These and a million other questions she was asking herself hours later. Because she listened to the noises in the house, which she could not quite assign. Charlotte would have loved to be a fly on the wall and find out what her father and Mr. Parker had been talking about for so long. She knew that Mr. Parker hadn't left yet as she hadn't heard the front door or his footsteps on the gravel. Oddly enough, she could distinguish them from other people's footsteps. And tonight no one except the maid and the cook had left the house to sleep in their home, as they did every night.
At some point it began to rain and rain pattered against the windows, so Charlotte occasionally got up to look out the window, but she was sure that Mr Parker was still in the house. Oh, she searched her brain for a reason to run downstairs. But even her usually restless siblings, who craved warm milk at night, were asleep. At that moment, standing freezing at the window and gazing out into the stormy night, Charlotte felt lonely, although she usually sought solitude. Maybe it was the knowledge of being in love.
An hour later, as she tried in vain to fall asleep, there was a rumble, stifled laughter, and another rumble. As a moment later a shutter rattled and the rain over the house grew stronger and swelled into a storm, Charlotte climbed out of bed. She pulled on a robe and hurried barefoot out of the room, down the hall, waited on the landing to see if she heard anything else that would justify going down.
A clatter, the patter of rain and clinking glass made her scurry down the stairs. The door to her father's study stood ajar, allowing a strip of light to shine her way. Charlotte swallowed for a moment, undecided what to do. She took two or three steps into the hallway with ice-cold feet and listened for a reason to step closer.
The dark murmur of two men's voices floated over to her, seeming to give her a piece of the warmth from the room. It was unseemly, she knew. One was not allwed to eavesdrop, even unintentionally. She was supposed to make herself heard. Determined, she spoke courage to herself, and took another step.
"Yes, surely you're right... this is from her, look it up..." this was her father's voice, she heard him giggle.
Astonished, Charlotte stopped. Her father was a kind and humorous man, but she had never heard him like that. What had Mr Parker done to him to make him giggle like that?
"She is amazing." The husky voice of Mr Parker hovered over to her and seemed to embrace her. And it was certainly because of the cold on her feet that a shiver ran through her body at the same time.
Paper rustled, murmurs that she could not attribute to either or both at the same time. Charlotte took another step forward, the floorboard on which she had carefully placed her foot creaked. Panic shot through her body and she froze in her movement, afraid that the gentlemen would catch her eavesdropping. What could she possibly say? Charlotte was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she barely noticed Mr Parker spoke again.
"...think it over, won't you?"
Think what over? What were they talking about? Too curious to pay any more attention to what noise she was making, Charlotte risked another step. Another floorboard creaked, the uneven wood causing the door to the study to slide open a little further. She had revealed her presence.
"Charlie!" her father seemed pleased. He stood leaning against his desk, toasting her with a small glass, a pale gold liquid sloshing back and forth as he moved.
"Char... Miss Heyw.. Heywood."
Mr Parker stood up a little slowly from the chair he was sitting in, looking like the day he had hauled the hay in the field. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, revealing his muscular forearms, tanned by the late autumn sun. His hair was tousled, as if he had been in a scuffle with someone. His face looked relaxed, there was something boyish about the crooked smile on his face and the look in his eyes was soft as butter as he looked at her.
