Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Charlotte sat with her porcelain cup resting on her lips as she sipped her hot tea, admiring Aurelia through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the morning room as she played in the garden with the nursemaid, Ann.
She looked forward to this part of her day; her moment of peace, watching her daughter laugh and skip in the garden, leading her nurse on a merry chase, talking incessantly about each flower and insect they stumbled upon.
Their morning lessons were over, and Aurelia could stretch her legs and enjoy the magical wonder their garden provided most seasons of the year.
She jumped at the sound of the door knocking behind her.
Her cup clattered as she nervously placed it back on the delicately painted floral saucer.
Charlotte’s days followed a repetitive pattern that rarely changed.
She could not imagine why on this day a servant would come to disturb her moment of peace.
Teatime was sacred.
Her eyes followed the butler as he strode with great urgency into the room. “What is it, Hutchins?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, but we have a visitor, ma’am,” he replied, his voice rough. The gray-haired man twisted his hands nervously, something the stoic butler had never done. He seemed fretful.
Charlotte frowned, taken aback. “Who could possibly be visiting us unannounced? Is it Mama or Papa? I received no letters indicating we would be welcoming a guest.”
A visitor would be a happy distraction.
She was becoming a touch morose of late.
“I’m not sure who it is, Miss Charlotte. Perhaps you would help us identify him. We do not recognize him as being local, though he is well-dressed. The man is injured and requires immediate attention. What room should we put him in?”
Charlotte gasped, a hand clutching at her chest. She was the lady of the house, in a sense, though she avoided being seen.
If word of her good health traveled back to London, it would reveal that some deception had been afoot these many years.
Part of her understanding with her parents had been to keep out of sight, thus maintaining the illusion that she was still suffering from an illness.
Too unwell to take part in the beau monde.
To be seen glowing with health outside the close boundaries of the estate was forbidden.
It was too dangerous. The last thing she wanted to do was harm her family, who had sheltered her all this time.
Any appearance from her would revive the gossip and create a scandal the likes of which London had not seen in a long time.
Questions would arise, and suspicions would be aroused.
Those were the conditions of her being allowed to remain with her child.
No one must discover the truth about her prolonged absence.
Charlotte’s gaze darted about the morning room as she considered her next actions.
After fretting with her skirts, she stood, with new determination strengthening her spine.
“Bring me to him. I will let you know if I recognize him,” she ordered, then followed apprehensively behind Hutchins, her racing heart revealing the turmoil that lay within her breast. What if they were discovered?
It would have been impossible to keep Aurelia from society forever, but for now, they were happy in their little bubble of isolation. Nothing must interfere with that.
“What happened to him, Hutchins? Must we fetch a doctor?” she asked, her shorter legs working to keep up with her long-legged butler’s uncommonly fast speed.
“Our guest is unconscious. I believe he is gravely injured, ma’am. We will care for him as you see fit. You and Miss Aurelia shall be protected,” the butler said, holding her gaze.
She gave a small smile at his attempt to ease her worries.
Her beloved servants at Fermoy had always worked tirelessly to keep her secret safe.
Hutchins protected her as a father would shelter his child.
They never treated Aurelia differently, despite the circumstances of her birth.
They completely ignored that Charlotte was a fallen woman.
Gratitude flooded her body as the cloak of Hutchins’s protection wrapped itself around her.
She searched for signs of her lady’s maid, Aamina.
In times of crisis, she always turned to the one who had single-handedly supported her since they were both young women.
Aamina’s parents died of fever when she was a little girl in her home country of India.
Charlotte’s father brought her back from his travels with the East India Company.
Having been friends with Aamina’s father before he passed, Baron Percy had not the heart to leave her behind—an orphan alone.
The young girl was only a few years older than Charlotte and became her closest companion.
As soon as she was old enough to work, Aamina trained to be a lady’s maid in the Townsend household.
Her loyalty and friendship were a treasured gift, especially when her life took an unexpected detour.
Charlotte entered the marble-clad foyer, where two footmen were holding onto a man with his head bowed low.
The man was tall and clearly a heavy burden for the footmen carrying him.
