Chapter 25
Henry peeled himself out of bed before the sun had fully risen, the pale morning light seeping in through the heavy curtains. He had slept little if at all. Charlotte’s voice still echoed in his head, soft but resolute, declaring her willingness to risk everything for him.
For a future with him.
He’d tossed and turned, torn between logic and longing, between the life he had carefully protected and the one Charlotte had dared to offer him.
And then when he did drift off to sleep, there were dreams where he replayed kissing her by the lake, but this time there was no William to interrupt them.
This time, Henry continued kissing her and buried his hands in her hair, unpinning it so its lush weight fell around her face and shoulders.
He’d released her mouth and trailed kisses down her neck and brushed his lips over her decolletage…
He splashed water onto his face, hoping the chill might shock some clarity into his thoughts. It didn’t.
He dried off, dressed quickly in his walking coat and boots, and made his way out to the gardens, craving solitude before the house began to stir. The quiet morning air was preferable to the noise in his head.
The gravel crunched beneath his feet as he strolled past the wisteria-clad trellises and the dew-speckled lawns. The morning mist was still heavy over the grass, curling around the hedges and hanging low among the roses like a secret waiting to be whispered.
The sky was soft and muted, the kind of gray-blue that whispered of a quiet but warm day. He followed the winding path toward the rose garden, hands in his pockets, his thoughts circling.
He’d told himself years ago that a solitary life was the price of his inheritance. He’d known that he’d never marry, never have children, never expose another soul to the danger that followed the truth of his birth. But now...
Now, there was Charlotte.
Her laughter. Her fire. Her bravery. Her kiss.
The thought of a life with her felt more real than any dream he’d dared let himself consider, and that terrified him.
The idea of a future with Charlotte had once seemed an impossible fantasy.
Now, it hovered just out of reach, both tantalizing and terrifying.
She would risk everything for him. Could he let her?
That was the question he had to answer now.
He reached the edge of the rose garden, only to pause as he spotted movement ahead. A small figure was standing among the flowers, her pale shawl gathered around her shoulders. It was Miss Felicity Doherty, Charlotte’s closest friend, with a maid lingering nearby.
She turned at the sound of his footsteps. “Lord Arundel,” she said, blinking at him with wide, sleepy eyes. “You’re up early.”
He bowed politely. “As are you. It’s not often that one finds company in the garden before breakfast.”
She brushed a stray curl behind her ear. “I never sleep well in unfamiliar beds.”
He nodded, understanding that all too well. “I rarely sleep soundly myself these days, and it’s such a beautiful morning that I thought the fresh air might clear my head. And you? You are also out for a morning walk?”
He wondered for a moment if she was meeting a lover, but from what he knew of Charlotte’s friend, he doubted it. She seemed even shyer than he had once thought Charlotte to be.
“Yes, I was just stretching my legs.” After a pause, she added, “I am glad I ran into you.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, I….” Felicity looked a little flustered now and unable to meet his eyes. “I mean, I suppose we are all worried about the situation. With Charlotte, I mean.”
Henry stopped walking. He looked at her, his brow furrowing. “She told you?”
Surely after their conversation last night, Charlotte would not have revealed his family’s shame to her friends?
“Only that she made you an offer,” Felicity said quickly. “She didn’t tell us anything you’d shared in confidence. She would never do that. She just said that she wanted to find a way forward. With the… betrothal.” Felicity blushed, obviously aware that she’d said more than was seemly.
Henry looked away. The roses were blooming brilliantly this season, their petals heavy with morning dew, but he gazed at them without seeing them, his mind preoccupied. “Then she will have told you of her suggestion. It’s more tempting than it should be.”
Felicity said nothing, just gestured for him to walk with her. They moved slowly between the beds of white and blush-pink blooms, their steps quiet on the stone path, and he glanced over his shoulder to check that the maid followed.
“If I may be so bold as to ask, Your Grace, what is your hesitation? Whatever it is that you must keep to yourself, well, if Charlotte is not put off by it, and you both wish to be wed, then why let it stop you?”
