by Leah Conolly
Charlotte’s face flushed with shame. She had seen the sadness in her mother’s eyes, and she felt even guiltier knowing that she had hurt her. With her head lowered, she entered her bedroom, flinching as her father closed the door firmly behind her.
Dinner that evening was even more tense than the carriage ride home had been. However, it was also a silent meal. Charlotte managed to catch her mother’s eye, which winked at her.
She realized that her mother had spoken to her father and convinced him not to bring up the subject, at least for the evening. She gave her mother a small, grateful smile, which her mother returned with another wink.
Charlotte had not realized how much she had missed her mother until that moment, and she resisted the urge to rise and hug her. Instead, she pushed her food around her plate until, at last, the meal was concluded.
She excused herself quietly and went straight to her bedroom. As stressful as things had been since her father arrived to retrieve her, she did not expect to be able to sleep, but she drifted off as soon as she settled into her large, soft bed.
The following days passed almost exactly as the first had. Her father said very little, and she saw less of her mother than she had hoped. Her mother was warm and loving when they met, but she also seemed distant and sad. Once more, Charlotte felt terrible guilt at having disappointed and distressed her so. She also felt an incredible sadness at not being able to tell her mother about Duncan. Despite how things had ended with them, she missed him dearly, and she wanted more than anything to seek her mother’s advice. She also knew, however, that mentioning Duncan would only remind her mother of her transgression, and she did not want to hurt her further.
Charlotte rarely left her room, except for meals. She tried to spend some time reading in the library, but she could not focus on any of the books. She would have joined her mother for tea, but she noticed that her mother went to a tea- house in London almost every day instead of taking tea at home. Neither had she seen much of Ruth since they had returned.
Her father kept Ruth very busy, and it was beginning to feel as though her father was keeping her as isolated as he possibly could, even from her maid. One afternoon, however, just after lunch, Ruth slipped into Charlotte’s room. Charlotte was sitting by the window, staring out over the gardens, hardly noticing the beautiful flowers that were in full bloom.
“My lady,” Ruth said softly as Charlotte sat by her bedroom window. “Are you well?”
Charlotte sighed and smiled sadly.
“I suppose it could always be worse,” she said.
Ruth looked at her sympathetically.
“Is there something I can do for you?” she asked.
Charlotte shook her head, then stopped.
“Have you spoken with Mother lately?” she asked.
Ruth shook her head.
“She only speaks to me when it is necessary, or to assign me a task,” she said sadly.
It dawned on Charlotte then that her parents must be just as upset with Ruth as they were her. She hugged Ruth fiercely, biting her lip to fight tears.
“I am so sorry,” she whispered.
Ruth patted her shoulder.
“They will not stay angry forever,” she said, trying to reassure her. Charlotte, however, was not so sure.
She wanted to believe that her parents would eventually forgive her, but there had been little sign, except for her mother’s warmth during their infrequent interactions, that there would ever be an end to the tension.
Just then, the door to her bedroom flew open, and in the doorway stood her father. He had the stern look on his face that had marked every encounter between them since she had returned home. He would not even speak to her at the rare meals she took in the dining room rather than in her bedroom.
Her stomach turned to ice. She knew that, if he were going out of his way to speak to her, whatever he had to say could not be good.
Ruth stepped toward Charlotte, but the earl waved her away.
“Leave us,” he said. “I would speak to my daughter alone.”
Ruth looked at Charlotte, her eyes wide. Charlotte avoided her gaze, too afraid even to nod in agreement. With hesitation, Ruth left the room.
Charlotte slowly lifted her head and was glad to see that Ruth had not closed the door, and that she was standing in the hallway out of her father’s view. She quickly turned her attention to her father, so that he would not turn and spot the maid.
“Yes, Father?” Charlotte asked, trying to keep her voice level and smooth.
I wanted to give you the good news personally.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened. Had Duncan come to say that he forgave her and still wished to court her? Hope swelled in Charlotte’s heart, and she stepped toward her father.
“What news, Father?” she asked, clasping her hands in front of her, her eyes bright and wide.
“It looks as though there will be a wedding for you, after all,” the earl continued.
Charlotte smiled brightly.
“Oh, Father,” she said. “Do you mean it?”
The earl nodded.
“Indeed, I do,” he said. “I have received word from Comte Francois, and he has graciously decided to overlook this little . . . mishap. I explained to him that it was merely an innocent, unintentional mix-up.”
Charlotte blinked, taking a moment to let her father’s words sink it.
“The Comte?” she echoed.
Her father nodded again.
