Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

HOW DO WE KNOW WHAT IS REAL?

" W hat did you mean by what you said to the Duke?" Lady Bellmore said when Charlotte and she were in her rooms later that evening.

Charlotte had wanted time to herself to ponder over the afternoon, but her stepmother had insisted on joining her. The woman had been watching her with an oddly curious and calculating expression all afternoon. Does she know?

If she knows the truth, what would that mean for our plan? Charlotte's chest squeezed. "What are you talking about?"

"I noticed that you seemed rather put out in the shop, and well, snatches of your conversation carried as we rode." Lady Bellmore surveyed Charlotte seriously. "What did you mean that the engagement ring would be a fake one? Nothing in that shop was counterfeit."

Charlotte swallowed. "Nothing. You must have misheard me."

Something within her roiled. The same odd disappointment that had sat with her all afternoon seemed to solidify and spiral into something deeper. She tried to force it away but met with little success.

"I do not think that I did." Lady Bellmore moved closer, an unreadable expression on her face as she scrutinised Charlotte. "And by your face now, I am sure I have not."

"I do not want to talk about it." She turned from her stepmother, a lump forming in her throat.

She felt a hand close firmly on her wrist, and she turned to look at Lady Bellmore. "If it is what I think it is, then we must talk about it."

"What business is it of yours?" Charlotte shook her head, anger and frustration welling up within her.

"I am your mother," Lady Bellmore said though it lacked conviction.

"You are my stepmother," Charlotte replied coolly. "That is not the same."

"Just because I am not your mother by blood, does not mean I am somehow less." An odd look crossed her face as though she were trying to convince herself of the truth of her own words. "I care about you, Charlotte."

Charlotte scoffed. "Do not lie to me. You have always made it abundantly clear that you did not care for me, so why pretend now?"

"Is that truly what you think?" Lady Bellmore took a step back, looking genuinely surprised.

"Of course, it is." Charlotte gaped at her.

All the times she directed a scathing remark at me. Charlotte had not expected a close relationship with Lady Bellmore; she had not really expected much at all when her father remarried. It all happened so fast, or at least, that is what it seemed like.

"I care for all of you, deeply." Lady Bellmore clutched a hand to her chest.

"I find that hard to believe." She raised an eyebrow at her stepmother.

"And why is that?" Lady Bellmore frowned at her.

"If you cared for us, any of us, why would you treat us the way you do? How are we supposed to ever match your expectations? You want all three of us to be perfect, all of the time. No, not even perfect, above perfect. Beyond reproach." Charlotte gestured around her emphatically. "It is exhausting."

Lady Bellmore arched an eyebrow at her, folding her arms across her chest. " You do not try to be perfect; you have never tried to be perfect."

"Because I knew that if I was a big enough failure in your eyes, you would go easier on the other two. Perhaps even be kind to them." Charlotte felt her voice catch with the weight of the years she had spent being her sisters' guardian. I will protect them. "I did what I had to to keep my sisters safe. It was what I promised my mother."

"You felt you had to keep your sisters safe from me?" Lady Bellmore scoffed as though the idea were utterly preposterous.

Charlotte only just managed not to gape at her. How can she be so unaware of her behaviour? "Of course, I did. Philippa still has bruises from your ‘correction' the other day."

"What?" A look of horror flashed across the woman's face.

"You bruised her. You always do." She frowned.

"I… I did not know that."

"How could you have not known? What need have you to grip so hard? To control us so tightly? We can scarcely breathe without your say so. The others barely step a toe out of line for fear of you and what you might do." Charlotte recalled a crying Evelyn, a red mark across her face where their stepmother had slapped her. That solidified what I must do. That I must set the bar so low, they would always succeed in her eyes, and even that has not been enough.

"You paint me as some fairy tale witch." Lady Bellmore bit her lip, a mix of anger and confusion playing across her face.

"No, I am simply describing how you have been, how you have always been," Charlotte said although some part of her felt that this was not necessarily true. "Why else do you think I would pretend to marry a duke?"

