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Despite her aversion to true lack of propriety, Charlotte was very fond of any talk of romance. Back at home in Willingden, she had been fortunate enough to acquire a close friend, a Mrs Maria Harris, who had moved into the area several years ago, having married one of the gentlemen the Heywoods neighboured with. Similar to Charlotte, Maria was a romantic and, having found happiness in marriage, never eschewed discussing matters of the heart with her friend, including her personal experience.
Charlotte could say in earnest that, of what little she knew of love and romance, half had been Maria’s teachings (the other half having come from books). Mrs Harris’s lips were sealed on the topic of the mysterious marital duties Charlotte would only learn about on the day of her wedding, but beyond that, she answered all of her friend’s questions honestly and elaborately.
It was Maria who had told Charlotte at one occasion: “My dear, if a man jumps at an opportunity to initiate touch or contact — electing to sit by you more than once and leaning close, or assisting you by lending a hand — he prefers you, rest assured.”
And another time: “If a man’s eye wanders to your mouth more than once in a span of a conversation, he would he could steal a kiss from you.”
And lastly, “Eye contact is of great significance. Men do not look unnecessarily long and often at women whom they do not prefer,” the last part she half-whispered with a mischievous smile, “even if they are yet to discover the preference.”
Those teachings had not been on Charlotte’s mind of late, but they came rushing back once she was sat in the boat with Sidney Parker. Had someone else confessed to the thoughts and feelings she presently had, she would have pitied them. She was melancholy, torn between searching for any possible sign of affection in Mr Parker’s deportment and speech, and, when successful, dismissing what she saw as fancy.
Before their unfortunate trip to London, Charlotte would never have even thought to consider whether Mr Parker saw her in any way other than another child in the care of Tom and Mary Parker. It had seemed that her mere presence vexed him into fits of bad temper. Their London misadventures, however, had altered their relationship — something that had never gone beyond a tentative peace, a reprieve before another confrontation — and had given Charlotte hope that something even more personal was possible.
But then, Mrs Campion had graced Sanditon with her presence, making Charlotte feel inferior in every regard, and making her want to avoid Mr Parker at all cost for a fear of a broken heart.
That is why, when Mr Parker had requested her assistance with his rowing practice, her first thought had been to refuse. She had started to say that she was needed elsewhere (or something equally unconvincing), but he had looked at her in the same way as he had in that Mayfair ballroom: it had been a look full of kindness, intensity, and softness. For some reason, when that softness appeared in his eyes, she could scarcely refuse him anything.
“Come on,” had been all he said to her, but that much had been enough to convince her.
She had placed her hand in his, and the touch had been so striking in its intimacy (for they had never touched hands gloveless before that) — his hand warm and dry, the feel of it sending sparks through her own palm — that she had stumbled and would have fallen had Mr Parker not steadied her.
As though to exacerbate her befuddled state, he had taken her palm in both his hands in reassurance as he had told her to be careful and instructed her to take a seat. Before calmly obeying, Charlotte had looked down at their joined hands, somehow equally dumbfounded and unsurprised by her reaction to his touch.
Their conversation about Mr Parker’s marital prospects now done, they were rowing in what would have been a perfect silence, if it were not for his occasional soft chuckles and the sloshing sounds of water outside their boat. That was what had changed about him since their trip to London, she realised — he had become calmer in his deportment with her softer in his manner of speech. There had been no more rebukes or arguments, he had sought out her opinion because, she assumed, he had trusted her to answer in earnest, and had been open to accepting her answer without judgment.
And yet, Charlotte contemplated, he was never at ease like this when Mrs Campion was near.
“Men are anxious to please when they admire you,” she remembered Maria’s words. “Unless their vexation is relieved by proper encouragement, they do not allow themselves to relax in the presence of the woman whose approval they seek.”
That must have meant that Mr Parker had no romantic interest in her. Except that his hands were on hers now, despite there being no need for it (she would have rowed perfectly well had he let go); he was smiling at her in a way that spoke of happiness one did not feel with just any friend or acquaintance; and, every now and then, his glance travelled from her eyes down to her lips.
