Chapter Twenty-One
Steam rose gently from the teacup cradled in Charlene’s hands, the faint aroma of bergamot mingling with the sweetness of the sugar she stirred into the amber liquid.
Across from her, Maddie sat perfectly composed, her sharp green gaze settling on Charlene with an expression equal parts curiosity and suspicion.
“What if I wanted to do something terribly stupid, romantic, and final?” Charlene’s voice was soft, almost as if she feared the weight of her thoughts might shatter the delicate porcelain teacup she held.
Maddie paused, her silver teaspoon hovering mid-air before she set it neatly onto her saucer.
“I would always advise against stupid,” she replied, arching a brow.
“Particularly if you’re aware of it beforehand.
Romantic can be excused, provided it doesn’t teeter into scandal.
But final? I must caution against it entirely. ”
Charlene hesitated, the teaspoon slipping from her hand with a muted clink against the edge of her cup. “But what if I can’t stop myself?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost a whisper meant more for herself than Maddie.
Maddie tilted her head, studying her friend as one might a complicated puzzle. “Do you want it to happen?”
“Yes,” Charlene admitted after a long pause, though her confession tightened something low in her chest, a tension between desire and dread. But I shouldn’t, she thought firmly, though the words rang hollow even in the privacy of her mind.
“Then perhaps,” Maddie said with the patience of someone untangling a knotted ribbon, “you ought to provide me with the details. I can hardly be expected to offer sound advice otherwise.”
Charlene found herself fiddling with the edge of her linen napkin and avoiding Maddie’s steady gaze. “It’s about Adam,” she said finally. The name felt heavier than it should. “And a certain flower I’ve been thinking of giving him. One that doesn’t grow in my greenhouse.”
There was a sharp, familiar tsk from Maddie, her disapproval clear before she even spoke. “Don’t,” she said plainly, her lips tightening slightly over the single syllable.
“Why not?” Charlene’s words had an edge now, though whether it was defiance or desperation, she wasn’t sure. “I want to.”
Maddie leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful beneath the faint rigidity of propriety. “You can’t possibly know what it is you want to do, having never done it,” she said matter-of-factly. “Therefore, you mustn’t.”
“When you put it that way, it sounds dreadfully reasonable,” Charlene muttered, though it didn’t soothe the quiet ache of longing she had tried, and failed, to push away. “But… what if I long to know what it is I’m missing?”
Maddie sighed, the exasperated sound only tempered by the concern etched into her features. “Do you recall your fourteenth birthday?” she asked suddenly, her voice gentler this time.
“No,” Charlene said quickly, too quickly. She knew where this was going, and she hated the way her pulse skipped at the memory.
Maddie’s smile was faint but knowing. “Of course you don’t. But I do,” she said. “You cried all night, and I stayed with you until you finally fell asleep.”
“You’re a very good friend,” Charlene murmured, her eyes fixed on the rim of her cup, unwilling to meet Maddie’s gaze.
“There’s more to it, isn’t there?” Maddie prompted softly. “You don’t need me to remind you why. You did something then. Something romantic, stupid, and terribly final. Does that not sound familiar?”
Charlene exhaled slowly, the resistance draining from her shoulders. “I remember,” she admitted at last, though her voice was low, as if speaking the words might summon the humiliation anew. “I gave Adam my first dance.”
“And how did that go?” Maddie asked, though her tone suggested she didn’t truly need to hear the answer.
Charlene swallowed hard, her throat suddenly tight. “My father played the pianoforte, and I… thanked Adam afterward. I… I thought it was a lovely dance,” she said carefully, though the memory of the moment still stung. “Then he told me I wasn’t girlish at all, and that I danced poorly.”
Her voice faltered as she tugged at the lace edging of her sleeve, refusing to look up. “I told him that ‘girlish’ isn’t even a proper word, then ran to my room before the cake was served.”
Maddie reached for her teacup but waited a moment before lifting it. “Exactly,” she said, her tone calm but firm. “And this one, whatever it is you’re scheming about now… it could be so much worse.”
