Chapter 22
“Are we truly leaving?” Matilda asked Charity the next morning. Her two younger sisters just had the news broken to them, and their reactions were not the most accepting.
“Yes. I would urge you to pack whatever it is that you need,” Charity went on. “We are to return to our home in London tomorrow morning.”
Matilda pouted and crossed her arms in front of her chest in protest.
“What if I say I do not want to go?” she continued to pout, “what then? Will you change your mind then?”
“It is not something that can be changed,” Charity sighed. It was amazing just how much her sisters’ opinions had changed about the duke. In the corner of the room, Augusta had her face similarly puffed up.
“I just don’t get it,” Augusta spoke up for the first time, shaking her head. “What is the reason to call off the wedding? Everything had been prepared, and you both had agreed to it.”
Charity sighed, feeling as though someone had twisted the dagger inside of her heart.
“Yes, but that was before the Uncle Edward problem got solved,” Charity replied. “Now, it does not make much sense for the two of us to marry.”
“Sense?” Augusta crumpled her nose, “but who cares about sense, truly? You love him, why would you let him go so easily?”
Charity looked at her sister, horrified.
“What?” Augusta went on, though in a softer tone. “Don’t act so surprised. Of course, you love him; it is obvious to anyone with eyes and ears.”
Charity’s cheeks were burning red now, and she tore her gaze away from her sister.
“Well…” she grumbled under her breath, “I suppose love is not enough in this situation.”
“Oh, don’t say that,” Augusta said, getting even more charged up. “Why would you say such a stupid thing? Who decided that? Did you even tell him how you feel?”
“If he returned my feelings, then he would have told me himself,” Charity said, resignation coloring her tone. “That is the god-honest truth of it, and it would be foolish to expect any sort of other outcome.”
“Yes, well, that is what you say,” Augusta went on undeterred, “and in an ideal world that could be true. But there is nothing conventional about how the two of met, so therefore one cannot expect a love confession to happen in the same way.”
Charity stared at her sister for a moment, trying to understand what she was getting at.
“What I mean to say is,” Augusta clarified, “that if you wish to be with him, then you must be the one to confess your feelings. I am sure that they are returned.”
“Oh, no,” Charity shook her head immediately. “I cannot do such a thing. You know this, and you are being ridiculous in suggesting it.”
“I am not ridiculous,” Augusta shook her head. “The only other alternative is that we go back, and you do not marry him. I don’t wish for that to happen.”
“You’ll be happy in London,” Charity tried to wager. “And soon you will forget about all of this.”
“Fine. Suppose you are correct,” Augusta sighed. “But what about yourself? How will you forget everything? Do you think that you can erase the Duke so easily?”
Charity knew that would be the ultimate sacrifice to make. All her life, she had been no stranger to sacrifice. It was just rather unfortunate that she had to do the same in her love life as well.
“I cannot keep having this conversation with you,” Charity’s tone was curt. “The truth of it is that our wedding is no longer happening, and the sooner that you two accept it, the better it is. Now, we shall leave for London tomorrow, and that is final.”
She hated being this firm with her siblings, but it seemed that they had left her with no other option.
On the other side of the estate, Duncan was locked up in his study. He had not gone for breakfast, nor had he gotten much sleep the night before.
Duncan, on the other hand, feels numb. He knows he’s doing the right thing but he never expected to feel so empty about it.
“Have ye finished yer broodin'?” Malcolm had been saying all manners of things to Duncan for the past ten minutes, though Duncan had tried his best to ignore him.
“None of your business,” he replied curtly, and took a lazy sip of whisky from his glass. The liquid burned the back of his throat, but it was a welcome relief to Duncan.
“Ye have been actin’ strange since yesterday,” Malcolm went on, narrowing his eyes. “I have known ye for years. Daenae think ye can hide yer feelings from me.”
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Duncan shot him an annoyed look.
Of all people, it did not surprise him that Malcolm was able to see right through him. Duncan had always been an expert at masking his emotions, but Malcolm was one of those people that could always tell.
It had always been something that annoyed Duncan.
“At this moment? Nay,” Malcolm grinned shamelessly, “in fact, ye could say that tendin' to ye is me biggest responsibility right now. We daenae want our duke to be so forlorn.”
Duncan rolled his eyes.
