15. In Which a Gentleman Stops Being Careful – Penworth House, Mayfair, London #2
"What do you want?" The question came out harshly. Desperate. "Not what the family wants. Not what's expected. What do YOU want?"
Charlotte looked at me. We were standing very close on the Penworth terrace with fifty people on the other side of the glass doors. Anyone could see us. Anyone could notice.
"You know what I want," she said.
"Tell me anyway."
"I want—" Her voice broke. "I want to stop pretending. I want to tell Dunmore no. I want to tell the family the truth. I want to stop performing and just?—"
"Just what?"
"Just be with you."
The words hung in the air between us. Honest. Reckless. Everything we'd been avoiding saying clearly.
I should step back. Should put distance between us. Should be noble and careful and all the things I'd been trying to be.
I pulled her closer instead.
"Charlotte—"
"Don't. Don't be noble. Don't tell me all the reasons this is impossible. I know them all already. I've catalogued every argument. Every complication. Every reason this can't work." Her hands gripped my coat. "And I don't care anymore."
"You should care."
"Well, I don't. So what are you going to do about it?"
What was I going to do?
I kissed her.
Right there on the Penworth terrace. With the Duke of Penworth, my father, Lucas, Juliet and the rest of my sisters all inside. With Dunmore probably still in the gallery holding his bloody commissioned snuffbox.
I kissed her and stopped caring about anything except the way she made that small sound when I pulled her closer. The way her hands fisted in my hair. The way she kissed me back like she'd been waiting for exactly this.
Desperate. Reckless. Completely unable to stop.
We broke apart, gasping.
"This is insane," I said.
"I know."
"Anyone could see us."
"I know."
"Charlotte—"
She kissed me again. Pulled me closer. Made it very clear that she didn't care about the risk or the scandal or the fifty people on the other side of those glass doors.
When we finally broke apart again, we were both breathing hard.
"We can't keep doing this," I said.
"Why not?"
"Because someone will notice. Someone will see. And then?—"
"And then what? We'll have to tell the family? We'll have to be honest?" Charlotte's eyes were bright in the moonlight. "Maybe that's not the worst thing."
"Charlotte, if we're discovered?—"
"Then we're discovered. Edward, I'm tired of hiding. Tired of pretending. Tired of performing composure while Dunmore discusses snuffboxes and the family plans a wedding I have nightmares about." Her hands were still gripping my coat. "I want to tell them. All of them. Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
"Yes. Before Dunmore calls on Papa. Before this goes any further. I want to tell Mama and Papa the truth. That I don't want Dunmore. That I want—" She stopped. "That I want you."
My chest felt too tight. "Charlotte, that's?—"
"Terrifying? Reckless? Potentially catastrophic?" She smiled. Sharp. Certain. "Yes. But I've spent five years being careful. Planning everything. Managing everyone. And look where it got me—trapped on a terrace after dinner while Dunmore commissions snuffboxes with my initials."
"Fair point."
"So tomorrow. I tell them. And then—then we figure out what happens next." She looked up at me. "Together."
Together.
The word felt like a promise. A commitment. Everything I'd been too afraid to claim.
"All right," I said. "Tomorrow. You tell them. I'll—" I stopped. "I should be there. When you tell them."
"No."
"Charlotte—"
"I need to tell Mama and Papa first. On my own. Without you there to complicate things." Her voice was firm. "After I've told them—after they've had time to process—then you can talk to them. But the first conversation needs to be just me."
She was right. Lucas would be more likely to listen if I weren't there to represent the threat.
"All right. You tell them first. Then I'll—" I took a breath. "I'll go to Lucas. Formally. Ask for?—"
Permission? Blessing? The right to court his daughter?
All of it.
"Yes," Charlotte said. "After I've told them. After they know."
We stood there on the Penworth terrace. Both of us knew that tomorrow everything would change.
Voices inside. Someone was coming.
We broke apart. Put a proper distance between us. Charlotte smoothed her dress. I straightened my cravat.
The terrace door opened.
Juliet stepped out.
She stopped when she saw us. Looked at Charlotte. At me. At the careful distance we'd just created.
"There you are," she said carefully. "Catherine was asking after you, Charlotte. Something about the ladies returning to the drawing room."
"Of course." Charlotte's voice was perfectly composed. "I'll be right there."
Juliet didn't move. Her eyes went to me. Back to Charlotte.
She knew. She didn't know the details, but she knew something was happening.
