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Sidney waited for Charlotte’s carriage to disappear into the distance before he allowed himself to break down. Paying no bother to his smart attire, he collapsed onto his knees, every single ounce of emotion he’d suppressed from the moment he agreed to marry Eliza finally escaping his body. He sobbed and sobbed, allowing all of his anger and agony to flow out.
He had been heartbroken when Eliza had left him ten years prior, gut-wrenchingly so that he had (at least, he thought he had) sworn off marriage for good, but somehow this was far worse, far more painful. Not only had his own, fragile heart shattered when he had told Charlotte about the engagement, but he was now responsible for breaking her heart too. He was weather-worn, more toughened, whereas she was young and innocent; this wound will take far more time and care to heal than his ever would.
It had taken an immense amount of strength not to ride after Charlotte, the little strength he had left. He wanted nothing more than to pull her from that carriage and into his arms, where he could pretend the outside world didn’t exist. Yet, he had let her go, forced to give her up for the greater good. She had made it both awfully easy and excruciatingly difficult for him to choose Eliza. She never once showed any signs of resentment towards him or his decision, accepting what had to be with a sense of maturity and grace that was well beyond her years. However her tears had showed him that she wasn’t leaving him without detriment to herself. She didn’t even try to kiss him, didn’t behave untowardly or inappropriately with him, despite the passion they had shared for one another on that clifftop.
Sidney couldn’t face going back to Sanditon. He knew Eliza was sat in his brother’s home, sipping tea, horrendously smug. He was trying, truly, to recall back to his feelings for her, the love he had felt for her when they were young. It had been formidable, certainly, for it to cause him react so drastically when she had rejected him. Now, however, he was numb. He looked at her, pretty and proper, and felt absolutely nothing for her when he had asked her to marry him. Instead, he was nauseous, thinking only of Charlotte, and the way he was breaking her heart.
He didn’t move for what felt like hours. It was only when he felt droplets of rain fall on his shoulders. Slow at first, he soon found himself trapped in a dreadful downpour. The rain was upsetting his horse, who had been content to chew on grass all the while it’s master had been pouring his heart out. Getting to his feet, his bones wearing, he took the reins and began to lead the horse down the hill. Choosing not to ride back home, he wanted as much time as possible to compose himself before his family saw him. He didn’t want to have to explain his blotchy face or wobbly lip. He didn’t want their prying, or worse, their pity.
The way Mary, who was usually mild-mannered and good-natured, had gasped when he had informed them of his engagement informed him something he had long suspected; she knew of his feelings towards Charlotte. Subtly, she had been pushing the pair of them together from the moment they’d met. Charlotte and her had formed a close bond, and his sister-in-law had been one of the most persistent voices in trying to get her to stay in Sanditon. At dinner the previous evening (Charlotte had decided she was far too tired to eat, and remained in her room) she had been unable to look him in the eyes, and had talked only about minor things with him, such as the weather, his journey to London, how his food was. If he was to return home now, bawling his eyes out, he knew exactly what she would say; that he has a choice, no matter what Tom says - that he didn't have to get married to Eliza.
No, he couldn’t hear that. He’d been regretting his decision the second he’d made the proposal, but it was too late to go back. Eliza’s money was going to save Sanditon.
He had to put on a brave face. Pretend that he was holding himself together.
Finally, he reached Tilney Street, a few meters away from Trafalgar Place. The rain had stopped, though grey clouds still hung in the air, threatening another downpour. He’d taken his horse back to the stables himself - yet another ploy to waste time - and was now ambling along, head down, teeth gritted.
“Mr Parker!” he heard somebody yell out.
He had no wish to stop and make conversation, and so continued on, acting as though he hadn’t heard anybody. This person, however, was unrelenting, calling his name a further three times. It was only when Sidney felt somebody shove his back that he looked up, ready to snap.
