Chapter 3
Chapter Three
“…and the poodle ran away with the baroness’ hat right into the fountain!
Oh, you should have seen the look on her face.
The baroness, that is, not the poodle. One was having a fine time, and the other was rather sour.
I’m sure you can guess which one was which,” Agatha tittered with laughter, which reached a higher pitch as the carriage wheels rolled over uneven ground.
Edmund offered polite laughter and shared a beleaguered glance with Charlotte. He then stretched out three fingers on his leg. Charlotte, wedged between her robust grandmother and Lydia, who was anxiously adjusting her gloves, did not enjoy the same freedom of movement.
Four, she mouthed silently. Edmund frowned and shook his head.
“What are you doing?” Agatha asked, the laughter coming to an abrupt stop.
“Nothing, Grandmother,” Edmund looked away quickly.
Charlotte cleared her throat. She and Edmund had been counting how often they had heard the same story, although neither of them wanted to offend their grandmother.
Agatha might have been a little absent-minded, but she still possessed a sharp tongue.
“You three are always getting into some mischief or other. It’s been the same ever since you were children. I remember one time when you got into the jam, Edmund. It was all over your face, in your hair… my goodness, what a state you were.”
“He still is,” Charlotte replied, offering a wry smile, which Edmund did not appreciate.
“Now, now, a lady does not make remarks like that, Charlotte. It’s unbecoming of you. You’re never going to find a husband with manners like that. You should be more like Lydia. She’s perfect. Look at her, sitting there minding her own business.”
“Hm, did you say something, Grandmama?”
“You can call her Grandmother. We’re no longer children,” Charlotte pointed out.
“She’s just being affectionate, dear. I don’t mind at all. I’ve certainly been called worse things in my day. I once knew a very rude man. Lord Sinclair was his name, and…”
Charlotte shifted her position as best she could, although it was impossible to move enough to ease the ache in her legs. She gazed out of the window, tuning out a story she had heard countless times before, even if this time she found it to be applicable to her life.
There was an uncomfortable prickle on the back of her neck as she thought about the haunting gray eyes.
Her throat became incredibly dry, and her tongue seemed to swell.
She reached up to brush away an itch that she felt on her lips before suddenly thrusting her hands down again, not wanting to draw any attention to that area of her face.
For the past two weeks, Charlotte had been wracked with guilt and fear. Every time a letter was delivered, she feared it would be an aggressive accusation of a violation of social norms. Every time there was a visitor, she felt an urge to be swallowed by the ground, just in case it was him.
The man with whom she shared a secret.
The man to whom she offered something she should have kept for herself.
She had danced with the devil, and the music had not stopped playing yet.
The carriage jolted again, interrupting Agatha’s story.
“Someone really should do something about these roads. They’re in a terrible state. You can tell a lot about a country from its roads. Imagine what our foreign visitors must think of us? Edmund, would you remind me where we are traveling?”
“Winthrop estate, Grandmother,” Edmund said through gritted teeth. He glanced toward Charlotte, who shrugged. She had lost count of how many times they had reminded Agatha of their destination.
“Oh yes, of course. Well, I shall have to have a word with the Duke of Winthrop about the roads. If anyone can do anything about it, I’m sure he can.”
A pang of fear flashed in Charlotte’s mind. She could just imagine Agatha approaching the Duke and making this inappropriate request, offending him in the process and causing him to break off the engagement between Mary and Alfred.
“Perhaps Edmund should mention it to him after the wedding. Men have a way of sorting these things out after all,” Charlotte suggested. Edmund glared at her, but Charlotte tilted her head to the side and pursed her lips. It was a tactical comment, and it soon succeeded.
“Men? I’ll tell you a thing or two about men.
” Agatha adopted a harsh tone, just as Charlotte knew she would.
Agatha proceeded to offer her opinion of the capability of men for the rest of the carriage ride.
Her words were not complimentary at all, but at least they did not fall on any ears outside of the family.
Charlotte breathed a little easier, although she knew the tension was not going to leave her until Mary and Alfred were married.
“It is jolly kind of him to open his house to us,” Edmund said after Agatha had finished her diatribe. Charlotte wore a disbelieving smile.
