Chapter 17
“Matilda, eat slower, please,” Charity chided her youngest sibling at the breakfast table. “You’ve been scarfing down that plate, and it is just not a proper way to behave.”
It was breakfast time, and the youngest sister had been stuffing her face with eggs at impossible speeds.
Matilda looked back at her sister with a guilty expression.
Matilda stopped, chewed fast, then wiped her mouth with her napkin like she’d remembered manners at the last second. “Sorry,” she said, still not looking very sorry. “I just want to finish.”
“And why,” Charity asked, watching her closely, “do you want to finish so badly?”
“The gardens,” Matilda said, and her whole face changed. “They said I can help again today. The kitchen girl told me there are different ones by the path, and I want to go early. I want to find them before someone trims them.”
“I’m glad you’ve got something you want to do. You haven’t looked this cheerful in ages.”
Matilda nodded, then slowed down on her own.
“It’s begun to feel more like home.”
She turned her head toward Augusta. “And you?”
Augusta lifted one shoulder, as if she wanted to act unimpressed, but Charity could see the change in her face anyway.
“I like it now as well,” Augusta said.
Charity nodded. She knew that was the most that she was going to get from Augusta.
“Good,” she said, then leaned forward slightly, making her voice more serious. “If you need anything, you should come to me.”
“You’re busy with wedding preparations, you hardly have the time.”
“The wedding is in three days,” Charity said, “But things are going smoothly.”
“Really, now?”
“Yes,” Charity smiled, then looked down at her plate, and she thought to herself that the real reason was Duncan.
He had given her a free hand with everything from the start, and he had not tried to control the details or question her choices.
He had given her an unlimited budget as if it were nothing, though she had no intention of spending too much, and she was still careful with every expense out of habit.
Still, she could not deny that it made her happy to see how he trusted her.
“Well, I shall not try,” Augusta gave her a teasing smile.
That afternoon, she was in the small morning room reviewing a list of linens with one of the maids when a servant came to the door and said Duncan wished to see her in his study.
Her first thought was that something had gone wrong with the wedding preparations.
She handed the list back to the maid and made her way to the study with a tight feeling in her stomach that had nothing to do with lace or guest names.
When she entered, Duncan was standing by the desk rather than sitting, which she had learned to read as a bad sign.
His expression was controlled, but there was anger in it, and Malcolm stood near the window looking grim in a way that made Charity understand, before either man spoke, that this was not about the wedding.
“I thought it best ye heard this from him straight away,” Malcolm said first, and his voice was serious, with none of its usual dry ease. “Another letter came this morning.”
Charity stopped just inside the room, her heart suddenly thudding loudly.
“From my uncle?”
“Aye, from him, and before you ask, yes, I read it,” Duncan replied.
“What does he want now?” Charity asked, concerned. She did not care that he had opened the letter, knowing that he had only done so as a way of looking out for her.
Duncan reached for the paper on the desk and held it out to her.
“He is trying to frighten you before the wedding,” Duncan said through gritted teeth, and she could feel the anger emanate from him.
Charity felt her throat go dry.
“Let me read it.”
She read quickly at first, then more slowly, then stopped before the end and closed her eyes for a second. It was the same pattern as before, full of threats and telling her that she is making a great mistake. When she looked up again, Duncan was watching her closely.
“I’m sorry,” Charity said quietly, before she could stop herself. “I am so sorry that this is reaching your house. You have done nothing except help us.”
Duncan’s expression changed into irritation.
“Why are you apologizing as if you wrote the letter yourself?”
“I know I did not write it,” Charity said, still holding the paper. “I am apologizing for the trouble.”
“The trouble is his,” Duncan replied. “The responsibility for dealing with it is mine now, and I accepted that before you agreed to marry me, so you can stop looking guilty for a situation he created.”
Charity looked down at the letter again and hated that her hands had started to shake. He was being incredibly understanding, and the least that she could do was not make this harder for both of them.
“I am not looking guilty on purpose,” Charity said after a moment. “I just… I know what this costs people around me, and I know you are angry, and part of me still thinks I should be the one taking the blow.”
