by Leah Conolly
The day the dresses arrived, Christine was busying herself in his study, as usual. He took the dresses gently and steeled himself. He knew that she could still reject his offer, but he hoped that she would accept them as the gift they were, not an act of charity.
The door to his study was wide open. He stepped inside and gently cleared his throat. Christine looked up from the stack of papers she was sorting and smiled.
“Yes, my lord?” she asked. She approached him, eyeing the boxes with mild curiosity. “Would you like me to put these away for you?”
Duncan smiled. Her eagerness to help never ceased to amaze and inspire him.
“Actually,” he said. “These are for you.”
Christine furrowed her brow, and all at once, Duncan wanted nothing more than to kiss the wrinkle that formed between her eyebrows.
“For me?” she asked. “From whom?”
“From me,” he said. “You have been going above and beyond what I have required of you, and I felt that you deserved a proper thank you for your hard work.”
She looked at the boxes and her cheeks flushed. She seemed to be thinking of a proper response, and, once more, Duncan hoped that she would accept the gifts, rather than be horrified by them.
At last, she gently reached for the boxes.
“You are very kind, my lord,” she said. “I shall put these away until I am finished with work today.”
Duncan smiled again. Her selflessness was incredible, and he admired her for it.
“It would mean a great deal to me if you opened them now,” he encouraged.
Christine blinked, confused. However, she slowly put the boxes down on an empty chair and complied. She removed the lid to the top box and gasped.
“Oh, my,” she whispered. “This is beautiful.”
No, Duncan thought. You are beautiful. Those are just piles of cloth and stitching.
“I am glad you like it,” he said aloud.
He held his breath as she opened the other two dress boxes, gasping and blushing more with each one. He said a silent prayer that she would not be angry with him or feel that he had overstepped his bounds.
At last, she looked up and smiled. Her eyes were shining with tears, and Duncan released the breath he had been holding.
“You are far too kind to me, my lord,” she whispered. “I do not feel that simply saying thank you is adequate.”
Duncan seized his opportunity.
“Your appreciation is evident,” he said. “And I am thrilled that you love them. However, perhaps you will consider accepting an invitation, in place of your verbal thanks.”
Christine’s eyes widened, and the flush in her cheeks deepened.
“My lord,” she said. “I do not mean any disrespect, but I still believe that I have no place at a ton ball.”
Duncan smiled warmly.
“I understand,” he said. “And, although I disagree with you, that is not the invitation I wish to extend to you now.”
Curiosity once more dominated Christine’s features. She tilted her head, a small smile on her face.
“Very well,” she said. “What is this invitation?”
Duncan took a deep breath, thrilled that Christine was willing to hear his request.
“I intend to attend the theater this weekend,” he said. “I would be delighted if you would accompany me.”
Duncan braced himself, remembering how she had fled from him the last time he asked her to attend an event with him. Instead of flushing or running away, however, Christine looked at him thoughtfully.
“I did not realize that you enjoyed the theater,” she said, looking intrigued.
Duncan smiled shyly.
“It is something of a guilty pleasure,” he said.
Christine laughed. She looked down at the dresses in her hands. Duncan’s heart was racing. Was she about to accept his invitation? He forced himself not to press her as he eagerly awaited her answer.
She looked up at him at last, her expression a bit impish.
“Thank you very much, my lord,” she said. “Both for the dresses, and for your kind invitation. I am sure that a night at the theater would be lovely.”
Duncan’s heart was in his throat.
“Does that mean that you will attend with me?” he asked.
Christine gave him a shy smile of her own.
“I shall consider it,” she said.
Duncan could hardly believe it. While it was not a direct acceptance, it was certainly not a concrete rejection. Even her consideration of accepting the invitation gave him hope. Perhaps, at last, she was beginning to trust him.
“Take all the time you need,” Duncan said, unable to keep from grinning broadly. “The invitation has been extended, and it will not expire.”
“Unless I wait until after Sunday to answer, correct?” she teased.
Both Duncan and Christine laughed, and he felt his heart filling with joy at the sight of her beaming expression. He wondered if she was aware of the effect she had on him.
Chapter 11
Charlotte tried to avoid Ruth’s eyes on the carriage ride back to the inn, despite the three large boxes resting atop her lap and Ruth’s intensely curious expression. Through a sideways glance, Charlotte could see that curious was hardly the word. Ruth was practically trembling with excitement and unasked questions. Finally, Charlotte could stand her gaze no longer.
“What is it, Ruth?” she asked, trying to make her voice sound as innocent as she could manage.
Ruth leaned toward her, her eyes wide.
“You sit there with a blush on your cheeks and three boxes in your lap, and you wonder what I want to know?” she asked.
