Chapter 16
Charlotte kept her eyes closed, determined to ignore the infernal chirping just outside her window.
The birds seemed to mock her exhaustion, their cheerful trills a reminder that sleep had abandoned her long before dawn.
She rolled to her side, cocooning herself deeper beneath the blankets, but rest would not come.
Her thoughts—unruly and insistent—refused to quiet.
A knock sounded at the door before it creaked open.
“Good morning, Miss,” Sally said, her voice far too bright for the hour. “Shall we dress you for the day?”
“No,” Charlotte mumbled, reaching for a pillow and pressing it over her head. “I wish to sleep.”
Undeterred, Sally crossed the room and threw open the curtains. Sunlight flooded in, stabbing straight through Charlotte’s closed lids.
“It is nearly noon,” Sally announced. “Do you wish to miss breakfast with your brother and Lady Alcott?”
“Yes,” came Charlotte’s muffled reply.
Sally laughed. “Would you like me to request a tray be sent to your room, then?”
Charlotte groaned and removed the pillow, glaring at her maid. “No. I suppose I shall rise for the day, but let it be known that it is entirely under protest.”
“That is the spirit,” Sally teased.
Charlotte sighed and swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet brushing against the cool floorboards. “I hardly slept last night,” she admitted.
“Is something troubling you?” Sally asked, then smirked. “Or should I say—someone?”
Charlotte shot her a warning look. “I should dismiss you for your impertinence.”
“But you won’t,” Sally said cheerfully. “Because you know no one else would tolerate you like I do.”
Charlotte’s lips twitched despite herself.
“You make an excellent point.” She did trust Sally—more than she trusted almost anyone.
Her maid had been with her for years, through every pretense and heartbreak.
And yet, as she reached for her dressing gown, an image surfaced unbidden: Luca.
His steady eyes, his disarming smile. The way he made her feel seen, even when she didn’t wish to be.
Her lips curved faintly.
“What are you smiling about?” Sally asked.
The smile vanished. “Nothing.”
Sally plucked a pale green gown from the wardrobe and held it up to the light. “You are a dreadful liar, Miss. I must assume you were smiling about Lord Luca.”
Charlotte tried for nonchalance. “And why would you assume that?”
“Because you have acted differently since he came into your life,” Sally said, hanging the gown neatly over the back of the settee. “You seem… happier.”
Charlotte rose, straightening her shoulders. “That is because I am. But it is not because of Luca.”
“If you say so,” Sally replied, unconvinced.
“I do,” Charlotte insisted, though the words rang hollow even to her own ears.
Sally merely smiled and reached for the brush. “Shall we arrange your hair first?”
Charlotte sat at her dressing table, watching her reflection as Sally began to draw the brush through her tangled hair. “Have you written your article for the week yet?” her maid asked.
“No,” Charlotte confessed. “I have been… distracted.”
“By Lord Luca,” Sally said under her breath.
Charlotte frowned. “You are incorrigible. How is Martha settling in?” she asked, hastily changing the subject.
“Quite nicely. The others seem to like her well enough.”
“I am glad,” Charlotte responded. “I hope everyone continues to be kind to her. She risked so much to arrive here.”
A knock came at the door.
“Enter,” Charlotte called.
Jane swept into the room, her usual cheer lighting her face. “You are awake!”
“Not by choice,” Charlotte muttered.
Jane laughed and crossed the room. “Would you care to accompany me to the circulating library after your breakfast?”
“I would love to,” Charlotte replied, “but first I plan to join you and Alistair in the dining room.”
Jane’s eyes sparkled. “We finished some time ago. We tried to linger for your sake, but your brother had business that required his attention.”
“How is my dear brother?” Charlotte asked.
Jane’s smile softened. “He is well, though I believe your conversation yesterday weighs heavily upon him. He hadn’t realized how deeply you had been hurting. I think it moved him more than he wished to admit. I hope you know how much he loves you.”
Charlotte’s throat tightened. “I know he loves me.”
“Good,” Jane said before moving to sit upon the bed.
Sally fastened the final pins in Charlotte’s chignon, then stepped back to admire her work. “Shall we dress you now?”
Charlotte stood, slipped out of her nightgown, and donned the pale green muslin. As Sally began fastening the delicate buttons along her back, Charlotte’s gaze drifted to the window.
The sunlight glimmered through the glass, bright and relentless—much like the man who had stolen her sleep and, if she were honest, a portion of her heart as well.
