Chapter 33 #2
She wondered uneasily whether he had forgiven her for her sudden—albeit temporary—engagement to Lord Stanley.
‘I hope I have not lost your friendship, Captain. It meant a great deal to me during my first weeks here.’
‘I trust you never shall,’ he replied with a smile, though unmistakable sadness lingered beneath it.
‘Thank you.’
He hesitated briefly before speaking again.
‘I shall be frank. I was disappointed to hear of your engagement.’
Charlotte blushed. So she had not imagined his attachment after all.
‘Captain, I... it all happened so quickly,’ she said contritely.
Only a few days ago, she might have been pleased to hear such a confession. She had even entertained the notion that one day she might rekindle their connection.
Now, however, her feelings had shifted.
His once angelic good looks seemed pale, his agreeable manners strangely bland compared with—
Charlotte stopped herself abruptly.
No. Surely not.
She refused even to complete the thought.
Lord Stanley had already made his views perfectly plain.
He had no wish to marry her. After her rebuttal in the library, he said matrimony to her would never enter his mind again.
And then there was Miss Pearson—the lady Charlotte still believed he truly preferred.
Not her.
Shame pricked sharply as she recalled the cruel words she had hurled at him during their quarrel. Why should Lord Stanley ever choose her after that?
No. Once this charade ended, the Captain would be the safer choice. Dependable. Sensible.
He might not set her heart racing—but perhaps that was precisely the point.
Charlotte offered him a faint, uncertain smile, and his expression softened at once.
‘I shall be travelling soon. Wellington’s regiment has summoned me to join them.
’ His own expression dimmed slightly. ‘I had... entertained other hopes, but it seems they are not to be. Unfortunately, I must leave the house party tonight to prepare for my journey, and I may not have another opportunity to see you before I depart.’ A look of quiet regret settled over the Captain’s features.
Her heart sank. So she would lose him too. Suddenly, a future of lonely spinsterhood flashed bleakly before her eyes.
She wanted desperately to tell him the truth—that her engagement was nothing but a farce.
‘I... I—’ The words lodged helplessly in her throat.
What could she say? She was not yet at liberty to reveal the truth.
‘I do not believe... our engagement—’ she began, before stopping herself abruptly.
Concern clouded his expression at once.
‘Miss Lucas, if you are unhappy with your fiancé, you should not feel obliged to proceed.’
In a strange way, she felt relieved.
‘I am having doubts,’ she admitted carefully, hoping he might understand her meaning without forcing her to betray the truth outright. After all, tomorrow she would no longer be engaged to Lord Stanley. She did not want the Captain leaving England believing otherwise.
The Captain’s grip upon her fingertips tightened slightly.
‘Then I shall await your decision—at least until I depart. Might I call upon you in two days’ time? I set sail shortly afterwards, but...’ He hesitated. ‘There are things I wish to say to you, and I fear it may be my only opportunity before I leave England.’
Charlotte thought immediately of tomorrow—the arrests, the revelations, the inevitable collapse of the charade.
‘Yes, of course,’ she replied softly.
What did the Captain wish to say to her? Did he intend to propose?
When she had fled her home, Charlotte had never truly imagined marriage for herself, much less the prospect of building a life beside someone kind and dependable. Yet as she danced with the Captain, she found herself imagining precisely that.
If she married him, she might finally travel abroad as she had dreamed of doing since childhood. He was gentle, honourable, agreeable in every respect. She could picture a peaceful marriage with him.
She would be content. Perfectly so.
Then why did the thought leave her feeling so strangely hollow?
A deep, soul-wrenching certainty rose suddenly within her.
No.
She could not marry the Captain.
And then, with a force so sudden it left her reeling, the truth struck her at last.
She was in love with Lord Stanley.
There was no denying it now. It stood before her as plain as daylight itself.
By the time the dance ended, Charlotte felt utterly shaken. How had this happened? She could not even identify the precise moment Lord Stanley—Henry—had somehow forced his way past all her careful defences and settled himself firmly within her heart.
‘Miss Lucas, you look rather pale,’ the Captain said with concern. ‘Please sit here a moment whilst I fetch you a cordial.’
She watched his retreating figure numbly.
The poor man. She had all but allowed him to believe there remained a chance she might accept his hand. But she could not. And she needed to tell him so plainly.
Even if Lord Stanley rejected her, she still could not marry the Captain.
‘Here you are, Miss Lucas.’
She accepted the lemonade with trembling fingers.
