“Yes, I am sure that she shall.” Charlotte said gratefully. “Thank you, Aunt Gwendolyn. Thank you for listening.”
“I am available any time you need me.” Gwendolyn said and finally began to serve herself some breakfast from the many dishes.
“I think your aunt is right, Miss. I think you should read it.” Ruth said just an hour later when the two of them were sitting side-by-side on Charlotte’s bed. “After all, can it really be any more shocking than seeing him in the flesh yesterday?”
“No, when you put it like that, I suppose it cannot.” Charlotte laughed at Ruth’s ever-present practicality. “How is it that you always have the answer?”
“Many years of practice, Miss.” Ruth said and both women laughed.
“Well, I shall read it then. I shall read it out and see what you think to it.” Charlotte reached into her pocket and pulled out the letter.
She gently broke the wax seal and flattened out the smooth, heavy paper. She stared at the words without reading them, just becoming familiar once again with the shape of his lettering, the forward flow and gentle swirls of his handwriting.
“My Dear Charlotte,
I hope you will forgive the informality of my address, but that is how I shall always remember you. We had reached that point of informality, had we not? I know we have been these three years apart, but I would hope that we are somehow able to forego a return to introductions, formalities.
But, of course, I realize that you might very well be angry with me and, in truth, I know you have a right to it.
For me to step out of your life three years ago without any explanation whatsoever must have been dreadfully difficult for you, and I know it was almost impossible for me. It is not an easy thing to explain in a letter and I hope that you will, one day, consent to hear me out in person. Perhaps even one day soon, for I know I should very much like to see you and speak to you again.
Suffice it to say that my father played a very great hand in keeping us apart and it might come as no surprise to you to know that he was an extraordinarily powerful man in some respects. He was most determined that I finally marry a woman of his choosing, one whose father had access to great funds, although I am pleased to report that I resisted that particular want of his at all costs.
But I am afraid that one of those costs was our growing regard for one another, and it is something that I have regretted every day since, although I could see no way of overcoming it until now.
You will be aware, I am sure, that my father has lately passed away and, whilst we were reconciled at the very end and he apologized for his behavior, it is true to say that I do not mourn him. As hard as that might sound, we were never in sympathy with one another and I found it very difficult to forgive him for the interference which caused me so much pain.
But I have forgiven him in the end, for I see it is the only way to move forward in this world. And I should very much like to move forward with you now, Charlotte. I know that this must all seem very sudden to you, but I am bound to say that it is something which has played on my mind daily since the last time I saw you at Lord Morley’s ball. That was a most special night to me and one that I have never forgotten.
I do not know how long you are intending to be in this part of the world, but I should very much like to see you whilst you are here. And even when you return, I am now free to make my own decisions entirely and shall once again become a regular visitor to Hanover Hall. I would be very glad if you would at least consider us friends once again.
At the end of the week, I am to attend a garden party at the home of Colonel Fitzroy-Martin. I understand that you and your aunt are also invited, and I live in great hopes of seeing you there.
Of course, if you choose not to attend, I shall understand it entirely. But as much as I shall understand it, I will find it very hard to give up on you now that I have seen you again.
Perhaps I have already said too much in a letter and shall leave the rest to be said when we two are together again.
In the meantime, take the greatest care of yourself.
With the fondest regards,
James.”
“But what you think, Miss?” Ruth began to speak the very moment that Charlotte had finished reading the letter aloud.
“I hardly know what to think. It is not an explanation, is it? Surely his father was not so powerful that James could not at least send me a final letter three years ago. No, I am not inclined to forgive him as he has been inclined to forgive his father.”
“But perhaps he has things to say that he could not set out in a letter.” Ruth said hopefully.
“Ruth, you are still the romantic. I wish I had a heart as open as yours, but I do not. A wall came up around it when James hurt me, and I cannot see an easy way to break it down.”
“But will you go to the garden party now that you know he is going?”
“Yes, I will most certainly go to the garden party.”
“So, you will speak to him, then?” Ruth’s bright blue eyes looked brighter still.
“No, I am only going because Marcus Hillington is to attend.”
“Marcus Hillington?” Ruth said, and her mouth fell open as she stared at her mistress in disbelief. “But as you described him to me, Miss, you have no regard for him whatsoever. He was dull, was he not? And not particularly interested himself?”
“Exactly,” Charlotte said firmly. “A man of good sense and reasonable wealth. A man I could never be hurt by because I could never fall in love with him. The very man I have been seeking these last three years.”
“You cannot mean it,” Ruth said plaintively. “Not now, not when there is a chance for you and James Harrington after all.”
