Chapter Twenty-Two
The next morning, Charlotte sat alone in the study, a cold cup of weak coffee beside her as she shuffled through documents and correspondence. Somehow, the running of an estate remained a laborious task, even when there was no longer an estate left to run.
Benjamin had returned her to her home and not followed her inside.
She tried to conceal her disappointment as she made her way up the steps to let herself in the front door.
This was not how the night was meant to unfold, but she could not bring herself to feel remorse for the evening’s events.
There was something deliciously satisfying in the world connecting her to Benjamin Scarsdale, for however brief a time.
And after his confession in the carriage on the ride home, she felt as if she now held a priceless gift—a piece of the man she was growing to care for. More than was wise.
A clatter sounded from the front of the house and broke Charlotte from her reverie. She listened as she heard the familiar tread of her drunken brother slowly advance through the unlit corridors toward the study.
“What is the meaning of this, Charlotte?” It surprised her how much Freddie sounded like their father just then. He even stood in the doorway, feet spread wide, just as their father had done when he was particularly cross.
No, she realised, he was not affecting the bravado of their forceful sire. He was bracing himself so he would not stumble forward in his drunken state. She rubbed the headache forming between her eyes.
“Good morning, Freddie.”
“Good morn—ing?” he stuttered the question, pulling out his pocket watch.
“But it's hardly—Oh. So it is.” He shook his head as if releasing that he had strayed from his initial purpose. “What is this I hear about you being seen at the opera with Mr. Benjamin Scarsdale? The well-known gangster and underworld scoundrel! I mean, the shame of it! He is not fit to be seen with Charlotte. Think of your reputation. Our family’s reputation!”
He was really starting to get himself worked up into a froth again when Charlotte held up a silencing hand, and he stilled, giving her a sceptical and condescending stare—or his best drunken approximation of one.
“How dare you?” Her voice did not rise above a whisper, and some of Frederick's swagger dropped away as he turned to see the quiet fury in his ever-doting sister’s eyes.
“What do you mean, ‘How dare I’? I am the head of this—”
“Stop.” Her voice was like an icy blade slicing through the stale air of the study, already perfumed with the smell of whisky, smoke, and her unwashed brother.
“Do not say another word to me about this family.” She had his full attention now.
“This family has been left destitute. We are virtually penniless. Would you care to venture why? Hmm?” She pressed herself up from the old leather chair that had sat behind the fine mahogany desk her entire life.
“I will tell you why. Because of your cruel and thoughtless selfishness.”
Frederick's lips moved as if he were trying to form words to argue against her accusations, but not a sound came out.
“You have put me and your brothers directly in harm’s way, not to mention our family’s reputation.
And you have the unmitigated gall to caution me about my behaviour?
I have literally taken a bullet for you.
” She could see that was where his sodden mind stopped absorbing her meaning, but she soldiered on.
Now that the words had started, she could not stop the flow any more than she could dam up the Thames with a sheaf of parchment.
“You are as much the head of this family as the King of England is a cherry pie. I am the head of this family, and I say, we are done with you. I am done with you. I have decided to lease out this house so that the boys may finish their schooling. I expect you to find lodging elsewhere. If you want a single penny more out of this family, you will have to earn it yourself.”
“Wha—what… You can’t!” Freddie finally found words upon hearing that piece of information.
“Freddie, I have tried for years to keep this ship afloat while you time and again shoot cannonballs directly into our hull. Perhaps I am partly to blame. I coddled you. My precious baby brother. I thought you could do no wrong, so maybe you just never learned the difference. For that, I apologise. Truly.”
She could not read the expression on his face—likely shock. “It brings me no joy to do this to you. But I am done. I have to do right by our family,” and by myself, she added silently. “And this is the only solution left to me. I hope one day you will see it was for the best.”
She remained standing, staring at the washed-up shell of her brother as the silence stretched between them. They stood like that for so long she thought perhaps he would say nothing. Finally, he shifted his weight and straightened his horribly disordered cravat.
