Chapter 23 - Charlotte #2
A frustrated scream tore from Charlotte’s throat and she threw the remaining pins across the room, where they scattered against the far wall with tiny metallic sounds. She slumped back against the door, sliding down until she sat with her knees drawn up to her chest.
It was harder than it had looked when Mr. Fletcher had done it, required some skill or knowledge she simply didn’t possess.
By now he must have been waiting for over half an hour, scanning the darkness for someone who would never appear.
How much longer before he gave up and went back home?
Would he think she’d simply changed her mind?
Decided she didn’t care enough after all?
She wanted to tell him she’d tried, that she hadn’t abandoned him willingly, that she’d been caught and locked away and broken hairpins trying desperately to reach him because the thought of him standing there alone in the cold was unbearable.
But there was no way to tell him any of it.
Charlotte let her head fall back against the door as exhaustion pulled at her limbs. The cold from the floorboards seeped through her dress and into her bones but the idea of moving to her bed seemed impossible, her body too heavy and her heart too tired to care.
Sleep pulled her under slowly, dragging her down into darkness while her mind held onto the desperate hope that somehow he would understand.
Light touched her face and Charlotte jerked awake, her neck screaming in protest from the angle she’d slept at, her entire left side numb from the hard floor.
For one disoriented moment she couldn’t remember why every muscle ached, why her mouth tasted like cotton and why exhaustion weighed on her like stones.
Then memory crashed back as she heard the lock turn with a metallic click, sending her scrambling awkwardly to her feet.
The door swung open and her aunt stood in the doorway, already dressed for the day. “Get yourself presentable,” she said without preamble, her gaze sweeping over Charlotte’s wrinkled dress and disheveled hair. “Miss Bellamy is here to see you.”
Henrietta. Relief flooded through Charlotte so suddenly she felt dizzy. “She is?”
“Apparently she’s quite concerned about your wellbeing.” Margaret stepped aside to let Annie slip past into the room. “Annie will help you dress. And Charlotte—“ She paused. “Annie will be accompanying you everywhere from now on. Everywhere. Until the marriage is secured. Do you understand?”
Charlotte understood perfectly. She was to be watched, guarded, kept from doing anything that might jeopardize the marriage her aunt had decided was their only salvation.
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
Before her aunt could leave, Charlotte forced herself to speak. “It’s Papa’s birthday soon. Would it be possible to go to Hatchard’s today? To find him that new Byron collection he mentioned. Annie and Henrietta could come with me.”
Her aunt studied her for a long moment. “Just to Hatchard’s?”
“Yes. I want to do something that would make Papa happy.”
Margaret’s expression softened fractionally. “Very well. Only to Hatchard’s and back. Annie stays with you the entire time, and you return within two hours. I’ll have the carriage brought round.”
“Thank you.”
Annie helped Charlotte dress in silence, her hands gentle as she pinned up Charlotte’s hair. When she was finally presentable, Charlotte made her way downstairs, each step taking her closer to a conversation she’d been putting off for days.
Because she had been avoiding Henrietta.
Since the musicale, since that kiss that had turned her entire world on its axis, she had kept her distance from her closest friend, knowing that if she sat across from Henrietta’s unnervingly perceptive gaze, she wouldn’t be able to keep the secret.
Every feeling, every stolen moment, every desperate hope would come tumbling out before she could stop herself, and Charlotte hadn’t been ready for that confession, hadn’t been ready to put words to something that felt too enormous, too consuming to contain.
But now she had no choice. She needed to find Mr. Fletcher, and the Bellamys had hosted the ball where they’d met. They would have invited him, would know who he was, how to contact him. They were her best hope of locating him.
When she entered the drawing room, Henrietta rose from the settee immediately.
“Charlotte.” She moved forward, hands outstretched.
“I’ve been so worried. I’ve sent note after note with no reply, and Sophia told me you haven’t answered her letters either, which isn’t like you at all.
And when I came by yesterday your aunt said you were indisposed.
” Her voice dropped lower. “What’s happened? ”
“I’m fine.” Charlotte took her friend’s hands and squeezed tightly before glancing at Annie, who had settled into a chair near the entrance. “Actually, Annie, could you wait just outside the door?”