Charlotte giggled.
“Perhaps I was wondering why you are so concerned about it?” she said.
Ruth gasped.
“Surely, you do not intend not to tell me what all this is about,” she said.
“Of course, I intend to tell you,” Charlotte said. “I just wanted to get my thoughts together before I did.”
Ruth sighed.
“Well, since we are talking about it now, you might as well tell me,” Ruth said, crossing her arms.
Charlotte laughed, then recounted the tale of Duncan giving her the dresses and inviting her to the play. Ruth listened, her eyes growing wider and dreamier with each word. When Charlotte finished speaking, Ruth took her hands and shook them gently.
“Why on earth did you not accept his invitation to the play?” Ruth asked.
Charlotte sighed, having asked herself that very question.
“Because I am not Christine Becker, daughter of a baron. I am Charlotte Hackney, daughter of the Earl of Devon.”
“So?” Ruth pressed. “He is inviting you, just by another name.”
Charlotte shook her head.
“Anyone who knows my true identity could see us,” she said. “What would I do then?”
“Do you have feelings for him?” Ruth asked, as though Charlotte had not spoken. Charlotte opened her mouth to answer her maid, but something occurred to her that she had not realized before. She was indeed developing feelings for Duncan, beyond finding him kind and handsome, or an especially pleasant employer. Charlotte shook her head firmly.
“It hardly matters if I do, Ruth,” she said. “I cannot be in love with a man who believes me to be someone else.”
Ruth gestured to the boxes in her lap.
“It would appear that he already has strong feelings for you,” she said.
Charlotte looked at the boxes as if seeing them for the first time. Could that be the real reason he bought her these dresses? She sighed.
“Then that would be all the more reason not to raise my hopes,” she said. “Or his.”
Ruth stared at her, bewildered.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
Charlotte smiled sadly.
“Do you really not see?” she asked. “I cannot possibly let him get close to me under this pretense. It is wrong, and it would surel
y lead to him despising me.”
Ruth shook her head.
“I do not think that you are giving him a fair chance,” she said. “He is a good, kind man. After all, he did not have us arrested when we committed an actual crime.”
Charlotte nodded.
“That is precisely my point,” she said. “He was sweet and gallant enough to take us in, rather than send us to jail. And how did I repay him? With lies and deceit.”
Ruth smiled at her, both sympathetically and knowingly.
“Your feelings for him are clearly real,” she said. “Perhaps that is something you should be honest about from the beginning, starting with accepting his invitation to the play.”
Charlotte stared at Ruth, amazed by her wisdom. She knew that Ruth had made a good point, and she could not help but smile.
“I told him that I would consider it, and so I shall,” she said.
The next day, Charlotte went to work, dreading seeing Duncan. After her conversation with Ruth, she felt worse than ever about deceiving him. She steeled herself as she entered the study and exhaled in relief when he was not there. She walked over to his desk and found a note stating that he had gone to town for an unexpected business meeting, and that he would not be returning until late that evening. She was as grateful for his absence as she was disappointed. This would give her the chance to be alone with her thoughts.
As she worked, she replayed her conversations and interactions with Duncan. She paid special attention to the day they met, and the moment he gave her the dresses. She had not been able to bring herself to admit it to Ruth, but she could see herself having a life with him. He was everything she had always sought in a potential husband and everything she had not known she wanted. Still, no matter how much she cared for him, she knew that the only way to have a life with Duncan was if she told him the truth about her identity. It sounded like such a simple solution, but she knew there would be nothing easy about being honest with him, or about explaining why she had lied for so long.
She was stacking some papers together on the corner of Duncan’s desk when she heard a familiar, grating voice drift up from the entryway of the house. Her stomach lurched, and she raced from the study, hoping to busy herself in some hidden corner before she was spotted. She would have no such luck, however. As she looked around frantically for a room into which she could quickly duck, the voice called to her from the bottom of the stairs.
“Miss Becker?” Helena Lancaster called.
Charlotte stiffened, forcing herself to stand up straight and set her face in a solemn, confident expression. She refused to give the woman the satisfaction of seeing her distress.
“Lord Willeton is out on business,” she said bluntly, pleased to hear that her voice was as cold and sharp as Helena’s. She was further pleased to see how taken aback the woman was at her tone. The reaction was brief, however, and Helena composed herself as she ascended the stairs.
“Yes, I am aware,” she said curtly. “I came to see you.”
It was Charlotte’s turn to be bewildered. How did she know about Duncan’s meeting, when it had been such a last-minute arrangement? And why had she come expressly seeking Charlotte?
“I beg your pardon?” Charlotte asked dumbly.
Helena sighed.
