Chapter 4
Chapter Four
TOO SOON
C harles cursed his directness. He ought not to have spoken to her in such a forward manner. Of course, he had upset her. After all, who would entrust a painful secret to a stranger? Yet Charles knew he could not simply walk away and forget what he had seen.
His gaze followed her as she moved away, her direction aimless, as though there was no friend in need, as though her sole motivation had been to escape his presence, his questions.
"My, you look as though all the rain clouds in England have suddenly taken up residence above your head," Henry remarked with a laugh, his blue eyes full of amusement. "Is it because of her?" He nodded in Miss Hartley's direction.
Charles gritted his teeth, unwilling to discuss this matter with his brother. He himself still felt too shaken by his encounter with Miss Hartley. Was he a fool to feel so protective of someone he had only just met? Why did he care? Charles could not quite say why, yet he knew it to be true.
"You look like a lovesick pup," his brother remarked with a chuckle, clearly delighting in his observations. He slapped a hand on Charles's shoulder. "You're only one-and-twenty. You're not already looking for a wife, are you?" He frowned, then he laughed, as though the thought was ludicrous. "It is much too soon for that. Now is the time for freedom and traveling. After all, we're only back in England because of father's responsibilities to the realm, not to see you hitched."
Charles sighed. "I cannot say what it is. But when I look at her, I…" Words still failed him. "I feel as though—" He broke off abruptly as he noticed the way Miss Hartley was trying not to look at a particular gentleman.
The man in question was strolling past her, a dark-haired lady upon his arm. He did not even glance at Miss Hartley, and even from a distance, Charles thought to see her heart breaking. He felt a touch of jealousy flare up in his veins at the thought that her heart might belong to this unknown lord; still, the most dominant emotion Charles experienced in that moment was rage.
Fury that this man had dared hurt her.
For he had to have. The expression in her eyes said it loud and clear, and Charles felt her heartbreak as though it were his own pain. Never had he experienced anything like it before.
"Do you know who that man is?" he asked his brother, nodding toward the couple making their way across the ballroom toward the dance floor.
"As far as I know," came their father's voice from behind them, "that man is Lord Strumpton." A question rested in his gaze as he looked at Charles.
"I'll be off," Henry declared after a moment of slightly tense silence and quickly disappeared into the crowd once more.
It was rather obvious that his parents were well aware of the direction of his thoughts.
Standing side by side, his mother's hand upon his father's arm, they eyed him curiously. While a touch of concern rested upon his father's face, his mother looked rather amused.
"What do you know of Lord Strumpton?" Charles inquired, wishing to know everything he could, knowing that no matter what he did, his parents would draw their own conclusions.
"Why do you care?" his father asked in return, brows rising meaningfully.
Charles huffed out a deep breath, once more glancing over his shoulder at Miss Hartley. She looked utterly forlorn as she stood on the edge of the ballroom, clearly uncertain what to do with herself. She looked like a spooked dear wishing to flee, yet she clearly could not do so.
"She's to be married soon," his father said when Charles remained quiet.
Those few little words felt like a punch to his midsection, and Charles almost doubled over. His jaw dropped, and he stared at his parents in utter shock. "She… She is?" Again, his head whipped around, his gaze first seeking Miss Hartley and then Lord Strumpton, currently dancing with the dark-haired lady. "To him? To Lord Strumpton?" He looked back at his parents, not in the least caring what they thought of his passionate reaction and what conclusions they drew.
His father shook his head. "From what Lady Benton said, Miss Hartley is to be married to an old family friend. Soon." Again, his father's brows rose meaningfully, his expression saying more than the words he had spoken.
Suddenly, Charles felt weak, exhausted even. He felt as though he had stood in the warm sunshine before and was now abruptly plunged into the deepest winter. Indeed, it was odd! How could he care so deeply for someone he had only spoken a few words to? Yet, rational or not, he did.
"You'd do well to direct your attention elsewhere," his father counseled, the look in his eyes deeply empathetic. "Besides, you're much too young to make that choice right now. Dance and flirt and enjoy yourself." He chuckled, and for a moment, Charles saw a deep resemblance between his father and his younger brother. "Eventually, you shall find the one lady who will steal your heart." His father smiled at his mother, the look passing between them echoing the bond that had connected them for over twenty years now. "When the day finally comes, you shall know." His father assured him. "I promise you."
Charles knew that his father's words were meant as a comfort. Yet they had the opposite effect. "Thank you for your counsel," Charles said, then he turned around and marched straight toward Miss Hartley.
Indeed, she looked close to tears. Although the moment she saw him coming, fear stole into her expression, and she backed away until her back collided with the wall.
Charles stopped in his tracks, shocked by her reaction. Still, he doubted that she truly feared him. No, there had to be another explanation. And so, he continued onward, trying his best to smile at her reassuringly.
The moment he was within earshot, Miss Hartley stepped toward him, a frown upon her face. "What do you want now?" she snapped, immediately shocked by her own outburst. She bowed her head and briefly closed her eyes. "I'm sorry. I did not mean…" She exhaled a slow breath through her nose, clearly fighting for composure. "Please, leave me alone."
"I am sorry to have upset you," he began tentatively. "I assure you, it was not my intention." He paused, encouraged when she dared to lift her eyes to his. "Yet I cannot walk away, knowing that you…" He shrugged. "You're clearly distraught. Please, tell me what I can do."
Tears brimmed in her eyes, and for a moment, Charles thought she would tell him. Then, however, her lips thinned, and she squared her shoulders. "It is nothing," she echoed her earlier words, her face suddenly pale. Her hand flew to her middle, and she pressed her lips together in a way that Charles feared she might be sick.
"Are you well?" he inquired, inching forward. "Do you need rest? Or perhaps… a glass of water?"
With her eyes closed, Miss Hartley breathed in deeply. Once, then twice. Then her eyes opened and met his. "No, I don't need anything. All I require is for you to leave me alone." She fixed him with a pointed stare. "Please."
Knowing that he was adding to her distress, Charles nodded. "Very well. However, if there is ever anything I can do for you, please do not hesitate to ask." He offered her what he hoped to be a reassuring smile and then forced himself to turn away and walked back the way he had come.
His father's words echoed through his head, and Charles realized that he already knew. He felt absolutely certain that he had already met the woman who would steal his heart… for she had already done so. It was insane, yes. Absolutely ludicrous. He had not even known she existed a few hours past, yet Charles knew she was the one.
There was no denying that.
Neither did he plan to.