Bound By Grace

by Amber Stockton

  Bethany recovered first, straightening and taking several deep breaths to regain her composure. Anastasia sat up as well, her arms holding her middle as she gasped for air. Charlotte struggled to catch her own breath. Her sides hadn’t hurt that much in months.

  “All right. All right.” Bethany splayed her hands, palms down, as if attempting to quiet a rowdy group of children. “Let’s make an attempt at being civil, shall we?”

  Leave it to Bethany to get everything back under control. Always the voice of reason. She led by example as she picked up the pieces of fabric she was stitching to make a skirt. When they all settled back to their respective tasks, Bethany inhaled then released a single breath.

  “Now, Charlotte, dear. Why don’t you finish telling us about this gentleman before our efforts to find out more are waylaid yet again?”

  Charlotte could not escape. She crossed her ankles and adjusted her skirts. Looking straight ahead, she delivered the answer she hoped they wanted to hear.

  “It’s really not as significant as the two of you make it sound.” Charlotte rushed to continue. “Yes, I will admit Mr. Baxton and his niece have touched a chord in my heart with little Grace’s plight. But I do not wish to make Mr. Baxton my beau,” she said with a brief pointed look at Anastasia, who ducked her head. “Right now, considering him a friend might be presumptuous of me. So let’s call him a potential faithful customer, all right?”

  “And has he asked you to call him by his first name yet?” Bethany asked. “Or are you still using formal address when you greet one another?”

  “I only know him as Mr. Baxton.” Charlotte placed her palms on her skirt and slid them toward her knees. “As I said, I am not certain he wishes to be a friend, but even if he had made that request of me, I likely would not tell you, lest it provide you with more ammunition for your cross-examination.”

  Bethany gasped. “We would never take advantage of something such as that!”

  “Oh, I would!” Anastasia piped up. “Anything to begin arranging a potential suit between them.”

  Charlotte shrugged. “I do so hate to disappoint you both, but there truly isn’t much more to say.” Actually, there was, but disclosing the unspoken mannerisms she’d observed might not be the best thing to do right now.

  “When are you going to see him again?” Bethany asked.

  “I am not sure. It has been three weeks since he was last in my shop, and he promised he would return.” She knew him to be a man of his word, but she wished he had given a more specific time frame.

  “Very well.” Bethany assumed a nonchalant air. “Since it appears there isn’t anything further to extract from you, I suppose we have no choice but to return to our sewing.”

  Anastasia narrowed her eyes. “Yes.” She jutted her chin into the air. “But I’m certain there will be more. We’ll discover it all eventually. And when we do. . .” A teasing gleam entered her eyes, and she rubbed her hands together.

  “Discover what?” Mother asked as she entered the room to join them in their sewing. “Thank goodness the matter of dinner has been settled,” she said as she settled into the chair she’d recently vacated. “Now what have you three girls been discussing in my absence?”

  “Oh, just the repeat visit of a certain Mr. Baxton to Charlotte’s bookshop,” Anastasia replied with a coy smile.

  Mother’s face showed interest. “So he returned?” She directed her question at Charlotte.

  “Yes, but his niece was not with him.”

  “Did you extend the invitation your father and I discussed?”

  Charlotte relayed what she hoped was an apologetic expression to her mother. “No, ma’am. I am sorry. It completely slipped my mind.”

  “No doubt because something else occupied it,” Bethany said under her breath.

  Charlotte gave her sister a swift kick, but Bethany anticipated the action and moved her legs out of reach. “I promise, Mother, the next time I see him, I will extend your invitation.” That conversation would likely be awkward, so another thought came to mind. “Perhaps to aid my memory, I can give him a letter stating your wishes.”

  “Yes, that would be most appropriate.” Mother nodded. “I shall compose it later this evening and leave it for you to take with you to the shop tomorrow.” She began the methodical motion of needlepoint as an amused smile formed on her lips. “I gather from the end of the conversation I interrupted that there is some uncertainty regarding this Mr. Baxton?”

  Bethany waved a hand in the air. “Oh, it is merely Charlotte being overly cautious and not willing to admit the possibilities.”

  Mother gave Charlotte an approving glance before shifting her focus to her middle daughter. “Being cautious is not a negative trait. I applaud it.”

  “Bethany and Anastasia are merely reading more into the situation than presently exists. As I told them, I am not certain anything further will develop.”

  “Something will happen,” Anastasia stated. “I am sure of it.”

  “Be that as it may,” Mother replied, “it hasn’t happened yet. And I believe we owe it to Charlotte to respect her privacy and not meddle any further on the subject.”

  Charlotte picked up her shift to resume making repairs. Her sisters didn’t seem hurt or offended, and for that she was grateful. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to reassure them, just in case.

  “If that time comes, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

  “We’d better be!” Anastasia threatened in a non-aggressive manner.

  In the meantime, Charlotte prayed she could maintain her focus as well as her professionalism when it came to seeing Mr. Baxton again.

  ❧

  “Mother, you cannot expect me to be in attendance at every one of these social functions.” Charlotte looked over the list again. She saw enough events to keep three young women busy, let alone one.