“Something in your ears, Mr Parker?” James Stringer asked him, harshly. His malice was potent; everything from the tone of his heavily-accented voice to the way his jaw was set to the venomous glint in his eye.
Stringer’s feelings for Charlotte had never been hidden; he openly stared at her when she passed, his whole demeanour lighting up when she appeared. That had been one of the many things about their friendship that Sidney had been jealous of - the open way in which Stringer had been allowed to admire her, without fear of people seeing and gossiping. Now she was gone, and it was obvious who he blamed for her leaving.
“Mr Stringer, I didn’t - "
“Miss Heywood came to say goodbye, earlier,” he interrupted, in no mood for pleasantries either. “She’s devastated. Says she can’t see herself coming back to Sanditon.”
That stung. He had hoped, rather selfishly, that she would pay a visit to Tom, Mary and the children at least. He couldn’t imagine never seeing her again. The possibility made him want to run after and take one last look at her, so he could commit her every feature to memory.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, strained. “I know you two were . . . close.”
Stringer shook his head and laughed, coldly. “You fancy folk are all the same,” he spat. “You led her on, you let her think she had a future with you. She could have been happy here, but you . . . you had to have her, didn’t you? You saw something you liked and got in her head. Made her think - "
“You speak of things you don’t understand, Mr Stringer!” Sidney hissed back. “Don’t you dare try to presume you know Miss Heywood’s heart!”
Taking a step forward so that they were inches apart, his nostrils flaring, Stringer no longer cared that he was talking to a gentleman, to his employer’s brother. “I would have made her happy. I would have loved her, the way she deserves to be loved. You never loved her, you couldn’t possibly. She’s too good for a man like you - "
Before he could finish, Sidney lashed out and pushed him away with such force that it scared even him. Stringer wasted no time in being shocked, instead retaliated with a clumsy but effective punch to the cheekbone. It knocked him to the ground, his head ringing. Looming over him, Stringer seemed content with the blow he had delivered, though was still seething. “Charlotte’s better off without you.” With those final, damning words he stalked off, past the dumbfounded spectators who had gathered to watch what they hoped would have been a better fight.
Defeated and aching, both mentally and physically, Sidney stumbled to his feet and walked the few meters to Trafalgar Place. Knocking on the door, he held a hand up to his cheek. He was bleeding, rather a lot, suggesting that the injury was a severe one. The look of horror on Mary’s face as she opened the door proved to him that he was right.
“Oh, Sidney! What’s happened?” she exclaimed, sounding so sympathetic and caring that he wanted to burst into tears again. Then, she took another look at his cut, and frowned. “Have you been fighting again?”
He squeezed her hand, trying to reassure her, then stepped inside. Shedding his coat, he watched as Mary summoned a maid, and asked her to fetch a clean cloth and some cold water.
“Sidney dear, is that you?” came Eliza’s voice from the living room. Sighing, he almost considered turning around and walking out the door. He had no patience to confront her, especially not in his current state. He didn’t want the questions, not when he wasn’t prepared to give her answers. “You’ve been away for an awfully long time. I’ve been lonely.”
Beside him he heard Mary huff, which was very uncharacteristic of her. “It’s not as if I’ve given up my whole morning to sit and crochet with her,” she mumbled, half to herself, and half to him.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside the living room. She was sat in Mary’s chair, a particularly nice one that he remembered belonged to her grandmother’s family, a wealthy line of dignitaries that could be traced back to 15th Century Scotland. Wearing her hair up in a tight and complex fashion that did no favours for her pinched face, she gasped when she caught sight of his cheek. “Good heavens, who did that?” she cried, shooting up out of her seat. “Were you assaulted? Was it ruffians? They didn’t take anything, did they?” Whilst she showed more concern for his belongings than his actual wellbeing, the maid returned with the cloth and water. Eliza made no attempt to reach for the items, despite the maid holding them out to her. Instead, Mary stepped forward and began to dab at his wound. Politely, he took the cloth from her, and held it to his face, the cold compress providing him with a surge of relief.
