Chapter 14

Chapter 14

"I think I'll wear the red… no, the blue. Yes, peacock blue. That's what I'll wear," Charlotte said, pointing to the dress she had chosen.

She had been invited to Downside to take tea with the earl. Her mother had a megrim and would not be accompanying her much to Charlotte's relief, but Sara would be with her, and they were to ride in Charlotte's father's carriage.

"I think it'll be perfect, Miss Davidson," Sara said, taking up the dress and holding it up for Charlotte to inspect.

It was not long before they were ready to leave, and they enjoyed a pleasant carriage ride along the country lanes and across the Downside estate. Charlotte's ankle was almost completely healed, though it still gave her a little pain now and then. Her mother had insisted they go by carriage, fearing a repeat of the incident in the meadow, and Charlotte had not argued. Glad to be going alone, rather than with her mother breathing down her neck.

"It's an imposing house, isn't it?" Charlotte said, gazing out of the carriage window as they swept up the drive.

"Your house, Miss Davidson. That's what it'll be when you're the Countess of Swadlincote," Sara replied.

Charlotte smiled. She was still not used to the idea of what marrying the earl would mean. But Sara was right. The house, with its grand fa?ade and portico, everything in it, the beautiful furniture and paintings, the estate, which stretched out for miles on either side, all of it would be in her freedom. It was a remarkable thought. It was enough to make one quite giddy, or so Charlotte told herself.

"I don't think I'm ready for it yet, Sara," Charlotte said.

As the carriage drew up at the door beneath the portico, a livery clad footman came hurrying out to open the compartment door, and as Charlotte and Sara emerged, they found the housekeeper standing at the stop of the steps. The earl had told Charlotte something of the make-up of his household as she had been carried on the stretcher back to Thrushcross Grange, and Charlotte knew the housekeeper, along with the other servants, was counted as part of Jacob's family.

"Welcome to Downside, Miss Davidson," the housekeeper said.

"Thank you. I've heard so many wonderful things about it. It's a beautiful house," Charlotte replied as the housekeeper ushered her inside.

"It's been in the family for generations. Without Downside, the earls of Swadlincote mean nothing. It's part of who they are," Mrs. McDonald replied.

She led Charlotte and Sara through the imposing doors and into a magnificent hallway lined with paintings, and from which a wide staircase led up to a landing above. A large table stood in the center, on which was placed a vase of freshly cut flowers. Light was streaming in through a window above, decorated in a stained-glass design, showing patterns of different colors. It cast rainbows across the flagstones, and Charlotte looked up at it with delight.

"Isn't it wonderful?" she exclaimed, glancing at Sara, who smiled.

"His Lordship suggested I might give you a tour of the house. He's in his study at the moment, but he'll join you for tea very soon. He thought you might like to see the library," the housekeeper said, and Charlotte clapped her hands together in delight.

"Oh, yes, how wonderful. I've read about the library at Downside. But does his Lordship make use of it?" Charlotte asked.

She was curious to know if the earl was possessed of a habit for reading, or whether books were not counted as a serious distraction. Unless what they contained was serious in itself. The housekeeper smiled.

"Oh, yes. He's often to be found there," she said. Charlotte smiled, imagining the earl sitting in an armchair and surrounded by piles of books.

Mrs. McDonald led the way up the staircase below the stained-glass window, and along the landing to a large door on which was a brass plaque with the word "Library" engraved on it. Charlotte's heart was beating fast with excitement at the anticipation of seeing the library for herself. And as the housekeeper opened the door, she was not disappointed.

Charlotte gazed around her in wonder at the rows of shelves divided by a gallery reached by a spiral staircase. Thousands of books lined the shelves, all neatly ordered according to thematic sections, marked by brass plaques that said things like geography, history, philosophy, theology, literature.

"Isn't it wonderful? I've never seen anything like it in all my life," Charlotte exclaimed.

She was quite overcome by the sight of the library. It was a temple of knowledge and learning, a place of possibilities, a theater of dreams.

"Please, look at anything you wish, Miss Davidson," the housekeeper said, and Charlotte now began to peruse the shelves, stopping occasionally to pull out a volume, her list of what to read increasing with every step.

Had the housekeeper turned the key in the lock and left Charlotte there forever, she would have been content. It was a magical place, and for the next hour or so, she indulged her passion for books and reading, pulling volumes from the shelf and gaining inspiration for her own stories, and the novels she hoped to one day write.

In her mind, Charlotte imagined a dozen stories about her fictional glen and its inhabitants in the Scottish Highlands. She had created a world for herself, and it was one she took delight in escaping into.