‘Captain, I must apologise—but I must make one thing perfectly clear. Regardless of what happens between Lord Stanley and myself... I cannot marry you.’
He looked visibly taken aback. Hurt flickered across his features—and perhaps even a trace of anger. She could hardly blame him.
But he mastered himself admirably.
‘You must do what you feel is best, of course. But if you should ever have a change of heart...’
‘I shall not,’ Charlotte interrupted softly. She simply could not. Her heart belonged elsewhere now.
He nodded sadly. ‘I understand. But we may at least remain friends?’
‘Of course.’
‘Well, in that case—if I am indeed to sail off and join the war against Napoleon, it is hardly certain I shall return. I should like to spend half an hour in the company of a friend before I go.’ He hesitated for a while, as he looked over her, unable to meet her eyes, as though mastering emotions he preferred not to reveal.
‘Perhaps you would permit me to call upon you in two days’ time? ’
Charlotte’s chest tightened painfully. How could she deny him such a small kindness?
‘I should like that, Captain.’
They stood together for a few moments longer, speaking quietly of his journey and preparations.
Then the Captain bowed.
‘In two days’ time, Miss Lucas.’
He departed shortly afterwards.
Charlotte turned to rejoin the spinsters, only to notice Lord Stanley standing not far behind her, conversing with Mrs Wilberforce just as the musicians struck up the opening notes of the supper dance—the waltz.
Had he overheard?
Mortification swept through her at once. Yet when she looked towards him, his expression remained unreadable.
Lord Stanley approached.
‘Miss Lucas, may I?’
She placed her hand in his, and he led her silently towards the dance floor.
‘My lord... Henry, I—’
‘Yes?’ he prompted.
His voice had deepened into a low, gravelly tone, yet all warmth had vanished from it. He looked almost impatient.
Charlotte wanted to tell him everything. She wanted to confess the truth outright.
She wanted to confess that she loved him.
But the words refused to come.
Why would a man like Lord Stanley ever choose a disgraced governess when Miss Pearson—the lady everyone expected him to marry—still waited in the wings?
If she confessed her feelings now, the honourable part of him would surely feel obliged to accept her. But then she would spend the remainder of her life wondering whether he truly loved her—or whether he had merely yielded to duty and obligation.
The thought pained her unbearably.
No. Before confessing her own feelings, she needed to know the truth of his heart.
As the waltz began, his hand settled against her waist, and instantly her thoughts scattered entirely.
Instead, a strange calm stole over her. A serenity she had never before experienced. For the first time in her life, she felt as though she belonged somewhere.
With him.
‘Whilst you gather your thoughts,’ he said at last, ‘I have a request to make. Once the arrests are made tomorrow, I shall need to conduct interviews with the house guests. I wondered whether you might care to assist me. It would mean extending our... arrangement a little longer.’
For the briefest instant, his usual confidence faltered. He looked almost uncertain.
She rested her hand lightly against his shoulder and she felt his muscles tense.
She nodded. ‘Of course.’
Something flickered across his features—whether hurt, irritation, or disdain, Charlotte could not tell.
Then his expression shuttered abruptly.
‘I assure you, Miss Lucas, once these interviews are concluded, our arrangement shall come to an end. You may resume your... friendship with the Captain, whilst I shall marry the esteemed Miss Pearson.’ His mouth twisted faintly upon the final words.
Charlotte’s composure slipped for a moment.
‘Oh.’
The single word emerged painfully weak.
So he had made his choice. Miss Pearson. Not her.
‘I am certain the Captain would make you a suitable husband. And Miss Pearson the perfect bride for me.’
Charlotte’s heart twisted sharply in answer.
Perhaps the Captain truly would be the safer choice.
Then she dismissed the thought at once. No. She could not do such a thing to the Captain. She did not love him.
She loved the impossible, infuriating block of ice standing before her.
And he did not love her in return.
As he twirled her across the ballroom, Charlotte felt her heart breaking quietly in two. She averted her face, willing the tears away before he could notice them.
And then, almost as suddenly as it had begun, the waltz ended.
‘Thank you, Miss Lucas. This will all be over tomorrow. You may return to the others.’ His voice faltered slightly upon the final words.
He escorted her silently back towards the spinsters before taking his leave.
Charlotte could not endure another moment in the ballroom. Shortly afterwards, she slipped quietly away to her room, utterly wretched.
She no longer knew what to think or feel. Whatever triumph tomorrow might bring would now forever be shadowed by the unmistakable pain of a shattered heart.
But she would conceal it.
After all, she had become remarkably skilled at hiding.