Suddenly, a thought crossed Eliza’s mind. “Did Miss Heywood do this to you?” she inquired, her brow furrowed. “Was she so distraught by your rejection that she struck you?”
Tense all over, Sidney couldn’t bear to hear her talk about Charlotte. “No, it wasn’t - "
“My, my, I didn’t think she had the backbone, she’s such a little thing. So timid, the poor girl. That won’t help her find a husband, not with this temper now either - ”
“How dare you talk about her like that!” he roared, his blood boiling. Eliza flinched as this outrage, Mary too. He closed his eyes and sighed, trying to remember the bargain he had struck with Eliza, the sacrifice he was making for his brother. “I apologise for my outburst. I merely had a run-in with one of the town’s inhabitants who was rather distressed by . . . by the lack of . . . I owe him money. It is my problem, I will solve it myself. No need to worry yourselves about it.”
With that, he made his excuses and disappeared upstairs, to his temporary room. He glanced in the mirror and took in the sight of his wound. It was the size of a hairpin, and gaping blood where the skin had split. It looked nasty and stung terribly. Stringer had been right to strike him; he deserved every ounce of pain for what he did to Charlotte.
-
It had been two weeks since Charlotte’s departure. Whilst his cut had healed, his heart had not, that particular wound as tender and raw as it was when it had first broke.
Everyone, it seemed, besides him and Eliza, had received a letter from Charlotte. Mary and Tom had been the first, getting a long and heartfelt thank you, including an invitation to spend time at her family’s farm whenever they wished. The children had gotten letters too, complete with pictures drawn by Charlotte’s younger siblings. She had wrote that her brothers and sisters were eager to meet them.
When Georgianna finally allowed him to see her, for she had shut him out when she learnt of his engagement, she showed him her letter. It was mostly about how grateful Charlotte felt for their friendship and how she hoped things with Otis will work out, however at the bottom there was one line that Sidney read over and over; 'You do Sidney a disservice. He cares more about you than he allows himself to show. He has a bigger heart than I think anyone gives him credit for.’ Those words, in her delicate hand, had brought a lump to his throat. Georgianna, still bitter that he had drove away one of her only true friends, had snatched the letter away from him. “Even after what you did to her, she only has nice things to say about you. She has a heart of gold - can you say the same about Ms Campion?”
Over a game of cards, Lord Babington had briefly mentioned to him that he and his new wife had received a letter from Charlotte, wishing them well. He hadn’t prodded or pried, which Sidney appreciated.
No doubt Stringer had received a letter too, though he hadn’t told Sidney if he had. In fact, he was giving him a wide berth since their last interaction.
Even Arthur and Diana had gotten a letter, in which Charlotte hoped they were both well and told them about an apothecary in their village who was trialling new cures for colic on her baby brother, which included fennel and calamus root.
Lady Denham too! She had made a point about mentioning it at a luncheon she held 'in honour' of Sidney and Eliza’s engagement, though he knew that it was merely a way for the elderly woman to snoop and meddle. She told the whole table of guests that she had received a letter from a feisty young farmer’s daughter informing her all about an exotic new fruit called a ‘mango’ that heard about.
Sidney didn’t expect a letter, though that didn’t stop him from searching through the post every time.
It was his and Eliza's last day in Sanditon, before they made their permanent move up to London. It was one of her conditions of the arrangement, that they live in her luxurious townhouse in Belgravia. Her argument had been that it was already furnished exactly to her tastes, and that there was an expansive garden ‘just perfect’ for raising children in. At this Sidney had to resist the urge to wince. It’s not that he didn’t want children, he simply didn’t want children with her. She was spoilt, callous and obnoxious - he couldn’t imagine what her offspring would turn out like.
Besides, when he pictured raising children now, he could only ever see Charlotte next to him. She was a natural when it came to children. He could only imagine what she’d be like with her own, how she’d kiss their grazed knees and plait their hair and tickle their toes.
