Chapter 28
Charlotte stood near the window of Henry’s office, studying the way the late afternoon light caught the gleam of the polished floor and cast long shadows across the desk as she watched Henry reread the letter for what must have been the hundredth time.
According to him, he had discovered the letter on his desk not an hour earlier.
There was tension in his shoulders and the tight line of his jaw.
He looked up at last and passed the letter to her, his fingers brushing hers as he did so.
She took it without a word, sinking into the chair beside William as she unfolded the page.
The handwriting was messy, as though scrawled in haste, but the message was clear:
You have until the night of the ball to call off the wedding, or your mother’s secret becomes the talk of London.
Charlotte’s stomach twisted, but her hands were steady as she passed the letter to William.
“So, do you have news on Leonard?” she asked, turning her eyes toward him.
William nodded. “I’ve been asking around.
He’s been seen in the area on more than one occasion and at times that correspond with the letters.
The day of the first letter, he was spotted buying paper and ink at the stationer’s in the next town.
One of the footmen saw him lingering near the east wing yesterday morning.
And the worst part is... he’s still telling people in Town that the two of you”—he nodded at Charlotte—“will be announcing your engagement soon.”
Charlotte’s mouth dropped open. “Even now? After everything?”
“It seems that news of the duke’s engagement hasn’t reached the gossip pages yet,” William explained. “Or if it has, he’s pretending he hasn’t heard about it.”
Henry leaned back in his chair, his eyes flashing with uncharacteristic fury. “He’s desperate, then. If this letter is from him—and I believe it is—then he’s running out of time, and he knows it.”
Charlotte twisted her hands together in her lap. “So what do we do? Are we still going forward with this?”
Henry’s eyes met hers, and for a long moment, he was silent. Then he spoke, his voice low. “Are you absolutely certain you want this, knowing what he’s threatening?”
She rose from her chair, crossed to him, and settled her hand over his.
“Yes, Henry. I was certain the moment I told you I’d take the risk.
I’m not going to be bullied into giving up my life because of some man’s bitterness.
Please, let’s have had enough of this constant questioning of my decision. I am yours.”
He exhaled, and she could feel the fight drain out of him. “Then we go forward as planned. Safeguards are already in place. He will not set foot inside the ballroom—not tonight. Not ever. And if he does try, there will be footmen waiting to escort him to a room where he can explain himself.”
William nodded. “I’ve spoken with the staff. No one will be admitted without a name on the guest list, and we’ve added guards near the doors and windows. Mother is circulating the story that thefts have been reported in the area so that the other guests don’t question the extra precautions.”
Charlotte exhaled, the knot in her chest loosening slightly. “That’s good. There is nothing to fear.”
She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince them or herself.
Henry gave her a small smile, then stood. “We should prepare. There’s still the ball this evening to get through.”
She left them there, the weight of what they faced still heavy, but somehow lighter now that the decision had been made.
Back in her chamber, the fire had been lit and the soft glow of candlelight flickered against the walls.
Mary moved quietly around her, helping her into her gown of deep sapphire silk with embroidered detailing that caught the light with every movement.
It was the most luxurious gown she owned, but surely the occasion of celebrating her betrothal called for it.
Her hair was pinned up in soft curls, a few left loose to frame her face, and she clasped the pearl-drop earrings her mother had insisted she wear.
Her friends were gathered outside her chamber as she emerged, each of them resplendent in their own gown. Helena’s sharp grin was tempered by concern as she saw the frown on Charlotte’s face. Miranda’s hands were clasped in front of her, and Genevieve reached out to touch Charlotte’s wrist gently.
Although her friends didn’t know the full story, they knew Charlotte well enough to know there was trouble afoot.
“Ready?” Adeline asked.
Charlotte nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”
They descended the staircase together, six women strong, into the flickering candlelight of the ballroom. Charlotte walked across the room arm in arm with Felicity, scanning the gathering crowd with care.
Every smile, every glance, every murmured conversation—she absorbed it all, searching for anything out of place.
Somewhere in this very room, there could be a person who wished to tear apart her future.
Someone in league with the despicable Sir Roger.
She would not allow them to spoil her happiness.
