14. In Which a Lady Is Abandoned – Ashbourne House, Grosvenor Square, London
IN WHICH A LADY IS ABANDONED
CHARLOTTE
ASHBOURNE HOUSE, GROSVENOR SQUARE, LONDON
Ireturned to Ashbourne Park from Ashford Hall wearing Marguerite's riding habit and carrying the weight of everything unsaid.
Mama was waiting.
She stood on the front steps as James and I rode up the drive. Her face was carefully composed, but her eyes—her eyes saw everything.
"Charlotte." Her voice was calm. Too calm. "You're back."
"I am." I dismounted, my legs still aching from yesterday's ride and today's return journey. "I'm sorry I worried you."
"Worried is one word for it." Mama took my arm. Guided me inside. Away from the stable hands and servants. Into her private sitting room, where we could speak without being overheard.
She closed the door.
"Where were you?"
I'd rehearsed this. Planned exactly what to say during the four-hour ride back from Nottinghamshire.
Every word was a lie.
"Ashford Hall," I said. "I—I needed to check on something for Marguerite. About the Season arrangements. And I thought—since we were so close?—"
It was the thinnest possible excuse. A fabrication so transparent I could see through it myself.
Mama looked at me. Really looked at me. At my borrowed riding habit. At m y hair that I'd tried to tame but still showed evidence of yesterday's disaster. At my face, which probably revealed every guilty thought I was trying to hide.
"You rode to Ashford Hall," Mama said slowly. "Alone. For Marguerite's Season arrangements."
"Yes."
"Without telling me. Without taking a proper escort."
"I left a note. And James met me?—"
"James met you at Ashford Hall. Not here.
" Mama's voice was still calm, but I could hear the strain underneath.
"Charlotte. You disappeared for an entire day.
I was frantic. I was about to send word to London, to your father, to organise a search party.
And then a note arrived from Edward saying you were safe at Ashford Hall and would return today. "
Edward had sent a note. Of course, he had. Proper. Responsible.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to frighten you."
Mama was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Is this about Lord Dunmore?"
"What?"
"The Season. The matchmaking. Dunmore's courtship.
" Mama sat in her chair and gestured for me to sit across from her.
"Charlotte, I know you've been struggling.
I know Dunmore isn't—that is, I know the family has been rather enthusiastic about the match and perhaps we haven't listened as carefully as we should have to what you want. "
Guilt stabbed through me. Mama was trying to understand. Trying to help. And I was lying to her face.
"It's not just Dunmore," I said carefully. "It's—all of it. The Season. The expectations. Everyone is planning my future while I'm trying to figure out what I actually want."
That, at least, was true.
"And what do you want?" Mama asked gently.
I wanted to scream. I want Edward. I rode forty miles to tell him I love him, and he kissed me in a churchyard, and now I don't know what happens next.
But I couldn't say that.
Not yet.
"I don't know," I lied. "I just—I needed space to think. And Ashford Hall was quiet. Peaceful. It helped."
Mama studied my face. I could see her calculating. Weighing my words against what she saw.
Finally, she nodded. "All right. But Charlotte—no more disappearing. If you need time alone, tell me. We'll arrange it properly. No more riding off without escort or preparation."
"Yes, Mama."
"And—" She paused. "If there's something else. Something you need to tell me. I'm here."
She knew. She didn't know what, exactly, but she knew something had happened.
I should tell her. Should explain Edward, the churchyard, the kiss, and all of it.
But the words wouldn't come.
"Thank you, Mama."
She pulled me into an embrace. "I love you, darling. Whatever's troubling you—we'll figure it out together."
I hugged her back and tried not to think about how I was using her trust to hide the truth.
We returned to London the next day.
Papa was waiting at Ashbourne House. He pulled me into a hug that was relief and concern in equal measure.
"Don't frighten your mother like that again," he said quietly.
"I won't."
"Good." He pulled back, studied my face. "Are you well?"
"Yes."
"Charlotte—"
"I'm well, Papa. Truly. I just needed some time away from the Season."
He didn't look convinced. But he also didn't push. Papa had always given me space to manage my own decisions.
I wondered if he'd be so understanding when he learned what decision I'd made.
The first event was a garden party at Lady Sefton's.
I dressed carefully. Made myself look perfect. The Duke of Ashbourne's daughter ready to perform the Season.
Inside, I was screaming.
Because Edward wasn't there.
I scanned the crowd as we arrived. Looked for his familiar figure. The way he stood slightly apart from the social crush. The particular shade of his coat.
Nothing.
He wasn't there.
"Charlotte!" Aunt Caroline descended on me with enthusiasm. "You're back! We missed you at the Pemberton musicale. And Lord Dunmore was asking after you most particularly."
Of course he was.