Charlotte was unsure what to think: her intuition and sense were telling her that his feelings for her had a romantic inclination, while her sensibility insisted she was wrong to impute that. After much deliberation, Charlotte decided (as she often did) to trust her intuition. All things could be possible if one were courageous enough. Fortune and love favour the brave, she thought.
“That is Ovid,” Mr Parker said, his voice as soft as before. As soft as ever nowadays, even.
Her mood pensive and her mind unguarded in its thoughts, several moments had passed before she understood that she had spoken out loud. If not for the surge in her bravery, Charlotte would have wanted to perish right there and then, for the sheer mortification of the situation. Instead, she decided to voice the question that was on her mind.
“What is it you plan to do about Mrs Campion?”
The look in his eyes changed to surprise, but not so much as to disrupt the relaxed state of mind he was clearly in.
“What, precisely, is your question?”
She pondered her next words for a moment. “Is not your plan to pursue her? Romantically?”
Charlotte knew this was no subtle way to find out what was so important to her, but, her friend’s advice aside, there was no reason why the matters of the heart could not be resolved and discussed in the same honest and open manner as any other issue would be.
Mr Parker sighed and was silent for a moment, and while she waited, Charlotte appreciated the fact that she was in no fear of him reprimanding her for enquiring about something that was, evidently, none of her concern.
“For reasons unknown to you, I am afraid I cannot court her.”
“You cannot, or you shall not?” Charlotte clarified, with a smile that she hoped would make her seem less anxious than she truly was. She only prayed her palms would not start sweating in consequence of her vexation, for Mr Parker would surely be able to tell. “And, I must confess, I comprehend what reasons you are alluding to.”
The expression on his face changed, easily perceptible to Charlotte, to a less happy one, and that was enough for her to regret bringing up the topic altogether. He furrowed his brow, so she elaborated: “Tom told me about your past… relationship with Mrs Campion.”
He appeared to relax somewhat. “I see.”
Mr Parker’s reaction made little sense to Charlotte, for the only possible explanation was that there had been another reason why he would not consider courting Mrs Campion, and he did not wish to know her that reason. That would explain his apparent relief at her admission.
Had Charlotte been a more self-assured person in the matters of the heart, she would have arrived at the correct conclusion: that Mr Parker loved her, and was afraid that his love was unrequited. That prevented him from courting Mrs Campion, and had brought relief to his face when he had realised Charlotte thought it was because of the past only. She did not allow her mind to go there, however, for she was shy and doubted her own judgment since most of her presumptions as to Mr Parker’s character had been rebutted. She, therefore, resolved that he was unhappy with her knowing, for it was his private information to share.
The new knowledge having served no further purpose except for fixing it in her mind that there was no danger of Mr Parker courting Mrs Campion, Charlotte braced herself to be brave once more.
“In any case, I am glad that you have no plans to pursue her,” she said, feeling as though she was placing her heart in his hand. Surely, this he must understand. She thought she could not have stated her feelings more plainly.
To her worry, Mr Parker furrowed his brow once again, his eyes peering into her face. This time his expression translated confusion rather than vexation or concern. “Why is that, Miss Heywood?”
His question was unexpected, and the realisation that she had no way to answer it truthfully without baring her soul to him made Charlotte blush furiously. She had not thought this through. She sought for an answer that would suffice, something to explain away this dreadful conversation she was rueing to have ever started. Her heart was beating so hard she thought she felt it in her throat.
“I—”
There was no response that did not contain an express declaration of her feelings for him. Charlotte was at a loss as to what to do, her previous bravery having dissipated.
To her relief, however, Mr Parker did not press her for it, and they made progress towards their destination in silence. She could hardly look at him now — the complete opposite of the earlier situation, where she had been hardly able to look anywhere but him.
Once the boat was secured, Charlotte got up, almost tripping over in her haste to escape onto the ground.
“Good day, Mr Parker,” she said, hoping to leave without having to glance at him once.
“Miss Heywood?” he called after her, clearly fixed on not allowing her to make use of that opportunity.
