Chapter 21

It was a long ride home for Charles. And a confusing one. And the closer he came to reaching his lonely estate, the more he thought about all that had just happened, a sad one.

He still could not quite fathom the interaction he'd had with Lord Drowshire. The more Charles considered it, running over everything said, the look in the lord's eyes, the tenor of his voice, the more bewildered he became. According to Lord Drowshire, his engagement to Lady Felicity was canceled. And from the way he had barred Charles from so much as speaking with her, his mind could not be changed.

It was impossible for Charles to comprehend. Just yesterday, when he had stopped by to see Lady Felicity, all had been well. They had spoken briefly of their wedding. They had made plans to spend today together. They had held hands and kissed and giggled like schoolchildren, absolutely besotted with one another. Everything had been going so smoothly that he would never have dreamed, not in one million years, that today would come to this.

There was only one explanation. This was all Lord Drowshire's doing.

He had never wanted the two to marry in the first place. Why, from what Charles had been able to gather, the man hated him with a passion. Oh sure, he had agreed to the marriage eventually, likely because he'd thought he had no choice, but something had changed his mind this past day. For whatever reason, he had taken control of his daughter's future and ended their marriage before it even had a chance to begin.

Yes. That was the only reasonable explanation that Charles could come up with. This had nothing to do with Lady Felicity. There was no way! She was locked in her house, possibly against her will, forced to listen as Charles was turned away, wanting to come to him but unable.

This gave Charles some semblance of hope. And he hung onto that hope as if it were oxygen because it was all there was to keep him from breaking. This was not the end, he told himself. This was not where his and Lady Felicity"s relationship ended. It was merely an obstacle to be overcome...

Only how was he going to overcome the said obstacle? He had no idea. Yet.

When Charles did eventually arrive back at his manor, he was in slightly better spirits than when he'd left the Drowshire Manor, but only because he had managed to convince himself that if he could just convince her father to change his mind, all today would be was a bad memory and nothing more.

"Mr. Whiting!" Charles called to his manservant the moment he strode into the foyer of his home. "Mr. Whiting!"

His elderly manservant appeared at the top of the steps. "Your Grace!"

"I have a task for you, Mr. Whiting. The importance of which cannot be overstated."

"Whatever it is, I will complete it as if my life depends on the fact." The elderly manservant hurried down the stairs as fast as his feeble body could take him.

"Lord Drowshire, the father of Lady Felicity Hayward. I need you to find out everything you can on the man. And I do mean everything."

"Your Grace?"

"Finances. Vices. Who are his friends? Who are his enemies? What does he do for fun? What is he passionate about? Leave no stone unturned!" Charles strode up the steps and passed Mr. Whiting, his destination his study, where he would begin his planning.

"Your Grace!" Mr. Whiting went after him. "If perhaps you could tell me what this is for? It might help focus my findings."

"I do not want focus, I want everything!" He reached the top of the steps and turned just as Mr. Whiting reached him. "My aim is to seduce the man, Mr. Whiting. Or barring that..." He clicked his tongue. "To blackmail. Whichever I deem appropriate."

"Your Grace...?" He scrunched his brow in a show of concern. "What... if I may... are you sure --"

"Save it, Mr. Whiting. For now, focus on the task I have given you. That is all you need to concern yourself with." He raised a commanding eyebrow at his manservant, one which told him that this was not a point worth arguing against.

"As you wish..." Mr. Whiting bowed his head and turned back down the stairs.

Once he was certain that Mr. Whiting would heed the task he was given, Charles strode down the hallway and made for his study, prepared to spend the rest of the day and night in there, and the next day if it was needed. As long as it might take for him to come up with a plan. Anything he could think of to convince Lord Drowshire to change his mind.

Hope. It was all Charles had to guide him. All he had to light his way in the darkness. He could not believe that he and Lady Felicity were finished. He could not allow himself to.

