Chapter Twenty-Seven
Charlene stood alone in her greenhouse, the gravel path beneath her slippers warm from the lingering heat of the afternoon sun.
It was the hour before dusk, when the world softened into lavender shadow and time seemed to slow, just enough for hearts to do the same.
But her gaze wasn’t on the flowers. She was waiting.
Not for Adam, though she always was, in one way or another. Today, she was waiting for his mother.
Lady Rotheworth had sent word through a footman. Not a summons, precisely, but not a suggestion, either. A quiet request that Charlene meet her.
Alone.
Charlene didn’t know what to expect. She had not spoken privately with the dowager duchess since the night of the gathering—since the scandal with David and Miss Martin had finally, painfully, come to light.
She heard the soft hush of silk before she turned.
Lady Rotheworth approached, regal as ever, though the creases beside her eyes seemed deeper now. Her mourning weeds were gone—replaced by slate-gray silk trimmed in black velvet—but the weight of grief still hung about her like a veil. And something else, too. Resolve.
“Charlene,” she said, her tone warmer than expected. “Thank you for waiting.”
Charlene curtsied, dipping low, though her heart pounded unevenly. “Of course, Your Grace.”
The duchess’s gaze rested on her face a moment too long. “Walk with me.”
They moved in silence along the path between the raised beds, passing the marble bench where Adam had once… but this was not a thought to be had before her future mother-in-law.
“I owe you an apology,” Lady Rotheworth said, not stopping. “Not only as a mother but as a woman.”
Charlene blinked. “Your Grace?”
“I was blind to David,” she continued, her voice steadier than Charlene expected. “To what he had become. And worse—I let him continue under my roof.”
The words cut the silence with gentle brutality.
Charlene’s throat tightened. She had not spoken of David since Adam had told her, quietly and without gloating, that his brother had left England. Disgraced and exiled to manage some faraway estate, David would no longer touch the lives of those he had wounded.
Miss Martin had not been so fortunate. Her whereabouts were unknown, though Adam suspected she had returned to her family in Spain. There had been no official scandal, but it had been enough. Enough that Charlene could breathe again.
Still, she had never heard a word from Lady Rotheworth on the matter. Until now.
“My son,” the duchess said, and Charlene couldn’t help but glance up. “Adam has always tried to protect everyone. Even David. Especially David. It blinded him, too.”
They reached the end of the path, where a small sundial caught the last light. Lady Rotheworth turned and faced her fully.
“He nearly came to blows with your father,” she said quietly. “Not because your father was angry, but because Adam insisted on making things right. He wouldn’t let your name be tied to disgrace. He defended your honor when others—myself included—were slow to act.”
Charlene felt her breath catch. She had not known that. Adam had told her very little of what happened after that night. She had been too lost in shame to ask. Too uncertain of whether she even deserved to know.
“I tried to protect David from consequences,” the duchess said, softer now. “Adam chose to protect you instead.”
Charlene swallowed past the knot in her throat. “He didn’t have to.”
“He did. I know now that he was right to because you, my dear, are our future and deserve our protection. And, because he loves you.”
Silence stretched between them, but it was not heavy. It was full.
Lady Rotheworth reached into her reticule and withdrew something wrapped in fine linen. “This belonged to Adam’s grandmother,” she said, unwrapping a delicate pendant of deep green peridot set in gold. “It has been passed down to the women in our family since before Rotheworth was ever a dukedom.”
She extended it to Charlene, whose fingers hesitated just above the chain.
“This is for you,” the duchess said simply. “Not because you will be duchess one day, but because you have shown more courage, grace, and dignity than most women twice your age. And because you already are my daughter in my heart.”
Charlene’s eyes burned. She took the pendant in trembling hands, the warmth of the metal startling against her skin. The peridot glowed as if lit from within.
“I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.
Lady Rotheworth smiled. “Then don’t say anything. Just wear it. And know that I see you.”
Tears slid down Charlene’s cheeks. The shame that had clung to her for so long, the burden of that night, lifted. Not erased—but acknowledged. And that, more than anything, set her free.
The duchess touched her shoulder, just briefly. “Adam chose well. I am glad he did.”
Charlene could only nod, too full to speak. They stood together in the fading light, two women bound now not just by circumstance—but by choice. And family.