"Isn't it wonderful, Sara?" Charlotte said, as she descended the spiral staircase, having examined volumes on the Roman Empire, the Natural Sciences, and Anthropological studies in the New World.

"It's quite remarkable, Miss Davidson. I've never seen anything like it," Sara said.

Mrs. McDonald was standing patiently by a table in the middle of the room, and as Charlotte returned from her explorations, she held up a book to show her.

"This was his Lordship's favorite book when he was a child. His mother would read it to him. I don't know how many times he asked for it," she said.

The book was called The Monk. A handsomely bound volume in gold and red, with a picture of a jolly looking hermit on the front.

Charlotte smiled. She had not realized the earl possessed a love of reading and taking the book from the housekeeper. She opened it to the first page.

"There was once a monk–little in stature but possessed of the biggest heart you could ever imagine. Many years ago, he had set out from his monastery to spread happiness wherever he went. These are the stories of his adventures - would you like to join him?" Charlotte read, smiling as she now flicked through the pages, finding the book beautifully illustrated with the pictures of the monk's many adventures.

"And does he still like to read?" Charlotte asked, for she was curious whether the earl's love of reading had persisted.

The housekeeper nodded.

"Oh, yes–he certainly does. The library's his favourite room. If I can't find him, I know just where he'll be. Especially in the winter when we have the fire lit in here," Mrs. McDonald said, glancing towards the fireplace, where a number of armchairs stood invitingly next to the hearth.

Once again, Charlotte found her impression of the earl changing for the better. It was one thing to show an interest in her own love of books and reading, but to discover it was a shared interest made Charlotte all the more eager to converse further with the earl on literary matters.

"I think it's wonderful. I'll have to ask him what he recommends I read. If I'm to live here permanently, I'll… well, if I'm to do so… I should like nothing better than for the two of us to spend time here together," Charlotte said.

The earl had spoken of allowing her to do as she pleased, but it pleased her to think there might be something they could share. Charlotte was about to say something further. But to her surprise, at the earl's literary interests, when the door of the library opened and the earl himself appeared, smiling at the scene before him.

"I thought I'd find you in here," he said, and Charlotte smiled back at him.

"Oh, but it's wonderful. Mrs. McDonald was just telling about your favourite childhood book. It's a delight, isn't it? The Monk. What a charming story," Charlotte said, as the earl approached the table.

"I still read it occasionally. I find the character very compelling–even if it is written for children," he replied.

Mrs. McDonald now excused herself, telling them she would have tea sent up to the library if they so wished. Jacob agreed, and now he suggested showing Charlotte some of the many other books he had read and enjoyed. It was a lifetime's worth of reading preserved in that magnificent room.

"I didn't realize… well, forgive me for saying so… but I didn't realize the extent of your literary interests. When we talked the other day, I thought you were just being kind, indulging me even," Charlotte said, as they made their way along the shelves to the literature section.

"Not at all. It's a passion I share. A book allows one to escape into another world. I'm looking forward to doing so with your novel," he said, and Charlotte blushed.

"Oh, but it's all fictional. A man like you can't possibly be interested in such things as romantic stories of Highland maidens," Charlotte said, but now it was the earl's turn to blush.

"You say that, but…well, perhaps not specifically Highland maidens. But to find oneself absorbed in a story and invested in the characters and the plot, desirous to know what's going to happen. I find that very enjoyable. That's why I was so interested in hearing about your own attempts at novel writing, Miss Davidson. I'm sure you've got a remarkable talent," he said, and Charlotte smiled.

It was a remarkable revelation to discover the earl was as much a lover of fiction and its power of escape as she was brought joy to her heart. Here was a kindred spirit, a man who understood just what she knew to be true. There was power in a story. The power to transport one to another place, another time, another life. To see the world through different eyes was surely to expand one's own vision of the world. The library contained thousands of windows, each with their own unique view. But to share it with another.

"Perhaps you'd like to show me some of the books you enjoy the most," Charlotte said, and the earl smiled and nodded.

"I'd be pleased to, yes. I can see the spine of one now," he replied, pointing to a volume on the shelf where they were standing.

" The Runaways," Charlotte read, and Jacob nodded.

"It's a wonderful story about two young lovers who stowaway on a ship bound for the New World. They make it, and then… well, I don't want to spoil it for you. If you were thinking of reading it, that is," the earl said, and Charlotte smiled.

"It sounds wonderful. I'd be very pleased to borrow it," she said.

