Chapter Twenty-Four
Taking another steadying breath, Charlotte lifted her chin. “The Viscount and Viscountess of Eastleigh are my grandparents.”
Confusion swept through his expression, followed quickly by shock. “I don’t understand.”
A harsh laugh burned her throat. “Because they appeared to hate me? It shouldn’t be such a surprise considering they disowned my mother when she eloped with my father. No doubt they think me a very wretched thing, indeed.”
His scowl was fierce as he shook his head. “Surely—”
“No,” she interrupted sharply. “They didn’t even know she’d died.
They had completely eliminated my mother from their lives.
The scandal of her marriage to a man they deemed unworthy was too much for them.
They had intended something far grander for their only daughter.
A duke, in fact. Obscenely rich and aged to make my mother a very young widow,” she scoffed.
“My grandparents are not part of a grand legacy, you see. My grandfather’s father had been a merchant before he supported the king in some scheme that earned him his title.
I understand it was my grandfather’s singular purpose in life to build a legacy.
And for that, he needed connections and wealth and power.
Something the son of a simple Scottish baron could not provide.
They never forgave my mother for following her heart instead of complying with their social ambitions. And now they never shall.”
When she finished speaking, a flicker of understanding crossed his disbelieving features.
“You came to London to avenge their treatment of your mother. But how—?” He stopped himself abruptly, lowering his brows and pressing his lips together.
Charlotte glanced away. She did not want to see his disapproval any more than she wanted his pity.
“I will destroy what they value most in the world.” Her voice was thick with hatred.
“If social prestige is more important to them than their daughter, I will ensure that not a single door is left open to them. They will become pariahs in the society they covet and adore so much.”
A heavy silence followed her poisonous words. When she finally returned her gaze to him, she was struck by the emotional intensity of his stare. Sadness darkened his eyes, but it was the obvious concern in his tense, drawn features that struck her most acutely.
“And will that assuage your grief?” he asked in a low murmur. “Will it heal your pain?”
“Nothing can do that,” Charlotte returned vehemently.
“But I cannot ignore what they did to her. She wrote to them before she died. She begged for their forgiveness, begged to be their daughter again.” His expression hardened at her words.
“They returned her letter unopened and unread. They denied her that peace in her final days,” she sobbed. “Their cruelty must be answered.”
Once again, heavy emotions threatened to choke her.
She gasped for a breath that didn’t make it to her lungs.
She’d feared it would be like this. That once she allowed the floodgates of grief to open, they would be impossible to close.
Instinct urged her to fight against it. But a sob broke free. She quickly smothered it.
“It’s alright to feel this, Charlotte,” he whispered, covering her painfully clenched hands with his, adding his warmth and strength and presence. “You’re allowed to experience the pain of losing her.”
His words, so soft and gentle, broke her. Tears overflowed again, but the sobs weren’t so deep this time. And, as he took her face in his hands and pressed soft, soothing kisses to her lips and cheeks and eyelids, she found herself sighing into him as exhaustion started to seep into her soul.
After a while, he eased back onto the bench and folded her into his arms. He held her in silence as she slowly brought herself back under control.
When he spoke again, with his lips against her temple, it was in a low voice of reason and compassion.
“Your righteous anger sustained you through your grief. It was something you needed. For a time. But it is also preventing you from moving past your sorrow.”
“I don’t want to move past it,” she whispered furiously. “It is my only remaining connection to her. You couldn’t possibly understand. You cannot fix this.”
“I’d like to try,” he answered darkly.
Charlotte shook her head. “You cannot bring her back.”
His expression was sad. “Neither can revenge.”
Though her heart tightened, she clung to the only thing that had sustained her. “I have a plan. One you do not fit into.”
“Are you certain?” he asked, holding her gaze with his dark stare.
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you know of it?”
“I know that your plan requires that you marry well.” He cleared his throat. “And I know that I meet or exceed all your qualifications for a husband.”
A harsh laugh burst from her lips as she stared at him in amused shock. “Is that an offer, Lord Redington?”
Ralston did not flinch. “It is.”
Charlotte’s chest squeezed so tight her laugh sounded a bit like she was choking. But his gaze never wavered.
“You’re out of your mind,” she whispered.
He arched a brow and a curl lifted the corner of his mouth as he parted his lips to answer.
Before he could, the sound of someone swiftly approaching through the garden prevented further discussion as they both tensed.
If they were seen alone in the private, darkened corner while in such intimate postures, a scandal would be unavoidable.
And though Charlotte held her breath, the marquess held her gaze with his.
His dark stare intent as he remained at her side.
Rapid footsteps fell softly along the garden path, getting nearer. Close enough that it was clear they’d soon be seen. But the marquess did not stir. Not to hide or flee. He remained steady, his arm at her back, his thigh pressed along hers.
The gasp that drifted through the night was undeniably female and caused Redington’s features to darken with a fierce scowl as he glanced over Charlotte’s shoulder. “Eleanor?”
His tone was low and incredulous.
“Goodness, Ralston,” his sister hissed in surprise.
Charlotte turned to see the lovely young woman standing with her hand on over her heart. Her dark eyes were wide as her gaze flew back and forth from Charlotte to the marquess and back again before sending her attention outward toward the rear garden wall.
“You cannot be out here,” she muttered fiercely.
The marquess made a harsh sound in his throat and rose to his feet, pulling Charlotte up along with him. “You’re right. Thank you.” He sighed gruffly. “Head back to the ball. We’ll be right behind you,”
There was a subtle hesitation as the woman glanced to the wall again, then she nodded and slipped away into the shadows.
Charlotte would have wagered anything that the marquess’s sister had not come to the garden to warn them. But she was grateful all the same.
She walked beside Redington in silence. Just before reaching the light spilling out from the terrace, he paused.
“Our conversation is not finished, Miss Dickson.”
“We cannot enter together.” Stepping away from him, she carefully scanned the entrance to the ballroom to avoid looking at him again.
“I shall expect an answer.”
“Wait five minutes,” she muttered before rushing toward the light. She could feel him watching her. The pull of his gaze a magnetic force urging her to return to the shadows and his arms. She resisted.
Pausing at the ballroom doors, she pressed her cool fingers to her heated cheeks.
No doubt her eyes were still red rimmed from her crying, but there was little she could do about that.
Once inside, she easily became swallowed by the crowd and it took longer than she’d have liked to find the countess.
Gratefully, the many glances she cast over her shoulder never found the sight of Redington in purposeful pursuit behind her.
As soon as Lady Henmere saw her, she knew something was wrong.
They made their excuses and left the ball immediately.
Though she could feel her aunt’s compassionate, curious gaze, Charlotte focused her attention out the window, doing all she could to contain the raw emotions still churning through her.
She thought she’d managed to regain control, but as soon as they stepped into the comforting familiarity of the countess’s home, Charlotte started crying once again.
Grief poured from her soul in torrents she feared might never end.