“My dear Ruth, I mean it now more than ever. Mr. Hillington has appeared in my world at just the right time.” Charlotte said and rose to her feet before carelessly tossing the Duke of Sandford’s letter onto her nightstand.
Chapter 27
“Are you very well acquainted with Colonel Fitzroy-Martin, Miss Cunningham?” Marcus Hillington said as he looked away from her entirely.
Had it not been for the use of her name, Charlotte would have wondered if he had directed the question at her at all. No doubt she had made him a little uneasy with her immediate presence the moment she had arrived in the sunlit and beautifully fragrant gardens of Colonel Fitzroy-Martin.
Charlotte had not looked for James at all, not wanting to see him there and have him think that she was in any way amenable to a discussion with him following his letter.
She really had only attended so that she might continue to set her sights upon one of the dullest men in all of England.
Marcus Hillington was neither handsome nor ill-favored; his features were all very neat, symmetrical, and very much in the right place. His hair was neither thick nor thin, neither too blonde nor too dark, he was of medium height, medium weight, medium everything.
And Charlotte had not been with him above ten minutes in Lady Elton’s drawing room before she realized that he was not dull because he lacked the confidence of something to say, but rather by design. The fact of the matter was that Marcus Hillington had very little interest in the lives of others, and he did nothing to disguise it.
Charlotte was sure that there were many other people who felt as he did but had just enough care for the opinions of others that they at least did something to try to hide it.
Well, at least she would never be surprised by Marcus Hillington. She could already see exactly what sort of man he was, and she was as sure as she could be that she would not one day wake up to discover that he was somebody else altogether, a man of a very different character.
“No, I am not at all acquainted with Colonel Fitzroy-Martin, Mr. Hillington. In fact, I am not acquainted with anybody particularly in this part of the county. I live over in the very far eastern corner, if you will, and my acquaintances are very different.”
“And why are you here?” He said, and Charlotte was a little taken aback.
> “Here at the garden party, Sir?”
“No, not here at the garden party, after all, I assume you are invited.” He said and looked nonplussed. “I mean why are you here in the south of the county?”
“As I said before, Sir, I am visiting my aunt, Mrs. Gwendolen Dearborn.”
“Oh yes, of course.” He said and shrugged, seeming not at all embarrassed that something she had previously told him had already slipped his mind.
“And what of you, Mr. Hillington? Did you arrive here at the garden party in company?”
“No, I came here alone.” He said and turned to squint at her thoughtfully. “I am not married, Miss Cunningham, nor do I have a vast circle of friends.” He said by way of explanation. “But I have enough acquaintances that I am able to come out into society.”
“And do you enjoy it?”
“I enjoy playing bridge, that much is true. But I cannot say that I particularly enjoy purely social occasions, such as these.” He looked all around the garden as if to demonstrate.
“Then why come?” Charlotte realized that she had started to speak a little like Mr. Hillington himself.
She had become abrupt and very practical and was not entirely sure that she did not enjoy it just a little. It seemed simpler somehow to be so very direct and she wondered if that was why Marcus Hillington favored such an approach.
“Because I had hoped to speak to Colonel Fitzroy-Martin about a particular investment. Once he has settled his guests admirably, I am sure I shall be able to have a few minutes with him.”
“Oh, I see.”
Charlotte was pleased to discover that she did not feel at all offended by his honesty, but then why would she? After all, she had not one ounce of feeling for the man and the object of the exercise was to find herself in the company of a man who felt exactly the same way about her.
However, she could not help but compare their conversation to so many others she had had in the past with James. Every conversation with him had seemed like a jousting tournament, something for which one had to maintain focus.
There was none of the same excitement in conversation with Marcus Hillington, and Charlotte knew there likely never would be. And even though that was the point entirely, Charlotte felt suddenly very low.
“Ah, there he is now.” Marcus Hillington said as he stared across the garden to the approaching colonel. “If you would excuse me, Miss Cunningham?” He continued without even looking at her or waiting for her response; Marcus Hillington simply set off across the lawn, likely forgetting Charlotte before he had taken three steps.
Charlotte had to admit that she felt somewhat abandoned in that moment and looked all around her for any sign of her aunt. But Gwendolyn was nowhere to be seen and Charlotte thought it very likely that she was admiring some far-flung part of the gardens with dear Lady Elton.
Suddenly she began to feel a little conspicuous, not knowing anybody around her and certainly not wanting to come face-to-face with James Harrington.
Charlotte took a deep breath and began to walk with purpose towards a sunken rose garden. At least she would find somewhere to sit and have a hope of being afforded a little privacy whilst she gathered her thoughts.
