Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

LETTERS BACK ANDF

" C ome in." Dominic called in answer to the knock on the door.

He was sitting in one of his favourite places in the castle, one of the libraries in the Eastern Wing. Most of his family would either be retiring or in one of the parlours playing games. He, however, had other things to do.

Of course, my grandmother would want to see evidence of love letters that simply do not exist. The woman is altogether too suspicious for her own good. Dominic sighed and turned as the door opened, and a familiar face peered round.

Beatrice, the maid he had instructed to serve as Charlotte's lady's maid for her stay, looked up at him. "I have Lady Nettle with me, Your Grace. As you instructed."

"Excellent, thank you Beatrice." Dominic beckoned both women inside and hastily shut the door.

"And why have you summoned me here at such an hour?" Charlotte asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"We need to do something about these letters, and we need to do it sooner rather than later," Dominic explained, running a hand through his hair.

Charlotte's eyes widened in alarm as she glanced from Dominic to Beatrice. "What do you mean?"

"Do not worry about Beatrice; we can trust her."

Charlotte gave him a look that said she was not convinced, and Dominic sighed.

"Beatrice has been in my family's service for generations. She practically raised me, and I would trust her with my life."

"I would not betray His Grace." Beatrice gave Charlotte an appraising look. "I hold his confidence and esteem far too dear for that."

"Very well." Charlotte nodded though she seemed somehow more unsettled.

"Besides she will act as our chaperone, so no one can imply anything untoward has happened between us." Dominic tried to puzzle at what seemed to be causing the other woman's discomfort.

"I thank you for your consideration." Charlotte still looked unconvinced.

Understanding hit him. "She is not going to spy on you for me."

"I did not say that I thought she would." Charlotte's cheeks flushed, and Dominic knew he had been right.

"No, but you were thinking it." He grinned.

"Are you some kind of mystic now, able to read one's own thoughts?" Charlotte rolled her eyes.

"I would rather be a mystic than ‘sweetkins'." Dominic made a face.

"And I would rather be ‘sweetkins' than your ‘Precious Plum.'" Charlotte grimaced. "Precious Plum."

"It is not as bad as sweetkins," he insisted.

"No, it is not. It is worse," she retorted.

"Well, it serves you right." He shook his head. "You were the one who insisted on portraying me as some lovesick puppy."

"You started it."

"How exactly did I start this?" He held up a hand as he saw her ready her own response. We do not have time for this. "Never mind, I can see we will get nowhere with this argument."

"Probably not," Charlotte admitted.

"I am surprised that your mother permitted you to join me at such a late hour, even with Beatrice in attendance. Or did you not tell her where you were going?" Dominic canted his head towards her.

"That and the fact that she had rather a lot of wine with dinner, and it has made her exceptionally cheery." A sly look crossed her face. "And no, I did not tell her. I doubt she will look for me, and if she does… well, I know how to manage her."

"Excellent." Dominic clapped his hands together.

"Do you have paper, quill, and ink?" Charlotte peered around the room.

"Of course. You may use the desk, and I will write at the coffee table." Dominic gestured to the desk upon which he had laid several sheets of paper, a fresh quill, and ink.

"How chivalrous of you," Charlotte murmured as she walked towards the desk.

He pulled the chair out for her and gave a mocking bow. "I try."

She rolled her eyes again, but nonetheless took a seat at the desk. After a moment, she looked back at him and asked, "How many do you think we will need?"

"I am not sure. I suspect it will be less about the volume and more the quality." He ran a hand through his hair. And they will have to be tediously treacly.

"Do you think you will be able to create works of such quality?" Charlotte teased.

"I have been known to have something of a way with words. Do you think you will be up to the task?" he shot back.

"If the bar is that I must write at least as well as you, then I feel confident I can achieve such dizzying heights." Charlotte laughed softly.

"Your wit really is something to behold." Dominic brought over a small tray and set it beside Charlotte. "I have also had some tea brought in for us and light refreshments. I noticed you did not eat much at dinner."

Charlotte seemed taken aback by this statement, and Dominic half expected her to deny it. Instead, she said, "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure. Besides, I find I write best when I have snacks." He shrugged and poured them both a cup of tea.

She hastily snatched papers away as several drops spilled from the tea pot onto the table. "Mind you, do not spill tea on the letters."