It was a moment of honesty, and she realized that it was easy to do that with him. He makes me feel safe, she realized.
Duncan’s jaw tightened, but when he spoke again, his tone was lower. “You told me before that you try to carry things alone, and I told you that has limits. I meant it then, and I mean it now.”
Charity looked up at him.
Malcolm, who had been quiet while they spoke, shifted slightly and looked from one to the other, then cleared his throat in a way that was almost polite.
“I’ll leave the two of ye to discuss,” Malcolm said, and though his words were dry, his tone stayed careful. “I only came in to make sure the letter was handed over.”
“Thank you,” Charity looked at him.
“Thank me by nae reading the thing alone next time if another arrives,” Malcolm said. “It’s easier to deal with when folk is speaking plain.”
“You can go now,” Duncan gave him a look.
“I was going anyway,” Malcolm replied, and then he left them.
The door shut, and Charity stood there with the letter in her hand and felt something difficult settle in her chest. It was shame and relief together. Shame that Duncan had to deal with this. Relief that he had chosen to tell her immediately and had not kept it from her in the name of protection.
She looked at him again, and the words came before she could overthink them.
“Thank you for telling me,” Charity said, and her voice was steadier now. “I know that sounds small compared to everything else, but it matters to me that you did not hide it.”
“I said I would not do that again if it concerned you directly.” Duncan looked at her for a moment and then nodded once.
“You were furious when you read it.”
“I am still furious,” Duncan said, and there was no effort to hide it. “He writes as if he still has the right to speak into your life, and I would like five minutes in a room with him to correct that impression.”
Charity should have been alarmed by the way he said it, but instead she felt a strange and immediate warmth low in her chest, followed by guilt for feeling it at all while holding a threatening letter.
“You should not have to deal with this,” Charity said quietly.
Duncan’s expression hardened again, but not at her. “I will deal with what comes to my door.”
She nodded, folded the letter carefully, and handed it back. “Then I am grateful.”
He took the letter, and his eyes stayed on her face for a second longer than necessary.
“Good. Is there anything in it that needs a formal reply through a solicitor?” Duncan asked, taking the letter back from her and unfolding it again on the desk, “or is he doing what he has done before and saying just enough to threaten you while leaving himself room to deny it later?”
Charity stepped closer to look at the page again, even though she had already read enough to feel sick of it.
“It is the same pattern as before, and that is what makes it so difficult to answer properly, since he is careful with the wording when he wants to be, and he knows exactly how far he can go without writing something openly actionable.”
“So he wants the effect of a threat without the inconvenience of being held to it,” Duncan said.
“Yes,” Charity said, “He wants me frightened and unsettled, I suppose.”
Duncan looked up at her then, and there was open anger in his expression.
“I have no intention of wasting time on his games, but I do intend to respond where it matters, and if he thinks he can keep writing into this house without consequence, he is mistaken.”
“What do you want me to do?” Charity swallowed and folded her hands together so he would not see them shake.
“For now, I want you to tell me whether there is any name, place, or detail in this one that is new,” Duncan said, tapping the page with one finger. “Anything at all that he has not mentioned before, even if it seems small, since small details are often the only useful part of letters like this.”
Charity read over the lines again, slower this time, forcing herself to focus.
“He mentions the wedding date more directly than he did before, and he refers to guests, which means he either knows the date already or is guessing based on what he has heard, and I do not know which is worse.”
“He knows enough, then, and that is enough for me to act on.”
He set the letter down and reached for another paper on the desk.
“I have already spoken to the steward,” Duncan said, and his tone shifted into practical command.
“I want two men watching the road in the days before the wedding, not only at the gate but far enough out to see who is coming before they reach the house, and I want the gate instructions repeated so no one is admitted without being announced, no matter what name they give.”
Charity looked at him carefully. “You have already arranged all that?”
“I started arranging it before I sent for you,” Duncan said, not sounding apologetic in the least. “I was not going to show you the letter and then sit here discussing possibilities while doing nothing.”
Charity nodded slowly, and despite the fear still sitting in her chest, she felt a small wave of relief at the certainty in his voice.