Chapter 9 #3
Alcott’s mouth tightened. “That is my concern as well. All I have ever wanted is for my sister to be happy. But I fear she does not believe she deserves it—just as I once thought of myself, before Jane.” His voice softened. “Our father was not kind to Charlotte. He all but ignored her.”
Luca stilled, the glass halfway back to the table. “She has told me as much.”
“Our father blamed her for our mother’s death,” Alcott continued. “He punished her with silence. I was drowning in my own sorrow and ran off to the Army, leaving her alone. It is not something I am proud of, but it is the truth.”
Luca set the glass down carefully. “No one can fault you for that.”
“I do,” Alcott admitted. “I buried my head in the sand, not realizing how badly she suffered. She may wear her mask of the diamond with grace, but that is all it is—an act.”
Luca’s chest tightened. He had suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed made him ache in ways he was not prepared for. “I have seen glimpses of that truth.”
Rupert interjected with a smirk. “This sounds like a private conversation, but I will add only this—Luca has fallen for Miss Winslow.”
Luca’s brows shot up. “I beg your pardon?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Rupert drawled. “You can deny it all you want, but your eyes give you away. They sharpen whenever her name passes your lips.”
Heat prickled at the back of Luca’s neck. Denial would serve no purpose, not with Rupert. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling heavily. “I do care for Miss Winslow. But she loathes me.”
“That line can be rather blurred,” Rupert said, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. “Indifference would be more damning. Hatred can be passion turned on its head.”
Alcott’s expression sobered. “This is between us, but Jane says she has never seen Charlotte so undone by a gentleman before.”
“Is that a good thing?” Luca asked.
Rupert chuckled. “It is a very good thing. The diamond of the Season does not allow herself to be undone. Every man in London pines for her, yet it is you she spends her time sparring with.”
Alcott lowered his voice. “You must fight for my sister.”
“It is not that simple,” Luca insisted.
“It can be,” Alcott retorted. “You are the only man who challenges Charlotte. Most men fall at her feet, flattering her without thought. That is not what she needs, nor what she wants. Jane agrees with me on this.”
A flicker of hope pierced Luca’s chest, unwanted but impossible to ignore. “If that is the case, why does Charlotte act as though she despises me?”
“You are in good company, considering I never know what Charlotte is thinking at any given moment,” Alcott said. “I think she likes me, but only because she has to since we are family.”
Luca dragged a hand through his hair, frustration and disbelief warring inside him. “How do I turn Charlotte’s heart towards me?”
Rupert leaned back with mock gravity. “There are the usual tricks—flattery, gifts, promises you have no intention of keeping…”
“That will never work on Charlotte,” Luca cut in sharply.
Alcott gave a small, knowing nod. “Then do the one thing no other man has done for her. Give her the gift of time. Show up. Be present. That would mean more to her than any trinket you could ever purchase.”
“And if she still rejects me?” Luca asked, his voice low, almost reluctant. The words tasted bitter, but he forced them out all the same.
“Then that is her choice,” Alcott replied. He rose from his chair with the quiet certainty of a man who had already made his peace with the matter. “I have said what I came to say. I should return home before it grows too late.”
Rupert pushed to his feet, as well, stretching with careless ease. “As should I. There are things I must see to.”
Alcott’s gaze narrowed. “Which are?”
“This and that,” Rupert replied.
“That did not answer my question,” Alcott pressed.
“It is best that you do not know,” Rupert said, his words edged with finality. Without another glance back, he strode towards the great door of White’s, his tall frame vanishing into the din of the club.
Luca’s eyes lingered on his friend’s retreating figure. Rupert had always been a man wrapped in layers, a puzzle no one could fully solve. Perhaps that was why he was so effective when danger called.
Beside him, Alcott murmured, “What do you think Rupert is about?”
“Does it matter?” Luca asked, dragging his gaze back to Alcott.
“No, I suppose not.” Alcott exhaled heavily. “Still, he is a man shrouded in secrecy.”
Pushing back his chair, Luca rose and came to stand by his friend. “Every man is entitled to keep some secrets.”
Alcott huffed a laugh, though it lacked mirth. “You are right.”
“Come, I will walk you out. I have work that requires my attention tonight at The London Gazette.”
Alcott cast him a wry look as they made their way towards the door. “You work too hard.”
“That is like calling the kettle black.”
“Fair enough.”
As they stepped out into the cool night air, Luca drew in a long breath, his mind already turning from the conversation to the mounting tasks ahead.
But beneath it all, Charlotte’s face lingered—her defiance, her wounded pride, her vulnerability.
He could bury himself in ink and paper, in mysteries and corruption, but she was the one riddle he could not ignore.