheek, his eyes still fixed on Charlotte’s. “Good night, brother. Please be careful.”

  He spun on his heel and left. Charlotte sighed and linked her arm through Camilla’s. “I guess it’s just the two of us for supper then. I bought some potatoes – I thought I’d make soup. Or at least try. My maid Mary used to make it when I was feeling poorly. I watched her do it often enough that I think I could manage it.”

  “That sounds delicious. I’ll help.”

  Camilla was ever the encourager and Charlotte felt grateful to have a friend like her. They climbed the stairs together and stepped into Charlotte’s room. She quickly lit a fire in the stove and some candles around the room, giving it a friendly glow. Before long, the room was warm and Charlotte peeled potatoes at the kitchen table while Camilla diced an onion.

  Charlotte scanned the room and felt some satisfaction at how far she’d come. She may not have more than a few cents to her name, but she’d started a job for the first time in her life. She had her own snug room and a fire to warm them and food on the way. She felt a glow begin deep down inside at the progress she’d made. Maybe it wasn’t what she’d planned, and Mother would faint if she knew what Charlotte was up to — but she was proud of herself.

  Camilla was talking about something that had happened at church the previous day, and Charlotte smiled at her friend. Her despair of the previous day was all but forgotten as, in her mind, she ran over the small victories she’d won and felt hopeful about the future.

  Soon her thoughts turned anxious. Harry and Camilla didn’t plan to stay in New York for long. Would she manage without them? What would she do when they left? Should she ask to go with them? She couldn’t imagine living here on her own without them. Worry surged in her stomach and she pushed it back down. No need to worry about something that hadn’t yet happened. She’d deal with that when the time came. For now, she had to focus on surviving her job and learning how to cook, launder her own clothes, and so much more it made her head spin.

  Chapt
er Twenty-Six

  Harry tipped his new bowler hat over, then up onto his head with a flourish. He grinned. He’d won big over the past few weeks, and he’d splurged on a new suit and hat. The store’s assistant had said he looked dapper and he felt it too. He’d never owned such a nice suit before, and he grinned as he glimpsed his reflection in the window of a bakery. He was hardly recognizable as the same man who’d lived in the shack outside of Greyburn. He looked like a gentleman and he liked the way that felt. Surely Charlotte would look at him differently now. This country certainly was the land of opportunity.

  He strode into the bakery. He’d buy a treat for Charlotte and Camilla. Charlotte had looked pale and peaked lately. He frowned. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with her. She’d barely uttered a word to him in weeks, and seemed to grow more pale and gaunt by the day. Perhaps a pie or cake would help put some color back into her cheeks.

  He stopped at the counter and perused the baked goods behind the glass. A cake with a chocolate glaze caught his eye and he pointed it out to the baker. “That looks good – what is it?” he asked the baker.

  “It’s a Boston cream pie.”

  “A pie?”

  “Well, technically it’s a cake, but either way it’s delicious.” He boxed it up and handed the box to Harry, who paid, then dipped his hat as he left.

  He whistled as he walked down the street to the boarding house. He opened the door with one hand, balancing the cake box in the other. As he stepped inside he saw Charlotte standing by the parlor door. She leaned against the door frame, staring into the parlor with a wistful look. He followed her gaze to an upright piano against the parlor wall. He shut the door behind him with a bang and she spun around, startled. “Good evening, Charlotte.” He smiled and walked over to her.

  “Harry, what have you got there?”

  “I bought you a Boston cream pie. I thought it might cheer you up.”

  “That is very kind of you.” She opened the box to peek inside and licked her lips, a gleam in her eyes. “We can eat it after supper.” She took the box from him with a smile.

  Harry nodded and watched as Charlotte turned to head upstairs with one last glance at the piano. “You should play it.”

  “Excuse me?” She paused and looked back at him, her eyebrows raised in question.

  “The piano – if you want to, that is.”

  “I don’t know. It’s been a long time, and anyway it’s not mine. Mrs. Clements doesn’t let anyone play it.” She turned and continued up the stairs.

  Harry frowned and hurried out the back to find Mrs. Clements. She was in her sitting room beside the back porch. She rocked back and forth in a chair by the fire, her fingers flying as she knitted a dark green scarf. “Mrs. Clements, do you have a moment?” He flashed his most charming smile.

  She dropped her knitting into her lap. “Harry Brown – what can I do for you?”

  “I was wonderin’ if you would mind letting Charlotte play the piano in the parlor sometime.”

  “Yes. I would mind.” She picked up her knitting needles and resumed her work.

  “Can I ask why?”

  “None of your business, that’s why.”

  “I respect that, Mrs. Clements. But the thing is, I’m worried about Charlotte. She isn’t herself, and I thought that perhaps if she could play the piano it might help her miss home and her parents just a little bit less.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and dropped his eyes to the floor.

  There was a pause, then Mrs. Clements said, “I suppose it wouldn’t be so bad to hear it played again. It hasn’t been played in years, not since my daughter passed. It was hers, you know. She was such a sweet, pretty little thing.”

  Harry looked up to see tears sparkling in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Clements. I didn’t know.”

  “Never mind that now. It was a long time ago. I shouldn’t have let it go so long without music in this house – that’s not what Penelope would have wanted. That was her name.”

  “It’s a lovely name,” said Harry.

  “Thank you, dear. You can tell your friend she’s welcome to play anytime she’d like to.”

