What You Wish For (10 page)

Her sarcasm wasn't lost of Fanny, who harrumphed with displeasure.

“
Well, what were you doing out alone? I never go anywhere without mother or a servant.”

“
Then what a very small and dull life you must lead, Miss Thornton. I don't like to rely on others or become a burden to them. I much prefer being able to take care of myself. Besides, I've been hurt worse than this horse riding, and I do that for fun.”

“
You horse ride?” Fanny asked, suddenly sounding much more friendly.

“
Yes. I used to have my own horses.”

“
Really? What were they like?”

Carrie didn't really think that Fanny would become a friend but in the interests of civility, she answered the question.

“
My first mount was a black pony called Friday. She was gorgeous. I learned to ride on her and I kept her even after I was too big to ride her. She became a companion to my next horse, Milly, a chestnut thoroughbred. She could be a little temperamental at times but she was a lovely horse.”

“
What happened to them?”

“
Friday slipped on the hard ground in the field one winter; she broke her leg and had to be put to sleep. When I went-” she remembered that women didn't go to university here. “When I returned from Spain, I left Milly with a friend of mine.”

“
Oh, I adore horses, I would love to learn to ride.”

“
Well, if you want to get serious about it, it's pretty dangerous. I can't tell you how many times I've fallen off. I've broken my wrist, my finger and two toes, I dislocated my shoulder once, and have suffered so many cuts and bruises that I couldn't even begin to count them.”

“
You're rather accident prone then?” Mr Thornton said with an amused smile.

“
Hardly. I used to love show jumping, cross country and puissance, all rather high risk activities, I'm afraid.”

“
Did you hunt?” Fanny asked.

“
No, I think it's cruel and barbaric. I can't stand it.”

Once again Fanny looked taken aback.

“
What's puissance?” John asked, hoping to divert the conversation on to safer ground.

“
There's only one jump and it gets higher and higher each round, until only one horse and rider remains. If you knock the jump over, then you're out. The highest I ever managed to jump was just under six feet on Milly. That was taller than she was at the withers.”

John looked at this woman before him with a new found respect. She had talked about not being inferior to men, but now he could see that it was more than just talk. She had bravery which was uncommon among her sex, and she took a control over her own life and destiny that few ladies did.

“
There,” Mrs Thornton said when she had finished cleaning Carrie's hands. “There's not too much damage.”

“
Do you have a mirror?” Carrie asked.

Mrs Thornton gestured to the mirror over the fireplace and Carrie went to look at her cheek.

“
I should be able to cover that with makeup,” she said.

“
You mean paint?” Fanny gasped, clearly affronted once again.

Carrie took a deep breath before answering, so that she didn't shout.

“
I really am getting quite tired of being judged by you, Miss Thornton. Yes, I mean paint or whatever you want to call it, something to disguise the bruising and if you really think a little bit of makeup is so scandalous, then perhaps you should ask yourself why?”

“
No decent woman wears paint.”

“
I can assure you my dear, I am every inch the decent woman and my pedigree is far superior to yours.” Carrie turned to her. “The problem with social climbers is that they feel the need to judge everyone else. You belittle others because you don't feel as if you belong to the class you wish to. It's a telltale sign of a social climber. If you want to fit in and appear middle or upper class, I suggest that you learn to be a little more tolerant, and treat the lowest of the working classes with exactly the same courtesy as you would show Queen Victoria, should you ever be lucky enough meet her.”

“
If you're so superior, then why are you working in John's factory?”

“
I said my pedigree was superior, I didn't say I was. I prefer to pay my own way rather than being a burden to others, and I see nothing shameful in working; in fact I quite enjoy it. The class I was born into is simply a matter of chance, and has very little to do with the kind of person I am or wish to be. I prefer to judge people on their character, not their class.”

Knowing that she couldn't argue that trade was shameful without offending her mother and brother, Fanny returned to the earlier point.

“
And what does it say about your character that you wear paint?”

“
You know nothing of my character, but you assume based on one comment that I am some harlot.” Well, in truth by Victorian standards she was, but she had no intention of letting Fanny win this argument. “I rather think that wanting to cover up a bruise and not become the subject of attention and gossip shows a sense of decorum, though now that I have met you, I can see that there is no way I can avoid becoming the talk of Milton.” She took a deep breath. “Now, I really think that I have made quite enough of a show of myself for one evening, and I had better return home before the Hales begin to worry. They have enough on their plate at the moment.”

“
Nothing serious, I hope?” Mr Thornton asked.

Carrie's gaze shot to Fanny. She didn't so much mind being the subject of local gossip herself, but she didn't want Mrs Hale to be subjected to it.

“
Let me see you home,” Mr Thornton offered.

“
I'm fine, honestly. Thank you for your help earlier, I don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't come along when you did.”

“
Nonsense, you wiped the floor with them.”

Carrie smiled, but she was beginning to feel rather tired now that the adrenalin was wearing off.

“
Let me see you home,” he asked again. “Please.”

Carrie nodded, accepting his offer. She felt better when she was with him and right now, even if it was inconveniencing him, she wanted to feel good.

“
Well,” Fanny huffed once they had left. “I have never been so insulted in all my life!”

Mrs Thornton actually admired the girl in many ways, for she could see her own indomitable spirit in her. Unfortunately she also saw how her son looked at her, and couldn't help but think that the girl was so wild, that she would surely make him the talk of Milton, and not in a good way.