She stopped walking and struggled not to wince. She turned to look at him, “Yes, Mr Parker?”
He was looking at her in much the same way as he had been right before they both boarded the boat, all sign of vexation gone from his features, with only clemency, kindness and calmness left. A fearsome and mortifying thought occurred to Charlotte now: what if he had guessed her feelings, and his present design was to let her down easily, causing as little pain as possible? She knew neither how to accept that gracefully, nor how to escape the situation. Therefore, she resigned to somehow inevitably humiliating herself again — something that was by now a common occurrence whenever she was in Sidney Parker’s presence.
Mr Parker advanced closer to her, but Charlotte remained where she stood, having decided to accept the unavoidable truth with a modicum of strength.
“Could it be that you were resolved to discover my intentions as to Eliza because you had a…” he searched for an appropriate way to put it, “a personal interest in it?”
“A personal interest?” she asked, feeling flushed, and vulnerable, and unhappy.
He stepped even closer, standing almost shockingly near her. “Yes,” he said, once again looking down at her lips, “as I have a very keen interest in all the affairs of the heart that concern you.”
Charlotte thought with trepidation that her present feelings were like those she had had at the ball in London, except now they were heightened by the understanding that they were alone, no eyes on them. His presence was magnetic, tumbling her thoughts and darkening her cheeks with a blush.
His words must have meant that all her worries had been for nothing, for he returned her regard for him. She could scarcely believe it, and yet happiness filled her breast in a way that made her breathing more laborious than usual.
“Am I correct?” he questioned once again, the softness and firmness of his voice contrasted in a way that hinted at how much he needed to know her answer. She had no wish to keep him in the dark any longer.
“I—” Charlotte started to respond, but had to clear her throat, her anxiety inevitably displayed on her face. “You are correct,” she simply said, and a smile — a genuine, full-hearted smile — appeared on his handsome face.
Charlotte’s smile dimmed, however, when she found her own gaze now dropping to his mouth. She had always wanted to know what kissing would be like, but she had never wanted to attempt it before. Until now, for Sidney Parker was stood so close to her, there was not much distance left between them.
That charming, beaming smile remaining on his face, now slightly reduced by a new evident worry, he asked, surprising her with his perception of her thoughts, “May I kiss you, Miss Heywood?”
Her dear friend Maria had warned her against men taking liberties — and so had her mother — and stealing kisses with a design to tarnish a lady’s reputation. But, Charlotte thought now, Sidney Parker could not take or steal something that was given to him freely. His lack of presumption, confirmed by the request and the anxiety in his features, left it to her to decide.
He wanted to kiss her. Sidney Parker, the man whom, she had only discovered not long ago, she held in the highest regard, and whose opinion of her was more important to her than anybody else’s; the experienced Sidney Parker who had travelled and seen the world and had built his own life the way he wished it, wanted to kiss her.
You are more than equal to any woman here.
Her thoughts bewildered by these conclusions and memories, all Charlotte could do was nod — more than once — in a way that she hoped did not portray all her eagerness for him to kiss her.
Sidney Parker smiled wider and cupped her face with his hand. Her breathing turned even heavier in anticipation, and he leant down to kiss her.
Charlotte had not known what to expect, and his lips on hers produced a foreign feeling. She went stiff for several moments, endeavouring to accustom herself to it. It was only when he had moved away that she realised with a deepened blush that she wanted more, and, hindering his stepping away completely, stood on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck, and kiss him again. He jolted softly, not having expected it, but did not make her wait, and returned the kiss with equal fervour. His lips were warm and soft on hers, and she never wanted the moment to end.
Once they parted, their breathing heavy, he leant his forehead against hers. “The relief I feel, that my feelings are not unrequited, is insurmountable, Miss Heywood,” he said with quiet feeling.
Charlotte toyed with a button on his waistcoat. “Charlotte,” she corrected softly, looking up in to his eyes, praying he would understand what she meant, and marvelling what she could have done to deserve being quite this happy.
“Sidney, then,” he agreed, and their kissing resumed.