Whenever such thoughts of Charlotte crossed his mind he had to scold himself. He was only upsetting himself, reminding himself of what he’d lost. What he’d sacrificed.
Heading downstairs, intending on having a small breakfast and going to meet with Ms Griffiths, Sidney was shocked to find a rather eclectic assembly of people had gathered. There were both of his brothers, his sister and sister-in-law, of course. Then there sat Georgianna besides Lady Susan, both wearing fetching dresses for the new autumn season. Lord and Lady Babington, holding hands, were perched next to a rather ragged-looking Mr Crowe. Finally, looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else, was James Stringer, sat beside, astonishingly, Lady Denham. Noticeably absent was Eliza.
Sidney stepped inside, cautiously, looking around at everyone with bewilderment. “What’s going on?” he inquired, turning first to his brother, then to Mary.
“Well, brother, we’ve all been thinking . . . rather, some of us . . . I think you . . . " Tom was spluttering, struggling to string a coherent sentence together. As usual, Mary came to his aid.
“We’ve decided we can’t allow you to marry Ms Campion,” she said, matter-of-factly.
Whatever Sidney had been expecting her to say, it wasn’t that. Again, he surveyed the sea of faces, and saw no trace of amusement, no hint that this was all an elaborate joke. “My wedding is in three days,” he said, flustered.
“Cancel it,” Georgianna told him, flatly.
Unable to help himself, Sidney laughed. “This is absurd,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Not that this concerns everybody present - " At this he momentarily glanced at Stringer, who was stiff as a board, his jaw set. “But we need the money. Sanditon needs the money. Ms Campion has been gracious enough to - "
Lady Denham snorted. “Ms Campion is many things, but gracious is not one of them!” she exclaimed, bounding to her feet with a remarkable sprightliness. “That harpy has her talons sharp in you, boy, and she’s not willing to let you go easily. This business about the money is just her way of trapping you!” She poked him, fiercely, in the chest.
“You don’t love her,” Lord Babbington added, with a sympathetic smile. His hand was still entangled with his wife’s.
“And a marriage without love is no better than slavery,” Esther finished, harking back to what Charlotte had once said. It was a quote Sidney had been thinking about rather a lot.
Mary took a step towards him, her expression full of compassion. “Mary, what about the debts? The money needed to rebuild the town?” he asked her, incredulous. How could he be the only one arguing for marrying Eliza? Was he the only sane one left?
In answer to his question, she beamed. “We all adore Charlotte,” she began. “And we see how much you love each other.”
Far too excited, a red-faced Arthur piped up; “It just isn’t fair that she’s back home in Willingden, and you’re going to London to be married!”
Mary placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, as Diana pulled him down into his seat. “What I suppose I’m trying to say is that everybody here misses Charlotte, and we all want the best for her,” she continued, softly. “Which, we think, is you.”
Sidney’s head was spinning. Were they truly encouraging him to leave Eliza, leave her money behind, in favour of Charlotte? It didn’t make sense. No matter how much they liked Charlotte, it didn’t make sense for them to want him to abandon their only hope in saving Sanditon, the town most of them had invested their money into.
“It is true, yes, that I would rather marry Charlotte,” he admitted, out loud, for the first time. It felt odd to be using her first name, especially in such titled company, but the whole scenario was so preposterous that it didn’t stop him. “I would ride to her now if I though there was even the slightest chance we could be together. But I have a commitment to my family. I must marry, not for love but for money.”
“Everyone here, all of Charlotte’s friends, have leant us the money we need to rebuild Sanditon, and pay the debts owed to the bank,” Tom informed him, slowly, as though he was still processing the news.
Sidney was at a loss for words. He stumbled into the remaining empty seat, his legs giving way. A couple of people laughed, good-naturedly.
“It was all Georgianna’s idea,” Mary told him. “She orchestrated all of this.”