Charlene’s fingers tightened around her cup, her shoulders stiff under the weight of Maddie’s warning. Somewhere between reason and desire, between Maddie’s logic and her own burning want, sat the truth she wasn’t ready to face.
*
Adam found himself once again before Charlene’s house the next morning. He’d left the house after he’d tossed his brother out and spent the night at White’s, hoping some miracle answer might descend upon him on how to manage a situation he was not equipped for.
He brought a hand over the breast pocket where his very old apology still lay.
Apologies didn’t help much, verbal or non-verbal.
His brother was a perfect example.
But he still needed to apologize and explain, even if she didn’t expect either. However, he suspected he would have to get past Waylon Fielding first.
He strode up to the door and knocked.
Of all the things he didn’t expect, which was becoming rather a theme of his life, it was to enter Fielding’s office to find him and Mr. Grafton.
“Fielding.” He nodded at Charlene’s brother. “Grafton,” he muttered as an afterthought, refusing to look at the man.
“Rotheworth,” Fielding said. “What brings you to my doorstep this early in the morning?”
Adam’s jaw ticked. “The same thing I suspect brings your current guest.”
“He is a friend, not a guest. Soon to be family if fate allows.”
Adam barely refrained from balling his fists, a gesture that these men wouldn’t miss. So, Grafton asked for Charlene’s hand, and Adam would just have to do the same. Though, admittedly, he loathed doing so in these circumstances.
The choice was still up to Charlene.
“So, she has a suitor who asked for her hand. Now she has two.”
“I’m not inclined to accept your proposal,” came the flat reply.
“Since I didn’t ask for your hand, I don’t see how that matters.”
“My father isn’t here.”
“That didn’t stop your friend. Why should it stop me?” Adam shot back. “And you seem to forget, while you are your sister’s guardian, you cannot force her to marry a man against her will.”
“But I can stop you from ever setting foot in my house or near my sister again.”
“And how would she feel about all this dictation?”
“Dictation? This isn’t dictation.”
“I don’t know. What would you call it if you ordered or did things she didn’t want you to do?”
“Protection.”
Grafton cleared his throat. “Quite right.”
Adam ignored him. He wouldn’t win against both of them. Short of spelling it out, he had made his intentions clear. Besides, while he’d known he might have to contend with Fielding, the man was not his goal this morning.
“I’m here to call on your sister.”
Fielding crossed his arms. “That is not happening.”
“Shouldn’t she be the one to decide whether that is happening or not?”
“Henry told me you upset her yesterday.”
“A miscommunication.”
The man snorted, “There seems to be a lot of that in your family. I heard your brother is back.”
“He is,” Adam bit out.
“I might not know everything that transpired between him and my sister since she didn’t tell us, but I do know he hurt her, and I don’t want you or him near her.”
“He won’t be a problem.”
“Just like he wasn’t a problem a year ago?”
“He won’t be staying long.”
“You see, I don’t believe you.”
“Not even if I give my word?” An absurd question, but he had to ask.
Fielding looked him over with no small amount of disdain. “You expect me to take you at your word, Rotheworth? After everything?”
Adam met his gaze, unwavering. “No. I expect you to let your sister make her own choices.” It would always come back to this.
“And if she chooses wrong? I won’t let that happen. Again.”
“Her choice is her right,” Adam replied quietly. Just as it had been when she chose his brother back then. “You don’t get to guard her heart by locking it away.”
Grafton shifted uncomfortably beside Fielding but said nothing. Good. Adam had no desire to hear more nonsense from the man.
Fielding exhaled sharply through his nose, eyes narrowing. “I don’t know what you did last time, but even if I did allow you to see her, she wouldn’t see you. She’s not in a forgiving mood. I’m wagering it has something to do with your brother.”
It did. “I don’t expect her to be,” Adam said. “I only ask for a moment. She may still turn me out, and I will accept it. But I need to face her. Not you. Not him. Her.”
