Chapter 16 #3
Charlotte was seated upon her bed, a handkerchief in hand. Her head came around at the creaking, and she stared in consternation at him through eyes that glistened.
She turned her head aside. “Go away.” Even had he not seen the tears, the quality of her voice would have alerted him that she was crying.
After a moment’s hesitation and a quick glance down the empty corridor, Anthony slipped inside and shut the door, his heart feeling odd and heavy.
“Not until you tell me what is wrong.”
“Nothing. See?” She turned toward him with a forced smile, but her pink nose and cheeks, her glistening eyes, and the way her lashes stuck together betrayed her.
He strode over and took a seat on the bed beside her. “We are engaged, Charlotte. You should be able to tell me what ails you.”
She turned to look at him, her eyes brimful of tears but her brows turned down in frustration. “Our engagement is what ails me, Anthony.” She shook her head and stood. “I cannot do it anymore. I cannot continue lying to Mama or Tabitha or Lillian. I cannot.”
Anthony stayed silent, frowning as he watched her walk to and fro.
Her mother had been right. She looked beautiful, even in her sorrow.
Or anger. Anthony wasn’t entirely certain what to call it.
All he knew was that seeing her in this vulnerable state was quickly evaporating whatever dislike for her remained in his heart.
“Mama asked when we plan to be married,” she said, “and what could I say?”
“What did you say?”
She scoffed, dashing a tear from her eye.
“That we cannot agree which parish to be married in—the most ridiculous thing. I am surprised she believed me. And yet I am not, for I am not accustomed to lying to her. Or I didn’t use to be.
” She clenched her eyes shut and brought her hands to her forehead, pressing her fingers against it.
She was distressed—that much was certain. And if he had not walked in, Anthony could only imagine she would be crying silently rather than trying to guard her pride with anger toward him. The facade, as her mother had called it.
Anthony rose and walked over to her. “Naturally, we will be married in my parish.”
She dropped her hands and stared at him, the incredulity in her eyes contrasting sharply with the tears there. “This is all your fault”—she jabbed her finger into his chest, and he caught her by the wrist—“and yet, you stand there and tease me, as though it was a laughing matter?”
“I would rather see you laugh than cry,” he replied.
She stared at him, her gaze hard and her nostrils flared so that he thought she might slap him with her free hand. But then she swallowed, her eyes filling with tears as she stared her hatred at him until her chin began to tremble and Anthony’s own throat began to feel thick.
He knew what it was to lie to one’s family and to bear a burden too heavy. It was lonely. So terribly lonely.
He stepped toward her and, heart beating with a painful ferocity, released her wrist, wrapped his arms about her, and pulled her toward him.
She pummeled his chest with her fists, but she did not pull away.
“It is all your fault,” she said, punctuating each word with a hit.
Anthony did not fight the blows; he merely held her.
“I am sorry,” he whispered.
Her thrusts grew weaker until they stopped altogether, her hands coming to rest on his chest. Her head slowly lowered to his shoulder as her chest rose and fell with silent sobs.
“You do not understand how terrible it is,” she said into his coat, “lying to everyone about everything.”
“I know better than you might think,” he said softly.
There was silence for a moment.
“Tell them the truth, Charlotte.”
Her breathing stilled.
“But . . .” she said.
“It is a risk,” he said, his nostrils filling with the scent of her. “But if it will make you happy, and if they can be persuaded to guard our secret . . .”
She shook her head, a silent laugh shaking her shoulders. “Tabitha cannot keep a secret to save her life.”
Anthony smiled into her hair. “I cannot say I am shocked to hear it.” There was a pause as he took in a breath, but each time he inhaled, his arms itched to pull her closer. “You have my permission to tell them the truth. If you wish to.”
“No,” she said firmly, still holding fast to him. “You were right when you said we must wait a while longer, then find a way to end the engagement.”
A sense of relief flooded Anthony, for if Charlotte told her family the truth, it would lead to questions about the reasons for the ruse—questions he could not yet answer.
Not until he had the diary. Supposing this time it contained what Harris claimed it did.
“I promise I will do whatever I can to ensure the least damage possible to your reputation.”
“And to yours,” she said, a smile in her muffled voice.
His lip quirked up at the edge. “Most especially to mine.”
She let out a long, slow breath as they stood there, Anthony’s arms around her.
“I still hate you,” she said into his chest.
“And I you,” he replied against the lump in his throat.