“Yes, Charlotte,” he said, looking at her with a satisfied expression. “You are very fortunate. He could have pressed charges against you for sending an imposter in your place. Instead, he said that all will be forgiven if he can come and escort you back to France personally.”
Charlotte felt the room begin to spin. She had been sure that the Comte would already be married to Christine. She had begun to allow herself to hope that, even though she had been forced to return to her father’s home, she had managed to avoid marrying the loathsome Comte.
“Father,” Charlotte said, her voice shaking. “Please, you must not make me do this.”
The earl held up his hand, shaking his head.
“This is not a discussion, Charlotte,” he said. “This wedding was arranged years ago, and I have no intention of breaking my word to Comte Francois. You are fortunate that you escaped spending time in prison, and you should be grateful to the Comte for being so forgiving.”
Charlotte began to panic. She had to find some way to convince her father not to marry her to the Comte. She might have ruined her chances with Duncan, but wedding Francois would ensure that all hope of ever seeing or speaking to Duncan again would be gone forever. She could not bear the thought of never having Duncan in her life.
“But what about Lord Willeton?” she asked weakly.
The earl looked at her as though she were mad.
“What of him?” he asked. “What does he have to do with any of this?”
“He asked to court me, Father,” she said. “And I said yes.”
Her father’s eyes widened, and Charlotte instantly regretted mentioning Duncan’s interest in her.
“You agreed to a courtship with another man, when you were already betrothed to the Comte?” he asked, his face reddening.
“Yes,” she said, holding her head high. Mentioning Duncan gave her the strength to speak more confidently to her father. “I love him, and, if I am to marry anyone, I wish it to be him.”
Charlotte braced herself, prepared for her father to raise his voice. Instead, however, he just looked at her and shook his head.
“Well,” he said. “From what I understand of the statements provided to the constables by Lord Willeton and his mother, you are forbidden to ever set foot on that estate again. You cannot be courted by someone who does not wish to see you.”
Charlotte’s cheeks grew warm. The memory of Duncan’s last words as the constables escorted her from the house rang clearly in her mind, and she felt tears sting her eyes. She kn
ew that she would find no solace from her father, but she could not refrain from continuing to plead for leniency.
“Perhaps if I write a letter to him, he will read it and agree to speak to me,” she said.
The earl shook his head, and, for a moment, Charlotte thought she saw pity in his eyes. It was gone before she could be certain, however, and his stern expression returned.
“I will not allow it,” he said, his voice flat and even. “The Comte will arrive in a few weeks, and you will be going with him to France to be married.”
Charlotte took her father’s arm in her hands.
“Please,” she begged. “I must try to speak to Lord Willeton. You must let me try.”
The earl pulled away from his daughter’s grasp, shaking his head firmly.
“I must do no such thing,” he said. “And I will not. To ensure that you do not go behind my back or attempt to flee again, you will not be permitted to leave the grounds until the Comte arrives to escort you to France.”
Charlotte gasped.
“You cannot keep me locked up in the house, Father,” she said. “I am a grown woman, and you cannot prevent me from leaving.”
The earl snorted.
“A true grown lady would never have carried out such a deceptive trick,” he said, his voice rising once more. “And I most certainly can prevent you from leaving the grounds. You will remain on the estate at all times, and that is final.”
With this proclamation, the earl turned sharply and left the room. Charlotte stared after him, feeling as though the world was dissolving around her. She had found the man she wanted to marry, made him hate her, and, worst of all, she was still being forced to marry Comte Francois. Despite the gravity of the situation, Charlotte found that she was too numb and paralyzed to cry.
“I heard what he said to you,” Ruth said, rushing to Charlotte’s side. “Are you alright?”
Charlotte could not bring herself to speak. She shook her head, still staring at the empty doorway.
“Oh, Ruth,” she whispered at last. “What am I going to do?”
Chapter 24
Duncan entered the house and closed the door firmly behind him. Before the butler could say anything, he brushed past him and stormed into his bedroom.
He refused to deal with the paperwork on his desk. The unsuccessful meeting that he had had that afternoon was just the most recent of many since Christine, or Charlotte, was taken away.
He could not bring himself to concentrate on business. He could not manage to care about it since she was gone. She occupied his every thought, and he felt as though he was going mad.
He poured himself a glass of brandy from the bottle that rested on his bookcase. Then he sat down on his bed, put the glass on his nightstand and ran his hands through his hair.
His mind was a tumultuous storm of anger and sadness. He knew that he must gather himself together and move past this, but, at that moment, he did not care. He wanted to lock himself away from everyone and everything forever.