“I can see you have got yourself quite worked up about all this. Inevitable, really. All these worries should not be the concern of a lady. Not to worry, Charlie. I will sort everything out.” With a self-important sniff, he turned on his heel, noisily making his way back down the corridor and then out the front door.
Charlotte stood unmoving as she absorbed what had just happened.
There was no going back from this, she saw.
Of course, she had already made many decisions over the last few days that had drastically altered the course of her life.
This, however, was the final nail in the coffin—a morbid phrase for the liberation she had felt at finally taking her life by the reins—appropriate, though, for the sense of foreboding at Freddie’s resolute response to her tirade.
∞∞∞
Later that afternoon, the ring of the front doorbell drew Charlotte out of the study.
When she peeked through the front windows to ascertain who was calling, she saw a beautiful, well-sprung curricle with jolly yellow wheels and two matched bays.
Seated in the vehicle was the dashing figure of a woman dressed in the height of elegance for an afternoon ride through the park.
From her vantage point at the window, Charlotte could not make out the identity of the woman, and the second ring of the bell, along with her curiosity, compelled her to the large front door.
“Good afternoon. May I help you?” Charlotte asked the liveried groom standing on her doorstep.
She held the door open only wide enough not to seem wholly rude without exposing the vast emptiness of the foyer.
“Lady Amelia Cartwright, Countess of Danvers, here to collect you for your ride in the park.”
The groom gave a graceful bow and handed her a calling card, with the same name printed across in elegant gold leaf.
“Our ride?” Charlotte looked over the man’s shoulder to the woman seated high in the curricle. She smiled and waved.
“Yes, madam. We will wait while you collect your things.”
The servant decorously stepped aside, and Charlotte was left with no other option but to close the door and collect her riding hat and pelisse. Though they were a touch out of style, they were still both in rather good condition, considering their lack of use in recent years.
“Marvellous vehicle, is it not? I love driving the curricle—though I have yet to be able to goad anyone into racing me in it.” The Countess of Danvers gave a mischievous smile as Charlotte settled in the seat beside her and the groom hopped on the back.
“It is quite dashing, Lady Danvers.”
“Oh, please, call me Amelia. We shall have no need to stand on ceremony.”
Charlotte smiled and nodded, but was a bit taken aback by the young countess’s familiarity. She seemed to be about her own age, but they had never been formally introduced—the countess only arrived in Town after Charlotte’s own withdrawal from society.
“I don’t imagine you expected a call from me, did you?” The genteel young countess gave her a sly smile as she twitched the reins.
“No, I must admit you have caught me quite by surprise this afternoon.”
“Ah, well, I can assure you this will be a pleasant surprise. I have come as a favour to our mutual acquaintance, the Duke of Wells.”
“The Duke of Wells?” was all Charlotte could echo. She felt as if she had been playing catch-up since this woman’s conveyance arrived in front of her house.
“Well, he was the one to make the request, but I imagine it was really on behalf of his business partner, your Mr. Scarsdale.”
Charlotte was appalled by the blush that crept up her face at the phrase your Mr. Scarsdale. Had word already spread so quickly? It had been less than a day! But of course it had. The mouths of the ton spread gossip like wildfire.
“And what was this request?” Charlotte was pleased with the steadiness of her voice after the embarrassing reaction her body had had to her previous comment.
The countess looked ready to bounce in the curricle seat like a schoolgirl.
“That I act as your chaperone! Lady Gordon will not be available during the days since she has her young ward to tend to, not to mention all of Lady Elsie’s wedding preparations.
” She had to make a sharp pull on the reins to catch the turn she had almost missed in her giddiness.
Clutching the railing so she did not fall from their high and increasingly precarious perch, Charlotte eyed Amelia Cartwright with unconcealed surprise. “What use have I of a chaperone? I am nearly seven and twenty. I may even be older than you.”
“Oh! I am five and twenty. How about that?” Amelia smiled and waved at a couple as they pulled into the park.
“Quite. But doesn’t that make you a rather unusual choice for a chaperone? Besides, last night was an isolated incident, I am sure. I am a verified spinster, and going about my business unescorted will hardly draw gossip.”