Chapter 15 - Charlotte #2
Charlotte felt him stiffen beside her.
“A minor accident,” he said smoothly. “Nothing of consequence.”
“How fortunate.” Henrietta’s smile never wavered.
“One does hear that the steps at White’s can be treacherous late at night.
All that alcohol flowing so freely, anyone might lose their footing.
” She shifted closer to Charlotte, her presence warm and reassuring.
“Though Charlotte, you look positively weary. We wouldn’t want you collapsing from exhaustion before your performance. ”
“I—“ Charlotte began, but Lord Penrose answered for her, a muscle working in his jaw.
“Miss Fairmont is quite capable of managing her own stamina.
“Oh, I’m certain she is.” Henrietta’s tone remained sweet, but her eyes had gone cold.
“Still, I do wonder how Lady Jersey discovered Charlotte’s musical abilities.
It’s not as if she’s performed publicly in years.
Someone must have been sharing rather intimate details about the Fairmont household. How very… thorough.”
Lord Penrose’s pleasantness evaporated. “Your talent for observation is matched only by your inability to recognize when a private conversation should remain so.”
“Private?” Henrietta glanced pointedly at Annie before surveying the gradually filling park paths. “My lord, if the conversation required true privacy, surely you’d have called at the house like any proper gentleman. The park hardly seems the place for delicate discussions.”
The air between them crystallized with tension, Lord Penrose’s grip tightening incrementally with each of Henrietta’s barbs.
“Miss Bellamy, perhaps you might consider that some matters are better left to those directly involved. Miss Fairmont can speak for herself if she finds my company unwelcome.”
“How reassuring.” Henrietta looked to where his fingers dug into Charlotte’s arm. “Though at present, she seems to have very little say in the matter.”
Charlotte felt oddly disconnected from the exchange, as if she were watching two actors perform a play she hadn’t been given lines for. They spoke around her, about her, their words filling the space where her own voice should have been.
“I assure you, Miss Fairmont’s welfare is my utmost concern.” His thumb pressed harder against her arm, contradicting every word.
“Then perhaps you might demonstrate that concern by releasing her arm.” Henrietta stepped closer, her movement forcing him to either release Charlotte or create an obviously improper closeness. “You’re hurting her.”
Charlotte hadn’t made a sound, but Henrietta must have seen the discomfort on her face.
Lord Penrose followed Henrietta’s pointed look to his white-knuckled grip, and for a brief moment, something crossed his features.
Not quite shame, but an awareness that he’d revealed more than intended.
His grip loosened fractionally, and when he spoke again, there was almost a note of surprise in his voice, as if he truly hadn’t realized his own strength.
“My apologies.” The words were directed at Charlotte, carrying what sounded like authentic regret. “I sometimes forget myself.”
“How careless of you.” Henrietta reached out and gently extracted Charlotte’s arm from his grasp, linking it through her own instead. “Come, Charlotte. You need to rest before tonight.”
“This conversation isn’t finished.”
“Of course not. You’ll continue it tonight at Lady Jersey’s musicale, where there will be witnesses to every word and gesture.” Henrietta’s head tilted slightly, all innocent concern. “How fortunate that you’ll meet in such a well-attended setting.”
She began guiding Charlotte away before he could respond. Charlotte allowed herself to be led, her legs moving mechanically while her mind struggled to process what had just happened. The maids fell quietly into step and she could feel Lord Penrose’s gaze following their retreat.
“Breathe,” Henrietta murmured once they’d put some distance between themselves and him. “You’re okay. Just keep walking.”
They walked in silence until the manicured paths of Hyde Park gave way to the familiar cobblestones of Mayfair’s residential streets. Only then did Henrietta’s bright, brittle composure crack, her shoulders sagging slightly as she drew Charlotte closer.
“What was that about?” Her voice had lost its earlier sharpness, softening into concern.
“We came back from the estate this morning, and when I went to my room I saw you both from my window. Lord Penrose arriving before proper calling hours, without his family crest on the carriage?” Her gaze swept over Charlotte’s face, and whatever she saw there made her look almost scared. “Charlotte, you’re shaking.”
