Chapter 30 - Charlotte
Charlotte
Charlotte’s body had gone numb hours ago—legs cramped from sitting motionless at the window, eyes burning from tears and exhaustion.
Dawn broke cold and gray over Berkeley Square, painting everything in shades of ash and iron. She watched the light creep across the cobblestones, feeling nothing beyond the dull ache in her limbs.
The knock at her door barely registered.
“Miss Charlotte?” The door opened before Charlotte could answer, and footsteps crossed the room. A sharp intake of breath. “Oh, miss.”
Charlotte didn’t turn. Couldn’t summon the energy to move, to speak, to pretend she was anything other than the broken woman she was.
Warm hands touched her shoulders, gentle and cautious. “You’re freezing.” Annie’s voice carried alarm. “Have you been sitting here all night?”
The question seemed to require an answer Charlotte didn’t have. Had it been all night? Time had lost meaning somewhere between the third hour and the fourth, when exhaustion should have claimed her but pain kept her stubbornly, painfully awake.
She’d spent those hours turning the same questions over and over.
What made Penrose acceptable and Stephen impossible?
An inherited title? Money earned by ancestors he’d never met?
Stephen was everything a man should be— honest, courageous, genuinely kind—while Penrose used his position to manipulate and destroy.
Yet society had already decided which one of them had value, and that decision had nothing to do with character or worth, only with the random accident of birth.
Charlotte had never questioned those rules before, had accepted them as natural and unchangeable. But now they were crushing her, and she had never hated anything more.
Annie disappeared, returning moments later with something damp and cool that she pressed carefully to Charlotte’s eyes.
The compress stung against her swollen skin, but Charlotte welcomed the sensation.
Pain meant she was still alive, still feeling, still capable of registering something beyond the hollow ache in her chest.
“Your aunt has already been asking after you,” Annie murmured. “She’s quite concerned you haven’t come down yet.”
Charlotte managed a nod, though the movement felt mechanical. “Has there been any word from Lord Penrose this morning?”
The question escaped before she could stop it. Not because she wished to see him—the thought of facing him made her stomach turn. But his absence now that their engagement was secured proved everything she already knew about him and this marriage.
“No, miss. Nothing since last night’s announcement.” Annie hesitated, then added more gently, “Your aunt mentioned he’s likely occupied with the special license. Such arrangements require a gentleman’s personal attention, she said.”
“Of course.” The words tasted bitter. How convenient that duty called him away now, when she might have expected some show of courtship, some pretense of affection. But why bother with pretense when the prize was already won?
Annie began working at Charlotte’s hair, trying to untangle the mess it had dried into.
“But this came for you earlier, miss.” Annie produced a small envelope from her pocket, placing it on the dressing table. “From Miss Bellamy.”
Charlotte reached for the envelope, opening it with stiff fingers. Charlotte, you simply must come for tea this afternoon. I need to see you.
She stared at the brief message. Henrietta must have heard about the engagement by now. The whole ton would know.
“Annie, please tell Aunt Margaret I’ll be visiting the Bellamys this afternoon.” Her voice came out steadier than she felt. “The fresh air might do me good.”
“Are you certain, miss?” Worry lined Annie’s face as she studied Charlotte’s exhausted appearance. “You hardly slept at all last night. Perhaps you should rest today instead.”
“I’ve rested enough.” The lie slipped out easily. She hadn’t rested. Hadn’t even tried. But sitting in this room for one more hour, staring outside while her mind replayed everything that had happened, would destroy what little composure she had left. “And I could use the distraction.”
Annie looked unconvinced but nodded, setting about the task of making Charlotte presentable. It took longer than usual—no amount of powder could fully disguise the pallor of her skin or the shadows beneath her lashes.
When Annie finally stepped back, Charlotte looked empty. Fragile. Like someone had taken all the light from her and left only a careful arrangement of features that vaguely resembled Charlotte Fairmont.
“Will that do, miss?”
“It will have to.” Charlotte rose on unsteady legs, her body protesting the movement after hours of stillness.
Annie stood there with that same patient kindness she always showed, and Charlotte wondered suddenly if she was happy.
If she’d chosen this life or if circumstance had chosen it for her, the way circumstance was choosing Charlotte’s.
They were both trapped by different rules, weren’t they?
Just playing the roles they’d been assigned. “Thank you, Annie.”
By mid-afternoon, her aunt was so pleased by Charlotte’s apparent recovery that she practically pushed her out the door. “You need to get out of this house,” Aunt Margaret said, adjusting Charlotte’s bonnet. “And time with Miss Bellamy will do you good.”
Charlotte’s chest tightened as the carriage rolled toward the Bellamy country estate. She knew the Rutland property bordered it closely, the two estates divided by little more than a low stone wall and fifty yards of manicured lawn.
Stephen was right there, close enough that if she pressed her face to Henrietta’s morning room window and looked carefully, she might glimpse the kitchen where he could be working at this very moment.
The carriage rolled to a stop. A footman helped her down, his white-gloved hand steadying her as she stepped onto the gravel drive.
Her gaze drifted to the line of trees marking the property’s edge, the low stone wall barely visible through the gray afternoon light, so close she could almost—
“Miss Fairmont?” The butler’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. He waited at the entrance patiently. “Miss Bellamy is expecting you.”
“Forgive me.” Charlotte forced herself to look away and follow him inside.
“You look terrible.” Henrietta’s voice came from the doorway before Charlotte had fully entered. Her friend crossed the space between them quickly, catching her hands. “What’s wrong? Is it—“ She stopped, seeming to remember herself. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Did you find him? Your William?”