Lady Bellmore gaped at Charlotte, and she mentally kicked herself for the blunder. She glanced around, but the door was closed. Hopefully, no one will hear me.

"So it is true." Lady Bellmore shook her head, and then, to Charlotte's surprise, instead of reprimanding her or striking her, her stepmother gently squeezed her hand. "I am sorry that you felt you had to do such a thing."

"I… What?" Charlotte's head swam. This makes no sense.

"I swore I would never be like my own parents, like my mother and father, and yet I see I have done just that." Lady Bellmore ran a hand through her head. "They always pushed me, punished me harshly when I fell short of their standards. I grew up never feeling good enough. Never feeling worthy of love and affection.

"At least, until I met your father. Everything was different when we met. He was like no one I had ever known. He needed me, and it made me feel like perhaps I would be worthy of him." Lady Bellmore ran a hand absently over her wedding ring. "It was different when I was first married to your father."

"I have no memory of it," Charlotte admitted.

"I am hardly surprised." Lady Bellmore sighed. "I was so young, so desperate to please and to show everyone that I would be a good wife. Your mother had been dead only six months, and your father found me in his grief."

It occurred to her that Lady Bellmore could not have been much older than her. She would have been no more than four and twenty; they were married eleven years ago. She tried to remember what it had been like in those early months and days.

Lady Bellmore had seemed old to her, but that was only because Charlotte had been little more than a girl herself. I was only twelve. She barely remembered anything, except the staggering weight of her mother's death.

"He called me his safe harbour. His anchor. He said that he needed me to keep him grounded. To pull him through the dark times." She shook her head, an odd mix of wistfulness and sadness on her face. "And I was glad to do it. Some part of me hoped I might be able to do the same for you girls."

Charlotte said nothing. She did not know what to say.

"It is hard being the second wife. When John first approached me, he was lost. And I was flattered. And then, it seemed as though I were living in your mother's shadow. After all, she was his first choice and would have still been with him had she lived." Lady Bellmore absently drummed her fingers along the windowsill as she stared into the distance. "And of course, everyone whispers. They expect you to be everything she was and then more."

"Who does?" Charlotte asked though she already knew the answer.

"The ton. My parents. All those Lord and Ladies. Each watching, waiting for your misstep. I was so very determined to prove them wrong, to prove that I was every bit the worthy woman." Lady Bellmore clenched her hands into fists, her voice full of bitterness and anger. "I wanted to prove that I was the perfect wife. And what is the first role of a good wife?"

"To bear her husband children," Charlotte said; it was a mantra her stepmother had drilled into her. Make him happy, but first and foremost, you must make sure his line continues.

Lady Bellmore nodded grimly. "As soon as I discovered that there was some deficiency in me that meant I could not give him children… it was as if some kind of madness took hold within me. All I could think was that I had failed, that I would never ever be worthy.

"And then I saw you girls, and you became my hope. The extensions of myself that I so desperately craved. If you succeeded, then so would I. And your father, the ton, my parents, they would all know that they were wrong."

"Did father ever make you feel badly for not being able to have children?" Charlotte asked, frowning at her stepmother.

She found it hard to imagine her father doing such a thing, but then again, she would never have in a million years imagined this kind of candour between her stepmother and herself. Or that my fake fiancé would buy me an engagement ring.

"No," Lady Bellmore admitted. "He has always been understanding, but that does not mean that I have not felt myself lacking."

"And you took that insecurity out on us." Charlotte felt anger stir within her, mingled with pity. "Your parents pushed you, made you feel less than, and you have done the exact same thing to my sisters and me. All because you could not have children of your own."

"You are not a child, Charlotte." Lady Bellmore snapped. "You are just as aware as I am of the eyes that are upon us. The way people judge you. Do not think I have noticed that rebellious though you are, you stop short of anything completely irredeemable."

"That is not for any love of you but for my sisters."

"Be that as it may, you do understand the importance of reputation. But that does not excuse what I have done. Nor the harm I have caused. I… I must think on this some more. But for now, tell me of this arrangement. I do not understand what is between you and the Duke one bit. You told me you were courting at the ball; why did you say so if it was a lie?"

