Chapter 19
Sleep refused to come as Charlotte lay in her pink-quilted bed, the moonlight from the small, high windows casting gentle silver patterns across the wooden floor. Her thoughts were consumed by Sir Roger.
It had been so dreadfully unexpected to see him appear that morning. His sudden presence and his arrogant air had unsettled her. Worse still was the memory of the garden encounter, when Henry had been seen with that Fairchild woman.
A sharp pain of jealousy pierced her heart.
She had believed that they’d been drawing closer over the past few days.
Now, she wondered if, despite his protests to the contrary, his attention had shifted elsewhere.
He had been oddly distracted and she’d put it down to his discomfort of the situation they’d found themselves in, but perhaps that wasn’t the case.
Unable to bear another restless minute, Charlotte swung her legs over the edge of the bed and slipped into a long, soft robe.
She moved quietly through the dim light of her room and made her way to the library.
She’d finished the book she had been reading the other night and now sought further distraction among the rows of leather-bound volumes.
A good library, with its rich scent of old paper and polished wood, had long been her refuge from the tumult of social expectation.
It was eerily quiet in the house as she moved through it, and the creak of the library door as she entered sounded like a scream in the silence.
She perused the shelves, her fingers grazing the spines of the books, until a subtle noise from the corridor caught her attention.
It was a muffled shuffle, the sound of hesitant footsteps. Had she awakened someone?
Tense, Charlotte set her book aside and crept toward the door. Peeking out, she was startled to see Henry stumbling slowly down the corridor, his usually measured gait replaced by a disordered, unsteady step. His features were slack, and a faint flush colored his cheeks.
He was drunk.
“Your Grace?” she called softly, concerned.
He paused, blinking as if emerging from a fog. “Charlotte,” he managed, his tone slurred, “I fear I have had too much to drink.” He hiccupped, and then put his hand over his mouth in horror.
Stifling a smile at his expression, Charlotte reached out and gently took his arm. “Come along, then. Let’s get you sat down.”
She guided him away from the corridor. Once inside the quiet library, she eased him into one of the overstuffed chairs by a low table and fetched him a cup of water from a nearby stand.
As she helped him settle, Charlotte realized with a start that their being alone together in the library was far from proper conduct for an unmarried lady, especially as she was in her nightclothes.
She shouldn’t have taken his arm and led him into a room on their own. It was not just improper but positively scandalous. Yet, when she’d seen him in the corridor, she’d cared little for such conventions. Her sole concern had been Henry’s welfare.
She chastised herself silently. Unlike some of the other girls and their mothers, she had no intention of cornering him in order to force him into a marriage with her. But she couldn’t bear to see him so low, stumbling like a lost child.
“Henry,” she began gently, “where have you been? Has something untoward occurred this evening? Were you among the men in your office?”
No doubt there had been a raucous gathering once they were away from the women.
He rubbed his eyes with trembling fingers. “No, I remained in my office. I drank alone for the most part, lost myself in my thoughts, and then... I don’t rightly remember much more than that. I was going somewhere…”
His words tumbled out in a disjointed murmur, and he began to ramble about vague threats and warnings. His voice, normally steady and controlled, now carried a tremor of disquiet that sent a shiver down Charlotte’s spine.
“Tell me what’s troubling you. Can I help?” She leaned forward so that he could see the concern in her eyes. Not that he was focusing very well.
He hesitated, dropping a few scattered comments that made little sense: a reference to a meeting, to an appointment, to something he could not articulate fully. His gaze drifted, and his voice grew quieter until, with a frustrated sigh, he fell silent.
Sensing that no further answer was forthcoming, Charlotte resolved that she mustn’t press him any longer. Whatever was bothering him, it was something he couldn’t—or shouldn’t—tell her.
“Very well,” she said, standing up. “You are too unsteady to remain here. Let me escort you to your bedroom, at least, so you can rest properly.”
Henry nodded, obedient as a child. She had never seen him like this, so utterly vulnerable, and it tugged at her heart strings.