Her heart dropped to her stomach as a fledgling suspicion rose in her mind.
He was smartly dressed in a charcoal gray waistcoat, tan pantaloons, and tall boots in a rich mahogany color.
A man of wealth. The quality of his clothing spoke of his being from one of the local wealthier families.
A dark stain ran down the front of his shirt.
Blood.
It could only be blood.
“We believe he’s been shot, ma’am,” Bexley, the footman, said, panting from his exertion.
Charlotte walked up to the mysterious stranger and placed her fingers on his chin, lifting his head carefully to catch a glimpse of his face. He released a shuddered breath, and she stepped back. Though his eyes remained closed, her heart beat a sickening pace in her chest.
Inhaling sharply, Charlotte reached a hand out to steady herself against the wall. Though altered by a rather unkempt beard and unusually long, wavy hair curling around his face, she would recognize that face anywhere.
He was the man who had sealed her fate.
The one who had given her the sweetest taste of love, only to tear it away.
Immediately flooded with memories of a time long ago, Charlotte’s breath came in quick pants, panic seizing her.
Pressing a hand to her chest, she worked to calm her nerves, her vision growing blurry.
The servants seemed to notice her change in demeanor and struggled between dropping the man and helping their lady.
“Miss Charlotte, you’ve gone deathly pale,” Aamina said, appearing in the foyer and rushing to Charlotte’s side. Her large, dark brown eyes were wide with worry. She placed a steadying arm around Charlotte’s shoulders.
Pressing a hand to her forehead, Charlotte lowered her gaze. After a few strained breaths, Charlotte fixated on the familiarity of Aamina in her muted gray dress and crisp white apron. The maid had a calming effect on her senses.
Aamina’s warm brown hand curled over hers and squeezed. “Perhaps you should go for a rest. We will care for him.”
Reality came back into sharp focus at her maid’s words. A man was in need, and they must move quickly. He was in grave danger.
Charlotte gathered herself and stood more confidently than she felt. “Bring him to the yellow bedroom. Quickly!”
Straightening her spine, she nodded in the direction of the footmen.
“Is that wise, miss? Perhaps we should put him in the guest wing, where there would be less chance of him catching a glimpse of you. Or Miss Aurelia,” Aamina questioned.
Considering the words for a mere moment, Charlotte shook her head and turned to the butler. “Hutchins, have him brought to the yellow room. We must act with haste; this man needs a doctor. We will treat him as best we can, keep him comfortable, and you will notify his family. I know this man.”
Hutchins nodded and did as she bid, directing the servants to the upper floor.
Charlotte sighed, leaning against the wall as the servants carried him up the sweeping staircase to the nearest guest bedroom.
Hutchins sent another servant to fetch the doctor from the village.
A scullery maid, Nessie, appeared and kneeled to scrub away the bright drops of blood marring the gleaming marble tile.
There was no time to wait for the rooms in the west to be cleaned and prepared.
This man needed a doctor immediately, or he would surely perish.
A tightness took hold in her chest, choking the words in her throat.
She took a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes, then clutched it to her chest. Surely, her eyes were deceiving her.
She had seen a ghost.
There was no need to see his eyes; she knew they would be icy blue, and nothing would escape their scrutiny. The dark-haired giant of a man was in her foyer and soon to be ensconced in the bedroom near hers. A vision from deep in the past. A vision from her private, most secret dreams.
How would she survive having him back in her life?
How would she survive if he died under her care?
The thought chilled her blood.
Charlotte must ensure his survival, without his ever knowing she resided in the home.
She would return him to his family in perfect ignorance of her existence on the estate.
A bolt of fear traveled up her spine. Charlotte hastened to find Aurelia and her nurse in the garden, pausing only to lean against the glass-paned doors and watch the sweet happiness her daughter experienced, blessedly oblivious.
Her fingers curled into her skirts, desperately trying to hide her frayed nerves.
The flurry of shiny golden-brown hair as it bounced around her daughter’s shoulders, Aurelia’s musical giggle floating on the breeze coming off the coast, reminded her of what was important.
No one could discover the truth.
Somehow, Peregrine Spencer had found her at Fermoy.
He must never learn her secret.