Charlotte looked down at her hands and found Henrietta was right. She’d been holding herself together through sheer force of will, but now, in the safety of her friend’s presence, something inside her was threatening to shatter.
“I don’t know. But something’s changed. Ever since your mother’s ball…”
“Speaking of which,” Henrietta glanced behind them, where Annie followed at a distance, then lowered her voice further.
“Lord Penrose has been asking the strangest questions. Trying to account for everyone who attended Mama’s ball, where they went, who they were with.
” She paused meaningfully. “And there was quite the commotion last night. Something about him being found in a rather distressed state near St. James’s churchyard. ”
Charlotte’s heart stumbled over its next beat, but she kept her gaze fixed on the path ahead, willing her expression to remain neutral. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
“Wouldn’t you?” Henrietta’s tone remained light, almost teasing. “The servants say he wasn’t the only one there. Someone else was spotted leaving. A gentleman who wasn’t alone.”
Despite her best efforts, warmth crept into Charlotte’s cheeks. She turned away slightly, as if the morning traffic suddenly required her full attention.
“How strange that it happened at St. James’s,” Henrietta mused. “The very churchyard where you visit your mother. Though I suppose it’s fortunate someone was there. This gentleman everyone’s whispering about, apparently he intervened quite heroically. Pulled someone right out of Penrose’s grasp.”
“It sounds like something from one of your novels,” she managed.
“Does it?” Something in Henrietta’s tone made Charlotte glance over, only to find her friend watching her with unmistakable satisfaction. “You’re blushing, Charlotte. And Lord Penrose looked ready to commit murder the moment last night was mentioned. Curious coincidences, don’t you think?”
Charlotte’s fingers found the edge of her pelisse, twisting the fabric.
She had never kept secrets from Henrietta— not real ones, anyway.
They had shared everything since they’d known each other, from childhood heartbreaks to forbidden books to every fear and hope that proper young ladies weren’t supposed to voice aloud.
But this felt different. Fragile. Like something that might shatter if exposed to scrutiny too soon.
She wanted to protect him. Mentioning his name, his presence, could put him in danger if Lord Penrose was truly searching for answers.
But it was more than that. She wasn’t ready for Henrietta’s knowing looks, her romantic encouragement, her inevitable teasing.
Not while Penrose still had something over her.
The moment she named it, the feeling would solidify into something she could lose, and she wasn’t sure she could bear that on top of everything else.
“I don’t know what you’re implying,” she said finally.
“Of course not,” but Henrietta’s teasing faded, replaced by concern.
She reached out, stilling Charlotte’s restless hands with her own.
“Just be careful tonight, Charlotte. Lady Jersey’s musicale will only have fifty guests.
There will be nowhere to hide if Lord Penrose decides to make his intentions public. ”
Charlotte’s breath caught in her throat as the full implications crashed over her. Tonight. He could propose tonight, with Lady Jersey’s approval hanging over the proceedings like a benediction. And she had no defense, no documents, no proof of whatever leverage he held over her father.
Three more days. She needed three more days so that she could meet Mr. Fletcher again, search Penrose Hall properly. Three days to find what she needed to break free of this trap.
But if he proposed tonight—
Her vision swam slightly, and she realized she’d stopped breathing entirely. The cobblestones beneath her feet seemed to tilt, the world narrowing to a single horrifying certainty: she was running out of time.
“Charlotte?” Henrietta’s voice seemed to come from very far away. “What is it?”
“I—“ Charlotte forced air into her lungs, though it felt like breathing through wool. “You think that’s why he came this morning? Without his crest?”
“Why else would he break propriety so boldly?” Henrietta’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“He doesn’t want anyone knowing he called on you this morning.
If he intends to propose at the musicale tonight, he can’t have it looking as though he strong-armed you into it beforehand.
” She paused. “Does he know what happened at the churchyard?”
“Not entirely.” Charlotte’s hand found her wrist, pressing against the skin where his hold had left its mark. “He was trying to get me to fill in the gaps when you appeared.”
“Then we’ll ensure you’re never alone with him tonight.” Determination hardened Henrietta’s features. “I have a fitting at the modiste this evening that I’ve been waiting weeks for, but Mama will be at the musicale. I’ll speak with her before you arrive.”
