Chapter 17 #2
Drink in one hand and a small berry tart in the other, Charlotte listened as Tabitha recounted her interaction with the gentlemen who had come to their box shortly after the opera had begun. Lillian soon joined them, and Charlotte’s eyes searched for Anthony.
They found him with shocking ease, as though they had never truly lost sight of him. Charlotte paused with the drink at her lips at the sight of who he was with.
“Hold this,” she said, handing her drink to Tabitha without even looking. Gaze fixed on Anthony, she picked her way through the crowd, her heart beating quickly.
Whatever Anthony’s flaws, however much Charlotte claimed the blame lay with him for her recent misfortunes, he had come to her rescue when he had claimed they were engaged.
He, too, was in an unsought betrothal, and it wasn’t until this moment that she had considered what it was costing him—or who he might have wished to be betrothed to if circumstances had been otherwise.
It cost her nothing to come to his aid just now.
She reached for his hand as she approached, and Anthony’s gaze shot to hers.
She looked into his frowning countenance with all the admiration she could muster. “Here you are,” she said, nestling up to his side. “I was looking for you.”
His gaze searched hers, and Charlotte feared he would humiliate her by pulling away.
Instead, his frown lightened as his eyes stared into hers searchingly.
Charlotte’s heart fluttered at the intensity and wonderment in his gaze, as though he was seeing her properly now.
Taking better hold of her hand, he brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of her glove, his eyes never leaving hers. “Forgive me, darling.”
Charlotte’s knees quivered, but she forced herself to finish what she had come to do. She let out a breathy laugh and looked at their audience. “How very rude of me. I hadn’t realized you were in the midst of a conversation.”
The woman in purple looked at her with those steady, blue eyes.
She looked to Anthony for an introduction, and the frown returned to his brow. “Lord Drayton, Miss Baxter, allow me to present you to Miss Charlotte Mandeville, my bride.”
Charlotte sent a quick glance at him, but there was no time to decipher his motivation for using the word. The women curtsied, and Lord Drayton gave Charlotte a shallow bow.
“If you will excuse us now,” Anthony said, “we only planned to stay until intermission.”
Charlotte did her best to look unsurprised by this blatant falsehood. “It is sad but true. It was a pleasure to meet you.”
“And you,” said Miss Baxter, while the man only nodded.
Anthony guided Charlotte toward the door.
“Are we truly leaving?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“What of your aunt and my family?”
“I shall send the chaise to fetch them home.” He spoke with a servant, instructing him to have their carriage brought around, then inform the people in Mrs. Ashby’s box that Charlotte had gone home with a headache.
“A headache?” Charlotte protested, but when he set her hand back on his arm and guided them to the door, she made no move to resist.
They waited in silence until the carriage was brought around, at which point Anthony handed Charlotte up into the chaise, then followed her in. The moment the door was closed, Charlotte could keep silent no longer.
“I can only assume you forced us to leave early so you could take the opportunity to explain all of that to me.”
Anthony stared through the window, his fist covering his mouth as the light of the passing lamps cast shadows across his brooding features. “You assume wrongly.”
Charlotte watched him, trying to decide what to say and how far to push for answers. She didn’t truly mind being made to leave the opera early, but how could he have known that? And yet, here he was, taciturn and giving every indication he meant to speak of it no further.
The sight of Miss Baxter must have affected him deeply for him to leave so suddenly. She sensed now was not the time for combativeness and conflict. Anthony had comforted her yesterday; perhaps that was what he needed just now.
“Anthony,” she said.
His gaze flicked to her.
She swallowed. Somehow, it was more nerve-wracking to speak kindly to him than it was to say things calculated to ruffle his feathers. “You can confide in me.” She smiled slightly. “We are engaged, after all.”
Anthony held her gaze for a moment, then looked away. “Thank you.”
The silence continued, and with it, her embarrassment and the feeling of rejection grew.
“You think me untrustworthy,” Charlotte said, more as an explanation than a challenge.
He turned toward her finally. “Charlotte, you sell people’s secrets.”
“Not yours.”
The muscles in his jaw shifted. “Truly, it is nothing about you. I do not confide in anyone. Not anymore.”
There was that dashed enigmatic language he insisted on using. Who had he been accustomed to confiding in? Silas? Miss Baxter? “Perhaps you should. I promise you can entrust me with your confidences.”
“And how forthcoming have you been with me about your secrets?” he challenged her.
“You are my only secret.”
His gaze intensified.
She hadn’t meant to say it precisely that way, but when she tried to correct herself, she found her lungs bereft of air. She swallowed, then spoke more quietly. “What I mean to say is that you already know my only secrets. You are the only man in the world who knows them.”
They stared at one another across the dark of the chaise as it rocked from side to side over the cobbled streets. Anthony’s gaze, usually so guarded and resolute, softened as he looked at her, as though searching for something in her eyes.
Whatever he was searching for, he must not have found it, for he turned his head to the window again, and the moment was gone as soon as it had come.
But Charlotte couldn’t give up.
She chose her question with care, not wanting to begin with the subject that was weighing him down most. Heart beating at a clipping pace, she leaned forward and reached for his hand. “Anthony, what happened with Silas?”
His hand clenched inside hers.
“Surely, you know that,” he replied.
“I know what people say,” she agreed, “but I also saw the pain in your eyes when William refused to claim Silas.”
His hand balled even tighter, and he pulled it slowly but firmly from her grasp. “I have no wish to speak of it, Charlotte.”
She stayed where she was for a moment, her chest growing heavy with frustration. She leaned back on the squabs as the chaise came to a stop in front of Mrs. Ashby’s lodgings.
Anthony opened the door and stepped down, then offered her his hand, his expression stern and unyielding.
She took his hand and descended, facing him as the horses pulled the chaise toward the mews. “I am only trying to help.”
“Thank you,” he said. “But I need no help.”
She held his gaze for a moment, then gave a nod and turned away, refusing to let him see her disappointment.