There was a long pause. Fielding’s jaw worked as if caught between two impulses—overprotective brother and not-so-overprotective brother. The last just meaning he’d allow her to boot him from the house.
“It’s best if you give her some time,” he said. “Come back tomorrow. It’s up to her if she will see you then. If she doesn’t, leave, or I will make you leave.”
With that promise thick in the air, Adam inclined his head, turning on his heel and marching from the room. He’d just stepped from the study when a voice stopped him.
“May the best man win.”
Adam looked over his shoulder and finally looked at Mr. Grafton in the eyes. “That will never be you.”
*
May the best man win.
That will never be you.
What had they been discussing?
Charlene blinked. She stood on top of the staircase staring at the door of her brother’s study.
Adam had stayed all of five minutes and seven seconds before the door opened and he stepped out, followed by those ominous words of Mr. Grafton.
She’d only glimpsed him fleetingly when he entered, but it was him. She would know him from anywhere.
Except when it’s David.
Which, she had come to the conclusion, was one of the biggest reasons her emotions had erupted the afternoon before. She’d confused the brothers.
You didn’t know David was back.
That still wasn’t an excuse.
Their very essence was different.
But that wasn’t what she should focus on at the moment. It seemed something important happened in the study, and for the life of her, she couldn’t even begin to think what except one thing.
A duel.
Which was ridiculous.
But also, not?
Not given how Mr. Grafton had found her, tear-stained, yesterday and Adam turning up.
But wouldn’t he have defended her supposed honor then?
No, not without her brother, he wouldn’t.
He didn’t have that right. But did these things matter?
She didn’t know. What she did know was she couldn’t allow them to duel!
Her brother was a crack shot.
And Mr. Grafton? Well, that she didn’t know, but he would probably be her brother’s second.
“And by the by,” Adam’s voice echoed. “You can find me at the Duchy Hotel, where I’ll be staying until my brother leaves London.”
He didn’t wait for an answer, and she watched as Adam strode from her home, wanting to call out but her voice stuck in her throat.
What had just happened?
Her legs moved of their own accord, one step forward, then stillness.
I have to go after him.
But what would she even say?
Another step. Then pause.
Charlene gripped the railing, fingers curling tight around it to keep from rushing over to him. She could demand he return and explain, ease her mind. She could shout at him for all the wrongs she felt in her heart. She could slap him. Or kiss him.
Urgh! Charlene!
She drew a breath, her fingers uncurling, and took another step. Her slipper hovered over the stairwell, and she froze again.
What was she doing?
She turned halfway, facing the corridor behind her. She should go back to her room. Pretend none of this happened. Let her brother and Mr. Grafton decide her future. That would be easier. Neater. Safe.
And entirely unbearable.
She turned back toward the stairs. Her heart thudded a traitorous beat. He’d said he was staying at the Duchy. Where they had kissed. Where fireworks exploded around them. Was it because of David?
That would mean his brother had returned home.
A lump formed in her throat.
She turned back to the staircase, her foot hovering once more.
Then she set it down.
And lifted it up again.
Drat it all, Charlene, move! Decide!
But her feet wouldn’t obey. Her hands twitched uselessly at her sides. She didn’t even know what she wanted—an apology? A declaration? A future with him?
She pressed a hand to her temple. None of this made sense.
And yet, her heart whispered go.
She took the flight of stairs with a rush, hoping her brother and Mr. Grafton remained in the study long enough that she could escape without their notice.
She might not know what she wanted to hear from him, what she wanted to do after all the revelations of the past twenty-four hours, but she knew if she didn’t follow him right now, she might just regret it all her life.
Which was mad.
But then, perhaps she was a little crazy.
A lot of madness.
Crazy for him. Adam.
If only her pride didn’t weigh quite so much. Whether that was good or bad, she didn’t know, but she couldn’t hide behind the past pain and future fear anymore. She had to claim.
And she wanted to claim him.
Even if that meant he’d break her heart.
“Charlene Fielding! Where do you think you’re going!” Her brother’s voice boomed.
Her heart sank to her toes.