  Her mother glanced up from where she stood repositioning flowers in the vase on the table in the front hall. “I expect you to do as you’re told, the same as all the other times the cotillion season has come to a close.”

  “But I’m at the bookshop all day. I have work to do.”

  “And I don’t?” Her mother gestured loosely about the expanse of the manor. “It isn’t easy managing a home of this size, along with the household staff we employ.”

  “I didn’t mean that, Mother.” Charlotte held up the list. “I meant there simply won’t be time for me to come home, dress, and be ready for each of these events. You are already here and can make time in your day to dress.”

  “Then you will simply have to leave your shop early enough to allow adequate time to prepare.” Her mother sighed. “I am not the one who decided to begin a profession when you had a more than ample livelihood provided for you right here at home.”

  Charlotte had lost count of how many times she’d had this conversation with her mother over the past year and a half. Her father had been the one to provide the funds for her to purchase the shop. He had arranged for his colleagues to donate books so she wouldn’t have to buy everything. He had even called in a favor with one of his friends to craft the artistic wooden shingle that hung over the entrance. And all of this he’d done in spite of her mother’s censure.

  It just wasn’t worth it to go down that path again. There was no changing her mother’s mind, although just the other day, Mother had seemed to be congenial about the bookshop. Or perhaps she’d been expressing support of the potential Mr. Baxton brought. That would be more in line with Mother’s view of things.

  “And before you say anything further”—her mother broke into her thoughts—“allow me to remind you that our family has a reputation among our friends and business associates.” The matriarch of the Pringle family smoothed her hands down the front of her tailored day dress. “We are expected to make our appearance at these functions.”

  Charlotte could almost mouth the words verbatim, as often as she’d heard the speech. Expected to perform. Just like puppets on a string contro
lled by a marionette.

  With a look that brooked no argument, her mother continued. “Your sisters will also be there, so perhaps with them by your side, the events will be more bearable.”

  Charlotte could see beyond her mother’s facade of being in control and unaffected. The pinched expression, the look of betrayal, and the hint of disappointment that touched her mother’s face revealed she likely feared the worst—her eldest daughter becoming a spinster and a blight on the family name. Mother only wanted Charlotte to blend with the other young ladies of her station, but she’d done that for years. Her compliance had been fruitless. Either the young men only saw her for her dowry and impressive inheritance, or they were so boorish she couldn’t bear to spend more than five minutes in their presence. Still, she loved her mother and didn’t wish to intentionally bring her pain of any kind.

  “Very well, Mother.” Charlotte made a mental note to plan for the dizzying merry-go-round of social events soon to be upon them. “I shall post modified hours at the bookshop and make certain I leave with enough time to prepare for any evening engagement.”

  Her mother brightened and closed the distance between them. Taking Charlotte’s hands, she smiled. “I do appreciate your concession, dear. Please know I don’t ask this of you as punishment but as opportunity. You simply never know whom you might meet.”

  Charlotte didn’t want to contradict her mother. But if the gentlemen this season were anything like those of the past six, there would be no surprises.

  “I know, Mother. And I promise to do my part. I will also try to enjoy myself.” She paused for effect. “No matter how dull the evening might be.”

  Her mother gave a sardonic grin. “I suppose that is all I can ask.” She squeezed Charlotte’s hands and released them then turned in the direction of the kitchen. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to discuss this week’s meals with the cook.”

  As her mother walked away, Charlotte watched her, shoulders erect, head held high, and a certainty of who she was and of her purpose. Although Charlotte possessed some of that same confidence in regard to her bookshop, her purpose within the home had yet to be developed. Charlotte had believed by now she’d be married and starting a family. But that obviously wasn’t in God’s plan. And until He showed her what His plan was, she’d continue with what she was doing.

  She only prayed He wouldn’t wait too long.

  ❧

  “I cannot believe you would rather be in your dusty old bookshop than here among these fine ladies and gentlemen, dancing, sharing in the merriment, and wearing your finest gown.”

  Bethany stood in one of the entryways to the grand room where the dancing had already commenced. Her face was flushed from her recent turn about the floor with the latest gentleman on her dance card. Anastasia had been escorted onto the floor almost as many times as Bethany, each of them leaving Charlotte to wait because her dance-card slot had been empty. Why had she bothered selecting the right gown or fashioning her hair in the latest style? It wasn’t as if anyone noticed. Even the men she usually went out of her way to avoid seemed otherwise engaged.

  “It is not the dancing and the actual event I detest,” Charlotte countered. “It’s the boorish gentlemen bent on showcasing every reason they might be considered eligible and the money mongers only interested in my dowry and inheritance.”

  She glanced around, taking in the crowded yet resplendent ballroom, with a gilded, floor-to-ceiling mirror taking up almost all of one long wall. Two crystal chandeliers hung suspended from the ceiling, ablaze with light.

  “I can understand that,” Bethany said. “After all, it isn’t pleasant to be in the company of a gentleman who speaks highly only of himself.”

  Charlotte nodded and glanced at her sister. “That is exactly how I feel. It’s good to know someone shares my feelings.” She turned her focus to the room.