"It might add to their authenticity," Dominic replied, handing her a handkerchief to wipe up the small spill.

Charlotte let out a sniff of disapproval. "I, for one, would not dream of sending someone I was courting a tea-stained letter. It is sloppy."

"Very well, I shall do my best to avoid this." Dominic took one of the finger sandwiches from the plate and bit into it. "What about sandwich crumbs?"

"Honestly, it is a wonder that so many mothers want you for a son-in-law." Charlotte shook her head.

Dominic laughed softly. "I am of the opinion that they have rather excellent taste."

"You would be," she said.

The two of them drifted into silence with it only occasionally broken by the sound of quills scratching against paper and the occasional chink of china as one or the other of them took a sip of their tea

"Well, I think this will do to start," Charlotte said, looking pleased with herself.

"You are already done?" Dominic glanced at his own half-penned letter.

"It was not hard," she replied and took a bite out of a cucumber sandwich.

"Let us hear it then." Dominic gestured for Charlotte to read the letter aloud.

Charlotte cleared her throat. "To Duke Verimore."

"A rather formal beginning, do you not think? Hardly the start of a letter to someone you are courting." He frowned at her.

"Would you rather I began it ‘My dearest, most darling Sweetkins?'" Charlotte said sweetly.

"I was thinking something more along the lines of ‘My dear Duke'. You know, something that sounds like you might actually be fond of me?" Dominic said.

"Fine. ‘My dear Duke.'" Charlotte penned on a fresh piece of paper. "Thank you for your letter. While I am flattered at your attentions, I must confess that I am more than a little concerned about your reputation."

"You have not really written that, have you?" Dominic moved from his spot to peer over Charlotte's shoulder at her letter. "Goodness, ‘my wanton ways?' My ‘propensity and desire for the hunt with no real commitment'. You cannot write this; you make it sound as though you loathe everything about me."

"It is not that bad."

"It is. You make me out to be some kind of degenerate reprobate." He sighed. "No one will believe that you wrote that kind of letter, and we have somehow ended up engaged."

"Well, it is what I would have written to you. After all, I am hardly ignorant of your reputation. And unless I am mistaken, I suspect your first letter would have focused on my beauty or some such thing. It would have been full of pretty words but given me very little reason to trust you."

Dominic glanced towards the letter he had half finished. "I did say that I had been thinking of you often and that I was sorry we had had to part so swiftly."

"Do not tell me you borrowed a line from Shakespear."

"I was tempted, but I resisted the urge. My point still remains that my letter, at least what I have written of it, points to me wanting to court you. Yours reads as though you would like very little to do with me."

"Then maybe your next letter should focus on earning my trust. I will not pretend that I would have jumped into a courtship with a rake with no reservations," Charlotte said.

Dominic had the sense that there was something more that she wanted to say that she was holding back. "Very well. I can see you will not be moved on this, so let us see what I can come up with."

He absently sucked on the end of his quill. "My dearest Charlotte."

"Rather familiar do you not think?" Charlotte raised an eyebrow at him.

"You are quite right; I should address it to my Plum." Dominic ducked as Charlotte threw a ball of paper at him. "Be careful, or you will upset the ink bottle."

Charlotte scowled at him, and Dominic sighed. He glanced at the paper before him and said, "Give me a few moments. I need to think."

"I imagine thinking must be a rather taxing pastime for you."

"Oh, ha ha," Dominic replied sarcastically. "How about this, ‘Would that I had the words to assuage your fears, yet I sense that words will do little in this instance. And so, I must show you through my actions.'"

"And how exactly do you plan on doing that in a letter?" Charlotte asked, sounding perplexed.

"I planned on asking you why you felt such strong dislike towards rakes. Most people agree they are not necessarily paragons of virtue, but few seem to loathe and distrust them as you do," Dominic said.

"And what would it matter why I felt the way I do? How would knowing this change anything?" Charlotte hugged her arms around herself, and in that moment, Dominic felt an oddly protective urge within him.

"If I could understand it, then perhaps I could allay your fears," Dominic answered.

"I… A rake cannot be trusted," Charlotte replied.

"But how do you know this? Just because he is a rake does not mean that all that he does is untruthful," he pointed out. There is an irony here that your own reputation is based mainly on lies, and you are insisting that rakes are not all liars.