“Miss Charlotte, your aunt said—“
“I can hardly leave the house with you standing right there, can I?” Charlotte managed a small smile. “I just need to speak with Henrietta privately.”
Annie said nothing, but her expression remained uncertain.
“Please, Annie. Just a few minutes.”
Sympathy flickered across the maid’s face, and she nodded before rising to position herself in the hallway, close enough to fulfill her duty but far enough to offer some semblance of privacy.
As soon as she moved outside, Charlotte drew Henrietta toward the end of the room near the windows.
“Charlotte Fairmont. You look absolutely terrible, which means something interesting has finally happened. I don’t know whether to be excited or worried.”
“Both, perhaps.” Despite everything, Charlotte felt something loosen in her chest. This was Henrietta—her best friend who’d always understood, who’d never judged. “Definitely both.”
Henrietta settled onto the window seat and pulled Charlotte down beside her.
“Before you say anything, because I can see you’re about to burst, let me just say that whatever scandal you’ve gotten yourself into, I’m absolutely here for it.
You’ve been avoiding me for days and now you look like you haven’t slept and your aunt has you under guard.
This is the most interesting thing to happen all season. ”
Charlotte couldn’t help but smile. “If I tell you something, will you promise not to judge until you’ve heard everything?”
The teasing expression shifted to something more serious, and her friend squeezed her hands. “Always. You know that.”
Charlotte drew a deep breath. “I met someone. A man. At your mother’s ball.” She watched Henrietta’s face change. “And then again at the musicale. And Henrietta, he—we—“ She struggled to find the words. “He kissed me. And I kissed him back. And Henrietta, it was—“
Her voice caught. How could she possibly describe what it had been?
“Everything,” she finished helplessly. “It was everything.”
Henrietta’s face cycled through a dozen emotions in a single breath—shock, delight, concern, and something that might have been recognition. “Charlotte.” Her voice came out breathless but delighted. “You kissed someone? At the musicale? With every gossip in London under the same roof?”
“In the library,” Charlotte said, as if that made it better.
“Oh, well then, perfectly proper.” Henrietta’s smile was wicked. “And here I thought you were going to tell me something truly scandalous. Why, I’m certain every young lady kisses mysterious gentlemen in darkened libraries during musicales. Completely ordinary.”
“We were careful, Henrietta. Your mother helped me afterward, made sure I was presentable before—“
“My mother knows?” Henrietta stared at her. “My mother knows about this and didn’t immediately drag you out by your ear?”
“She was… surprisingly understanding, actually.” Charlotte felt heat creep up her neck at the memory of Lady Bellamy’s ministrations.
Her friend sat back, a smile playing at her lips.
“Well. That certainly explains why Mama has been in such a thoughtful mood. She keeps looking at me like she wants to say something, then just pats my hand and tells me to trust my heart.” She shook her head, amusement and exasperation mingling.
“I should have known you were involved.”
“Are you angry?”
“Angry?” Henrietta laughed, though it held a nervous edge. “I’m terrified for you. But also—“ She pulled Charlotte closer, her voice warm. “Thrilled. Because I haven’t seen you look this alive in so long.”
“He makes me feel like I can breathe,” Charlotte whispered.
“And that’s beautiful. Truly. But Charlotte, do you know who he is?”
“His name is William Fletcher.” Charlotte cast another glance at Annie through the open door, lowering her voice even further. “And I need your help to find him. We were supposed to meet last night. I was trying to sneak out when my aunt caught me.”
“Sneak out?” Henrietta’s eyebrows rose. “Where were you going?”
Charlotte took a breath. “Penrose Hall. We were going to break in.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
“You were going to what?” Henrietta sounded almost strangled. “Why would you—“ She stopped, searching Charlotte’s face. “Start from the beginning. All of it. Because I’m clearly missing something very important.”
And she did. Told Henrietta about overhearing Penrose at the ball, meeting William while trying to break into Penrose Hall, the search through the study, even the night at the churchyard.
Their plan to try again last night, and her aunt’s intervention that had left William waiting alone while she was locked in her room.
