Ardently |h.s|

seventeen

Alone in my bedroom, my fingers trace over Harry's swirly handwriting. My name is on the back, delicately written in ink. I do not know how long it's been. Minutes? Hours? All I know is I've been staring at this letter, debating on whether or not I should open it.

On the desk at the side of the room, the flowers sit. Sarah brought a vase filled with water up for me to place them in. They look ridiculous next to each other, and I'm not entirely sure why I decided to keep them in my bedroom. It is just where they belong.

I'm not quite sure what to think of all of this. One second he is calling me a servant girl and teasing me for believing his mother had a kind heart. The next he is at my door, vehemently apologizing for his behavior and telling me he has confessed his wrongdoings to his family. It is a lot to take in, almost too much considering how today went.

He called me Charlotte.

Not Miss Pembroke. Not servant girl. Not girl. Charlotte. It sounded strange coming off his lips. Foreign.

I turn the letter around in my hand again, my finger delicately tracing over the wax seal, embossed with his family crest. As I do, I imagine him sitting in his study, sitting down to write this letter. I question if he truly did this out of the sorrow in his heart, or if his father forced him to once he learned of his son's clouded judgement.

Without a second thought, I get up from my bed, moving closer to the fireplace that burns, giving off a faint light. I sit in the chair in front of it, pulling my knees against my chest as I bite my lip. Carefully, I open the seal, unfolding the letter.

The first thing I take note of is his near perfect penmanship. It makes sense considering he most likely had amazing tutors growing up. The second thing I see is how long this letter is. He has barely fit all he wanted to say and his name is squished in the bottom corner.

With a sigh, I begin to read.

Dearest Charlotte,

I am not quite sure what to say, for I have treated you horribly. However, today a line was crossed, and I cannot live with myself if I do not apologize for the pain I have undoubtedly caused you.

The loss of a parent is a loss I cannot yet fathom. While I may complain about my own, I often forget that most people are not so lucky to have a mother or a father. What I said was meant as an insult, yes. However once you told me of your dear mother's passing, I wished more than anything I could take back what I said. You were just trying to strike up conversation in an attempt to make our promenade less strained, and yet I only made it worse. I tend to always make things worse.

Offering my apologies and condolences can only go so far, and I know there is much more history that I must apologize for. I had thought it strange that the Viscount Staffordshire and his family had embraced you and treated you kindly. But knowing what I do now, I commend them for showing you affection in a time when you most assuredly needed it the most. If you are reading this, I do hope you convey that sentiment to them, and also please do let them know how incredibly apologetic I am for causing such a strain between our two families. My father is not the one the Viscount should be upset with, it should be me.

I may be a fool for asking, but a fool I would most certainly be if I were to not attempt to offer this olive branch. Charlotte. Will you please give me a second chance? I know I am the last person to be deserving of one, however I feel an urgent need to make things right. No indecent remarks, no degrading, no meanspirited comments. If you, respectably so, do not wish to give me a second chance, I shall never bother you again and inform the gentleman of the town that you are a radiant girl deserving of their devotions.