Stepping down into the sunken rose garden was like stepping into another little world altogether. Roses grew up here there and everywhere, trailing roses clinging to trellis-work as if their very existence depended upon it, somehow forming what felt like impenetrable walls of shining, green leaves and soft petals of every color.
There was a long stone bench at the far end of the rose garden and Charlotte hurriedly made her way to it. She sat down with a great sigh and wondered if she could simply remain there for the rest of the afternoon, peering out now and again for any sign of her Aunt Gwendolyn.
As much as she liked the idea of Marcus Hillington, the very idea she could marry without fear of hurt and have a suitable father for the children she would love more than life itself, she found his noncommittal type of conversation very trying.
It seemed that such sparse and to the point conversation was somehow more tiring than its livelier opposite and Charlotte wondered how that could possibly be the case.
Perhaps it was simply because she was not used to it. But, in the end, Charlotte was certain that she could get used to anything if she knew it to be in her own best interests.
She drew in a deep breath and tilted her head back, squinting into the bright blue sky and feeling the warm sun on her skin. She would take a little rest there before renewing her efforts with Marcus Hillington. Charlotte was not about to give up on the little plan she had decided upon three years before. If she found Marcus Hillington’s dull conversation tiring, she would just have to get used to it.
James watched her walk across the lawn towards the sunken rose garden knowing that he would, in the end, follow her. But he thought he would at least give her a few moments to herself before making his way over and peering into see if she was alone.
He thought it strange that every moment he waited on that lawn in the warm sunshine for the right moment to go to her felt like an eternity. How he had managed the last three years without her, he could not say.
When he finally made his way across the lawn and peered down into the sunken garden, James could see that Charlotte was sitting entirely alone. He walked down the stone steps and, on reaching the bottom, tactfully cleared his throat to alert her to his presence.
“Charlotte?” He said, his voice thick with the emotion of three years grieving.
“I had wanted a few moments alone, Sir.” She said brashly and he realized immediately that her attendance at the garden party was not in any way indicative of her fond feelings towards him.
Perhaps he ought to have realized that when he searched the garden for her only to discover her in the company of Marcus Hillington once again. No doubt that man was the reason for her attendance and yet James could not quite believe it. Something did not ring true.
“And I would not wish to intrude upon your solitude, but I should very much like to speak to you.”
“Yes, you said so in your letter.” Charlotte snapped. “But I cannot imagine that anything you have to say now will be of great interest to me. Forgive me, but it has been rather a long time and I am bound to tell you that everything has changed.”
“Everything? So, you have no feelings for me whatsoever?” He said and took a few more tentative steps in her direction.
Charlotte looked so beautiful that James could have rushed to her, dropped to his knees, and begged her forgiveness there and then. She was wearing an ivory gown with a dark green velvet band at the Empire line. It was a simple gown but, as always, the color suited her skin and shining red hair and the gown itself displayed her soft curves to best advantage.
“I do not see where conversation of this nature gets us, Your Grace.”
“Your Grace? That is who I am to you now, is it?”
“Well, you are the Duke of Sandford, are you not? How else is one to address the Duke?”
“You used to call me James?”
“And you used to respond to my letters.” She said bitterly.
“I can see that you are angry with me, and as I have said before you have a right to it. But you have yet to tell me that you have no feelings for me whatsoever. Perhaps if that was the case, you would not be so angry now.”
“Please do not presume to know how it is I feel, for you do not.”
“And please do not tell me that you have any regard whatsoever for that dreary man you have taken to following everywhere.” James could feel his annoyance rising and yet he knew he must keep it in check.
In the end, he was simply the man who had broken her heart and, despite the fact that he knew he had the very best of reasons, he would have to accept that Charlotte would never know it. And without the truth, why on earth would she ever forgive him?
“Where I go and who I speak to is none of your concern.” She said but it was clear he had embarrassed her for
her cheeks were suddenly burning. “And I am not followingMr. Hillington anywhere.”
“Then please accept my condolences on the misfortune of perpetually finding yourself in dull conversation with the man. Forgive me, for it is clear I have the whole thing upside down.” James chuckled in the hope that a return to their old way of doing things might spark some fonder memories within her.
“I am not interested in your clever turn of phrase.” Charlotte rose to her feet and it was clear that she intended to leave the rose garden. “Nor am I interested in your opinions of Mr. Hillington or even myself.”
“And you are not interested to hear the reasons why I could not see you? You do not want to know any of it?” For an awful moment, James thought that he would assuage her anger with a little of his own.
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