He glanced at her, confused. “Your inheritance - you can’t touch it,” he muttered. “Not unless you’re - “
“I’m marrying Otis,” she replied, without a hint of hesitance. “While the money will be in his name, he’s promised to let me have control. He likes Charlotte too.”
And so the details of Georgianna’s masterplan was divulged. She was going to lend Tom £15,000. She contacted Lady Susan, who had a sizeable fortune of her own left to her by her late husband. She had agreed to lend £20,000. As was well-known, Lady Susan was rather good friends with the Prince Regent, who upon hearing of the venture, incredibly, decided that he wanted to invest £30,000 - on the agreement that he’d get a statue or a boat named in his honour. When Lady Denham heard that the Prince Regent, of all people, was involved, she not only extended the loan she had given Tom, but knocked off £5,000 of the overall debt he owed her. Lord and Lady Babington were next to offer their coin, lending Tom £7,000. Mr Crowe then agreed - though he argues he was drunk at the time and has no recollection of doing so - to lend £800. Once Stringer had discovered the true reason Charlotte had left in such haste, he managed to scrape together the last £200, from God knows where.
In all, the £80,000 Tom needed had been raised, with all the donors wishing only to be repaid once the town was prospering. It was unbelievable. Their charity and their kindness was unbelievable.
“I . . . I can’t think of anything to . . . " he was fumbling for something to say, something to show his gratitude, though could not find words to do it justice. “Thank you. All of you. You can’t possibly know how much this means to me.”
Lady Susan stood up, gracefully, preparing to leave. “Mr Parker, the second I met Charlotte, I knew she was different. She stands up for what is right, she’s intelligent, she’s brave, she’s kind, and she’s a beauty. When a girl like that loves you, you don’t let her go.” She gave him a broad smile, though there was a knowing glint in her eye that warned him that if he were to hurt Charlotte again, he’d have her to answer to.
After Lady Susan, the others began to filter out, all with a word or two to say to him. Even Stringer had apologised for his behaviour, though something about his tone suggested he didn’t regret it. Finally, everyone had left, until it was just Tom, Mary and him. Tom hadn’t moved from the fireplace, wringing his hands rather sheepishly. It was clear now that Mary had informed him of Sidney’s feelings for Charlotte, so now he felt guilty for encouraging the marriage between Eliza and his brother.
However, too overjoyed to hold any grudges, Sidney stepped forward and extended his hand to Tom, who took it, most appreciatively. Next, he hugged Mary, tightly and warmly. “Now, you best ready your horse,” she smiled at him, squeezing his arm. “Willingden is only a few hours away - you should be able to make it there before it gets dark.” His stomach churning with excitement, Sidney made his way towards the door, when Mary called out; “If you do come across Ms Campion, be gentle.”
-
The ride to Willingden had been arduous, to say the least. Several times Sidney had to stop and ask directions, for the village was so rural and with so little road signs it was difficult to find. However, he was fortunate to come across a group of tradesmen heading that way, so rode in with them. Once reaching the village, he asked locals where he might be able to find the Heywood farm, to which he was pointed down a country lane, instructed to take the first turning, where he would come upon the house.
Sidney knew that Charlotte’s family weren’t entirely affluent; her reactions to the grandeur of Trafalgar Place and Sanditon House hinted at her modest upbringing. Yet when he came upon the cottage, he was pleasantly surprised. It was small yes, shockingly so when he considered that it had to house fourteen people, but rather quaint. The door had been painted a wonderful shade of cerulean blue, and there were all sorts of sweet-smelling flowers hanging in baskets. In the distance he could see a stable, where a beautiful chestnut mare stood.
“May I help you?” somebody inquired, the door swinging open. A young girl, no older than sixteen, stood, clutching a wicker basket filled to the brim with berries. She bore a striking resemblance to Charlotte, with her dark hair and soft features.