A loud knock proved to him that he would have no such luck. The relentlessness of the knock told him that only one person could be on the other side.
With a resigned sigh, Duncan rose from the bed. He took a long sip from his glass to prepare himself. Then, he dragged himself to the door to open it.
“Hello, Mother,” Duncan said, his voice sounding as heavy as he felt. Helena was the last person he wanted to see, but he was too defeated to resist her presence.
“Oh, my,” his mother breathed, seeming out of sorts.
Duncan looked at Helena, trying to figure out what had her so flustered.
“Mother,” he began, but the duchess held up her hand.
“You do not presume to attend the ball dressed like that, do you?” she demanded.
Duncan stared at her, trying to understand what she meant. Then, it dawned on him. He was to attend the debutante ball that evening, the ball to which he had invited Christine. That moment felt a million years away, and he quickly began rehearsing remorseful rejections to give to his mother.
“You know well how difficult business has been lately,” he began, not feeling at all guilty about having no intention of attending the ball.
Helena waved her hand dismissively, as though she had all the answers.
“Of course, darling,” she said, “but every once in a while, every gentleman must take time away for himself.”
Duncan chuckled dryly.
“I believe that I have taken more than enough time for myself,” he said, thinking back to the meetings that had failed so miserably lately.
His mother huffed dismissively.
“Your partners understand your distress,” she said. Duncan raised his eyebrow, desperately wanting to ask what she meant. Unfortunately, he did not have to. “Besides, you promised your attendance at the ball this evening.”
Duncan frowned, resisting the urge to cover his face with his palm. Of course, he remembered agreeing to attend the ball, but he had accepted the invitation when he still had hope that Christine would attend with him.
However, he knew that refusing the invitation now would not only reflect poorly on his reputation, but it would speak volumes about Christine’s deception. As much as he wished that her lies were his only trouble, he knew that mentioning anything regarding them would be social suicide.
He was left with little choice but to attend, and to try to pretend that everything was fine. Besides, he knew that no matter how he was feeling, his mother would manage to make everything all about her, and that was something he was not in the mood to deal with tonight.
“I will prepare for the ball, Mother,” he said, forcing a smile. “I was simply too preoccupied to dress earlier.”
Helena studied her son carefully. For a second, Duncan dared hope that his mother would see his distress and not demand his attendance at the ball. However, after a moment, she nodded curtly.
“See that you do,” she said simply. “You would not want to disappoint your peers.”
* * *
As soon as he arrived, Duncan wished desperately that he could turn around and leave. He also could not keep himself from hoping that he might see Christine. As he looked around for her, he bumped into a woman who had stepped in front of him. He looked down and gave her a small smile.
“Please, forgive me,” he said with a bow. “That was terribly careless. Are you alright?”
The woman giggled and blushed.
“I am quite fine, my lord,” she said. “It is wonderful to see you.”
Duncan blinked, trying to recall her face, since she seemed to know him, but he did not think she looked familiar. Nevertheless, he smiled warmly, silently cursing himself for bumping into her. Now that he was speaking to her, she would expect him to ask her to dance, and he could hardly shirk from his duty.
“Would you care to dance?” he asked. He decided that if he were going to be obliged to dance with the strange woman, it would be best if he did so at once so that he could leave as soon as possible. With any luck, the woman’s dance card would be filled, and he would not have to partner with her. When she beamed at him, however, he knew that was not the case.
“I have the next two dances available,” she said.
Duncan’s smile became forced as he offered her his arm.
“Well, then,” he said. “Shall we?”
As they began to dance, the woman reintroduced herself, but Duncan forgot her name as soon as it left her lips.
He vaguely heard her say that she had been formerly introduced to him at another ball some time back by her brother, or perhaps her cousin. He wasn’t really listening to her.
Truthfully, she was talking too fast for him to follow what she was saying, and it was clear that she was not very intelligent. She seemed to be another typical woman of the ton, one who cared only for being beautiful in order to catch herself a husband. Duncan didn’t even find her beautiful, but he could not deny the reason why he felt that way. She was not Christi
ne.
Just then, he caught sight of a familiar hairstyle and blue dress. The gold ringlets hanging from the back of the neatly arranged style made his heart stop. The voice of the woman still chattering in his ear faded away completely, and he stared at the thin visage across the ballroom.
He blinked, sure that his eyes were deceiving him, but when he looked again, he saw the same woman still standing there.
With little hesitation, he held up his hand and mumbled an apology to the woman standing next to him. He turned his back on her before she had finished her curtsy, not caring about the wounded expression on her face.
