Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

TO KNOW ONE'S HEART

S hocked, Charles stared after his wife as quick steps carried her out of the ballroom. People were still cheering and then slowly drifted back onto the dance floor or toward the refreshment table. The moment Beatrice disappeared from sight, Charles spun around and glared at his brother. "What were you thinking?"

At least a hint of contrition showed upon Henry's face. "I thought it would be good for my brother to kiss his wife."

Charles felt a sudden overwhelming desire to plant his little brother a facer. "Thank you. What a wonderful plan," he snarled in mock gratitude, knowing that in truth he was the one to blame. Had he merely placed a chaste kiss upon Beatrice's lips, none of this would have happened. "You did see her run off, did you not?" Raking a hand through his hair, Charles contemplated what to do. Ought he go after her? Or did she wish to be alone?

"Yes, I did see her run off," Henry interjected, grasping Charles's arm and pulling him around so they faced one another. "Yet neither one of us knows why." His right eyebrow rose meaningfully.

Charles stilled, puzzled by the expression upon his brother's face. "She did not wish—" His lips pressed into a tight line as he gritted his teeth. "It was not your place to interfere. You—"

"Admit it," Henry dared him in a hushed tone. "You wanted to kiss her."

Charles glared at his brother. "Of course I did," he snapped, surprised by his own words. He heaved a deep breath. "Yet she clearly did not."

Henry chuckled. "Nothing is clear. You don't know why she ran away."

"Is it not obvious?"

Before Charles could say more, Henry interrupted once again. "No, it is not. Perhaps love made you blind. Perhaps you did not see the way she looked at you tonight."

Charles stared at his brother, terrified of the small blossoms of hope that grew in his heart. Part of him wanted to know precisely what his brother meant while another feared the answer. Just when he had gathered the courage to ask, movement beyond his brother's shoulder caught his attention. There, by the entrance to the ballroom, stood Lord Strumpton.

"What is it?" Henry inquired, turning to look at what Charles was staring. "Isn't he—?"

"How dare you?" Charles growled, clasping his brother's arm. "Did you do this?" He nodded in Lord Strumpton's direction. "Did you invite him here tonight?"

His brother scoffed. "Why would I do that? Yes, I like to tease you from time to time, but I would never do anything to…" He exhaled slowly. "Charles, you are my brother and I want you to be happy."

Charles felt dizzy from the way his pulse pounded in his veins. Yet his brother's words made it through the fog that engulfed his head. "I know," he murmured, then he loosened his grip upon his brother's arm. "Then what is he doing here?"

Henry shrugged. "Let's go find out."

Together, the two brothers strode toward Lord Strumpton, and Charles realized how grateful he was to have his brother by his side, to know that he did not stand alone. "Lord Strumpton," he addressed the other man, "what brings you here tonight?"

At the icy tone in Charles's voice, Lord Strumpton's eyes narrowed. "Why, I was invited," he replied with a rather pleased expression upon his face. "I'm here tonight to congratulate you on your recent nuptials." The grin upon the man's face stretched even farther. "My best wishes to you and the new Lady Hawthorne." Charles could see that the superior expression upon the other man's face rose from Lord Strumpton's belief that Charles knew nothing of what had happened between his new wife and the man across from him.

Gritting his teeth, Charles met his brother's gaze, his brows rising questioningly.

As he had expected, Henry slowly shook his head, confirming that he was not the one who had invited Lord Strumpton. Who then?

Near the orchestra, Charles spotted his parents, whispered words passing between them, and without an explanation to Lord Strumpton, he set off toward them, Henry upon his heels.

"You do not truly think that…?" Henry inquired behind him, his half-finished question followed by an amused chuckle. "Of course, I wouldn't put it past her."

"Did you invite Lord Strumpton?" Charles demanded without preamble the moment he had reached his parents' side.

His father frowned at him. "Lord Strumpton?" He glanced past Charles's shoulder. "No, I did not." His frown deepened. "Is he not the man who…?"

Charles nodded, every muscle in his body tense to the point of breaking. What on earth was going on here?

"Mother?" he inquired then, wondering why she had aided him before, only to betray him now. Did she not wish for him to be happy with Beatrice?

An amused chuckle rumbled in his father's throat, and he looked at his wife with questioning eyes. "You did this, did you not, my dear?"

Smiling, Charles's mother nodded. "I did, yes." As Charles's jaw dropped in shock, his mother stepped toward him, her hands settling upon his chest as her pale eyes looked into his. "Listen to me, Charles."

Shaking his head, Charles stared at her. "How could you do this? I thought you were on our side."

"I am on your side," his mother insisted, the expression in her eyes growing in intensity. "Always."

"Listen to her," his father urged as he moved to stand by his wife's side. "If she invited Lord Strumpton, she had her reasons."

The deep conviction in his father's voice gave Charles pause, and he turned to his mother, nodding for her to continue.

"Sometimes it is not easy to start over," his mother whispered softly, her words only meant for his ears, "to know one's heart. Sometimes, a little help is needed."

Charles frowned. "How does this help? Why would you bring him here?"

Her mother regarded him for a long moment. Then she asked, "Are you jealous? Do you believe Beatrice is still in love with Lord Strumpton?"

Charles heaved a heavy breath, all his fears once again crowding around him. "I do not know," he finally admitted.

"Don't you wish you knew?" His mother inquired, the expression upon her face gentle and caring. "Or would you prefer to be left wondering?"

Charles bowed his head, knowing that his mother was not wrong. Of course, she was not. Yet he feared the answer he might receive, remembering how heartbroken Beatrice had looked when he had first seen her a fortnight ago. Was it possible for a heart to change within so short a time? Ought he not be more patient? Yet again, his own heart had known instantly.

"You better go find your wife," his mother said all of a sudden, urgency in her voice now. "Lord Strumpton seems to have disappeared from the ballroom." Her gaze held his, and Charles needed to hear no more to understand.

Without a moment of hesitation, he darted off in the direction that Beatrice had left, wondering what intentions Lord Strumpton might have, what had brought him here tonight. After all, he could have refused the invitation.

Yet he had not.