"Edward," Juliet said quietly. "A word?"
Charlotte glanced at me. I nodded.
She went inside.
Leaving me alone on the terrace with Juliet.
With my sister.
With Charlotte's mother.
Juliet closed the terrace door. Turned to face me.
"How long?" she asked.
No preamble. No pretense. Just the question.
"How long what?"
"Edward. Don't." Her voice was sharp. "I've watched you all evening. Watching her. Looking like you wanted to put your fist through something every time Dunmore spoke. And just now—" She gestured at the terrace. "You were standing very close."
I could lie. Deny it. Claim it was nothing.
Instead, I told the truth.
"Since I came home from the Continent."
Juliet closed her eyes. "Oh, Edward."
"I know."
"She's seventeen."
"I know."
"She's my daughter."
"I know that too."
"And you're—" Juliet stopped. Started again. "You're my brother. This is—Edward, this is impossible."
"I know."
"Then why—" Her voice cracked. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because I'm in love with her."
The words hung in the night air. Simple. Devastating. True.
Juliet stared at me.
"I'm in love with her," I repeated. "And she—" I stopped. "She came to Ashford Hall. Did you know that? When she disappeared from Ashbourne Park. She rode to Nottinghamshire. To find me."
"I suspected."
"I tried to stay away. Tried to do the right thing. Tried to be noble." I laughed. Sharp. Bitter. "All I did was make her miserable. Make myself miserable. And accomplish nothing except leaving Charlotte exposed to Dunmore's proposal."
"So instead you—what? Decided to pursue her anyway?"
"Charlotte decided. Not me. She's the one who rode forty miles. Who told me she loved me. Who demanded I stop being noble and start being honest." I looked at Juliet. "I'm just finally listening to her."
Juliet was quiet for a long moment.
"Lucas is going to be furious," she said finally.
"I know."
"He might call you out."
"I know."
"The family is going to have opinions. Strong opinions. Some of them won't approve."
"I know."
"And Society—God, Edward, Society is going to gossip. Step-uncle and step-niece. You're not blood relations, but people will talk. They'll make it salacious. Make it sound?—"
"I know." I stopped her. "Juliet. I know all the arguments. I've made them to myself a thousand times. But Charlotte—" My voice caught. "Charlotte doesn't care. She wants this. Wants me. And I can't keep pretending I don't want her back just because it's complicated."
Juliet studied my face. "You really love her."
"Yes."
"And she loves you?"
"She says she does."
"Do you believe her?"
Did I? Did I believe that Charlotte—brilliant, sharp, impossible Charlotte—actually loved me? That this wasn't just an escape from Dunmore or a rebellion against the family?
I thought about the churchyard. About her riding forty miles in boy's clothing. About the way she'd looked at me tonight and said, “You know what I want."
"Yes," I said. "I believe her."
Juliet was quiet for a long moment. Then: "She's going to tell us. Tomorrow. Isn't she?"
"Yes."
"And then you're going to talk to Lucas."
"Yes."
"This is going to be complicated, Edward."
"I know."
"But you're doing it anyway."
"Yes."
Juliet shook her head. But I could see something shifting in her expression. Not approval. Not yet. But perhaps—understanding.
"I need time," she said. "To think about this. To talk to Lucas before Charlotte does."
"Juliet—"
"Not to stop her. Just to—prepare him. He needs to hear this from me first. Not be blindsided." She paused. "And Edward—you need to be ready. Ready for his anger. His questions. His conditions."
"I am."
"Are you? Because Lucas isn't just going to hand over his daughter. He's going to make sure you understand what you're asking for. What you're taking on. What happens if this goes wrong."
"Nothing is going to go wrong."
"You can't promise that."
"No. But I can promise I love her. That I'll fight for her. That I'm done hiding." I looked at Juliet. "That's all I can offer. And I hope it's enough."
Juliet looked at me for a long moment. Then: "Go inside. Before someone notices we've both been gone."
"Juliet—"
"Go, Edward. I need to think."
I went.
Left her on the terrace.
And went back inside to the party. To the drawing room, where Charlotte was performing composure while Dunmore probably discussed his commissioned snuffbox with anyone who would listen.
Tomorrow, she would tell Lucas and Juliet.
Tomorrow, I would face Lucas.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
But tonight—tonight I had to survive knowing that I'd just admitted everything to Juliet.
And now we had to wait to see if the family would accept it.
Or destroy us both.