Before her father could even speak, her mother squealed and leaned over, squeezing Charlotte's hand.
"Your engaged!"
"What!" Charlotte said, almost screaming, "But why? And who?" Charlotte knew she would eventually get married, after all she was sixteen and many women her age married younger, but she hadn't expected it to be so sudden, and without her knowledge.
"Henry Quinn has asked your father if his son could have your hand in marriage," Charlotte's mother said, still excited and unaware of Charlotte's disgust. "You know Albert Quinn, and he was just here an hour ago finalizing the engagement with your father."
"Albert Quinn!" Now Charlotte was yelling, her anger boiling over, "Of all the people! Albert Quinn is a self-centered brat!"
"Charlotte Rose Bennett!" Her mother exclaimed, "how dare you speak like that! His family's wealth has far surpassed your father's. We're doing this for your security, your happiness!" You need a husband!"
"But why! Why does it have to be him!" Charlotte hated crying, but tears stung her eyes. "Please mother, I can't," she said, lowering her voice.
"You will listen to your mother young lady." Her father finally spoke, in a firm and reprimanding tone. "I will hear no more of this. Wipe your face and change into your Sunday clothes. We're expecting the Quinn's for supper tonight."
"But father I-" but before she could finish, he cut her off.
"Would you rather I marry you off to someone else. Someone twice your age!" Her father stood while yelling. "Enough of this! You will do as you're told and that's final!" Charlotte covered her mouth to hold back a sob, turned, and ran up the stairs.
How could her parents do this to her! Her brother, James, had a choice when he married last year, so why couldn't she! Sadly, she already knew the truth. She was a woman. She had no rights, no say in anything. She knelt near her bed and sobbed. She cried for what she was losing, every last bit of her freedom. Once she was married, she would have no rights. Everything she owned would belong to her husband. She would belong to her husband.
"No," Charlotte said out loud, "I can't go through with it. I need to stop it somehow." But how? The only way to avoid such a marriage was to get the groom to call off the wedding. She would have to find a way for Albert to hate her as much as she hated him. And it will all start tonight at supper. She looked in the mirror, wiping her tears away.
Getting up from her bedside, she took off her yellow dress and took out her Sunday dress from her bureau. folding her yellow dress, she put it back in the drawer, it wouldn't need to be washed yet. Unfolding her Sunday dress, she began to dress herself, slowing buttoning up the back. The coral color dress was her favorite and nicest dress, only worn on Sundays and special occasions. The dress was decorated with white lace on the bodice, and pearl buttons down the back. Untying the ribbon that held her hair up, she let her long brown curls fall down her back. Taking a coral ribbon, she tied up half her hair, leaving the rest to fall to her waist.
Looking in the mirror, she hated that she would look nice for Albert. But she would only anger her parents if she didn't dress her best. She smiled, imagining herself wearing her ugliest dress, her gray worn-out dress, and covering herself in mud. She covered her mouth, holding back laughter. Maybe someday, if she was all out of ideas.
The sound of a carriage alerted her that the Quinn's were here. "Charlotte dear! Come downstairs!" her mother called, quieter than usual. Charlotte rolled her eyes. Her mother probably feared the Quinn's would hear her bellowing voice.
Charlotte walked gracefully downstairs, her face expressionless, trying to hide her anger. But she couldn't hide the burning anger in her eyes. At the door stood Henry Quinn, Mary Quinn, and Albert. The blonde haired boy made eye contact with her, and must have seen the anger in her eyes, because he quickly looked away.
As Charlotte's mother spoke to Mary Quinn, Charlotte looked Albert up and down. She had to admit he was handsome, with his curly blonde hair and blue eyes. It was too bad his heart was rotten.
Supper dragged on forever. Charlotte was polite as she could be, except of course to Albert. She answered every question his parents had, but whenever he spoke to her, she acted like she hadn't heard him. Her mother must have noticed it because after supper, she told Charlotte and Albert to take a walk outside, while the other adults sat in the sitting room.
Charlotte internally protested, but slowly followed Albert outside. Albert stopped at the wooden fence near the horse stable, and leaned up against a fence post.
"Surprised little Lottie?" He said with a smug smile. Charlotte couldn't hold back her anger any longer. She chose her next words carefully.
"Oh I was surprised alright, surprised why my father saw anything in you. You're just a spoiled little boy who always gets what he wants. Nothing more." Her words dripped with hatred, and she waited for his reaction.
"Cute. Very cute Lottie. Nothing you'll say will change my mind. Every man in South Carolina country wants your hand. You may hate me now, but that will change in time. Your beauty is what matters to me." She hated his smug smile, and tried to remain calm, but was slowly losing it.
"Enough calling me Lottie! You may think you have me but you don't! Even if I'm forced to say my vows, you'll never have me! In the end you'll be alone, with only money to comfort you. Just like your father." The moment the words came out Charlotte regretted them. Albert's eyes darkened and fear suddenly gripped her. He started towards her, which made her start to step back, but before she could turn and run, he grabbed her wrist and pushed her against the fence, pinning her.
"I am nothing like my father. You will marry me, even if I have to drag you to the alter myself."
"Albert stop, your hurting me!" Charlotte began to tremble with fear, his grip was tight on her wrist. As she looked into his eyes, she began to see the anger disappear, replaced with shock, maybe even sadness. He slowly brought her hand down, letting go of her wrist. Before she could say anything, he walked off into the darkness.
Charlotte tried to stop shaking, but she couldn't control her fear. When had he become like this? He was always a brat as a child, but never had he hurt her. She rubbed the red spot on her wrist where he had grabbed it. She walked quickly around the house and went through the back door. Not wanting to talk to anyone, she crept upstairs and laid on her bed. Tears started down her cheeks. Charlotte hated crying, but she couldn't hold them back. She cried into her pillow, feeling trapped, trapped with no where else to turn.