Chapter 3
Charlotte sat at the small writing desk in her comfortable bedchamber, her candle flickering softly as she attempted to collect her thoughts for a letter home to her mother. It was the only way she could sleep otherwise, the thoughts bounced around in her mind too loudly.
The events of the day had unfolded with such speed and unpredictability that she scarcely knew how to order them in her mind. From securing the position to being mistaken for a duchess-in-waiting, it had been nothing short of astonishing.
“He is insufferable,” she murmured to herself, though whether she referred to the duke or the situation as a whole, she could not quite decide.
A faint sound reached her ears, something between a shuffle and a confused murmur echoing through the corridor. Charlotte paused, her brow furrowing as she listened more closely. The manor had been quiet when she retired. Rising at once, she stepped into the hallway.
What could that be?
The sight that greeted her was both concerning and entirely unsurprising. Elizabeth stood several doors down, dressed only in her nightgown, turning slowly in place as though the corridor itself had become unfamiliar.
“Oh dear,” the dowager murmured, her voice soft with uncertainty. “This is not quite right, is it?”
Charlotte hurried toward her at once. “Your Grace,” she said gently, “you are quite safe, I assure you.”
Elizabeth looked at her with visible relief.
“My dear,” she said, reaching for Charlotte’s hand, “I cannot seem to find my room. I do not know how I came to be in the corridor.”
Charlotte smiled reassuringly.
“That is quite all right,” she replied. “I shall take you back myself.” She offered her arm, guiding Elizabeth carefully down the corridor.
“I thought I heard Peter,” Elizabeth continued, her tone wistful. “I did not wish to keep him waiting.”
Charlotte’s heart softened at once.
That is her husband. I remember from what the Duke said.
“You must not trouble yourself,” she said kindly. “You may rest now, and all will be well in the morning.”
Elizabeth nodded, though her gaze remained distant.
They reached her chamber soon enough, and Charlotte settled her gently back into bed, ensuring the covers were properly arranged. “There we are,” she said softly. “You shall be quite comfortable now.”
“You are a good girl,” Elizabeth said, her voice warm with affection. “Victor has chosen well.”
Charlotte bit back a sigh, though she managed a polite smile.
“Rest now, Your Grace,” she said, smoothing the blankets once more. “I shall see you in the morning.”
Elizabeth murmured something indistinct before drifting off, leaving Charlotte to slip quietly from the room.
Only as she stepped back into the corridor did Charlotte realize her own state of dress, or rather, lack of it. Her nightgown, though modest by any reasonable standard, was far from suitable attire for wandering the halls of a grand manor.
“Wonderful,” she muttered under her breath. “What an excellent impression I continue to make.”
She had just begun to make her way back toward her room when a figure emerged from the shadows ahead. Charlotte halted at once, her breath catching as recognition dawned.
The duke stood there, his expression unreadable, though his gaze swept over her with unmistakable thoroughness.
“Well,” he drawled, his voice low and edged with amusement, “if you are attempting to seduce me, Miss Brown, I must confess I am not impressed.”
Charlotte stared at him, her mortification swiftly giving way to indignation. “I beg your pardon?” she said sharply. “I assure you, Your Grace, I have no such intention.”
“Is that so?” he replied, taking a slow step closer. His gaze lingered far longer than propriety dictated, though his expression remained maddeningly composed. “You appear to be making a rather compelling effort.”
Charlotte lifted her chin, her irritation outweighing her embarrassment. “If I were attempting to seduce you,” she said coolly, “you would be in no doubt of it.”
A flicker of interest crossed his face, and something in his expression shifted, something sharper, more intent.
“Would I?” he said quietly. He took another step closer, closing the distance between them in a way that made Charlotte acutely aware of every inch of space.
“You would,” she replied, though her voice felt suddenly less steady than she would have liked.
He studied her for a long moment, his gaze intent in a manner that made her pulse quicken despite herself. “Then by all means,” he murmured, “do enlighten me.”
Charlotte blinked, momentarily stunned. “I… what?” she said.
His lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “You did say I would know,” he said. “I am merely inviting you to prove it.”
Charlotte’s breath caught, though she refused to step back. “You are quite impossible,” she said, her voice low with frustration.
“And you,” he replied, “are far more interesting than I had anticipated.”
For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them charged with something Charlotte could neither name nor entirely comprehend. His gaze had not softened, yet there was something undeniably different in it now, something that unsettled her far more than his earlier indifference.
“Well,” she said at last, forcing her composure back into place, “I have no intention of indulging your curiosity, Your Grace.” She stepped around him briskly, her dignity firmly intact despite the heat that lingered in her cheeks.
“How disappointing,” he murmured behind her.
Charlotte did not turn. “I am sure you will recover,” she replied crisply.
She walked swiftly down the corridor, her heart beating far faster than it had any right to, and did not slow until she reached the safety of her room. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it for a moment, her breath uneven.
“He is insufferable,” she said aloud, though the words lacked some of their earlier conviction.
As she crossed to her bed, she could not quite banish the memory of his gaze, nor the unsettling awareness that his words and actions had not entirely aligned.
It was confusing and wholly unwelcome.
And yet, as she extinguished the candle and lay awake in the darkness, she found herself thinking not of his arrogance, but of the way he had looked at her, as though she were something he had not yet decided what to make of.