And most strangely, although perhaps by now it wasn't so much, not once did he consider the larger implications of what a canceled marriage might mean. He didn't think of the business meeting he'd had today, how well it had gone, and how it might fall through once news of this broke. His stud farm did not concern him in the slightest. It was Lady Felicity who he focused on, the pain he felt in his chest just to imagine what it might be like if he could never see her again...

A lot had changed in Charles' life these past few weeks, but it was at this moment that he came to realize the biggest change could be found in himself. Once a known rake, those days were behind him for good.

Now, it was time to prove this to Lord Drowshire. Failure was not an option.

The knock that came at the door was unexpected. Charles was so in his own head, so focused on what he was doing, that when it sounded, he almost didn't hear it. And even when he did, it took him a few moments to realize what the sound was.

He blinked himself back into the room, snapping his head up and staring at the closed door, only just noticing now how dark it was. Through the window, he could see the sun well and truly sinking behind the horizon, signaling the beginnings of night. How long had he been here? It must have been hours, but it didn't feel nearly that long.

"Your Grace?" Mr. Whiting's voice called. "May I come in."

"Enter!" Charles shouted, suddenly remembering the task he had set Mr. Whiting earlier today. He sat himself up and gave his head a shake to clear it.

Mr. Whiting opened the door and slunk inside. "I am sorry to disturb you, Your Grace, but --"

"It is quite all right." Charles indicated the seat across from him. "So, tell me. What did you find? As I said, I need as much information as you can gather."

"Oh, it is not that, Sir," Mr. Whiting said. "You have a visitor."

Charles' heart leaped through his chest, for it could be only one person. Lady Felicity. She must have snuck from her home to come see him. She must have defied her father's orders because she did not care what he commanded of her. Such were her feelings for him that she was willing to risk everything to see him.

He was up and out of his seat. Around his desk. Striding past Mr. Whiting without delay. "She is here. I knew she would come."

"Your Grace!" Mr. Whiting cried. "It is Lady Beatrice who visits!"

Charles' hand was on the doorknob as the words hit him. Like a bucket of ice poured over his head, he froze where he stood. "Lady... Lady Beatrice?"

"She is in the foyer, Your Grace. I was not sure if you would see her. I told her you were busy but... well, she was rather insistent."

"I bet she was," Charles mumbled bitterly.

Lady Beatrice. What in the name of all things holy was she doing here? Since the day he had met her, she had been a problem. Infatuated was the word he would use to describe her. And persistent. It might have been tempting if it wasn't so obvious. And not for a minute did Charles think that she actually liked him. Rather, it was that she wanted something from him. Only what that was... not only did he have no clue, but he did not want to find out.

"Get rid of her."

"I tried, Your Grace!" Mr. Whiting implored him. "But she refused to leave. She said that you would want to hear what she has to tell you. She made it quite clear that she would not leave until she spoke with you."

"Urgh..." He groaned and rubbed his eyes. "She is in the foyer?"

"Right now, Your Grace."

He did not want to speak with Lady Beatrice. The way he was feeling right now, there was only one person he wanted to speak with. Ever. But he knew the woman well enough to know that there would be no getting rid of her, and the only way to do so would be to give her what she wanted.

He groaned again and threw the door open. Then he took a deep breath to calm himself and strode down the hallway, where he came to the top of the staircase. And sure enough, standing in the middle of the foyer, hands folded before herself, gazing up the staircase as if expecting him, stood Lady Beatrice.

"Your Grace!" she beamed, her smile somehow growing at the sight of him. "I am so glad you were able to see me."

She wasn't an unpleasant woman to look at by any means. Tall for a woman, she was slim and lithe like a willow, no shape to her whatsoever. But she was handsome in the face, with big brown eyes that seemed to take up half of it. Charles was sure there were men who had become lost in those eyes, men who would do ungodly things for the chance. He had never been one of them and, when compared to Lady Felicity... it wasn't even a comparison.

"Lady Beatrice, this is certainly a surprise." He started down the stairs, each step a cautious one as if he might have to turn and run at any moment.

