Chapter 32

CHAPTER 32

Charlotte was as bitter and sour as the lemon sitting beside her teacup on the saucer. She folded her hands and pushed back from the desk, glancing toward Lily, who was furiously searching through paperwork.

“I think now is an excellent time to reorganize your office,” Charlotte said.

Lily paused, looked up horrified. “Absolutely not. It is organized. I know where everything is.”

“Is that so?” Charlotte tilted her head.

Lily laughed, then continued to search. “It makes sense to me, Lottie.”

Well, the truth of it was Charlotte had little to do. Lily had the school well in hand, and Charlotte still couldn’t stomach returning to Mayfair. She had been staying with Lily and Rafe for the past three weeks. She hadn’t heard from Ian. So, she was waiting and stuck, her very least favorite feeling in the world.

“I need,” she said, looking up to the ceiling, searching for words. “I need?—”

“Really?” interrupted Lily, standing up. “You need to speak to your husband. ”

“Besides that,” Charlotte said, swatting her away. “No, no. I need to be outside. I need to be away from the city. And I miss my plants and my bees?—”

“ Shh , Celeste feels slighted.”

The cat jumped down from her perch by the window and pranced over to Charlotte, nudging against her skirts.

“You’ll do fine, Celeste,” Charlotte cooed, picking her up. She gave the black cat a scratch behind her ears, relaxing a moment when the cat began to purr. That’s when she remembered. “We have a new student for the fall term.”

Lily looked up at her, confused. “A new student? Who?”

“Well, this will stay between you and me,” Charlotte said, masking her face, but Lily saw the grin stretched across her lips before she pulled it into a mask of seriousness. “It’s Ian’s half sister.”

“No, really?” Lily exclaimed.

Celeste tilted her head so Charlotte could concentrate on scratching beneath her chin. The demanding feline.

“Yes, his father had a second family. Kept them out of London and never told Ian.”

“I see,” Lily said, “that explains something.”

“What does it explain?”

“Well, it explains why he hated his father so much, for one.”

“I thought of that.” Charlotte set down the cat, then squeezed the slice of lemon into her tea. She didn’t even care for lemon tea. “And he wishes to establish a family, perhaps see he has the opportunity that his father didn’t provide for him.” Charlotte frowned. “I am not making excuses.”

“I know,” Lily said.

“I just... I don’t know what to do.”

Lily picked up a pile of papers and walked over to her friend, puzzling her over. “See, that’s the confusing thing because Lottie, you have always been the one to swoop in and rescue me or Kate or anyone else. You have this calm, unwavering grace about you. That’s what I love about you. That, and your kindness, your ability to love even those who are unlovable, like your duke. ”

She wouldn’t go as far as to say unlovable. He had his fair share of moments.

Charlotte made a face. “My duke?”

“I think the problem might be that you know what you wish to do, but you don’t like the answer.”

Like every other conundrum she ever faced.

Drat.

“You think I should have him go through with the divorce?”

“I can’t make those decisions for you,” Lily said. “That’s the problem with love. You’re the only person who’s able to understand your heart.”

It wasn’t as if Charlotte hadn’t already known this. She did. She knew perfectly well. She was a grown woman who could make up her own mind. That didn’t make it any easier because there was still a persistent war between her heart and her head. She knew what she should do, and she knew what she wished to do. Neither was perfect because the truth of it was, after three weeks away, she missed him desperately. Just as when he had first left.

However, this time she wasn’t angry.

How could she be when he gave her what she wished for?

She had asked him to leave, and he had. She had asked him to release her, and he had. She was waiting for an announcement to be made, for a letter, any day. She had no doubt that he had been earnest when he had declared that if she wished for a divorce, he would give it to her. That’s not what she wanted. She wanted her husband back. Somehow, he had become a part of her, and with him gone, she was missing that piece that made the world a little quieter, a little calmer, and far less scary to face alone.

She missed the way he lit up when she walked into a room, the way he played with her hair as they read together in bed. She missed the way he’d pluck her hand from her hip as they walked in the hallway and suddenly dance with her, as if an orchestra had struck up and they were in the middle of a ballroom. He had returned and put her in the center of his world. And suddenly, that was gone .

It had been cold in his shadow once. And now she craved his nearness.

“Oh, my darling, Lottie. Do you remember what you told me once?”

Charlotte glanced up. “I am an infinite source of wisdom, dear. I can’t recall exactly.”

“Oh, see…” Lily pointed at her, smiling. “Humor, that’s good. Once, when I was very sad and refused to leave my bed, you told me ‘tomorrow, you will try again, and I will be by your side.’”

“That is what friends do.”

“And I have been very lucky to have you by my side. This is no different. You will sort it out, and until then, I will be here. With you.”

“Always?”

“You will never be able to be rid of me, Lottie. I know too much.”

Charlotte grinned. “Let’s ring for tea.”

Later that evening, Charlotte slipped away and had dinner alone in her room, wishing nothing but quiet.

A woman’s reputation was her currency in this Town. Without it, she was destined to live on the whims of others. Lily and Kate had fought for finding a different ending to their story.

They had always been more daring, bolder.

Charlotte never wished to upset anyone. And yet she had. And if Ian went through with the divorce like he had agreed to grant her, then all London was about to turn on her. She didn’t believe she had it in her to weather that storm.

And increasingly, as the days passed, she wasn’t sure she wished to weather life without her husband.

She washed and readied for bed, paying no mind to the maid who came in and prepared the room. When she finished plaiting her hair, she noticed a small box on her bed and an envelope sealed in red wax with the familiar crest.

Drat .

