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chapter twelve: imperfect for you
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There were not many places Charlotte Wentworth could seek refuge back in Paris during her marriage to William. Being Lady Cuttingham was a full time job, and it came with having little to no alone time. She could not even relieve herself without a lady in waiting outside the door in case she was in need of assistance. She longed for just a moment of peace and quiet during her stay, more than anything. A moment away from all the shouting, the whispers in the halls, the laughter from other ladies at balls, comments made by gentlemen who thought she could not hear them.
Yet, inside the closet she currently found herself hiding from not only her family but the entire English ton, she hated every second of quiet that came with it. The silence made her think. Relive the past hours of her life. Go over every moment, every movement, every word that was spoken. Where did it all go wrong? What was the moment where everything suddenly crumbled and Amelia snapped? Surely it was not the wedding itself. Amelia did not grow that great of an attachment to the viscount, not one to prompt her creating this much of a spectacle. The sisters had multiple conversations about the viscount to deem him as a respectable match, but not one that was not easily replaceable in Amelia's eyes.
Charlotte had never heard her sister speak with such passion or anger before. Her blazing eyes, still filled with spilling tears, yet overflowing anger and frustration. Her chest moved rapidly up and down. Her teeth pressed together, jaw clenched as she spoke to the point of almost spitting the words directed toward her older sister. What Charlotte deemed irrelevant and unimportant, Amelia deemed the opposite. The youngest Wentworth was always the most composed of the three, never one to show such emotions on her sleeve, much like their mother in that aspect.
If only Charlotte was able to explain herself, not forced to hide away in a random storage closet while her brother calmed Amelia down from what seemed to be her first panic attack she had ever had. She had resolved all matters with the viscount. She had prompted him to marry her sister. It was all going to plan. Yet still it all came crashing down.
Charlotte had no way of knowing how long it had been since seeking refuge in the closet she currently resided in, but having to wait until she was found did not settle her nerves any less. She had no way of knowing what was going on outside those doors. But maybe that was a good thing. Maybe the best thing for her sister was if Charlotte was no longer a factor in these endeavors at all. After all, that was the plan all along. Leave for Corsica, France as soon as Amelia was married and never look back. Never step foot in London or Paris ever again. Why not begin that venture now? Was it the cowardly way out? Yes. But was it the best thing for everyone if she was gone? Also yes.
With her mind made up, Charlotte wiped her damp cheeks before getting herself off the floor, wiping down her dress of any dust it had picked up from her time sitting down. Looking toward the doors, a broken chain that laid pathetically on the rusted wooden floorboard caught her eye, a breathless sigh leaving her lips. The young woman picked up the chain with a bit of reluctance, clutching it in her palm for safekeeping until she could put it somewhere safe, seeing as it was no longer wearable.