“Let’s just remember to be on our best behavior. We are here to support our dear cousin after all.” She looked at Edmund in particular.
“I’m always on my best behavior,” Agatha muttered. The carriage came to a halt, and the door was opened for them by a porter. Agatha alighted from the carriage first and stumbled as she missed the step. She blamed the driver, who was helping her.
Charlotte sighed with relief now that she had room to breathe. She slid across the seat and joined her grandmother, quickly followed by Lydia. Edmund then bent his head and climbed out, clapping his hands together and looking toward the house.
The porter took their names and then presented them to the butler. He clicked his heels together and gestured toward the house. Other servants buzzed around them, fetching the luggage from the carriage. The butler measured his pace to match the guests.
The manor stood before Charlotte, imposing and intimidating. The courtyard was wide and expansive, with small buildings peppered along the perimeter. The stables stood beside the house. A majestic horse was currently being led away, its coat as black as coal.
“I hope that we have an opportunity to ride through the countryside,” Lydia remarked upon seeing the horse.
“I’m certain we’ll have the opportunity to do many things, but don’t take that as an invitation to go chasing after roots and weeds,” Edmund called over his shoulder.
Charlotte’s cheeks burned, but she did not take the bait of his comment. However, a thought passed through her mind that she would much rather have been with her plants. They were much safer to be around, and she knew what to expect with them.
High walls extended around the estate, and a large iron gate creaked ominously behind them and then clanged as it was shut.
Charlotte’s heart trembled, as though a cold wind blew right through her.
“Are you as nervous as I am?” Lydia whispered, leaning into Charlotte.
“I don’t want anything to jeopardize Mary’s chances of marriage.”
“You will tell me if I do anything improper, won’t you? I want to ensure I make a good impression. I fear that I may cause offense somehow.”
“Believe me, Lydia, you are not the sibling I’m worried about,” she said, looking toward Edmund. However, shame burned deep inside because she was the one who had acted inappropriately. She was the one who had kissed a stranger.
She glanced back at the heavy iron gate. There was no escape now. She clasped her hands together, trying to quell the feeling of dread that spiked within.
“What do you think he’s like, the Iron Duke?” Lydia asked.
“I’m unsure. I pray that he is more forgiving than his reputation suggests. And I hope that I am wrong in thinking he has an ulterior motive for hosting us,” Charlotte replied.
“What other motive could there be? It’s only right for the families to know each other.” Lydia’s voice rose with intrigue.
“I’m worried he’s using this opportunity to test us, that he’s watching like a hawk for any offence, and when one is committed, that will be that for Mary.”
Lydia gulped, and her face paled. She began tugging at her gloves with more severity.
“Oh, dear.”
“Oh, dear indeed. I must ask something of you, dear sister. With Edmund’s way of indulging himself and with Grandmother’s tendency to say whatever thoughts cross her mind, it might behoove us to remain close to them.
We must put our best foot forward. I don’t want anyone to associate the Hartley family with negative qualities. ”
“Of course. We must ensure that Mary gets married. She is like the princess of the story, and we need to help her,” Lydia said firmly.
Charlotte nodded. She wasn’t about to debate the merits of those stories now. She hadn’t actually intended to ask Lydia for help, but after listening to her grandmother’s stories during the carriage ride, she knew she needed as much help as she could get.
The entrance to the manor was grand. Wide carved doors depicted scenes of a hunt. A large knocker hung in the middle of the door. Charlotte took a deep breath. This was it. This was the test, and if they did not pass, then Mary’s hopes of marriage would be dashed.
The butler opened the door with a practiced motion and then held it open, announcing the guests as they entered. His voice was a deep baritone, and their names echoed through the house.
The foyer of the manor was large. A wide, carpeted staircase greeted them opposite the entrance, rising to the second floor. A large window allowed sunlight to pour through. On either side, hallways led to other rooms. Charlotte could hear the movement of the servants.
Paintings hung on the walls, displaying members of the Blackwood family. There was something oddly familiar about some of the men, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
She did not have the time to study the paintings in any great detail, as the Blackwood family arrived to greet them, as did Mary. They gathered at the foot of the staircase after the butler’s announcement.