"You can borrow anything you'd like to. After all, it won't be long before… well, you don't have to borrow anything. It'll all be here for you. Oh, but look, here's another you must read. The Rifler's Last Charge. It's all about a soldier sent off to war, and leaves his sweetheart behind. But the twist, and I'm not spoiling it for you because it comes at the start, is the fact she dies when he's away.

Usually, it's the soldier who dies, leaving the poor widow to her fate. But not this time. He has to rebuild his life, and…well, you can read the rest for yourself. But listen to me. I get quite carried away when I'm talking about the books I love to read," the earl said, but Charlotte did not mind.

She could happily have listened to him all day, and as they made their way along the shelves, pausing here and there for the earl to point out a novel he wanted to recommend or one he did not. Charlotte could not help but feel that same sense of his being a kindred spirit once again. They were discovering so much in common. It was remarkable, and if this was how married life would be, then Charlotte did not think it could be bettered by searching elsewhere.

"My own library seems modest in comparison. But I'd still like to show you it, if you'd like to see," Charlotte said, after they had completed their tour of the library.

"I'm sure it's not modest at all. Besides, it'll be all your own choice, and that's what makes it so interesting. This library isn't really mine. I've added to it, of course. But it's the work of several generations. Yours will be more… intimate, I'm sure," he said, and Charlotte nodded.

It was true. Every book in her own small library at Thrushcross Grange was hers. He had his study filled with weighty tomes of law and commerce. Her mother did not read, save for her Bible on Sundays. And thus, the library was Charlotte's own personal domain.

A place of escape, just as she imagined the library at Downside to be, too. She pictured herself there in the winter, sitting by the fire, wrapped in a blanket, the pages of a book illuminated by the flickering flame. Or in the summer, with the windows flung open to let in the perfumed scent of the garden, as she reclined on a chez lounge idly reading and dreaming.

"Well, I'd certainly like you to see it. You come tomorrow, perhaps," Charlotte said, and the earl smiled.

"I'd like that very much," he replied, just as Mrs. McDonald arrived with the tea tray.

***

Jacob was pleasantly surprised. More than surprised, he felt strangely happy. He had passed a delightful afternoon in Charlotte's company, discussing the books they both liked to read, and offering one another recommendations as to what to read next. It was not often Jacob had the chance to converse in such a way. He did not always readily admit his love of literature.

There were those who would have called such interests frivolous, and hardly worthy of a man of his rank and standing. But Jacob was adamant his love of literature had a considerable bearing on his life. To experience new worlds, different perspectives, and alternative ideas was to grow in one's own character, too. Jacob knew he was a better person through reading, and he was only too glad to find Charlotte shared his love for the written word.

"But I don't think I could write a novel," Jacob said, as he and Charlotte sat taking tea in the library.

"But why not? Surely, you've got lots of ideas for plots, characters, and endings," Charlotte said, and Jacob smiled and shook his head.

The thought of writing his own novel appealed to him, but he did not believe he had the necessary skills or patience to do so. He admired Charlotte for her fortitude and discipline. She had told him she wrote a chapter a day without fail, and in this way, the manuscript of her first novel was almost complete.

"Perhaps. But it's not as simple as that, is it? I could imagine a story. As for writing it down and making my imagination come alive for the reader, no, I think I'll leave that to you," he said, and Charlotte smiled.

"I haven't really shared my work with anyone apart from Sara," Charlotte said, glancing over to where the maid was sitting by the window reading a book.

"Would you share it with me?" Jacob asked.

He knew he was asking something personal. There was an intimacy in writing. What one wrote on the page was part of oneself, and to share it took courage and trust. But with Jacob's delight, Charlotte nodded.

"I'd be pleased to. Would you like to read it, or would you like me to read it to you?" she asked.

Jacob smiled. He liked the idea of listening to Charlotte read. He imagined her to have a beautiful reading voice, soft and measured. She would have the perfect tone, and the individual characters would come alive as she read.

"I think I'd like you to read it to me," he said, and Charlotte nodded.

"Then I will. I'd be glad to," she said.

Jacob could hardly believe he had found someone so measurably like himself. Olivia had no interest in books, and when Jacob had tried to raise the subject of his favourite authors, she had dismissed him as being dull.

"Why must you always talk about books, Jacob? What fun can one have with a book?" she had once said, and Jacob had learned to keep quiet when it came to literary matters.

But with Charlotte, things were different. There was no reason to shy away from those things they had discovered to their mutual enjoyment. It was as though a whole new world was opening up before them. A world of possibility.