Jane’s voice broke through Charlotte’s musings. “I have a few things to do before we leave for the circulating library. Shall we meet in the drawing room, say, in half an hour?”
“I will be looking forward to it,” she replied, managing a smile.
“Wonderful.” Jane rose gracefully. With a tilt of her head, she added, “Try not to be late,” before departing.
When the door closed, silence settled over the room once more. Charlotte reached for her gloves and began pulling them on, one finger at a time, as if the small, precise motions might steady her thoughts.
Behind her, Sally moved about tidying ribbons and pins that had been left on the dressing table. “Have you heard any delicious rumors as of late?” Charlotte asked, hoping for a distraction.
Sally paused, tapping her chin in thought. “I’m afraid not, Miss. Most everyone in high Society is talking about your engagement to Lord Luca.”
Charlotte groaned under her breath. “An infernal waste of time,” she muttered.
Sally turned, amusement glinting in her eyes. “Do you truly intend to cry off the engagement?”
Charlotte stiffened. What she intended and what she felt were two entirely different things. The plan had always been clear—accept Luca’s false proposal to fend off the Duke of Brackenford, then end it as soon as the scandal faded. It was a practical arrangement, one rooted in logic, not sentiment.
However, logic had very little to do with the way her heart raced whenever Luca’s eyes met hers, or how his teasing words lingered long after he had gone.
She swallowed hard, staring at her reflection in the looking glass. “Yes,” she said finally. “It is the right thing to do.”
“For whom?”
The quiet question struck deeper than Charlotte cared to admit. “For everyone involved,” she said quickly. “Luca only offered for me to save me from the Duke of Brackenford’s proposal.”
Even as she spoke the words, her chest tightened. She wanted them to sound firm, final—but they felt hollow, like a script she had repeated too often to believe.
Sally gave a faint, skeptical hum but wisely said nothing more.
Charlotte turned away from the looking glass, pretending to adjust her gloves though her thoughts remained fixed on the man she was supposed to forget. Luca Dexter had entered her life like a storm—uninvited, inconvenient, and impossible to ignore.
And despite every sensible reason to end things swiftly, Charlotte feared she might already be too far gone to escape unscathed.
Charlotte discovered the walls of her bedchamber suddenly felt too close, too confining. “I should go,” she murmured, already moving towards the door.
“What about your breakfast tray?”
“I find that I have lost my appetite,” Charlotte said briskly, not daring to look back. She grasped the doorknob and slipped into the corridor before her maid could protest further.
The house was unusually quiet, sunlight spilling in from the tall windows that lined the stairwell. The hush only made her thoughts louder. Her mind raced with doubts she couldn’t bear to examine too closely—about Luca, about the sham of their engagement, about the feelings she refused to name.
As she descended the grand staircase, movement near the entry caught her eye. Martha stood there, wringing her hands in the most nervous manner imaginable.
Charlotte’s pace slowed. “Martha? Is something wrong?”
The housemaid startled at being addressed and immediately dropped into a quick curtsy. “Oh, Miss Winslow. I—no, not wrong, exactly. I have something for you.”
Charlotte’s curiosity was piqued. “Something for me?”
Martha nodded, glancing about as though afraid someone might overhear. “I debated about giving it to you, but…”
“But what?” Charlotte prompted gently.
Martha hesitated another moment before reaching into her apron pocket and pulling out a small, folded slip of paper. She offered it with obvious reluctance.
Taking it, Charlotte unfolded the note and read the short, scrawled message. Meet me in the back of your gardens. I have something important to discuss with you.
It was signed simply—Luca.
Her heart gave an involuntary flutter. She lowered the paper. “When was this delivered?”
“Just a short time ago,” Martha replied. “Lord Luca found me in the courtyard while I was pinning up the laundry. He said it was most urgent, and he didn’t want to have any prying ears about. He was quite adamant about that, Miss.”
Charlotte’s gaze shifted instinctively towards the back of the townhouse.
“I see.” She folded the note and held it tightly between her fingers.
She found it rather odd that Luca was being so secretive about this meeting, but he must have had his reasons.
She would hear him out. “Yes. I do believe I will meet him.”
Martha’s brow furrowed. “Do you think that is wise, Miss?”
“It will be perfectly fine,” Charlotte assured her, forcing a calm she did not entirely feel. “Lord Luca merely wishes to speak privately. I shall return before anyone notices I am gone.”
Martha still looked uneasy. “Would you like me to accompany you for propriety’s sake?”
Charlotte shook her head. “That won’t be necessary, but thank you.”