  “I really appreciate it.” Harry stepped outside as Mrs. Clements dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, gazing into the fire with blank eyes. He ran up the stairs, two at a time and knocked on Charlotte’s door, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

  “Yes?” Charlotte’s voice was faint through the paint-chipped door.

  He stepped inside and saw her reading by lamplight at the kitchen table. “I just spoke with Mrs. Clements and she says you can play the piano anytime you like.” He said it all at once, the words rushing from his mouth in one breath.

  Her cheeks flushed pink and some of the spark returned to her eyes. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  She jumped to her feet and rushed down the stairs, her boots clacking loudly on the timber boards. Harry followed behind, a grin on his face.

  Before he even reached the parlor, the swell of music floated out to greet him. His eyebrows arched in surprise. She was good, really good. The piano sang an intricate melody, with bass notes that hung with sweet melancholy in the air. He stepped into the parlor to watch, leaning up against the wall and removing his hat to hold by the brim beside his leg. Her fingers flew across the keys and her face lit up with the glow of pleasure that had been missing since they’d arrived in New York.

  He felt drawn to her. The passion that flowed from her, into the notes that enveloped him. He moved closer and closer still until he stood directly behind her.

  Her back swayed in time with the music and her arms moved up and down the length of the piano. He didn’t recognize the tune, but the lilting melody reminded him of home. Her head leaned to one side as she played the final notes, a tendril of curls drooping to meet her porcelain skin. The curve of her neck tempted his touch and he lifted a hand to brush against her skin.

  Her bare neck goose-bumped beneath his fingers and she sat straight and stiff, unmoving.

  “Charlotte,” he whispered, running his hand along the side of her neck. “That was beautiful.”

  She dropped her cheek against his hand and he cupped it gently. He lifted his hand to her other shoulder and stroked it gently.

  Charlotte stood slowly and turned to face him, her cheeks red and her eyes wide and hungry. “Harry, we can’t …” She said the words, but her eyes betrayed her.

  He dropped his gaze to her lips and felt a tremble run through his body as he watched her tongue run over them. “Why not? I know you feel it too …”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Harry shook his head with a smile. “You can’t lie to me, Charlotte.” She didn’t reply and he stepped closer, his body only inches from hers. “What’s wrong? You don’t seem yourself these days. You’re not the same girl who tore into the village on horseback. You were vibrant, confident, alive. Somethin’s changed. What is it?”

  Her eyes downcast, he saw a tear snake its way down her cheek. She pushed it away with her fist, then met his gaze. “I don’t feel like myself. I feel lost.”

  “But you’re not lost.”

  “I know. But I miss my parents. I miss Amber and my life back at Beaufort Manor. I’m all alone and I don’t know what’s going to become of me. What will happen when you and Camilla move west? I’ll have no one. I’ll work every day at the slaughterhouse and then come back to this cold, empty room all alone. Why did I leave home? What was I thinking of?” She pressed herself up against his chest.

  He wrapped his arms around her thin shoulders. His heart ached for her. “Why don’t you come to Cutter’s Creek with us? I made the offer before, but we haven’t spoken of it in a while. I think you should come too. There’ll be plenty of room for you, and you’ll be able to start a whole new life there. You won’t be alone – you’ll be with Camilla and me. From what my uncle wrote in his letters to us, it’s a small town full of warm, invitin’ people. I think you’d like it. Plus, you’d be in th
e country again and you could get another horse. Life is what you make it, Charlotte. If you want somethin’, you have to go after it.”

  She blinked once and looked up at him. One hand cupped the back of her head and the other caressed her back. “Do you really think so?”

  “I know so.”

  “And you wouldn’t mind … having me come along?”

  “No, I wouldn’t mind. Although, people might talk, you know, since we’re not married.” He lifted a finger and pressed it gently on the tip of her nose with a smile. “But I can think of a way to remedy that…”

  “You’re right, I think people would talk. And it might not be safe. I’ve heard some horrible stories of things that have happened to single women traveling west.” She shook her head and her eyes widened.

  “We could always say we’re married. Pretend, you know… or we could….” She was still pressed up against him, and his body warmed to her touch. Her eyes were trained on his, unshed tears making them sparkle in the lamplight.

  “That’s not a bad idea. You could travel west with your wife and sister. No one would raise an eyebrow at that. And we have done it before.”

  “So you’ll be Mrs. Brown. Again.” He laughed. “I like the sound of that.”

  Her eyes narrowed and she pushed the smile from her face. “Don’t get any ideas, Mr. Brown.”

  “Too late for that.” He lowered his face, his lips slanting over hers. Her lips were soft, warm and inviting. He kissed them gently at first, teasing and taunting hers with soft nibbles, waiting for her response. Her mouth fused with his and he felt his body respond, filling him with hot, urgent desire. “Charlotte,” he moaned the word against her cheek, his face flushing hot.

  “No,” she said, pushing against his chest with her fists.

  He stepped back, confusion mixed with passion flooded his thoughts. “What is it?”

  “I’m not that type of girl. I don’t kiss men I’ve no intention of marrying. And I don’t intend to marry you, Harry Brown.” She shook her head and placed her hands on her thin hips as she spoke. The spark in her eyes reminded him of the Charlotte he once knew. Even though her words cut him, he chuckled at her feisty spirit. It gave him hope that she’d be herself again one day.