He was silent for a beat. “She’s risking everything,” he said finally.
“If the truth comes out—about me—it won’t just be a scandal.
It could cost her her place in society. Not to mention her security and her peace.
” He kept his eyes trained ahead, watching the sun catch on a bloom just beginning to open.
“She’s offering to risk too much. I couldn’t live with myself if she regretted it. ”
Felicity’s mouth dropped into an O, and Henry guessed that Charlotte had not revealed just how much trouble his secrets could cause.
“So you see,” he continued, “she might think she understands the risks, but—”
“But you think she doesn’t?” Felicity interrupted him rather more sternly than he would have expected from her.
He blinked in surprise. “No. I just worry for her.” He stopped, frowning. “She will regret it. One day.”
Felicity studied him carefully. “Do you think that Charlotte is silly? Or naive?”
That took Henry aback. “Of course not. I think she’s one of the most intelligent women I’ve ever met.”
Felicity smiled. “Then why,” she asked gently, “don’t you trust her to make her own assessment of the situation?”
Henry stopped walking, turning to look at her fully as he processed her words.
Felicity continued, “You say you’re worried she’ll regret it. That she doesn’t know what she’s agreeing to. But if you believe her to be as intelligent as you say, why wouldn’t you trust her to come to her own conclusions? To make her own decisions?”
Henry opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked down at Felicity. She wasn’t accusing him—there was no heat in her voice—but the certainty of her words struck him.
“You’re trying to make the choice for her,” she went on. “I know it comes from a place of love. But it’s not entirely fair, is it?”
He exhaled, the breath catching in his chest. “No,” he admitted. “I suppose it isn’t, when you phrase it like that. But—”
“Respect,” Felicity cut in, “isn’t just about admiring someone. It’s about allowing them the autonomy to choose their own way even if their choice frightens you.”
The words landed like a stone in his gut. Heavy. Unignorable.
Felicity touched his arm briefly. “She loves you, Henry. That much is obvious to all of us. Let her decide. I know you care for her. Anyone with eyes can see that. But if you love her—even a little—then you must let her make her own decisions. Don’t protect her by dismissing her.”
Henry let out a breath and looked down at the gravel beneath his feet. The morning air was cool against his skin, but his thoughts burned hot. He didn’t speak again for a long moment. When he did, his tone was quieter. More humbled.
“Thank you, Miss Doherty. I needed to hear that. You are right.”
She gave a polite curtsy. “I’ll leave you to your walk, then.”
With that, she disappeared down the path with the maid, leaving Henry alone with the roses and with the weight of the truth she’d just handed him. If one of the things he loved so much about Charlotte was her quiet strength, he could hardly seek to take that away from her.
Sighing, he made his way back through the gardens.
When he returned to the house, the halls were just beginning to stir.
As he moved toward the breakfast room, he spotted Charlotte coming down the corridor.
She looked tired, as though she too had wrestled with her dreams all night, but she was lovely, nonetheless.
“Lady Charlotte,” he said, stepping toward her. “Might I speak with you in my office?”
She looked surprised but nodded. “Of course, Your Grace.”
She followed him down the corridor, and he held the large oak door for her as she slipped inside.
The office was quiet and still. Morning light filtered in through the high windows, turning strands of her chestnut hair to gold.
For a moment he just watched her, drinking her in before closing the door behind them.
“Charlotte. How do you feel about everything this morning?” It was always possible that she had changed her mind during the night.
She tilted her head, thinking about his question before she responded. “I feel as though I understand you more now than I did before. Why you acted the way you did yesterday. I can’t imagine what it’s been like, carrying that secret for so long. But I haven’t changed my mind.”
The relief that flooded him was proof enough of what his own decision was. He reached for her hand and took it gently between his own. “There is nothing I want more than to marry you. To have a life with you. If I thought there was no danger...”
She squeezed his fingers. “But there is, I know. Henry, I….” She shook her head. “Never mind.”
Her eyes were shaded, and he realized with a pang of remorse that she was preparing herself for another rejection.