“I came,” she said slowly, “to see you.”
Charlotte’s cheeks flushed with anger. She was no child, and Helena speaking to her as though she was infuriated her.
“I understood what you said, my lady,” Charlotte snapped. “I just do not understand why you wish to see me specifically.”
Helena looked at her, the expression of feigned innocence on her face making it look like a frightening theater mask.
“Well,” she said, as though it should have been obvious. “My son thinks so highly of you that I want to know you better.”
Charlotte believed none of what the woman was saying, of course, but she knew that confronting Helena Lancaster was the last thing she should do. So, rather than respond to Helena’s remark, she remained silent, staring stoically at the woman who was slowly ascending the stairs. Her movements and sly smile reminded Charlotte of a wolf closing in on its prey.
“Relax, darling,” Helena said, her voice dripping with unnatural sweetness. “I only want to talk to you. There is no need to be so suspicious.”
The woman drew out her last word, and Charlotte’s blood ran cold. She forced a smile, knowing well that it could not look any more convincing than it felt.
“Would you prefer to talk in the library or drawing room?” she asked the woman. “I could have one of the servants fetch some tea and cakes if you like.”
Helena waved her hand.
“No,” she said. “We will speak in Duncan’s study. Privately.”
Charlotte prayed that by some miracle, Duncan would return early from his meeting, as he had the first time Helena had cornered her. But, as she followed the woman into Duncan’s study, and Helena closed the door behind them, Charlotte realized she would get no relief.
“Sit,” Helena said, sharply gesturing to the chairs in front of Duncan’s desk. Feeling as though she was not moving of her own accord, Charlotte complied weakly with Helena’s demand. She took a deep breath and clasped her hands tightly in her lap to keep them from trembling. She resolved to keep silent, saying nothing unless she was prompted to do so, in the hopes that this uncomfortable encounter would end quickly.
Helena folded her hands against her thin stomach and began pacing slowly.
“How did you meet my son?” Helena asked bluntly.
Charlotte felt her stomach turn. She cursed herself for still not having thought up a convincing reason for their acquaintance. She drew in a shaky breath, wishing vainly that her trembling would cease.
“I met him on the docks,” she said truthfully.
Helena sneered.
“I see,” she said. “You were planning a trip of some kind, then?”
Charlotte winced. She could not help wondering if Helena could know more about her than she let on. Charlotte felt herself shrink away from Helena’s intense gaze, but she forced herself to meet the woman’s eyes and feign a confidence she certainly did not feel.
“Ruthie and I were simply enjoying the fresh sea air,” she said.
Helena stared at Charlotte, searching her face for any sign of dishonesty. Charlotte held her breath and kept perfectly still, afraid that any shift or movement would betray her guilt.
“So, you just happened to come across Duncan while you were out for your little stroll?” Helena asked.
Charlotte blinked. What was Helena suggesting?
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Charlotte said.
Helena sniffed.
“You expect me to believe that you had no idea that my very wealthy son had ships in that particular area of the docks?” she asked.
Charlotte understood at once, and she felt weak with relief.
“How could I have known where Lord Willeton’s ships were?” Charlotte asked, beginning to feel more confident in the reason for this interrogation.
Instead of answering, Helena moved closer to her and leaned down so that her face was inches from Charlotte’s. The woman’s eyes were lit with fury, and her breath was hot and smelled of soured apples.
“You may have my son fooled, you silly girl,” she hissed, “but I can see through your lies. You do not have a baron for a father, and I am certain that you did not just accidentally happen upon Duncan.”
Charlotte paled. She could not tell if Helena was bluffing or if she genuinely did know something. In either case, Helena was far too close to figuring out that Charlotte was, indeed, lying, and she struggled to keep from panicking.
In one last effort to keep Helena from seeing how intimidated she was, Charlotte set her jaw and held up her head.
“I do not know what it is that you are implying,” she said firmly, “but I do not appreciate any of this. You have no right to question my integrity, and I do not
have to tolerate such behavior. I am an employee, but I am not your employee, and I will not allow you to continue to treat me in this way.”
Before Helena could recover from her temporarily stunned state, Charlotte rose quickly from her chair and exited the study. Once she was out of Helena’s sight, she raced toward the library, closing the door behind her as she entered. She leaned against the door, her heart racing at a wild pace and her breathing rapid and shallow. Even if Helena were only bluffing, her suspicions and prying questions could very well cause Charlotte’s resolve to falter and lead her to expose herself. She loved working for Duncan, and she was growing fond of him, but his mother was insufferable, and she had no idea what to do. Still reeling from the intensity of Helena’s interrogation, Charlotte buried her face in her hands and cried softly.
