Chapter 5
“You departed rather suddenly,” Arabella said, stirring her tea lazily.
Charlotte sat stiffly upon the floral settee in Arabella’s parlour, a teacup untouched in her hands as her cousins regarded her with identical expressions of curiosity. Margaret sat with delicate posture and quiet concern written plainly across her face.
“One might almost think you fled in terror,” Arabella continued.
Margaret glanced at Charlotte with shy agreement. “We were both quite surprised,” Margaret admitted softly. “Particularly because you spoke so kindly of the dowager duchess.”
Charlotte sighed faintly. “Because she is kind,” she said at once. “Lady Elizabeth is one of the sweetest women I have ever met.”
Despite everything, her expression softened genuinely at the thought of the older woman. “She was confused at times, certainly, but very affectionate and thoughtful.”
Arabella leaned forward with interest. “And entirely convinced you were to marry her grandson,” she added wickedly.
Margaret let out a startled little laugh behind her teacup. “Oh dear,” she murmured.
Charlotte groaned softly. “It was dreadful,” she said. “No matter how often I corrected her, she refused to believe me.” She shook her head. “Every conversation somehow returned to wedding plans or imaginary children.”
Arabella pressed a hand dramatically to her chest. “How tragic,” she said. “To be relentlessly adored in a grand country estate.”
Charlotte narrowed her eyes. “You are impossible.”
“And yet not incorrect,” Arabella replied.
Margaret smiled timidly. “Was the duke terribly uncomfortable about it?” she asked.
Charlotte opened her mouth, only to pause briefly as Victor’s face flashed unhelpfully through her mind: that maddeningly calm expression, those knowing smirks, the infuriating amusement in his eyes whenever she lost patience with him.
She straightened at once, annoyed with herself for even recalling it.
“He appeared far too entertained by the entire matter,” she said briskly.
Arabella’s grin widened instantly. “Ah,” she said knowingly. “There it is.”
“There, what is?” Charlotte asked suspiciously.
“That look,” Arabella replied. “The one you make whenever you mention him.”
Charlotte stared at her in disbelief. “I have no look.”
“You absolutely do,” Arabella assured her.
Margaret shifted slightly in her seat, her expression thoughtful. “Do you think,” she began hesitantly, “that perhaps the duke himself was part of the reason you left?”
I cannot tell them that I saw him in such a compromised state with a woman. It would be scandalous to share such a thing.
Charlotte blinked. “Certainly not.”
Margaret flushed faintly but continued. “Only… he is very handsome.”
Arabella laughed immediately. “Margaret!”
“What?” Margaret asked, startled. “Everyone says so.”
Charlotte set her teacup down rather more firmly than necessary. “Even if he were the last man on earth,” she declared, “I would never be interested in the Duke of Mulford in that manner.”
Arabella raised a brow. “What a passionate declaration.”
“It is merely accurate,” Charlotte replied sharply.
But even as she spoke, unease twisted painfully in her stomach.
Because no matter how strongly she denied it, the truth remained that she had acted recklessly.
I've abandoned the only respectable position I'd managed to secure all because of my anger and embarrassment. What sort of eldest daughter behaved so selfishly?
Her sisters remained dependent upon her.
Joan still needed opportunities to marry, Irene required another season, and Penelope would likely set something ablaze if left unattended too long.
Charlotte had spent years sacrificing her own wishes without hesitation, and yet the one moment she allowed herself pride and outrage over practicality, she destroyed everything.
“How disgraceful,” she thought miserably.
“You are frowning at the biscuits,” Arabella observed. “It is rather alarming.”
Charlotte blinked, forcing herself back into the conversation. “Forgive me,” she said faintly.
Margaret tilted her head gently. “You are worried about your family,” she said quietly.
Charlotte managed a weak smile. “Naturally.”
Arabella reached over and patted her hand. “You cannot possibly believe this was your only chance,” she said. “You are capable enough to find another position.”
Charlotte wanted desperately to believe that.
Instead, her mind betrayed her with vivid recollections she had not shared with either cousin.
She remembered barging into that forbidden room with her ridiculous candlestick raised high, fully expecting to defend the manor from danger, only to find Victor standing there shirtless beside another woman.
Worse still was the memory of the argument that followed, the tension between them, the way he had looked at her, the infuriatingly suggestive remarks that still made her cheeks warm when she thought too long about them.
She would sooner perish than confess any of that aloud.
“You are doing it again,” Arabella said.
