Charity had already been gutted once today when her neighbors had, for all intents and purposes, kicked her out of their home, and at this point she doubted there was an emotion that could physically move her to tears. It seemed obvious that her uncles didn't want her, whether it was their tone or words or just her own mind attempting to confirm her fears, but Charity knew that most orphans weren't wanted. It had always been that way, whether they were rich or poor.
Fortunately, Charity had become well-adjusted to bottling up her emotions over the last month. She held her breath when her uncle crouched in front of her, in the same way her father always had when he had to talk to her about something he'd deemed 'important' or 'sensitive', and blinked back the tears that were threatening to escape. She didn't want to cry, especially not in front of these men who barely knew her. Nobody wanted an orphan, especially a crybaby orphan.
"I have come to terms with it, but thank you... Uncle Alfred," she said, lowering her gaze to focus on a spot behind him. Perhaps she had not come to terms with her impending loneliness, but she had (or at least she thought) come to terms with her father's death. At this point, she could only hope that her transition into a new household, whether it was Uncle Evander's or Uncle Alfred's or an orphanage if neither could care for it, would be a smooth one.
The solicitor would confirm that they were the only two left, but in the back of Charity's mind she knew there were others. She had grandparents, but she knew she was not to speak of them. Asking questions about them was forbidden under her father's roof, and even in his death she feared to bring the topic up.
"You don't want to keep me, do you? You can tell me. I won't be upset," she asked, her eyes moving to her Uncle Evander. "You don't look like a man who likes children."
Fortunately, Charity had become well-adjusted to bottling up her emotions over the last month. She held her breath when her uncle crouched in front of her, in the same way her father always had when he had to talk to her about something he'd deemed 'important' or 'sensitive', and blinked back the tears that were threatening to escape. She didn't want to cry, especially not in front of these men who barely knew her. Nobody wanted an orphan, especially a crybaby orphan.
"I have come to terms with it, but thank you... Uncle Alfred," she said, lowering her gaze to focus on a spot behind him. Perhaps she had not come to terms with her impending loneliness, but she had (or at least she thought) come to terms with her father's death. At this point, she could only hope that her transition into a new household, whether it was Uncle Evander's or Uncle Alfred's or an orphanage if neither could care for it, would be a smooth one.
The solicitor would confirm that they were the only two left, but in the back of Charity's mind she knew there were others. She had grandparents, but she knew she was not to speak of them. Asking questions about them was forbidden under her father's roof, and even in his death she feared to bring the topic up.
"You don't want to keep me, do you? You can tell me. I won't be upset," she asked, her eyes moving to her Uncle Evander. "You don't look like a man who likes children."