The ballroom sparkled under the golden light of a dozen chandeliers, the polished floors gleamed like glass, and the guests moved in a flurry of silk and satin.
The orchestra played a lively tune in the corner, warming up for the first dance.
The scent of beeswax polish, flowers, and expensive perfume hung heavily in the air.
It was perfect, and the dowager duchess had done herself proud, but Charlotte felt anything but at ease. Even without the impending danger, she knew every eye would be upon her, and the thought made her palms clammy.
Henry appeared beside her, resplendent in deep navy. He bowed, a little smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Shall we?”
Charlotte curtsied. “We shall.”
With her hand in Henry’s, her nerves receded. The waltz began, and he drew her into the circle of dancers. As he took her hand and placed his other lightly at her waist, a shiver slid down her spine. Not of nerves this time—but of anticipation. Of simple joy at his touch.
They moved together in elegant steps, effortlessly matching each other’s rhythm.
She was aware of the warmth of his hand, the closeness of his body, the intensity of his gaze.
They didn’t speak, not with words, but his eyes said everything.
When he looked at her like that, as if she were the only person in the room, it was hard to remember that danger still lingered in the wings.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured as they turned.
She blushed at his words, and he smiled then, not his usual guarded one, but something gentler. Something real that reminded her of the boy she had known years before.
When the dance ended, the room burst into polite applause, and they stepped back. Almost immediately, the dowager duchess appeared on Henry’s other side. She looked every inch the pleased matriarch, her jewels glittering and her smile triumphant.
“Well,” she said, her voice low and smug. “I suppose I must admit, this house party has proven more effective than I could have dreamed.”
Charlotte blinked, unsure how to respond. Henry’s expression was unreadable, though his lips thinned ever so slightly, in amusement or annoyance, Charlotte wasn’t sure. Of course Henry’s mother would claim their betrothal as her own triumph.
William stepped in with impeccable timing and bowed. “Sister, might I claim the next dance? I fear if I delay much longer, the matchmaking mamas may trample me on their way over.”
She took his offered hand. “Of course.”
Polite, brisk, and precisely on time, their dance was a contrast to the one before it. William led expertly, but his gaze kept darting around the room. He was clearly as wary as she had been earlier.
Halfway through the dance, he leaned in slightly. “You do realize,” he said in a low voice, “that you and your little league of conspirators haven’t been half as subtle as you think.”
Charlotte startled, looking up at him in surprise. “What do you mean? Henry asked for us to try to keep those ‘matchmaking mamas’ away; you know this.”
“I mean the whispering, the closed-door meetings, the quiet glances between you and Henry. Don’t look so shocked.
I may be a man, but I’m not blind. It’s more than just protecting Henry, as your betrothal proves.
You’re all up to something, and I don’t think it stops at this house party. What is it, a matchmaking club?”
She laughed despite herself. “I didn’t think you noticed.”
“Oh, I noticed,” he said with a wink. “But I’ve decided I don’t care. Not if it means we all get a happy ending out of this.”
Her smile faltered slightly. “Let’s hope we all do.”
The dance ended, and they returned to the edge of the room, where Henry stood, speaking to a footman who had just arrived and was whispering something in his ear.
Henry stiffened. Charlotte saw the worry in his eyes.
“What is it?” Charlotte asked urgently, dread coiling in her stomach.
He turned toward her, his tone sharp. “Sir Roger is here. The footmen stopped him before he reached the ballroom. They’ve detained him near the east gallery.”
William nodded. “We anticipated this. I’ll distract your mother, and then we will go and question him.”
Charlotte opened her mouth to offer her help, but before anyone could move, the doors at the far end of the ballroom creaked open.
A tall man stepped into the doorway.
Charlotte didn’t recognize him—he was no one she had seen before, certainly not part of the household staff or any known guest. He stood straight and still, scanning the room with a gaze far too intent for comfort.
“Who is that?” she whispered, instinctively reaching for Henry’s arm.
“I haven’t a clue,” Henry said, looking confused.
“But I have.” The dowager duchess appeared at his side, clutching at her pearls, her face white. So softly her voice was almost imperceptible, she murmured, “It’s him, Henry. Lord have mercy. I thought he was dead.”