"I'd be so pleased if you did. I'm sure it's a wonderful tale. You could read from the manuscript when I come to see the library at Thrushcross Grange, or would you prefer to wait until it's finished?" Jacob asked.

He was excited at the prospect of a new story, one he had never heard before, and read to him by someone with the same passion and enjoyment for reading as him. Charlotte thought for a moment.

"I'm not sure. Do you think a publisher would prefer the whole manuscript, or would a few chapters suffice? I'd have to copy it out again. I couldn't bear the idea of sending it away without being certain I still had the story to hand," Charlotte said.

Jacob knew a little about publishing. He had friends in the business, and they had told him of the complex process of bringing a book to the shelves of a reader. Manuscripts were read, judged, and often found wanting. Those that passed had to be set for the printing presses, and that was an expensive business.

Then there was the matter of distribution and publicity. But Jacob felt confident these things could be managed if the material was as good as he believed it would be.

"I think the first few chapters would suffice. We could send them to various printing houses and allow them to judge," Jacob said.

Charlotte looked suddenly nervous.

"Oh…but I couldn't bear the thought of it being rejected," she said, and Jacob smiled.

"I think you have to be prepared for that. But you only need one person to think it worthwhile and then…" he said, holding up his hands.

Charlotte nodded, and now a thoughtful look came over her face, and she shook her head, as though pondering something.

"I made a wager with my father. I told him I'd publish my novel by the end of the year or never write anything again. Do you think I was very reckless?" Charlotte asked, and Jacob looked at her in surprise.

There was something reckless in such a wager. Publishing was a notoriously fickle business. One person's delight was another person's dismissal. Personal taste played a huge part in deciding what did and what did not make it to the presses.

"Well… I'm certain your novel will be good enough," Jacob said, and Charlotte smiled.

"I hope so… it wasn't easy to begin with. I spent such a long time agonizing over the first line. But once I'd written it, the rest seemed to flow. It won't be long before I've finished the manuscript. I'll read it to you, and you can decide," she said.

Jacob felt the bearing of responsibility. What if it was not as good as he hoped?

"Well… I think you should be the one to decide. It's your novel," he replied, but Charlotte shook her head.

"No… I need your opinion. I've spent so long being told I couldn't be an author that women don't do that sort of thing. But with you… well, I think I can trust you," Charlotte said.

Jacob smiled. It meant a lot to him to hear those words. Trust was not easily gained, and for Charlotte to say that marked a turning point in their relationship. Jacob knew it was far from an ideal situation. He had no choice but to marry Charlotte, not if he wanted to save Downside.

And given the way her parents treated her; it seemed Charlotte had little choice but to marry him, too. And yet now they had found common ground. A spark of interest between them, and it had led to the most wonderful conversation.

"That's very kind of you to say. I hope I can live up to it. I can only imagine how difficult it is to have one's work scrutinized. And I'm sorry your parents haven't seen the value in it," Jacob said.

Charlotte shrugged.

"Well, it doesn't matter now if I'm going to have the novel published. They'll have to change their minds, won't they?" she said, and he smiled at her.

She had a quiet determination about her, and Jacob could only admire her for the way she had continued with her writing, despite the objections of her parents.

"They will," Jacob said, smiling at Charlotte, even as he feared it would not be as easy as she thought.

After having finished their tea, they returned to the hallway. The clocks had just struck four, and it was time for Charlotte to return to Thrushcross Grange.

"I really have had a wonderful afternoon," Charlotte said, and Jacob smiled.

"So, have I. Shall I call on you tomorrow? You could read to me from your manuscript and show me the library, too," Jacob said.

He was surprised to find himself so eager to see her again. Her company was easy; a delight. He found himself comparing it to that of Olivia. With Olivia, Jacob felt subservient. He was always wrong, and his opinions were dismissed out of hand. But with Charlotte, things were different. She listened to him and treated him as her equal. Theirs had been a lively debate. The sort Jacob had so often hoped to have with Olivia.

"I'd like that, and you'll be honest, won't you?" Charlotte said.

Jacob nodded, though the thought of being so was not very appealing. He did not want to hurt her if honesty led to an opinion she did not want to hear.

"I will be, yes," he said, and with that, they took their leave of one another.

But as Jacob watched Charlotte and her maid go, he could not help but feel something had changed between them; a deeper understanding, an intimacy he had not expected. He smiled at the memory of the afternoon they had spent together, and now he looked forward to their next encounter at Thrushcross Grange. But as he was about to turn away from watching from the door, his heart sank. Olivia's carriage was coming up the drive.