"I did not want you to foist Evelyn on him. Or rather to foist him on her. He is a known rake, and I did not want that sort of husband for her." Charlotte did not want to reveal her sister's secret; she still did not entirely trust her stepmother though the woman seemed genuinely repentant for her behaviour.

It will take more than one conversation for me to risk everything.

"But if you were not courting, then why would he go along with such a charade?" Lady Bellmore furrowed her brow, trying to understand.

"To be invited to these games. His grandmother takes some exception to fact that he is a rake, and without proof of a fiancée, he would not have been welcome at this event." Charlotte shrugged and gestured around her vaguely. "It was an agreement that suited us both. Once my two sisters are married, we will go our separate ways, and I will take my own portion of the winnings."

"You would keep up this pretence for so long?" Her stepmother sounded shocked.

"I would do anything for them," Charlotte replied simply. I will keep them safe because no one else will.

There was a long pause during which Lady Bellmore surveyed Charlotte thoughtfully, absentmindedly tapping her lips with the tip of one of her long fingers. Charlotte felt as though she should say something, but her brain was refusing to provide her with any semblance of a coherent thought.

After a long while, Lady Bellmore gave Charlotte a curious look and asked, "And there is truly nothing between you and the Duke? Nothing at all?"

"Of course not, this is just… It is a means to an end," Charlotte said, willing her words to be convincing even though some part of her seemed to hesitate as she said them.

"If you say so." Lady Bellmore gave her another sidelong look.

"And what exactly does that mean?" Charlotte crossed her arms across her chest.

"For two people who profess not to care for one another, you seem rather the opposite." Her stepmother gestured at Charlotte. "Few men would bother with such extravagances if they did not mean it."

"Well, he is just keeping up appearances. After all, engagement rings are traditional in his family, and they would expect him to lavish his intended with gifts." Charlotte waved a hand dismissively. It does not mean anything. And I do not want it to mean anything.

She wished she believed her own words.

"He did not have to ride so close to you, nor spend so much time with you. He seems to seek you out." Lady Bellmore continued. "Why you also seem drawn to him or at the very least to enjoy his company."

"Of course, I do. It would look rather odd if we avoided each other when we are supposed to be in love." Charlotte hugged herself, feeling an odd mixture of defensiveness and disappointment well up within her. What is wrong with me? "We only do these things because we must, because they are part of the plan. We must be convincing, or else all of this will have been for nothing."

"If you say so." Lady Bellmore gently rested a hand on Charlotte's arm, her eyes soft as she looked at her.

"Besides, even if I did have feelings for Dominic, which I decidedly do not, I would not want to be married to a rake." An image of him flirting with the women she had seen when they arrived flashed in her mind. "Rakes cannot be trusted." A mistake I have already made.

"You do not know that he is as much of a rake as rumour would have you believe," Lady Bellmore said. "For what it is worth, if you had not told me, I would have been so thoroughly convinced of the veracity of your falsehoods that I would be planning the wedding within the next few months."

"Do you not think I might want a say in my own wedding?" Charlotte tried to sound as though she were joking, but it came out more pained than she intended.

"Of course, you will, but that is not on the cards, is it?" Lady Bellmore let her hand go and began to walk away.

"No. No it is not," Charlotte murmured as the door swung shut behind her stepmother, and she was left alone.

She felt an odd sting of disappointment as she clambered into her bed and thought about the day. She had never intended to get married, in fact she had long ruled it out as a possibility. So why did the thought of remaining alone suddenly fill her with a pang of sadness?

And why could she not help but imagine just how handsome Dominic would look in tails, waiting at an altar before her?

"Clearly your mind is addled. You are just emotional, and it has been a long time since you were in the company of a man for such extended periods." Charlotte nodded to herself. "There is nothing between us. There can be nothing between us. I want nothing between us."

She repeated this over and over until sleep eventually claimed her. Her dreams were of walking through a forest, holding hands with someone she could not quite see. When she woke, the scent of juniper and pine was at the forefront of her mind.