No, this association was not to be encouraged in the slightest and until the day John came to her, telling her of his intentions towards Miss Preston, she would not accept the possibility.

“
Are you really okay?” John asked as they sat in the cab. “You're wincing.”

“
I think my hip is bruised,” she confessed. “But I got some willow bark for Mrs Hale today; I can take some of that to help with the pain if necessary.”

“
Is Mrs Hale worse?” he asked.

“
I'm afraid so. Mr Hale is still mostly ignorant, I think he wants to believe she can recover, but Dr Donaldson visited today and I think it is a lost cause.”

“
I'm sorry to hear that,” he said, taking her hand to comfort her.

“
Thank you,” she said, squeezing his hand.

“
What for?”

“
For being so understanding, for coming along when you did. For not calling me a brazen hussy for daring to defend myself and talking about makeup.”

“
You could never be a hussy in my eyes.”

Tears pricked at her eyes and she smiled, for she really had experienced more than her fair share of being judged and found wanting since she had arrived in this place.

“
Besides, I know you'd beat me up if I did,” he teased.

Carrie laughed and Mr Thornton found himself captivated by her smile. On impulse he reached out with his free hand and gently caressed her bruised cheek. Her laughter faded rather abruptly as the mood in the cab changed. He leaned in closer and gently kissed her, his lips barely brushing hers. When she didn't pull away, he deepened the kiss.

For a moment, Carrie gave herself up to her desire, relishing the feel of his lips on hers, the gentle caress of his finger as he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, the strong, masculine scent of him that threatened to overwhelm her, and make her swoon as Victorian ladies were prone to do in novels.

All too soon however, the carriage slowed to a stop and Mr Thornton pulled away. Carrie suddenly remembered that he wasn't hers, he was Margaret's and here she was, about to destroy the greatest romance that she had ever known!

Embarrassed and ashamed, she ran from the cab and into the house, pausing to lean against the door after she closed it while she caught her breath. She half expected Mr Thornton to knock but he didn't, and after a few moments she headed up to her room.

“
Carrie, is that you my dear?”

“
Yes, Mr Hale. I'll be back in a moment but the streets are rather dusty today and I need to wash.”

She bolted up to her room and closed the door behind her. She pulled her mirror out of her handbag and surveyed the damage to her face. The bruise was already showing quite a bit but she thought that she could cover it well, especially since it was finally growing dark outside and the only light would be from candles. She hurriedly changed into clean clothes, pausing only briefly to survey the bruise that was forming on her hip, then she found a packet of matches to light her own candle. Sitting close by it, she used her concealer to cover the bruise and then dabbed some powder over the top to set it.

Considering the poor light, it probably wasn't the best job she had ever done but it seemed to look okay. And the light would be no better downstairs.

Thankfully her concealer was fairly new, as was her compact, so she should have more than enough to keep her bruise covered for the next week or so until it faded.

She headed down stairs to sit with the family.

“
We were getting worried about you,” Mr Hale said, smiling as she came in. “You missed dinner.”

“
Yes, I'm sorry. I lost track of time and then I just got lost, and it took me a while to find a cab to bring me home.”

“
Well, I'm sure Dixon has saved you something.” He got up to ring the bell.

“
No, don't. I'll go down and see her.”

Dixon had kept some stew which she warmed up for her. Carrie ate in the kitchen, then returned to the family and sat reading until her eyes grew heavy, and she excused herself to bed.

“
I do not think that working agrees with her,” Mrs Hale said after she had left. “It is very early for one so young to be tired.”

“
Perhaps she has just walked further than normal today,” Margaret said. “She has not looked tired on other nights.”

“
No indeed, she is quite a formidable young woman,” Mr Hale added.

Carrie listened from the stairwell as hot tears streamed down her face. She certainly didn't feel very formidable right now.

Carrie stayed in bed until Margaret had risen the next day, so that she could apply her makeup in peace. If 'paint' was indeed looked down upon, she didn't want the Hales to know she was wearing any, nor indeed why she was wearing it.

There was a good light as she sat in front of the window and although it took two layers of concealer, she thought that she did a pretty good job covering the bruise. After she applied the face powder over the top, she also added a tiny bit of blusher, just to trick the eye to notice the colour rather than the slight swelling of her cheek.

Because she had stayed in bed, she had to rush through breakfast so that she could make it to work on time, but given how little she was looking forward to seeing Mr Thornton today, she didn't mind not having time to think.

He wasn't in the office when she arrived, so she sat down and began opening and sorting his post. He came in about an hour later and she turned and smiled warmly at him.

“
Morning, boss,” she said, her tone bright but brittle.

“
Miss Preston. How are you today?”

“
Well aside from being a fallen, painted lady, I'm fine.”

He walked up to her and she turned her cheek to him so that he could see for himself.

“
I'd never know if I didn't know what to look for.”

“
Good.” She nodded.

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment, until Mr Thornton finally broached the subject that they had been avoiding.

“
Miss Preston, I want to apologise for my behaviour yesterday. I should never have been so forward with you. My actions were unforgivable and I apologise.”

Carrie put the letter she was holding down and turned to him.

“
I'm not offended,” she said. “I... I like you, a lot. An awful lot. More than I should because... well you weren't meant for me and the fact that we have feelings for each other is just... well it's weird, if you must know. Please don't think you offended my morality or anything, because I enjoyed it. It's just...”

“
I'm meant for someone else?” he finished uncertainly.