"They lie. They love nothing more than to fill your head with sweet words and promises that mean nothing to them, and when you discover their treachery, they will make it seem like it was your fault. Like you are somehow to blame for their behaviour." Charlotte had a faraway look in her eyes, as though she were remembering something.

Realisation hit Dominic. A rake broke her heart or at the very least hurt her deeply. "You have known other rakes."

For a moment, he thought she would deny it, but then she nodded. "Nothing scandalous happened between us. I was young, na?ve. I was not even really in love."

"But his betrayal still hurt." Dominic's voice was soft.

"It did," Charlotte said, her pale green eyes finding his.

A part of Dominic wanted to know exactly what the man had done to hurt her so, but he did not want to push her. Besides, what is done is done, and knowing will not undo his actions.

Eventually, Charlotte murmured, "I hate being made a fool of. I hate dishonesty. And well, when I confronted him, not only did he deny it at first, but then he tried to convince me I should be thanking him for it."

"Really?" Dominic shook his head.

He had met his share of men who had boasted of convincing wives and fiancés that they were being hysterical or paranoid. He clenched a hand into a fist. Why make her doubt herself when you are already caught?

"Yes, when I did not buy that they were just friends, he told me that it was all my fault. That he was doing me a great kindness by getting his needs met elsewhere. He even had the audacity to come to my estate and demand that I reinstate the engagement." Charlotte's fingers curled into fists. "In the end, I told him never to contact me again, or I would set the dogs on him."

Dominic laughed. "And did he try and contact you again?"

"No, he did not." She looked smug as she said it.

"Thank you," Dominic said after a while.

"For what?" Charlotte canted her head towards him, looking confused.

"For telling me your story," Dominic replied. "It is not easy to revisit painful memories."

"I think of them less as painful and more as a reminder that one must not trust too easily. Wearing a heart on your sleeve is good in fairy tales but less so in real life." Charlotte gestured vaguely. "Now has that helped you come up with inspiration for your letter?"

"Yes. At least I think so." Dominic glanced down at the paper and scribbled a few lines, and then cleared his throat. "'My dear Lady Charlotte… Words are cheap, and it is with actions that I will win your heart. And so I give you these gifts which cannot be bought. In your next letter you might ask me questions, and I will answer you truly.'"

"And how am I supposed to know that whatever you write is true?" Charlotte seemed skeptical.

"Well, you have not heard my next gift." Dominic gave her a wicked grin. "‘And my next gift is a secret. A secret so embarrassing that I trust you with it as a deep sign of my affection and loyalty.'"

He paused and looked at Charlotte, who was leaning towards him with keen interest. He continued, "‘I am deathly afraid of sewing needles.'"

Charlotte laughed. "Sewing needles?"

"Yes. Blood, wounds, that is fine. But a sewing needle accidentally pricking the skin." Dominic shuddered. "I would rather be stabbed with a dagger."

"Well then, it is probably deeply fortunate that men rarely are asked to sew." Charlotte smiled at him.

"Do you think that little secret would have earned me a bit of trust?" Dominic asked.

"If not trust, something close to it. After all, it is a wickedly fun thing to blackmail you with." Charlotte gave him a wolfish grin, but a moment later looked concerned. "Are you sure you wish your grandmother to have such knowledge?"

"I am touched you care so much," Dominic teased.

"Your grandmother is a formidable woman. I do not think I have ever seen grown men and women so frightened. I understand why the ton say they would rather deal with an angry badger." Charlotte shook her head.

"She was the one who discovered it actually. My fear, I mean. It is why she sends me a sewing kit every year for my birthday." Dominic winced at the memory. "She gifts me other things as well, but she always includes a sewing kit. And frequently, she hides it in the other gifts. I have taken to wearing gloves to open anything I receive from her."

"Now that is something I have to see!" Charlotte said and then blushed. "Though I imagine it is unlikely we will be in each other's lives at that point."

Dominic felt an odd pang in his chest but pushed it away. "Perhaps I shall send you a painting of it as a parting gift."

"It would certainly make parting all the more sweet," Charlotte agreed.

"Then it shall be done. Now let us get back to these letters. Are you ready to get sickeningly romantic?" Dominic asked.

"Of course, I am, Sweetkins." Charlotte replied.

And even though Dominic groaned at the nickname, he found that despite himself, he was having a rather pleasant time.