The name made Charlotte’s chest tighten. She pulled her hands free gently, moving past Henrietta into the morning room before the reaction showed on her face. She couldn’t talk about this. Talking about it would mean reliving it, and she’d barely survived the first time.
“I’ve given up that foolish fancy.”
“Given up?” Henrietta followed, closing the door firmly behind them. “You don’t look like someone who’s given up anything. You look like you’ve been crying all night.”
Charlotte sank onto the settee, letting herself settle into its familiar comfort.
The morning room was exactly as she remembered—warm and inviting, with tall windows overlooking the garden.
Beyond the manicured hedges, the Rutland estate was visible in the distance, but she kept her attention fixed firmly away from that view.
“Lord Penrose has secured a special license,” she said, the words coming out flat and rehearsed. “The wedding is set for Wednesday. Everything is arranged.”
“Wednesday?” Her friend’s voice sharpened. “But that’s only—“ She broke off, moving to pour tea with hands that weren’t quite steady. “That’s very soon.”
“My aunt says the creditors are pressing.” Charlotte accepted the cup, the warmth against her palms anchoring her to something real.
“Apparently we can’t afford to wait.” Henrietta settled beside her, close enough that their skirts touched.
“What about the blackmail? Did you find anything? Does he still—“
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” The words came out flat. “The announcement has been made.”
“Charlotte.” Her friend’s voice had gone soft, careful. “This isn’t like you. The Charlotte I know wouldn’t just… settle—“
“The Charlotte you know needs to grow up.” The words came out harsher than intended. “We can’t all have the luxury of waiting for love matches.”
“Don’t.” Henrietta’s expression hardened. “Don’t make this about my situation when it’s clearly about yours.”
A heavy silence fell between them, and Charlotte was unable to look at her friend.
Henrietta seemed to sense her reluctance to discuss it further. She drew a breath, her expression shifting. “I asked you here because I heard something,” she said quietly. “About Lord Rutland’s household.”
Charlotte’s heart lurched. She forced herself to take a sip of tea, using the movement to hide the tremor in her hands. “Oh?”
“Apparently one of their footmen has been dismissed.” Her friend’s voice remained carefully neutral, but she watched Charlotte closely. “Without a reference. Something about not knowing his place.”
Charlotte’s teacup rattled against its saucer. She set both down quickly, but not before Henrietta noticed.
“Mama’s maid heard it from their cook just this morning. They say Lord Rutland was livid, though no one seems to know exactly what happened.” She paused. “He will likely have to leave London entirely.”
Dismissed. Without a reference. Because of her.
Charlotte stared at the hands in her lap.
“Charlotte.” Henrietta’s voice had gone very quiet. “Do you know—“
“Henrietta, dear?” Lady Bellamy’s voice cut through the tension as she swept into the morning room.
She glanced between the two girls, taking in Charlotte’s pale face and rigid posture with alarming speed.
“Would you check on the new roses? The gardener mentioned something about black spot, and you know how hopeless I am with such matters.”
It was a transparent excuse. Henrietta opened her mouth as if to protest, then seemed to catch something in her mother’s expression. She rose slowly, her gaze lingering on Charlotte.
“Of course, Mama.” She squeezed Charlotte’s hand briefly before leaving. “I’ll be in the garden if you need me.”
The door closed with a soft click. Lady Bellamy settled into the spot Henrietta had vacated, her movements deliberate and unhurried. For a long moment, she simply studied Charlotte in silence.
“My dear,” she began at last, her voice gentle. “I hope you’ll forgive an old woman’s interference, but… I knew your mother well.”
“I know,” Charlotte said quietly.
“She was much like you, you know.” Her voice grew distant with memory. “The same fire in her eyes, the same unwillingness to simply accept what society dictated. Too educated for a woman, they said. Too independent in her thoughts. The ton never quite knew what to make of her.”
“Papa never speaks of her that way.”
“No, he wouldn’t. They had a true love match, your parents.
” She leaned forward slightly. “It scandalized society at the time. She could have made a much grander alliance. A duke had offered for her, you know. But she chose your father because they shared more than duty. They shared love and passion and a meeting of minds.”
Charlotte’s throat tightened. She knew this story, had grown up on it, but hearing it now, after last night, felt like salt in an open wound.
“She would have wanted the same for you,” Lady Bellamy continued.
“What I want doesn’t matter.” The words came out barely above a whisper. “The announcement has been made. Breaking the engagement would ruin me.”
“Perhaps.” Lady Bellamy’s gaze remained steady. “But your mother taught me something, all those years ago when she defied her family to marry your father. She taught me that sometimes the price of living someone else’s life is far higher than the cost of choosing your own.”
“But I can’t—“
“I’m not telling you what to do.” She reached across to pat Charlotte’s hand. “I’m simply reminding you that you have a choice. You always have a choice, even when society insists otherwise. Your mother knew that. And I think, deep down, you know it too.”
Charlotte stared at their hands, her mind spinning. “If I broke the engagement… where would I even go?”
“Wherever you wished.” Her voice turned practical. “You’re a capable young woman with an excellent education. There are options beyond marriage, if one is brave enough to pursue them. Governesses, companions, even teachers at girls’ schools.”
The possibility hadn’t even occurred to Charlotte.
She’d been so thoroughly defeated that she’d stopped looking for escape entirely.
But here it was. A way out she hadn’t seen.
She tried to imagine it—a life somewhere else, away from London and society’s expectations. Away from Lord Penrose and his cruelty.
But also away from her father, abandoning him when he’d already lost so much. From everything she’d ever known.
“I don’t know if I’m that brave,” Charlotte whispered.
“Your mother said the same thing once.” A gentle smile crossed Lady Bellamy’s features. “But bravery isn’t the absence of fear, my dear. It’s choosing to act despite it.”