“There is. There’s no denying that. But we can fight it. Together. I would like to speak with William and your mother. To announce our engagement. But I must make it clear that I won’t continue with the wedding itself until I’m sure the danger has passed.”
She smiled radiantly. “Then I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you.”
He pressed her hand to his lips. “We’ve already waited too long for each other. Let’s go and find William and your mother.”
They encountered Lady Fitzgerald first, in the morning room, thankfully alone and sipping her tea. Charlotte approached her, with Henry alongside.
“Mama,” she said. “There’s something you should know.”
Lady Fitzgerald looked up.
“We are to marry,” Charlotte declared, raising her chin, rather proud of herself.
Lady Fitzgerald blinked once and then broke into delighted laughter and clapped her hands
“Oh, my darling girl! Of course. I’ve hoped for this for weeks, but had quite given up expecting it to ever happen. How marvelous.”
Henry flushed. “I must caution you, my lady, that our marriage will not take place until we’ve addressed some... circumstances.” He looked over at Charlotte, who gave a brief shake of her head. There was no need to scandalize Lady Fitzgerald with the truth unless it became absolutely necessary.
“Nonsense,” she said, waving a hand. “You’ll work it out. You’re young and clever. I’m simply thrilled. We must have a betrothal party.”
“We’re not making it public knowledge just yet,” Charlotte warned her, but Henry could tell his fiancée’s mother was already planning her conversation with the modiste about dresses.
He grinned at Charlotte, and they left to find her brother.
William, unsurprisingly, was less enthused.
They located him in the parlor, reading the paper. When they told him, he set it down slowly.
“You’ve persuaded him, then,” he said flatly. “Have the two of you quite taken leave of your senses?” There was no hostility in his voice, just a weary resignation.
“Possibly,” Charlotte replied. “But I’m certain of this.”
“As am I,” Henry interjected.
William looked at him appraisingly. “You promise to protect her, Henry? Whatever the outcome of this?”
Henry inclined his head. “With my life.”
William sighed but then nodded. “Then I suppose I’ll try to be happy about it. For you both. But if anything happens to her—”
“It won’t,” Henry said firmly. “And I have heeded your advice. We will—with your blessing—be betrothed, but I won’t be going ahead with the wedding itself until this issue with my mysterious letter writer is solved.”
William looked thoughtful. “Perhaps the betrothal will draw them out. We should think about how best to announce it publicly—and mark who is there. It will need to be carefully planned.”
Relieved to have William on their side, Henry nodded. Then William grinned suddenly, grabbed his hand, and pulled him into a tight embrace.
“You goddamn scoundrel! Now we really will be brothers.” They were both less than dry-eyed as they pulled away from each other, although they quickly wiped at their faces to disguise that fact. Henry saw Charlotte smile to herself and roll her own eyes.
“We should tell my mother before we plan anything further,” Henry said. “She will be going into breakfast. I’ll ask her to come outside, and we can tell her quietly.”
However, as they entered the breakfast room together, his mother caught sight of them walking together, and her eyebrows flew up into her hairline, especially when she saw William alongside them. Before Henry could say anything, she hurried over to them and grabbed his arm.
“Something has happened,” she exclaimed. “What is it?”
“Nothing, Mother.” Henry winced as heads started to turn their way. “We have something to tell you. If you have a moment.”
“Oh my goodness!” The dowager duchess pressed her hand to her mouth as she looked at the three of them in turn. “Are you two…?”
“Mother, keep your voice down!” Henry hissed, rather louder than he had intended. “I hardly wanted to tell you here, but yes, Charlotte and I are betrothed.”
Her eyes widened. Henry could hardly blame her. It was only yesterday that he had threatened to call a halt to her entire engagement scheme. She looked from him to Charlotte, and then her eyes softened.
“I’m very pleased,” she said, smiling at them both.
“We aren’t making it public knowledge yet,” Henry told her.
Unfortunately, at that moment, Miss Brighton, seated not far off, gasped dramatically. “Goodness! Did I just hear that His Grace is engaged? ”
Every gaze in the room turned to them.