When she finished, Henrietta sat very still, processing everything Charlotte had just confessed.
“So let me understand this correctly.” Henrietta said slowly. “You’ve been meeting a man you barely know in secret. You broke into Lord Penrose’s home with him. And last night you were supposed to try again, but your aunt caught you before you could leave.”
“Yes,” Charlotte said simply.
“This is beyond anything I imagined when you said you wanted to tell me something.”
“I know it sounds mad—“
“It doesn’t sound mad. It sounds dangerous.
” Henrietta glanced at the door, then back to Charlotte.
“But I also know you wouldn’t do any of this if you didn’t have good reason.
And if Penrose really is blackmailing your father…
” She trailed off, something hardening in her expression.
“We need to find William Fletcher. You need to explain what happened, and you need to search for those documents again before Penrose realizes anyone knows about them.”
Relief flooded through Charlotte. “You believe me?”
“Of course I believe you.” Henrietta managed a small smile.
“You’re many things, Charlotte, but a liar isn’t one of them.
You’re actually absolutely terrible at deception, which makes this entire situation even more remarkable.
” She straightened her shoulders. “So. William Fletcher. He attended our ball and Lady Jersey’s musicale, which means he must have connections to get those invitations. We’ll start with the guest lists.”
A sharp knock at the drawing room door made them both freeze.
“Miss Charlotte? The carriage is ready.”
The carriage swayed gently as it navigated toward Bond Street, but Charlotte barely noticed the movement.
Her forehead pressed against the window, watching London pass by in a blur of facades and figures.
Every tall man with dark hair made her heart skip, every set of broad shoulders drawing her attention like a magnet.
She felt Henrietta lean close, her breath warm as she whispered in her ear, “You’re being terribly obvious, you know.”
She didn’t pull her gaze from the window. “I can’t help it.”
Henrietta’s voice stayed low, barely audible over the clatter of wheels on cobblestones. “If we’re going to find your Mr. Fletcher, we’ll need to be more strategic than you staring longingly at every gentleman in London.”
“I know.” Charlotte finally tore her gaze from the window, acutely aware of Annie sitting primly across from them. “I just keep thinking he might be—“
“I understand.” Henrietta squeezed her hand, cutting her off gently. “We’ll start with the guest lists. He must be documented somewhere.”
“Unless he was someone’s guest,” Charlotte murmured. “Or a younger son not worth noting by name.”
“Then we’ll make discreet inquiries. Mama keeps meticulous records of who attends our events. We could ask her if she remembers anyone by that name.”
“What if I never see him again?” The fear Charlotte had been holding back crept into her voice
“Don’t think like that.” Henrietta spoke with quiet conviction. “London society isn’t that large, especially among our circles. A gentleman with the connections to attend the events he’s been at… We’ll find him.”
Charlotte wanted to believe her, but what if Henrietta was wrong?
What if he’d only received those two invitations through some distant connection, some favor that wouldn’t be repeated?
London was vast, and even within their social circle, there were always dozens of events happening simultaneously.
They could attend every ball and musicale for the rest of the season and never cross paths again.
Her hands twisted in her lap, fingers hidden in the folds of her skirt. She would find him. She had to. Because spending the rest of her life wondering, married to Lord Penrose, would be unbearable.
The carriage rolled to a stop, rocking slightly on its springs.
The footman opened the door, and Charlotte descended first, accepting his hand as she stepped down onto the pavement.
The air felt crisp against her cheeks, carrying the familiar scents of Bond Street—expensive perfumes from the shops, coal smoke, the faint aroma of fresh bread from a nearby bakery.
“Finally,” Henrietta said, gathering her reticule. “I thought we’d never arrive. Now I still think he should have introduced himself properly. Any gentleman worth his—“ Henrietta broke off, noticing Charlotte’s sudden stillness. “Charlotte? Have you even heard a word I’ve… Charlotte, what is it?”
But Charlotte couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Could only stare at the familiar figure across the street. Even from this distance, even with his back to her, she knew him with absolute certainty. The set of his shoulders, the way he held himself, the dark, slightly curly hair—it was him.
Her educated, poetic, passionate gentleman.
A servant.
He was a servant.