“Your mother?” Charlotte looked at her friend in surprise. “But surely she wouldn’t get involved in such matters?”
“Oh, Charlotte. Mama sees far more than people realize. She’s been quite curious about Lord Penrose’s sudden enthusiasm. Especially given how thoroughly he’s been gathering information about you.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s been asking specific questions. About your habits, your preferences.
” Henrietta’s expression grew serious. “One of your maids mentioned to their cook that you were planning to wear blue tonight. Lord Penrose’s valet came by our kitchen yesterday asking to borrow boot polish, and he told our housekeeper that Penrose had him running all over London finding a blue waistcoat and matching cravat on short notice. ”
Charlotte’s mind raced. Even her choice of dress had been anticipated, weaponized. If she wore blue tonight, she would appear as his perfect complement before all of Lady Jersey’s guests—
“Charlotte.” Henrietta’s hand gently touched her arm, pulling her back from the spiral. “You’re not wearing blue.”
She blinked, finding her friend watching her with fierce certainty.
“Wear something else. Anything else. Don’t give him the satisfaction of being right about you.”
“Yes.” The word came out barely a whisper. “I will.”
“Good.” Henrietta’s grip tightened briefly before releasing. “And remember, Mama will be watching. You won’t be as alone as he thinks.”
But Charlotte barely heard her. Her mind was already spinning through possibilities, calculating time, searching desperately for some way to delay whatever Penrose had planned.
They walked the remaining distance in comfortable silence. In front of the Fairmont House, Henrietta pulled her into a warm embrace.
“Promise you’ll send word after? Even if it’s late?”
“I promise.” Charlotte pulled back. “What do I do if he proposes? In front of everyone?”
Henrietta’s expression steadied. “You tell him you’re deeply honored and need time to consider. In public, he has no choice but to accept that answer gracefully. It will buy you a few days.”
Henrietta squeezed her once more, then murmured near her ear, “Though if you should happen to need rescuing again tonight…” She let the implication hang in the air, the smile audible in her voice. “Well, stranger things have happened.”
She pulled back with an exaggerated wink that was so theatrical, so utterly Henrietta, that Charlotte couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her.
“You’re impossible.”
“I prefer ‘optimistic.’” Henrietta released her and stepped back toward the street. “Send word tonight. Even if it’s just to tell me how dreadfully boring the entertainment was.”
Charlotte watched her friend disappear down the street, shaking her head with a reluctant smile. Henrietta had always known how to make her laugh, even on the worst days. Rather like someone else she’d met recently.
She turned toward her door, and reality crashed back.
Hours. She had mere hours before she’d have to walk into Lady Jersey’s drawing room and perform like a trained songbird while Lord Penrose sat in the audience, already counting his victory.
Fifty guests—carefully selected, each one a potential witness to whatever announcement he’d planned.
Her father would be there. Aunt Margaret.
All watching to see if she’d finally learned to be grateful for the cage being built around her.
The weight of it settled against her ribs, constricting her breath.
Charlotte closed her eyes, seeking the familiar refuge of recalling her mother’s voice, the scent of roses, the safety of being seen and loved. But instead of those well-worn memories, another image rose unbidden.
His arms pulling her close. The gentle way he’d stroked her hair while she cried, his other hand drawing slow circles against her back.
The warmth of his breath against her ear as he’d murmured reassurances, spoken with such certainty that for a moment she’d almost believed him.
How her legs had given out and he’d simply held her tighter, taken her weight without complaint.
William Fletcher.
She’d only known him a few weeks, but it felt like far longer than that—like he’d been part of her life for years rather than a handful of stolen moments. The thought of him made her breathing even out, the fear loosening its grip, replaced by the calm that settled over her whenever he was close.
She wanted to see him again, despite the sting of how suddenly he had left last night.
Wanted it with an intensity that terrified her, that made her mother’s stories about love and recklessness suddenly, viscerally clear.
She would walk into that musicale tonight knowing Lord Penrose waited to claim her, and still her stubborn heart would search the shadows for his face.
God help her.