Romancing Miss Bronte Read Online Free PDF Page A

replied.
    Charlotte’s eyes snapped to life. “Where is it?”
    “If they’d only be civil, I wouldn’t mind so much. But these young parsons is so high an’ scornful,” Tabby waffled on.
    “There was nothing for you, Charlotte,” Emily said gently, flashing a look of sympathy. “Only something for Papa.”
    Emily and Anne exchanged a knowing look. Charlotte had been waiting for months for a letter from her professor in Brussels. Early on there had been a flurry of correspondence between them, but he wrote rarely now, and Charlotte never spoke of him anymore.
    Charlotte’s return reinstated a bit of composure to the preparations, and soon the trays were ready and Charlotte and Martha set sail for the dining room. As the women entered, there was an immediate halt in the conversation, not so much out of respect as anticipation of filling their stomachs.
    Reverend Brontë looked up and saw only a shadow at the door.
    “Martha? Is that you?”
    “It is I, Papa,” Charlotte replied as she set down her tray on the dining table.
    “Ah! You’re back. Good,” he said with obvious relief, gazing in her direction with clouded eyes. He relied heavily on her when there was entertaining to be done. “Mr. Nicholls, I believe you’ve met my eldest daughter, Charlotte.”
    “Not formally, sir,” Arthur said, rising to his feet and greeting her with a deep bow. He dwarfed her tiny figure, and Mr. Smith exchanged an amused smile with the others. She was too nearsighted to read their mocking glances, but Charlotte could feel their eyes on her, and she knew quite well what they were thinking. They considered her an unattractive old maid, and any encounter with an eligible bachelor made her the subject of gossip and ridicule.
    She held her composure and extended her hand to Arthur, who clasped it firmly.
    “I’m honored, Miss Brontë,” he said. “In the short time that I have known your father, I can say I have a very high opinion of his worth and character, which can only give me a very high opinion of yourself.”
    At this Mr. Smith ejaculated an awful sound that came out like a cross between laughter and an effort to clear the throat of phlegm. It was intended to tease Arthur for his overblown courtesy but instead came off as offensive to Charlotte and had the effect of startling them all. Martha,who was busy laying out the plates of ham and scones, looked up in horror at his outburst.
    Mr. Brontë turned his head toward the sound. “Are you quite all right, sir?”
    “Ah, yes, he’s fine, just a little tickle in the throat.” The reply came from Mr. Sowden, who turned to his colleague and slapped him a little too heartily on the back.
    Charlotte had quickly turned away but Arthur saw the heat rise to her face. He would have liked to say something to put her at ease, but he feared he would only exacerbate her discomfort, and so he sat back down and assumed a stony silence.
    When Charlotte had entered, he had just begun to tell them about his arrival in town and the unfortunate incident with the farmer and his horse, but after Mr. Smith’s rudeness to Charlotte, Arthur took a sudden disliking for the man. He recognized a mean spirit and thought it best to avoid giving him any more fodder for ridicule. So when Mr. Brontë prompted him to continue, Arthur shrugged it off.
    “It’s nothing. I merely meant to comment on the lack of civility I encountered, nothing more,” he said.
    Unfortunately, the news had already come to Mr. Smith’s ears.
    “Oh, but you must tell it, Nicholls.”
    “It’s not worthy of telling, I assure you.”
    “Oh, but it is! It is!” Mr. Smith said with glee.
    The tea was laid out, and the men eagerly brought their chairs to the dining table. Faced with Arthur’s stubborn refusal to entertain them, Mr. Smith gladly took up the tale and told what he had heard, that the new curate had arrived in town in a most unceremonious fashion—leading a tired old workhorse up the hill with an old