Removing his hat, he walked towards her. “Good afternoon,” he greeted, his heart beginning to hammer away. “I’m here to see Miss Heywood.”
“There’s a great many of those around,” she laughed. “Could you be more specific?”
“Ah, yes, sorry,” Sidney fumbled, his nerves threatening to get the best of him. “Charlotte. I’m looking for Charlotte Heywood.”
The girl’s cheery expression dropped, as she tensed. “So you’re from Sanditon then?” She pushed the door open further, letting him in. “Charlotte’s out at the moment, but she’ll be back later, though I can’t guarantee she’ll want to see you.”
“Thank you,” he replied, gratefully. Being allowed into the farm was more than he deserved. “Am I right in presuming you’re Allison?”
She nodded. “Come and meet everyone else,” she said. “Let’s hope you can remember all their names too. Don’t worry, I’m the only one who knows why Charlotte came back so abruptly.” Allison reminded him of Charlotte in the sense that she spoke freely, saying exactly what she thought, though not as eloquently as her elder sister.
The rest of the Heywood family were, in short, a delight. They’d rushed around to make him comfortable, plumping up their best cushions and retrieving their finest china so that he may have a cup of tea. He’d insisted they needn’t make such a fuss, but they were keen to impress him. He had been very anxious to meet Mr Heywood, though was glad to find him merry and good-humoured. It was very clear now that Charlotte had not told them anything about the events at Sanditon, at least nothing pertaining to him.
Sidney sat in their living room, which also doubled up as their dining room and drawing room, for well over an hour. He'd met all of Charlotte's siblings, including slumbering baby Oliver, who had been up all night with colic. Her younger sisters had been most excited to show off their dolls, all of which had been handstitched by Mrs Heywood, whilst her brothers wanted to know if he'd ever fought in a battle. He'd even taken seven year old Joseph and six year old Zachary to pet his horse, a creature they instantly became besotted with.
Her eldest brother, twenty year old Mark, had finally been the one to tell him where his sister was. "She's out catching dinner."
"Catching?"
Jacob, eighteen years old, leant forward. The three of them had moved on from cups of tea to cups of ale that had been brewed in the village. "Rabbits, Mr Parker," he explained. "She's an excellent shot. All we've been eating since she's away are the measly pickings Mark here's been getting." At that jab, Mark shoved Jacob, playfully. "Did she not tell you?"
Sidney shook his head. When he pictured Charlotte back home, at the farm, he'd imagined she'd be baking bread with her mother, or fetching eggs from the chicken coop - certainly not out shooting rabbits. The thought brought a smile to his face. Yet another thing that made her unconventional and wholly fascinating.
"Lottie's back!" shrieked the voices of three year old twins, Lucy and Anna, from the courtyard.
"That's good timing, it's starting to rain," Allison pointed out.
At this Sidney felt his stomach lurch, as though he were suffering from seasickness. He got to his feet, adjusting his waistcoat unnecessarily. The door opened and in walked Charlotte, two rabbits in one hand and a shotgun in the other. Somehow, she looked entirely different and yet entirely the same. A lot less consideration had been put into her appearance now that she wasn't staying with his family. Her hair, slightly damp from the rain, was down in that unruly fashion she liked, though a tad more windswept. He could even spot a twig and a couple of leaves sticking out, where she'd obviously walked through a forest. She was wearing a plain, cream cotton dress, stained with grass and mud. Her cheeks were flushed, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. Even as dishevelled and weary as she was, he still believed her to be the most beautiful woman he'd ever set his eyes upon, which did lt help to quell his nerves.
Their eyes met, and Sidney felt all the wind get knocked out of him. "Charlotte," he muttered, transfixed. He immediately wished he hadn't used her Christian name, as she dropped the rabbits in shock.
"Mr Parker?" she said in utter disbelief. "What on earth are you doing here?"