“I am hardly forlorn,” he said, irked. “When have you know me to be very expressive to begin with?”
“Huh. Nay, ye’re nae an expressive chap. But even someone like me can piece together what might have went wrong when Miss Charity is to leave tomorrow, and there is nay weddin' in sight.”
Duncan pressed his lips together. He could not keep the calling off of the wedding a secret for too long, after all.
“It has happened for the best,” he admitted, curtly.
“The best for whom?” Malcolm raised his eyebrows. “Certainly nae for you. Was it yer idea or hers? Though, knowing both of you, I would think that it was yer idea. She didnae seem to mind the idea of marryin' you, even seemed to look forward to it.”
“I suppose appearances can be deceiving,” he said.
Duncan was not one to go back on his word, and rarely did he ever rethink a decision that he had taken.
But he had only been plagued with second thoughts since he had told Charity that he was to find himself another wife, and free her.
One thing was clear: if she was being freed in this arrangement, then he was being chained to her.
Or memories of her.
It would be impossible to replace her, and he did not even want to think of another person who could ever take her place.
No. Duncan did not want this.
But at the same time, he did not want to trap her into life with him. Things were different now, and she could find herself another gentleman.
“Whoa, careful,” Malcolm said, as Duncan set down the glass of whisky in his hand so hard that it almost broke. “Ye fine there?”
The very idea of Charity being with someone else had incited such blind, jealous rage inside of him that he had lost track of what he was doing.
“I think I would like to be left alone,” Duncan said, clearing his throat. Some whisky had spilled around the table, creating a puddle of amber liquid over the shiny wooden surface.
“But for how long?” Malcolm said in a rare solemn tone. “Ye have always preferred yer solitude over everythin', almost as though ye see it as a remedy for whatever ailment ye suppose ye have. But for how long are ye goin' to carry on like this?”
“I would rather you don’t ask me these questions,” Duncan said with an eyeroll, trying to diminish the concern. That way, he could at least maintain some separation from it.
“If I daenae, who’s goin' to?” Malcolm said. “None of the staff have the authority to do so, they’re too scared of you. Or maybe respect you too much to ever challenge any of your decisions. There is no one from your family who can say these things. Someone needs to tell you.”
“Not now, please,” Duncan sighed, closing his eyes for a moment and then moving to pour himself another glass of whiskey to replace the one that had just spilled.
“Fine. Suit yourself,” Malcolm said, disgruntled. “But I am telling you, you should reconsider this entire thing. Miss Charity is a gem, and you should not let her slip away just like that.”
Duncan let his words ring out and remained silent until Malcolm exited the study. It was only when the door clicked shut that he spoke again, now to himself.
“You think I don’t know that?” he muttered, and took a large swig of his drink.
There was too much emotion swirling inside his chest, and the only thing he could do to deal with it was to numb them. If he did not let himself feel anything, then there would be no problems.
“This will pass,” he told himself, but it fell on deaf ears. He did believe it was ever going to get any better.
He was doing the right thing, in his mind anyway, but he had never expected it to feel this empty.
“She’s making us go away,” Augusta approached Duncan the next morning. He had been loitering in the hallway, a part of him wanting to catch the last night of the girls before they left.
“It’s for the best,” Duncan tried to keep his tone emotionless, “you shall have a great life in London, and should you require any sort of assistance from me, you may write to me. Consider me as a big brother figure in your life.”
Augusta’s mouth twisted into a frown, and she shook her stubbornly.
“But I think that this whole thing is a mistake,” she admitted. It was a bold statement, but Augusta had always been someone who had been blunt in her communication. “I don’t think that Charity should go away and be on her own. That is just not right.”
Now, after Malcolm, Augusta was the second person to tell Duncan to go back on his word and change his decision. He stifled a sigh.
“You are too young to understand such matters,” he said in return.
“Am I?” Augusta challenged, raising an eyebrow.
“I find it rather peculiar that both you and my sister say the same thing to do. Sure, we can account for my age and my lack of experience in life as a limiting condition. But I can see things from a third-person perspective, and see what you both seem to be missing.”
“You are good at arguing, I must say,” Duncan retorted, wanting nothing more than to change the topic. He did not want their last conversation to be a sour one, as he had grown fond of Charity’s sisters.