  The far wall featured two paned windows, just one section shy of reaching the ceiling, and French doors leading out to the marble terrace. Rich burgundy draperies hung at the windows, but they’d been tied back to allow a view of the gardens. Charlotte had been in her fair share of ballrooms, but the Stuyvesants had done a beautiful job with the overall design and craftsmanship of their home. Even the polished hardwood floors gleamed, despite the overabundance of people treading on the surface.

  “But if you don’t give them a chance,” her sister continued, “how will you know if they become more suitable?” Bethany always tried to present the logical side of the situation. She smoothed her right hand down the front of her pale yellow silk and satin gown, her fingers running across the gathered seams at the empire waistline. The color set off her milk chocolate tresses and warm skin tones to perfection. “After all,” she continued, fluffing out her skirts, “some men simply aren’t adept at conversation upon the initial introduction. Perhaps they need a little time to grow accustomed to you before their true intentions or personalities can be appreciated.”

  Charlotte had considered that possibility, but she’d also observed many of these men in other situations. From what she could tell, there hadn’t been much difference in their behavior.

  “I have given a number of them a chance, and they have yet to prove me wrong. It makes it very difficult to believe any differently.”

  “And an attitude like that might very well keep you unattached and on your way to spinsterhood.”

  “Bethany! You shouldn’t be so merciless.” Anastasia curtsied to the young man who had escorted her from the dance floor and turned to face her sisters only once her dance partner was safely out of hearing. “Now what is this about being a spinster?” She tucked her hand into the crook of Charlotte’s arm. “Surely you aren’t referring to our dear sister, here.”

  “Yes.” Bethany turned to face Charlotte with an apologetic expression. “I am sorry if I sounded callous. That wasn’t my intention.” She reached out and took Charlotte’s free hand. “But you and I both must face the reality that we are not getting any younger. The number of suitable partners is dwindling every day.”

  Charlotte nodded. “Yes, Mother reminds me of that quite often. How could I possibly forget?”

  “Well, you are the eldest daughter.” Anastasia squeezed her arm. “It’s up to you to set an example for Bethany and me.”

  Charlotte looked down into the amused face of her youngest sister. “I’ve attempted to set an example for you both in many other ways, all of which you have disregarded. Why should my engagement, or lack thereof, be any different?”

  Anastasia shrugged. “We need to have at least one aspect of your life upon which to pattern our own.” She cracked an impish grin.

  “Thank you very much.” Charlotte pressed her lips into a thin line. “I am pleased to hear at least something in my life and character has the possibility of containing a morsel of interest.”

  Her two sisters immediately leaned close and embraced her from each side.

  “Oh Charlotte,” Anastasia said. “You know we are only teasing you.”

  “Yes,” Bethany added. “I am certain you have at least two traits to which we aspire.” She winked.

  “You two are incorrigible!”

  Anastasia smiled. “And you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Charlotte returned their hugs, placing her arms around each of their waists. “On that point, you are correct. As to the rest, we will have to wait and see.” She glanced toward the dance floor where some gentlemen were leading ladies away from the center and others were seeking their next partners. “Now if I’m not mistaken, you both have the next dance claimed on your dance cards.”

  “And for the one after that, you have the privilege of dancing with Beauregard Parrish.” Anastasia covered her mouth with her hand and muted her giggle.

  “Now, now. He isn’t that bad,” Bethany added, fighting hard to maintain her composure. “If you can get past his clumsy feet and sweaty palms.”

  Two gentlemen approached at that moment, seeking to claim Anastasia an
d Bethany for the next dance and saving Charlotte from having to respond. She shook her head. She might not have a full dance card, but her sisters’ merriment—and especially Anastasia’s escapades—more than made up for it. She could simply live vicariously through them.

  If only the gentlemen she encountered could be half as good at conversation as Mr. Baxton, she might actually enjoy the time she spent with them. But for now, she had no choice but to be polite and represent her family well. In the back of her mind, though, she’d count the days until Mr. Baxton’s return.

  Six

  “Now, make these windows sparkle and shine, Zachariah, and I might be able to find another nickel or two for you.” Charlotte tousled the boy’s hair and winked.

  “Yes, ma’am, Miss Charlotte!” The lad gave her a quick salute, his uncombed, light brown hair falling across his forehead and nearly covering his eyes. He grabbed his bucket of sudsy water and went straight to work.

  Charlotte reached for the handle on the door just as another hand grasped it.

  “Allow me,” the now familiar, velvety timbred voice offered.

  Her cheeks warmed, and Charlotte nodded to Mr. Baxton as he held the door for her. “Thank you,” she said, preceding him into the bookshop and silently chastising herself for her telltale reaction to seeing him again.

  Mr. Baxton didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he removed his hat and held it loosely at his side; then he turned back toward the front of the shop. As he glanced out the windows, she took note of his beaver hat with the fine fabric lining and leather hatband. It sported a bound edge sewn on the brim. From his clothing and mannerisms, she already suspected he didn’t come from the working class and could well be a member of the family her parents knew. The high quality of his hat served to confirm her assessment.

  “Does that young lad work for you often?” Mr. Baxton turned and gestured with his head toward Zachariah meticulously scrubbing at the front windows.