"Now, now, Charlotte, that's no way to speak to your guest!" her mother scolded. She gestured for Allison to pick the rabbits up, as she took the shotgun from her hands. He was rather glad that she did, for he half-feared what Charlotte might do if she held onto it any longer. "Mr Parker has come a long way to see you."
"Did you bring your fiancé with you?" Charlotte burst out, unable to contain herself any more. It was clear to him that when she had said goodbye she had meant it, expecting never to see him again. Now that he was stood in her home, unannounced and without warning, her anger and frustration was boiling over.
"Oh, you're engaged?" Mrs Heywood piped up, glancing between the pair with a newfound trepidation. She was starting to suspect something her daughter hadn't told her had unfolded in Sanditon.
Sidney couldn't tear his eyes away from Charlotte, taking in her every feature as he had wished he had done when she left. He found himself wondering if she always had a slight smattering of freckles across her nose, or if it had been the sun that had brought them out.
When he didn't say anything, Charlotte assumed the worst. "I suppose she's too busy wedding planning," she sighed. "Besides, there's nothing here to concern herself with, is there Mr Parker?"
He wanted nothing more than to run to her and kiss her, passionately, so that she knew just how much she meant to him, that there couldn't be anyone else. However, they would have had quite the audience, and Sidney didn't much like the idea of reconciling in front of her family. "May I speak to you, Miss Heywood? Alone?"
Her lip trembled, and he was afraid she would turn him away. Instead, she glanced at her father, who was rocking a sound-asleep Oliver back and forth. "You can talk in your bedroom, if you take Olly with you and put him in his cot," he permitted, but not without shooting an intense look towards Sidney. "You may only talk."
Charlotte took her baby brother from her father's arm, a flush of scarlet appearing on her cheeks. "You have no cause to worry, papa," she assured him. "Mr Parker wouldn't dare lay a finger on me, not without betraying his wife-to-be.”
With that, she began walking down the cramped corridor, the wooden beams getting lower and lower. Despite what Mr Heywood had said, Sidney’s mouth went dry as he walked into her bedroom, trying to cover up his embarrassment by looking around the room. It was rather small, even smaller considering that there were three beds in there, all lined up along one wall. It was no bigger than the cloakroom in his London townhouse. The walls were decorated with drawings, some faded and tattered, others looking weeks old. Each bed had was adorned with a different blanket, made from patterns from old dresses. He knew straight away which one was Charlotte’s, for she had her lovely blue shoes tucked under it, and an array of shells on the bedside table.
There was also a cot in the corner of the room, making the room even more crowded. As she tucked her brother up in a bundle of blankets, Sidney watched as she caressed his tiny nose, gently, causing him to smile a little in his sleep. The gesture was loving, and made his heart burst.
“Your family is wonderful, Charlotte,” he said in a soft voice, not really sure where to begin. “No wonder you’re so good with children - “
“Have you come to gawk at us, Mr Parker?” she interrupted, her face like thunder. Whilst her tone and posture was firm, unyielding, her eyes suggested she was fragile, still hurting. “Come to see if we’re really as poor as people think? Did Ms Campion send you so you could report back to her, so the pair of you could laugh about me later?”
Sidney stepped forward, and reached for her hand. She flinched and retreated, until her back was pressed up against the wall. “Charlotte, please let me - “
“Stop,” she whispered, screwing her eyes shut. “Stop saying my name.” When she opened her eyes again, tears were pooling in them, spilling down her cheek. “Why are you here?”
“There are so many people in Sanditon who love you,” he told her, tentatively wiping a tear from her cheek. She froze at first, then leant into his touch, her whole body softening as she let out a deep breath. “Tom’s managed to raise enough funds to rebuild the town and to pay back his debts. Lady Susan, Lady Denham, Georgianna, the Babingtons, Arthur and Diane, Stringer, even Mr Crowe, have all lent him the money because they want to see you happy.” Her mouth hung open at this, as she met his gaze with disbelief. “Charlotte, do you know what this means? I’m free of my arrangement with Eliza. We can be married.”
