Chapter 27
Charlotte sat upon the floral settee in her uncle’s grand parlor with her hands folded tightly in her lap while her mother embroidered beside the window.
Afternoon sunlight spilled across the carpet in pale golden squares, warming the room despite the dreary London drizzle beyond the glass.
The quiet felt unnatural without Joan and Penelope bickering over ribbons or Irene sighing over poetry.
Charlotte ought to have enjoyed the peace, yet every silent second only made her think of Victor.
What is he thinking? Does he miss me as I miss him?
Harriet glanced up from her embroidery hoop with narrowed eyes. “You have sighed six times in the span of a minute, Charlotte.” She snipped a thread with dramatic precision. “Either you are dreadfully ill or something has occurred with your husband.”
Charlotte straightened immediately and forced a smile that felt painfully brittle upon her face.
“Nothing is wrong, Mother,” she said lightly. “I merely wished to spend several days with you and the girls.”
Harriet gave a sharp hum that plainly announced she believed none of it.
“Mulford Manor is very large, and I thought perhaps I missed the noise of family.”
“My dear, no one willingly misses this family’s noise,” Harriet replied dryly. “Not unless they are hiding from something.”
Charlotte looked away toward the rain-streaked windows.
Harriet leaned closer with growing suspicion. “Has the duke offended you?”
Charlotte nearly answered too quickly. “No.”
“That was far too fast a denial,” Harriet declared. She tossed her embroidery into her lap dramatically. “Good heavens, has he taken a mistress already? Men are intolerable creatures.”
Charlotte choked on a startled laugh despite herself.
“Well, do not sit there smiling, girl; answer me at once.”
“He has done no such thing,” Charlotte said quickly. “Victor has been perfectly honorable.”
Harriet looked marginally relieved, though only for a moment.
“We simply had… a disagreement.”
“A disagreement,” Harriet repeated slowly. “That word covers everything from burned toast to murder.”
Charlotte rubbed her forehead.
“Charlotte Brown, if you do not explain yourself this instant, I shall expire from curiosity.”
Charlotte hesitated. The words lodged painfully in her throat because speaking them aloud would make them real.
She had tried convincing herself during the carriage ride to her uncle’s house that perhaps she had overreacted.
Yet every time she remembered Victor calmly saying he never wanted children, something inside her ached all over again.
She lowered her voice carefully. “You must promise not to tell my sisters.” Harriet immediately sat straighter.
“I mean it, Mother.” Harriet placed a hand over her chest with exaggerated dignity. “Very well.”
“I shall guard the secret with my life,” Harriet said solemnly. Then she added, “Unless it is particularly entertaining.”
Charlotte groaned softly.
“Oh hush and continue.”
Charlotte twisted her fingers together tightly. “Victor said he does not wish to have children.” Harriet blinked once. Then twice. The embroidery hoop slid directly from her lap onto the carpet.
“He what?” Harriet whispered in horror.
Charlotte nodded miserably. “He said he never intends to have any.” Harriet looked genuinely scandalised now. “We argued about it the other evening.”
“The duke does realize heirs are rather important for dukes,” Harriet said faintly. “That is practically the entire purpose of aristocratic marriages.”
Charlotte gave a weak shrug.
“Good Lord, the man truly has lost his senses,” Harriet said.
Charlotte looked down at her clasped hands. “I did not know what to say.” Her voice softened further. “I have always wanted children, Mother.” Harriet’s expression immediately gentled. “And hearing him speak so firmly against it made me feel… foolish somehow.”
“Oh, my darling.” Harriet moved beside her and squeezed her hand tightly. “You are not foolish.” Charlotte swallowed hard against the tightness in her chest. “Did you tell him how much this upset you?”
“I tried,” Charlotte admitted quietly. “But Victor becomes so closed whenever the subject arises.” Harriet frowned thoughtfully. “It is as though something frightens him about it.”
Harriet scoffed loudly. “Men are frightened by all sorts of nonsense.” Charlotte could not help laughing softly at that. “Your father once refused to enter the dairy for an entire month because a goose hissed at him.”
Charlotte smiled despite herself. “Papa claimed the creature was possessed.” Harriet waved dismissively. “Your father was dramatic.” Then her expression sharpened again. “Still, this matter with the duke cannot simply be ignored.”
Charlotte leaned back against the settee with a tired sigh. “I know.” Her gaze drifted toward the rain outside. “That is why I needed time away from him to think.”