"How lovely."
"He's here, actually. Shall I—oh, there he is! Dunmore!"
Lord Dunmore appeared at my elbow with the inevitability of a particularly persistent cold.
"Lady Charlotte! You're returned! I was most concerned when I heard you'd gone to the country. I do hope everything is well?"
"Perfectly well, thank you."
"Excellent! I was hoping to tell you about a most remarkable acquisition. An Austrian snuffbox with the most intricate enamelwork depicting a hunting scene. The detail is quite extraordinary—you can see individual hounds?—"
I smiled. Nodded. Made appropriate sounds.
And felt Edward's absence like a missing limb.
He'd been at every event for weeks. Running interference. Rescuing me from exactly this. Creating escapes and stolen moments and reasons to breathe.
Now he was gone.
And I was drowning.
The week continued.
Monday: Tea at Marguerite's. Dunmore brought flowers. Told me he was "beginning to form quite an attachment." I smiled and wanted to scream.
Tuesday: A musicale at Lady Harrington’s. I scanned the room. Edward wasn't there. The music was beautiful. I didn't hear any of it.
Wednesday: A drive with Lord Eastmore, arranged by Aunt Mary. He discussed agricultural improvements for forty-five minutes. I contemplated throwing myself from the moving carriage.
Thursday: Dunmore called at Ashbourne House. Brought his newest acquisition to show me. A snuffbox shaped like a book. It opened to reveal a tiny painting inside. He explained the mechanism for twenty minutes. Mama watched with concern.
Friday: A ball at the Haverstock residence. I danced with Eastmore. With Dunmore. With a Mr Davies who stepped on my feet three times.
Not with Edward.
Because Edward wasn't there.
Saturday: Morning calls. Dunmore arrived with more flowers. Mentioned that his father had spoken to Papa and Grandpapa about "next steps."
My chest tightened. Next steps. He meant marriage settlements. Formal arrangements.
An engagement.
Sunday: Church. Followed by a family dinner at Ashbourne House. Marguerite and Grandpapa. Aunt Mary and Uncle Matthew. Everyone discussing the Season's progress.
Marguerite: "Lord Dunmore is quite taken with you, Charlotte."
Aunt Mary: "The Penworth connection would be excellent."
Aunt Caroline: Eyes already misty. "I can just imagine the wedding."
I pushed food around my plate and said nothing.
Mama watched me with worried eyes.
Papa asked if I was feeling well.
I said I was tired. Just tired.
I excused myself early. Went to my room. Sat at my desk with my notebook.
The page where I'd written Edward's name was still there. Along with my last entry, I rode to Ashford Hall. I told Edward I loved him. He said he loved me back. And tomorrow I tell Mama, and everything changes.
Except I hadn't told Mama. And nothing had changed except that Edward had disappeared.
I picked up my pen. Wrote one more line:
He's gone. And I don't know if he's coming back.
Eleanor found me in the library on Monday afternoon.
I was supposed to be at a tea. Another event. Another opportunity for Dunmore to corner me with snuffbox stories.
I'd claimed a headache.
Eleanor sat beside me on the window seat. My eleven-year-old sister with her serious eyes and her notebook that mirrored mine.
"You're sad," she observed.
"I'm fine."
"You're lying."
I looked at her. At Eleanor, who'd been my lieutenant for five years. Who'd helped me matchmake the aunts. Who'd run reconnaissance and delivered notes and kept secrets.
Who saw through me completely.
"I'm tired," I said. "The Season is?—"
"Is that why Uncle Edward isn't attending events anymore?"
My heart stopped. "What?"
"Uncle Edward. He was at everything for weeks. And now he's not. And you're sad. And you keep looking for him at every event, even though you try to hide it." Eleanor's voice was matter-of-fact. "Did something happen?"
"Eleanor—"
"I'm not a child, Charlotte. I know when you're managing people.
And I know when something's wrong." She pulled out her notebook.
"I've been keeping track. Uncle Edward attended fourteen events in May.
He rescued you from Lord Dunmore thirteen times.
Then we went to Ashbourne Park, and when we came back, he stopped attending completely. Zero events in the last week."
"You kept statistics?"
"You taught me to take notes." Eleanor looked at me with eyes too perceptive for an eleven-year-old. "What happened at Ashbourne Park?"
I couldn't tell her. Couldn't explain about Ashford Hall, the churchyard, and the kiss.
But I also couldn't lie. Not to Eleanor.
"Something complicated," I said finally. "Something I'm still trying to figure out."
"With Uncle Edward?"
"Eleanor—"
"I'm not going to tell anyone. I'm good at keeping secrets. You know I am."
She was. Eleanor had kept every matchmaking secret for five years.
"Yes," I admitted. "With Edward."