He managed a weak smile as she steadied his arm, supporting him as they walked down the hushed corridor. Every step echoed in the silence of the mansion, making her wince.
Please don’t let us be seen, she prayed silently, dreading the uproar that could cause.
Once they reached his chamber, Charlotte carefully helped him out of his boots and removed his jacket, though she left the rest of his clothes on, respecting both his modesty and hers.
At the threshold of his bed, Henry sank down and, seemingly without conscious thought, collapsed onto the mattress.
For a moment, Charlotte hesitated. She knew she should leave him to his rest, but a pang of worry held her back. What if he grew too cold, or worse, fell deeper into his stupor? She had heard of inebriated men dying in their sleep.
Resolutely, she squared her shoulders. “I cannot leave you like this. Let me at least see to your comfort.”
Gently, she draped a spare blanket over him, tucking it around his shoulders, and placed a pillow under his head. Only then, with a final, tender glance at his still-troubled features, did she leave him to rest.
On her way back to her own room, Charlotte heard footsteps coming toward her in the corridor and froze. What could she say as to why she was wandering around upstairs? She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it was only William.
“Charlotte? What on earth are you doing up here?”
“I… couldn’t sleep,” she mumbled. For a brief moment, she debated not telling her brother what had transpired, but decided it was best he knew. At least then someone could check on Henry.
“Is anyone bothering you?” William narrowed his eyes.
“No, no,” she assured him quickly. “But…”
“But what?” William demanded, every inch the protective older brother.
Rather more so than usual, she thought, wondering what was wrong with him. Was it related to whatever had caused Henry to get into such a state?
“William,” she said patiently. “I’m fine. I really was just restless. But I found Henry in the corridor a short while ago. He seemed quite inebriated, and so I helped him back to his room. I am very worried about his state.”
William’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t look surprised. “I shall check on him shortly. I expect he will merely wake with a headache and a world of regret come morning.” His tone was worried as he asked, “Were you alone with him? In his room?”
Charlotte’s heart stuttered, and she wondered how best to reply. If she admitted to being alone with him, it could cause an incredible scandal. Yes, this was just William, but the way he was looking down at her made her realize that he was not taking this lightly. They weren’t children anymore.
She bit her lip before replying, “Yes, brother. And I know it looks terrible and that I should have called for a servant, but… he seemed so sorry for himself. My only thought was to get him safely to his chambers. I’m sorry.”
William’s eyes narrowed slightly, but then he sighed. “Charlotte, you must be cautious. You’re too kindhearted for your own good. An unmarried woman should not find herself alone with a gentleman in such circumstances.”
Charlotte’s cheeks burned. “I did not intend any impropriety, only to help a friend in distress. It’s Henry, after all—”
He cut her off with a shake of his head. “Friend or not, Henry is still unmarried. You must exercise restraint. It is your duty to be proper.”
Charlotte scowled, trying not to show the prickle of hurt she felt at the unexpected tone he was taking with her. “I understand.”
Despite her outward calm, inside she seethed. Not at William, but the rules and restraints she constantly found herself under. It wasn’t fair that she was restricted in so many ways.
Back in her own room, Charlotte lay on her bed for a long time, the events of the evening swirling in her mind.
The image of Henry, so troubled and inebriated, mingled with the strange, tender awkwardness of being alone with him.
Her thoughts also turned repeatedly to Sir Roger and how furious Henry had seemed at his appearance.
Had Henry been more affected by that encounter than she realized? Did he truly care for her?
But then what was she to make of the garden incident, when he’d been alone with Harriet Fairchild? Or was Charlotte reading too much into that because her feelings for him were clouding her judgment?
As far as she could recall, he had not been particularly close to Harriet in the garden, nor had he worn that gentle smile she knew so well.
Instinct told her that Henry had simply been caught unawares by a young lady vying for his attention, but the memory gnawed at her, a painful reminder that she may not have secured his affections as fully as he had hers.