Page 33 of A New Love

"Thank you for telling me the truth about his visits," Charlotte whispered, feeling a mixture of relief and apprehension wash over her. "It means more than you know."

"Family is important, Charlotte," Agnes replied, her voice steady and kind. "Though the ties that bind us may be stretched and strained, they are not so easily broken."

Agnes gazed thoughtfully out the window for a moment before turning back to Charlotte, her expression softened by recollection.

"Last time I saw Henry was about two years ago," Agnes began, her voice carrying a distant quality as she delved into her memory. "He came to Chesham Cove unexpectedly, much like you did, I suspect."

Charlotte leaned forward in her seat, her eyes wide with curiosity, urging Agnes to continue.

"I remember it clearly," Agnes continued, her gaze turning inward. "I had just returned home from the market when I spotted him standing near the old oak tree by the creek, lost in thought. He appeared weary, as though he had been traveling for quite some time."

"Did you speak to him?" Charlotte asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to break the fragile thread of the story.

"Yes, we spoke," Agnes confirmed, her eyes returning to Charlotte's. "It was a brief conversation, but it carried the weight of years' worth of unspoken words and emotions."

A surge of longing swept through Charlotte, her chest tightening at the thought of standing face-to-face with the father she had been estranged from for so many years. She could almost see him there, beneath the old oak tree, his shoulders weighed down by life's burdens.

"What did he say?" Charlotte pressed, hungering for every detail.

"Much of our conversation revolved around your sister, Roxanne," Agnes admitted, her words careful and measured. "She had recently been awarded something—for her job? Anyway, it made some news outfit he watched, and it made him regret not being there."

"Did he mention me at all?" Charlotte inquired, her voice tinged with hope and apprehension.

A sympathetic smile crossed Agnes's face as she reached out to gently squeeze Charlotte's hand. "He did, my dear. He asked about you, too, wondering how your art was coming along and if you were happy. There was a sadness in his eyes when he spoke of you, Charlotte—a longing for the connection that had been lost. Of course, I couldn’t answer him, not having met you, but it was all rhetorical. I think he just comes here to unburden himself."

Tears welled up in Charlotte's eyes, her heart swelling with a mix of sorrow and relief. To know that her father still thought of her, despite the chasm that had formed between them, brought some solace to her aching soul.

"Thank you, Agnes," Charlotte murmured, her emotions threatening to spill over. "Thank you for sharing this with me."

"Of course, my dear," Agnes reassured her, offering a warm, understanding smile. "We're family, after all."

"Charlotte," Agnes spoke softly, drawing her attention back to the present moment. "I know you must have so many questions, and I wish I could answer them all. But what I can tell you is that Henry's visits here are sporadic, yet they always seem to carry some significance."

"Significance?" Charlotte asked, her voice barely audible as she clung to every morsel of information about her father.

"Indeed," Agnes nodded, her eyes distant as if reliving each encounter with Henry. "He never comes without reason, even if it's just to walk along the cliffs and gaze out at the sea. I believe Chesham Cove holds a special place in his heart—it's like a sanctuary for him."

Hearing this stirred something deep within Charlotte. She had felt the same about this place. As the weight of her sorrow settled on her shoulders, she took a deep breath, gathering the courage to voice her thoughts.

"Agnes, I need to find him," she declared, her voice trembling. "I want to reconnect with my father."

Her words hung heavy in the air, laden with the emotions that had been suppressed for so long. Agnes studied Charlotte's face.

"Charlotte," Agnes said quietly, her voice laced with empathy. "I understand your longing, and I wish you all the best in your search for him. I’ll help you in any way I can," she said sincerely.

"Thank you," Charlotte replied, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. Although the journey ahead seemed daunting, knowing she had Agnes by her side gave her the strength to press forward. "I can't tell you how much it means to me to finally have a link to my father's side of the family."

Agnes reached across the table, her hand brushing against Charlotte's as she poured another cup of steaming tea. "Family is what you make of it," she mused, her gaze drifting toward the window as if lost in thought. "It doesn't matter how far apart we may be or how long it's been since we've seen each other. Your father"—she hesitated for a moment, choosing her words carefully— "he would be so proud to see the woman you've become, Charlotte. And I know he'll cherish the day when he can finally hold you in his arms again."

Charlotte swallowed hard, her chest tightening.

"Before you leave," Agnes said, her voice filled with warmth and affection, "I'd like to give you something."

She stood up and walked over to a small wooden cabinet, carefully removing a delicate porcelain teacup from its shelf. It was adorned with intricate hand-painted flowers, their vibrant hues shimmering in the fading light.

"Your grandmother"—Agnes paused, her eyes gleaming with emotion—"your father's mother, she loved this teacup dearly. I want you to have it. Every British girl needs a favorite teacup. "

Charlotte took the teacup from Agnes's outstretched hands, her fingers tracing the fragile contours of the porcelain.

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