"A welcome one, I hope." She swept toward the stairs, taking the first step but then pausing. "With everything that has happened, I thought you might need to see a friendly face."

Charles' foot paused above the next step. "Everything that has happened?"

She looked away as if embarrassed. "I do not mean to pry, Your Grace. And I certainly do not want to open fresh wounds but..." She bit into her lip as she looked up and at him. "I heard what happened between you and Lady Felicity."

"You -- you did?" He blanched. "How?!"

"I have just come from seeing Lady Felicity myself." She took another step toward him. "I wanted to apologize to her for... for everything," she sighed. "I had not realized that the two of you were so close before and to look back on the way I was behaving..." She sighed and shook her head. "I was mortified by my own actions. So, I went to see her and..."

"And?" Charles hurried down the steps so he was standing one above Lady Beatrice. "You spoke to her? What did she say?"

"I should not say it."

"Please, Lady Beatrice." He reached for her hands but stopped himself. "If you spoke with Lady Felicity, you must tell me what she said." His mind was racing now, putting together pieces that were not there.

"But surely, you have spoken with her?"

He grimaced. "I am afraid that her father denied me that chance."

"Oh..." She tried for an apologetic smile. "Then you do not... she did not tell you herself?"

"She will." He nodded firmly. "I will see her tomorrow, if I can. Or the next day. Or the day after that. As long as it takes until she agrees to see me. Surely, Lady Felicity explained that this was not her doing? That her father... what is it?" The look on Lady Beatrice"s face had Charles' stomach squirming. "What did she say?"

"I..." She curled her hand into a fist and bit into it. "I should not say."

"Lady Beatrice, if you truly are sorry for the way you behaved, tell me what she said." He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her! To force her to see reason. Somehow, he contained that impulse, choosing to instead look down on her with a sense of command.

"She... it was not her father who chose to end the engagement."

His stomach dropped. "What?"

"It was Lady Felicity..." She sighed and shook her head. "She told me that she made a mistake with you, Your Grace. That she thought you had changed but she knows now that you have not."

"But I have!"

"She does not believe it. She said that she was a fool for ever believing you that... that..." She looked away again. "That she hates you."

Charles grabbed hold of the railing for support, his knees just about collapsing from under him. "She said that?"

"She did, Your Grace. She was angry with you – furious. I do not know why, but I do know that she does not wish to see you. It was her idea to send her father out to speak with you, for she does not want to set eyes upon you ever again."

"She..." He stumbled and then collapsed. "Those were her words?"

"Her exact words – oh." Lady Beatrice hurried up the final step and threw her arms around Charles. "I am so sorry. I should not have said anything. It is not my place."

"I cannot believe it..." Charles was in a daze. A space outside of time. His body was not his own. His mind did not work. It was like a dream where he could see himself but was unable to think or feel.

"You deserve better than her," Lady Beatrice cooed, stroking his hair now. "She does not deserve you."

"I do not even know what I... how this... when did I..." The words would not come, for he did not know what to say.

"It is all right," Lady Beatrice said softly. "You will be all right. Soon, this will all just be a bad memory and nothing more. And Your Grace..." She sat so that she was looking right at him, forcing him to meet her eyes. "I am here for you. For whatever you need. Always."

He barely heard her. He barely understood who it was that was speaking. The room he was in, everything around him seemed alien and not real. It was a world he did not recognize because he did not recognize himself in it.

Lord Drowshire was not the one who had canceled the engagement. It was not his antipathy for Charles that had seen him act without Lady Felicity"s approval. All this time, Lady Felicity was at the center of his pain; the knife that had plunged into his chest, the hand that had ripped his heart from his body. She ended it. She never wanted to see him again. She... she hated him.

Charles had known that he'd changed these last few weeks. He had felt that change within him. And if any more proof was needed, how undone he felt in this moment, the heartache that paralyzed him, should have been proof enough that Charles was a new man.

And, also, a broken one.