She moved to pick it up, then tore her hand away as though the box might scald her. She spun at the foot of her bed and paced the length of the room.

With a quick exhale, she finally grabbed the letter and held it to her chest before opening to read.

I’m sending these not to prove a point. My actions far outweighed the words I wrote and never sent. It was yet another selfish act of mine, to keep that pain and hurt to myself. Nevertheless, I wish only for you to know, I have never stopped loving you. That I missed you when I was away. That I craved you. And that my heart was broken as well. These letters will never make up for leaving as I did, I only wish to soothe your heartache in thinking you were waiting on me. The damn truth of it was, I was waiting on myself. And for that, I am inexcusably sorry.

Charlotte folded the letter and looked at the small box, then at the candle on the desk. It was far too late. Yet, she pushed to her feet and rang for a small glass of brandy, then sat on the floor and opened the box, her hand shaking the entire time.

Lottie, Honeybee,

I placed an ocean between us like a prized fool, and I woke up this morning, wishing to return. Though I doubt you would take me back now. I can’t say that I would blame you. But I sat outside this evening as the ocean crashed against the cliffs and the seagulls circled the water, and you are all I can think about. The water here reminds me of your eyes.

Imagine that.

Your eyes, blue like the waters off the Amalfi Coast. So impossibly far away.

And I’m only thinking of you.

Of holding you.

Of kissing you .

But I’m left with nothing.

And my apologies sound just empty. Even to myself.

Still, I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

Charlotte sniffed, rolling her eyes, then tossed the letter away. She downed another gulp of brandy and grabbed another letter.

The sun just set here. And maybe it is because I am a little drunk, but I swear I saw a green flash across the horizon. I sound positively mad.

But it made me think of you.

It’s been nearly six months since our wedding. I received your letter last week, and I must have written this very letter a hundred times. And each time, I write half and tear it up, fearing I have done too much damage for a letter to suffice.

And I think, now, I might have been holding our child and how that wrecks me. And I wish I could hold you now too because I know you have had the same thought. I remember how afraid you were when you told me and then your shock at my response. I could never hate you, Lottie.

Then or now.

I have lied to myself that I have, but it was never you who I hated.

It was myself.

That green flash…

Brilliant.

Lottie, darling, I’ve had too much wine now, and I don’t know if I will ever have the courage to post this. I fear it will just wait with the others. But if I send it, know I will come home once my mother is settled in Italy with the rest of her family.

Home.

With you.

Us.

I hope when I return, I find you still wish to have me. I have been the very worst to you. I will beg if I need to. I will kiss you perhaps until you change your mind. On that freckle maybe by the curve of your shoulder.

Freckles? Now I must end this.

Charlotte, don’t hate me. I don’t believe you could hate me nearly as much as I hate myself for how things ended between us.

The dratted cad. She couldn’t stop crying. She wiped her eyes, swallowing back a gasp at the pain radiating in her chest before she opened another letter.

It’s late here, and I can’t sleep.

I remembered there was something I wished to tell you. It happens every day at a remarkable rate. I find myself making a mental note that I must remember to tell you, and then I find I am still too much of a coward to return to you. For how I treated you and ran off. For how I must have made you feel as if you did something wrong when you are anything but.

If you were here, I would press a kiss to your cheek and tell you of my day. We would laugh at something small that had happened. Something so small it would be insignificant to anyone else except to us. That’s what we would share—the everyday ordinary. Then we would climb into bed together every night, and there would be no question of where we belonged or what was significant because I would be holding you.

Anyhow, there is an old man here in the village. We walk together most days after lunch in the hot Italian sun. He loves to show me his lemon trees at the villa. Each slow step he is mostly quiet, easy with my company. The heat can be unforgiving, and I like to swim in the ocean afterward.

I’ve forgotten what I wished to tell you. I’m not sure I can tell you the peace I have found here after discovering the truth about my father. And now this letter is destined to remain with the others because I am not sure how to begin to tell you what I have discovered about my family.

I feel alone, holding the weight of everything.

And then I remember you are likely in England believing I have abandoned you .

And I hate myself all the more for it.

What I would give to move forward. To be anywhere else than where I am currently stuck. And the worst of it is, I’ve only myself to blame.

You should see these lemons, Lottie. They are so very big and sweet and bitter. Pure sunshine.

Like you, Honeybee.

Charlotte wiped her face, her heart breaking in her chest, furious. Why hadn’t Ian sent these? Any of these? Why had he allowed her to believe the worst of him?

She shuffled through the pile, picking up the last letter dated two weeks before he returned.

Lottie,

I’m not sure why I write anymore. I never posted the first few, and then with time, I wrote when I missed you. Which, by the pile, was often. And now I write because I fear when I return, you will not see me.

I buried my mother today.

Alone.

I can’t stomach being away from England any longer. Or hear the filtered rumors at dinner parties about you and our marriage. I have broken us, and I’m returning in hopes you give me another chance at trying to rebuild our marriage.

I wouldn’t blame you if you have shut your heart to me. Honestly, I expect it. You haven’t written in years.

I will keep this short. I only wish to say I love you. It is an all-consuming love that won’t wash away, won’t quit.

For better or worse, I’m coming home to you.

Well…

She slumped back against the bed, tears streaming down her face.

What an impossible cad .

All those years ago, she had been swept up in their relationship, going to bed with him willingly not because she wished to trap him but because she loved him. They were to be married. She had always followed the rules, her heart had never been one to listen to reason. She had followed her heart, and there had been a consequence to them sharing a bed. And though terrified to confess it, Ian had been so happy.

But then their wedding night arrived. And it never had anything to do with what she said or what she did—it had never been about her.