Harriet squeezed her hand again. “And perhaps for him to think as well. Oh, you are absolutely doing the correct thing,” Harriet announced.
Charlotte blinked at the abrupt confidence in her tone.
Harriet’s eyes gleamed mischievously now. “Leave that scoundrel husband of yours alone long enough to realize what he is missing.”
Charlotte stared at her mother in disbelief. “Mother.”
“What?” Harriet asked innocently. “Men become entirely unreasonable once they are in love. Trust me, your absence shall torment him magnificently.”
Charlotte laughed softly despite her sadness. “You speak as though this is warfare.”
Harriet lifted her chin proudly. “Marriage is warfare, darling, only with better clothing.” Charlotte shook her head helplessly. “Besides, if the duke truly cares for you, he shall come around.”
Charlotte’s smile faded slightly at that.
But does Victor truly care for me?
At times, she thought he did. The way his gaze lingered upon her when he believed no one noticed could not be imagined. Yet other moments, he became distant and cold.
Harriet studied her carefully. “Oh dear. You are in love with him, are you not?”
Charlotte’s cheeks heated instantly. “Mother.”
Harriet groaned dramatically and flung herself back against the cushions. “You are.”
Charlotte covered her face briefly with embarrassment.
“Well this is far worse than I thought.”
“I do not know when it happened,” Charlotte admitted quietly.
“Perhaps on the wedding night?” Harriet smiled.
Charlotte gasped. “Mother!”
Harriet shrugged unrepentantly. “I was young once.”
Charlotte buried her burning face in her hands.
“And judging by the way the duke stares at you, he is equally doomed.”
Charlotte’s heart fluttered at that thought. She missed him already. She missed his arrogant smirks and wicked teasing and even the frustrating way he argued with her whenever he feared caring too much. Worst of all, she missed the warmth of his presence beside her at night.
The parlor door suddenly burst open. Joan swept inside first, soaked from the rain and grinning broadly, with Irene and Penelope rushing in behind her.
“Mother, you shall never believe it,” Joan declared loudly. “Penelope nearly stepped directly into a puddle large enough to drown a horse.”
“It was your fault,” Penelope snapped. “You shoved me aside to look at a gentleman.”
Irene sighed dramatically. “Must every promenade involve near death?”
Harriet immediately perked up with delight at the chaos. “Ah excellent, my noisy daughters have returned.”
Charlotte watched them fondly as they argued across the room. For the first time all afternoon, her chest felt slightly lighter.
Harriet leaned close and murmured quietly, “See? Family mends many hurts.”
Charlotte smiled faintly. “Though perhaps not headaches.”
Joan suddenly noticed Charlotte’s expression and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Why do you look melancholy?”
Charlotte straightened immediately. “I do not.”
“You do,” Penelope agreed.
Irene studied her thoughtfully. “You miss your husband.”
Harriet quickly hid a smug smile behind her teacup.
“Do not be absurd,” Charlotte protested weakly.
Yet even as her sisters descended into loud teasing, Charlotte could not fully deny it. She missed Victor terribly. And somewhere deep inside her heart, she feared he might not miss her nearly as much.
Is he thinking of me at all? Or has he returned to his wicked ways?
* * *
Victor stood in the doorway of Charlotte’s bedchamber and stared at the untouched room with growing irritation.
The curtains had been drawn open by the maids that morning, allowing pale sunlight to spill across the neatly made bed and embroidered cushions she favoured.
Her faint lavender scent still lingered in the air, soft and maddening all at once.
He could not comprehend how one woman’s absence had managed to infect the entire house.
He stepped further inside despite himself.
Her shawl still rested carelessly over the chair beside the hearth, and one of her books remained abandoned upon the side table as though she might return at any moment.
Victor picked it up absently before setting it down again with a sharp exhale.
The silence in the chamber unnerved him more than he cared to admit.
“This is absurd,” he muttered aloud.
Yet he remained there another full minute.
Victor rubbed a hand over his jaw and looked toward the empty bed once more.
Only several nights ago Charlotte had lain tangled in his arms, flushed and smiling sleepily at him while speaking about utterly ordinary things.
Now the house felt cold despite the warm morning outside.
He disliked how aware he had become of every place she was not.
A knock sounded softly at the partially open door. Victor turned to find his grandmother standing there with Hannah hovering protectively behind her. Elizabeth studied him with far too much knowing in her gaze for his comfort.
“There you are,” she said gently. “I had wondered where you vanished to.”