Chapter 21 #2
She pivoted away from Henry, unable to even look at him lest he see her despair. She allowed William to take her other arm, wincing at the renewed throbbing in her ankle.
William turned back to Henry. Before leading Charlotte away, he said curtly, “You will never speak to Charlotte again. You will stay away from her, or you will have me to answer to. You… utter cad.”
At the insult, and the contempt in William’s voice, Henry’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“But it did,” William snapped. “If you won’t marry Charlotte and save her from this scandal, then you have no need to be in her company again. You’re going to ruin her.”
Charlotte inhaled sharply, praying Henry would make a stand or perhaps take back everything he’d just said because surely he didn’t mean it, but Henry didn’t argue with William’s words. Didn’t fight for her. Didn’t say a damn thing.
And that silence and resignation hurt more than anything else. Even more than his spoken refusal to be wed.
William was seething, his face a shade redder than usual, and Charlotte could feel his fury radiating from him in almost tangible waves. She tried to urge him away, but he let his temper get the better of him, brushing her arm away and spinning back around.
“You should never have been alone with her,” he bit out, his voice low and controlled but brimming with anger. “How could you do this to my sister, of all people? You have practically been part of our family. We grew up together!”
Charlotte saw a flicker of hurt in Henry’s eyes. So, this upsets him, but not the rest. He really doesn’t care about me, only my brother.
“William, I—” Henry stepped forward, his hand stretched out toward William.
“No,” William snapped, smacking Henry’s hand away. “I trusted you. I trusted you to look after my sister. And you let me down.”
Charlotte’s gut clenched at his words, not just with hurt now but guilt.
Perhaps if she and her friends had never started scheming, this wouldn’t have happened.
But at the same time, she was angry. Because as much as she hated being at the center of their argument, being spoken about as though she had no say in the matter at all was even worse.
But even more than that, she hated the look on Henry’s face. The sheer horror at the thought of being forced into marriage with her.
“I expect you to either stay away from her,” William continued, his voice like steel, “or resolve your damned problem and do right by her.”
Again, this mention of a mysterious problem.
She wondered if it was the same issue that Henry had referred to when drunk the night before.
She dared a glance at Miranda, hoping her friend might have insight that Charlotte did not, but Miranda was wide-eyed and tightlipped, obviously afraid to speak and draw attention to herself.
But what did it matter now anyway? The point was clear: Henry wanted nothing to do with her. She had been foolish to ever believe it could be otherwise.
But if that was the case, then she was done with being ordered around by either of them.
She took a breath, willing herself to keep her voice steady. “Miranda will take me back to the house. We can’t have poor Henry being tempted and trapped by my presence, can we?”
Henry flinched at her words, and William looked shocked at her impropriety, but she didn’t give either of them a chance to respond.
Looking now at William, she tilted her chin defiantly. “And you don’t get to dictate my life. I may be your sister, but I know my own mind and will make my own choices.”
She turned on her heel—an action she immediately regretted as pain shot up her ankle. But she didn’t stop. She refused to stop.
With as much dignity as she could muster, she leaned on Miranda, unhooked her arm from William’s, and hobbled away, ignoring William calling after her, ignoring the ache in her chest, ignoring even the overwhelming urge to break down and cry.
Henry had made his choice, and she refused to stand there and watch him regret his actions. And if he didn’t regret them? She really didn’t want to see that.
Fortunately, Miranda didn’t speak during the walk back except to murmur an apology, repeated several times over.
Charlotte assured her she had done nothing wrong, but even still she barely managed to hold herself together as she climbed the front steps of Arundel Park, her ankle protesting with every step.
The humiliation, the hurt, the overwhelming frustration—everything pressed against her chest like a weight she couldn’t shake.
She needed to leave right now, before news of this scandal broke and she had to face either Henry or her brother again. She didn’t even want to see her friends. She just wanted to go home.
She shook Miranda off, limped up the stairs, ignoring the offers of help from the servants, and made her way to her mother’s room.
She found Lady Fitzgerald sitting at a window, a cup of tea in hand, looking utterly at ease.
Of course, Lady Fitzgerald hadn’t gone traipsing through the countryside with the younger women.
Charlotte took a steadying breath, then walked straight into the room. “Mother, I want to leave,” she announced without preamble. “Right away.”
Lady Fitzgerald lifted a brow and set down her teacup carefully, trying to hide her surprise. Charlotte stifled an impatient cry of frustration. Must her mother insist on behaving properly even when there was no one else to see them?
“Leave, my dear? Whatever for?”
“I’ve had enough of this house party,” Charlotte said, her voice sharp with frustration. “I’ve hurt my ankle, I do not like the company, and I want to go home.”
Her mother studied her, still cool and composed. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing,” Charlotte replied, all too quickly.
Lady Fitzgerald sighed, folding her hands in her lap. “Charlotte, don’t be ridiculous. You’re clearly distressed about something. What is it?”
Charlotte turned away from her mother, pressing her lips together. “I simply don’t wish to stay.”
Her mother watched her in silence for a long moment. “We are committed to staying until the end of the week,” she said finally. “Leaving halfway through will cause unnecessary gossip.”
Charlotte whirled to face her, barely able to contain her frustration. “So what if it does? What does it matter?”
There will be plenty of gossip soon enough.
She would deal with that when she had to.
Lady Fitzgerald’s expression barely wavered. “It matters because we do not invite speculation where it isn’t needed. A sudden departure would be noted. Questions would be asked.”
Of course. Of course it was about appearances. It always was. For women, anyway. As Henry had just illustrated, men could escape such traps to some degree. It was not Henry’s reputation that was about to be ruined.
“Perhaps you should rest,” her mother continued, her tone placating. “Take a nap, calm yourself, and we can discuss this later. You’re clearly overwrought.”
Charlotte let out a hollow laugh. She was tiptoeing on the edge of utter hysteria, but she no longer cared. Why would no one listen to her and what she wanted? “I don’t need a nap, Mother. I need to leave.”
Lady Fitzgerald’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re being irrational.”
“No,” Charlotte said, trembling with emotion. “I’m being treated like my feelings don’t matter. Again.”
Her mother sighed as though Charlotte were a petulant, spoiled child rather than a grown woman with cares and desires of her own.
Charlotte drew in a breath, forcing herself to keep her emotions in check.
A wave of despair washed over her, numbing her fury.
“I’d hoped, just for once, for someone to care about what I want,” she said more quietly now.
“For you to listen to me instead of forcing me to do things I don’t want to do.
But as usual, my happiness is the last thing anyone is concerned about. ”
Charlotte turned on her heel before her mother could respond, her ankle throbbing as she strode from the room.
She couldn’t leave.
She couldn’t even control that.