* * *
The next morning, Victor sat behind his desk, a half-finished letter forgotten beneath his hand as his thoughts drifted in a direction he would not have readily admitted.
The image of Charlotte Brown in the corridor.
Her brown hair unbound, night chemise falling far too softly about her curvy form, returned with irritating persistence.
He exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair, his gaze unfocused.
It's nothing. Merely the consequence of encountering any young woman in such a state of night dress.
He had always appreciated beauty when it presented itself, and Miss Brown had done so rather unexpectedly. There had been a certain… contrast in her, composure undone by circumstance, dignity paired with disarray, that he found faintly amusing.
Not captivating, certainly not that, but diverting in a way I might observe a game yet to be played.
“Hardly unique,” he murmured to himself, though his fingers tapped idly against the desk in quiet contradiction.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts, and his expression shifted at once, the languid edge replaced by duty.
“Enter,” he called.
Lionel stepped inside without ceremony, his presence as steady as ever, though there was a clear tension in his posture.
“You have ignored the steward’s latest report,” he said without preamble. “He requires a decision regarding the south holdings.”
Victor did not rise, though his gaze sharpened slightly. “I have not ignored it,” he replied. “I simply have not yet chosen to respond.”
Lionel exhaled, clearly unimpressed. “Delaying the matter serves no one.”
Victor steepled his fingers, considering him. “And you would have me approve the expenditure without review?” he asked.
“I would have you act,” Lionel returned evenly. “You are the duke, after all.”
Victor’s lips curved faintly. “Indeed, I am. I am glad to hear you know your place, brother,” he said. “Which is precisely why I shall decide when and how it is addressed.”
Lionel sighed. “You do enjoy making matters unnecessarily difficult,” he said.
“And you,” Victor replied, his tone cool but controlled, “have a tendency to forget your place in them.” He leaned forward just slightly, his gaze unwavering. “I will review the steward’s report and issue my decision when it suits me, not before.”
A brief silence followed, charged but not unfamiliar. Lionel huffed softly, turning away. “Very well,” he said. “Do as you please.”
“I generally do,” Victor replied.
Lionel paused at the door, glancing back with faint exasperation. “I am returning to my townhouse,” he said. “Try, for once, to remain out of trouble.”
Victor allowed himself a small, amused smile. “Where is the fun in that?” he asked lightly.
Lionel shook his head, though there was the faintest trace of reluctant amusement in his expression. “One day,” he said, “your definition of fun will cost you more than you expect.”
“Perhaps,” Victor said. “But until then, I shall continue to enjoy it.”
Lionel gave a short nod before departing, leaving Victor alone once more in the quiet of his study. For a moment, he remained still, his gaze lingering on the door.
Then, inevitably, his thoughts drifted again.
It was… unusual.
* * *
Charlotte felt a brief reprieve. With the duke absent and his brother gone to town, the halls felt quieter, less charged, and far easier to navigate as she walked beside Elizabeth through the portrait gallery.
“That is Victor's great-grandfather,” Elizabeth said, pointing with a small, proud gesture. “A terribly serious man, though he once fell asleep during his own dinner party.”
Charlotte smiled faintly.
“I imagine that must have caused quite a stir,” she said.
“Oh, it did,” Elizabeth replied, delighted. “No one dared wake him, so they all simply waited.”
Charlotte suppressed a laugh, glancing up at the painted figure with renewed interest. “A powerful man indeed,” she said lightly.
“And there,” Elizabeth continued, “is Victor’s father, my son. Very handsome, was he not?”
Charlotte inclined her head politely, though she felt a strange tightening in her chest.
“He bears a resemblance,” she said carefully.
Elizabeth beamed. “And when you and Victor have children, their portraits shall hang here as well,” she added with cheerful certainty.
Charlotte nearly missed a step. “Your Grace,” she said gently, “I must once again clarify that I am not…”
“Nonsense,” Elizabeth said, patting her hand. “You are far too modest, my dear.”
Charlotte pressed her lips together, resisting the urge to sigh. “I assure you, there is no engagement,” she said.
“Yes, yes,” Elizabeth murmured, already drifting. “Such a sweet girl.”
Charlotte allowed the matter to rest, though inwardly she felt the familiar prickle of discomfort.
Generations of nobility and grandeur, I am more aware now than ever, that I do not belong in such a place. Such wealth. Such power. And I… and my family in ruins.
“I believe I should like to rest,” Elizabeth said suddenly. “All this walking has quite tired me.”
“Of course,” Charlotte replied at once, guiding her gently from the gallery. “Let us return to your room.”
She settled Elizabeth into bed with practiced care, ensuring she was comfortable before drawing the curtains slightly.
“There we are,” she said softly. “You shall feel much better after a rest.”
“You are a good girl,” Elizabeth murmured sleepily. “Victor is fortunate.”
Charlotte smiled faintly, though she did not reply. Once the dowager had drifted off, she slipped quietly from the room, closing the door behind her.
The manor felt particularly still as she made her way downstairs, the silence almost echoing in the midday light.
“Perhaps I might find a book,” she murmured to herself, turning toward the library.
She had just reached the corridor when a sudden noise broke the quiet, a sharp, metallic clang from behind a nearby door.
Charlotte froze.
Her gaze shifted slowly to the door.
The door I have been expressly forbidden to enter.