Sidney had hoped, expected, that at this marvellous news she would be overcome with joy. That she’d leap into his arms and say yes, yes that she’d marry him. Instead, she pushed his hand away, tears falling faster.
“Now that you have the money, you’re trading in Eliza for me? You’ve discarded her, and you’re here to claim me? Pick up where we left off?” She sounded offended, insulted even.
Biting his lip, Sidney felt foolish for not foreseeing her reaction. Of course she’d upset; he’d chosen to marry someone else over her, breaking her heart, and was now stood in her bedroom telling her that he didn’t need Eliza anymore. He hadn’t worded anything properly, he hadn’t even apologised.
However, before he could set about making amends, she fled the room, storming out the front door. As he followed, he was met by Mark and Jacob, their arms crossed in the doorway. All of their previous camaraderie had faded, replaced now with a fierce loyalty for their sister. “Please, I’m trying to apologise,” he pleaded.
“Step aside boys,” Mrs Heywood instructed. There was a touch of understanding to her voice, some sympathy.
Once outside, Sidney spotted Charlotte striding towards the gate. The rain was ferocious now, beating down hard and ruthlessly. Within a matter of seconds he was drenched, though he didn’t want to turn back and retrieve his hat and coat. Catching up to her, he reached out for her hand, when she pulled from his grasp and whipped around to face him. She was soaked too, her hair stuck to the nape of her neck.
“What!” Her eyes were all puffy, and her voice was hoarse.
“You’re right,” he told her, struggling to make himself heard over the rain. “I know my actions were no different and no less painful than what Eliza did to me, ten years ago. She passed me over for a man far wealthier than I, and I did the same to you. I understand that, believe me I am not blind to the cruel irony of the whole arrangement. But Charlotte, you must know that I wouldn’t have agreed to marry her if she was not my last resort, my last chance at rescuing my brother from debtors prison.”
“Your intentions were admirable, I know,” she agreed, though sounded as if she were reciting something from memory.
“You made me so very aware of my flaws, told me so many times that I was not doing enough to help my brother. In engaging myself to Eliza, I was desperately trying to become the man you made me want to be.”
“So this is all my fault? I encouraged you?” She almost laughed, as she wiped furiously at her tears.
Sidney shook his head. “Of course not,” he quickly rectified. “What I’m trying to say is that if this decision was imposed on me, before I met you, then I would have behaved shamelessly. I would have been selfish, because I was a selfish man. Now, I wish nothing more than to be worthy of you. You have made me a better man.”
He was on the brink of tears now, choking on his words. There was too much distance between him and Charlotte, a few feet, that he worried she wasn’t able to hear anything he said. He also was desperate to be near her, that though it was only a few feet, it felt like miles.
“I’m here now because I’ve had a taste of life without you, and it was unbearable. I’m here because I can’t waste another second apart from you. I want to make you my wife because I know that my every waking moment will be spent trying to make you happy. I’m hopelessly in love with you, Charlotte Heywood.”
When she didn’t say anything, Sidney thought he had overstepped the line. Thought he had misread the situation. He stood, rain beating down on him, staring at her, his heart hammering away in his chest like a woodpecker. Then, all of a sudden, she came running at him and threw herself into his arms. Their lips collided, and they kissed with such force, such passion, that he could have sworn the rain had stopped and time had been suspended. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off the ground, her hands clasping either side of his face.
They didn’t break away for a long time, too starved of one another’s touch. When he did set her down, their foreheads remained pressed together. “I love you, Sidney Parker,” she whispered, stroking his face, and despite the rain, her hand was warm. “There will never be anybody else. You are the love of my life.”
He kissed her again, so relieved and euphoric to hear her return his affections. He didn’t stop kissing her until they heard a voice call to them from the shelter of the cottage; “So I suppose that’s you going back to Sanditon then, is it?”