“Doing what?”
“Thinking dramatically,” Arabella replied. “You look as though you are preparing for a trial.”
Margaret offered Charlotte a sympathetic smile. “I do not think you should blame yourself so harshly,” she said softly. “If you were unhappy there, surely leaving was sensible.”
“But sensible decisions are not always useful ones,” Charlotte said before she could stop herself.
A brief silence followed.
Arabella’s expression gentled slightly. “You have spent so long taking responsibility for everyone else,” she said. “You are allowed one impulsive mistake.”
Charlotte almost laughed at the word one. If only Arabella knew how thoroughly disastrous this particular mistake had been.
“And besides,” Arabella continued brightly, “you did leave with your dignity intact.”
Charlotte thought immediately of Victor smirking at her in the corridor while she stood in her nightgown, feeling entirely flustered and furious.
“Debatable,” she muttered.
Margaret blinked. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” Charlotte said quickly.
Arabella studied her closely now, suspicion sharpening her amusement. “Charlotte Brown,” she said slowly, “I believe you are concealing details.”
“I am doing no such thing.”
“You absolutely are,” Arabella replied triumphantly.
Charlotte rose abruptly from her seat. “I believe I require fresh air,” she announced.
Arabella burst into laughter. “You see?” she said to Margaret. “Utter guilt.”
Margaret giggled softly behind her hand while Charlotte moved toward the open window with as much dignity as she could salvage.
Still, as their teasing continued behind her, her thoughts remained fixed on one terrible truth.
I've failed.
No matter how kindly her cousins tried to reassure her, she knew what was at stake. Every sacrificed ribbon, every reused gown, every carefully managed coin at home depended upon her ability to endure discomfort for the sake of her family’s future.
And she had walked away because a handsome, infuriating duke had unsettled her far more than he ever should have.
Charlotte closed her eyes briefly.
What on earth am I going to do now?
The butler entered with practiced composure, “The Duke of Mulford has called upon Miss Brown.”
Silence fell over the room.
Charlotte stared at the butler. Arabella’s eyes widened while Margaret looked moments away from fainting entirely.
“The duke?” Charlotte repeated weakly.
“Yes, miss,” the butler replied calmly.
Arabella made a strangled sound suspiciously close to laughter. “Oh, this grows better and better,” she whispered. “Please bring him to us.”
Charlotte shot her a murderous look just as the butler stepped away to escort Victor into the room.
Unfortunately, the man had the audacity to look devastatingly handsome.
Charlotte stood at attention automatically with her cousins, though inwardly she resented every inch of him on principle.
Tall and broad-shouldered, dressed immaculately in dark tailoring that only emphasised his imposing frame, he entered the room with the sort of confidence that suggested the world rearranged itself for his convenience.
His black hair was slightly windswept from travel, his green eyes sharp and assessing as they settled upon her, and Charlotte hated herself a little for noticing any of it.
“Your Grace,” Arabella said smoothly, recovering first with an elegant curtsy.
Margaret nearly tangled herself in her skirts while curtsying. “Your Grace,” she murmured shyly.
Victor inclined his head politely. “Ladies, please excuse my intrusion on your afternoon tea.”
Victor offered her a surprisingly gentle nod before turning his attention fully to Charlotte. “Miss Brown.”
“Your Grace,” Charlotte replied stiffly.
For one dreadful moment, nobody spoke.
Then Charlotte remembered her manners. “May I present my cousins,” she said quickly, “The Duchess of Albury and her sister, Lady Margaret Marriot.”
“A pleasure,” Victor said smoothly.
Arabella smiled far too brightly. “The pleasure is entirely ours, for we were just speaking of you, were we not, Charlotte?”
Charlotte wanted to throttle her.
Victor’s gaze returned to Charlotte almost immediately. “I have come to speak with you,” he said. “Privately, if possible.”
Charlotte instantly noticed the way Arabella and Margaret exchanged scandalised little looks. Arabella’s expression positively glowed with interest.
Absolutely not. Do not leave me alone with him.
Charlotte forced a polite smile. “Whatever you have to say may surely be said before my cousins,” she replied.
Victor’s brow lifted slightly. “I would prefer privacy.”
“And I would prefer not to be murdered by gossip,” Charlotte returned sweetly.
Arabella made another suspicious choking sound.
Victor looked entirely unbothered. “I assure you my intentions are respectable.”
Charlotte almost laughed aloud at that.
Oh I've seen what you call respectable time alone with a lady.