Breaking social norms, Clara was the first to greet them. She scampered from her mother’s side and rushed toward Charlotte. Charlotte bent down and hugged her tightly. The butler looked aghast at this but said nothing.
“I was watching the gates, waiting for you to arrive!” Clara said.
“Then you must have seen our carriage.”
Charlotte breathed a little easier in the company of Clara.
There was something unthreatening about the child.
However, when she lifted her gaze and looked at all the other people waiting to greet her, she felt her heart quail with trepidation.
These weren’t new friends to make; they were new people to judge her and find fault with her family.
The butler cleared his throat and introduced the guests, speaking more quietly than when he had announced them upon entry to the house.
Charlotte placed her hands on Clara’s shoulders, keeping her close. Mary stood between the two families and introduced her side first. Then, she moved on to the two people standing beside her.
Charlotte’s gaze did not settle, for she was searching for the Iron Duke. Thoughts of his absence swam through her mind. Had he somehow heard about the forbidden kiss? Was he punishing her already? She reached up to scratch an invisible itch on the back of her neck.
It was as though she was being watched.
“It is our honor to host you, and I look forward to our two families becoming one. Mary has often spoken of the closeness between you all, and I hope that soon you will consider me your cousin as well,” Alfred Blackwood said graciously.
Beatrice Blackwood, the Dowager Duchess, was thin and refined. Her skin was pale and flawless. Her hair was impeccable, not a strand out of place. She had a thin, long nose and two piercing eyes that seemed unblinking and inscrutable.
“Please make yourself feel welcome in our home for the duration of your stay. Once you are settled, we shall feast.”
Her tone was far more perfunctory than Alfred’s. While he radiated warmth, she was cold. Her posture was perfect. Charlotte felt a wave of tension running across her skin. Suddenly, she was aware of all her imperfections.
She met the dowager’s gaze only once, for there was an uncanny feeling that the woman would know all her secrets.
“And where is the man of the house, the Iron Duke?” Agatha said.
Charlotte’s eyes widened, and her stomach fell. Alfred put a hand over his mouth, not quite successful in his attempts to stifle a laugh. Beatrice adopted a waspish expression, and her eyes narrowed with dislike.
“The Duke of Winthrop has an urgent matter requiring his attention. He will return presently. He, too, is eager to meet you all.”
The words dripped from her lips with venom. Charlotte wasn’t quite sure how, but it sounded like a threat. She privately wondered if the Duke’s absence was either a show, arrogance, or to emphasize his power.
“Perhaps we should refrain from using that moniker, which is quite undeserved, of course.” Mary’s words rushed out of her mouth.
“Oh yes, undeserved indeed,” Alfred muttered.
“Alfred!” Beatrice glared at her son. Charlotte quickly realized that the Duchess used her words as weapons.
This is going to be a long stay, she thought to herself.
But at least Alfred’s affection for Mary was beyond question.
It was displayed in the way he stood beside her, as though he belonged there, and in the shared looks they gave each other, an unspoken language only the two of them could decipher.
“His Grace, the Duke of Winthrop,” the butler announced. Everyone stopped talking, and there was tension in the air.
“Ah, there’s the devil now. My esteemed brother, everyone, Nathaniel Blackwood, Duke of Winthrop,” Alfred lowered his voice, whispering to the Hartleys.
The Hartley family all turned simultaneously. Normally, Charlotte would have made a careful observation of their reactions. However, in this instance, the world fell away to shadow.
Nathaniel Blackwood strode toward them, each step measured, radiating authority. He had a riding crop tucked under his right arm. He was in the process of tugging leather gloves off his long fingers.
Charlotte noticed his eyes first, however. When she did, it was as though all the blood was drained from her in one instant. All the horrors of the world screamed a mad cacophony in her mind. Her knees trembled. By some miracle, she remained standing.
For it was he.
The rude stranger with the cutting words.
The man she hoped would keep her secret, preventing it from reaching the Iron Duke’s ear.
Instead, she had given it directly to his lips.
He flinched as their eyes met, and she thought she was going to die.