Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Alexander straightened his cravat as he waited for the butler to return. He had been unsure about calling on Charlotte that morning. The ball had not turned out quite how he had expected. He'd thought they'd have a dance or two, perhaps discuss beginning a courtship. His thoughts still lingered on how her riches could solve all his problems, though he found more and more that he was eager to spend time with Charlotte rather than the wealthy heiress .

But his evening went wrong the moment his carriage wheel collapsed, and he cursed the coachman for not taking better care of the structure. He'd been worried he'd miss her, but when he finally arrived and saw her disappearing into the library, he couldn't help but follow.

Feeling her body against his was wondrous, in more ways than one. It reminded him what true intimacy was and just how much he craved that. When she rested her head, spent, on his shoulder, he'd wanted to put his arms around her and protect her from the world—though he knew she'd say she needed no such protection. But it has stirred him physically too, his loins on fire ever since.

He'd left the ball in a mess of physical and emotional confusion, and he had no doubt Charlotte would be in the same position. Hence his hesitation about calling. Would she want to see him? Ultimately, though, it was his own desire to see her again that drove him to call on her. He didn't think he would be able to go an entire day without at least glancing at her face, hearing the nectar of her voice.

"They are ready for you, Your Grace," the butler said when he finally returned. "Do follow me."

When they reached the drawing room, it was Lady Fairchild he saw first. She was smiling, for a change, or was it more a self-satisfied smirk? It was then that he knew something was wrong. He moved around the door to find not only Charlotte on the couch but Lucille as well. His heart sank.

"Good morning, Your Grace," Lucille said, that same smirk upon her face. "What a surprise to see you here."

"A surprise indeed, my lady," Alexander replied though he took great pains not to look at her. Instead, he smiled at Charlotte. His beautiful, witty Charlotte. "Good morning, Miss Charlotte. I hope you are well today."

She gazed up at him with a gentle smile that told him all he needed to know; she was as pleased to see him as he was her. "Your Grace," she replied. "I didn't realize you were acquainted with Lady Lucille. She is staying with us for a while. Arrived this morning."

"The daughter of a dear friend," Lady Fairchild explained.

"I see. Yes, I am acquainted with her."

To his horror, Lucille giggled. "Oh, I believe we are a little more than acquainted, Your Grace," she said. She turned to Charlotte. "We were friends, for a while."

"I see," Charlotte said. Alexander could see the uncertainty and discomfort in her eyes, and he hoped he mirrored it sufficiently that she understood this wasn't his intention.

They fell into an awkward pause, no one quite knowing what to say, until finally Alexander cleared his throat. "I actually came to see whether you would care to take a walk," he said to Charlotte. "With Annie chaperoning, of course." He chuckled, but he hoped to get his point across—Lucille was not invited.

"I'm afraid I need Annie today," Lady Fairchild jumped in as she stabbed her embroidery.

"And I am keen for a walk," Lucille said. "Why, I can join you! That solves both our problems."

"What an excellent idea, Lucille," Lady Fairchild declared.

And so it was that the three of them took a walk through Hyde Park. To Alexander's endless frustration, Lucille insisted on walking between him and Charlotte, and whenever he wanted to speak to the latter, he had to lean forward or backward just to get a look at her. Charlotte was equally frustrated, if the look in her eyes was anything to go by, but Alexander detected a new level of uncertainty in her too.

He wished he could get her alone to explain everything to her. He had no intention of hiding his past—he had nothing to be ashamed of, at least not in that respect. He had done nothing wrong, and he was certain a wise and empathic woman like Miss Charlotte would understand. But with Lucille there always and barely letting him get a word in edgeways, he had no chance.

And I risk her hearing Lucille's twisted version of events first.

***

"I do hope you girls had a nice walk this afternoon. Hyde Park is beautiful in the sunlight," Aunt Lydia said later that night.

The three women were sitting in the parlor, each with their embroidery draped across their laps. Charlotte focused on her stitching, not wanting to be drawn into conversation. The afternoon had been acceptable, she supposed.

She'd been overjoyed to see the duke at her door again, especially after the events in the library of the ball, but the walk had been staid, stilted. Lady Lucille had dominated the conversation, and Charlotte had hardly any time to speak to Alexander at all.

Nor to gaze into his eyes or caress his arms.

"It was wonderful," Lucille gushed.

Charlotte glanced at her from under her lashes, silently examining her. She oozed beauty and sophistication, different in every way to Charlotte herself. Lucille was typically elegant, the woman everyone in the ton wanted to be.

Not uncouth and clumsy like Charlotte, and certainly not so unconventional. In truth, she was everything that Charlotte hated in the ladies of the ton, and yet she feared that she was the only one. That everyone would hate her rather than the arrogance of women like Lucille.

It made no sense to her, either, that she was staying with them at all. Aunt Lydia normally hated house guests, claiming them to be a nuisance. And Charlotte had never once heard her mention Lady Lucille nor her mother, Lady Veil. It all rather came out of the blue, and Charlotte wondered about it.

"I'm so glad. It's good for you both to get out of the house now and then. And the Duke of Ashbourne seems such wonderful company."

Charlotte raised her eyebrows, her eyes focused on her embroidery in front of her, but she said nothing. It was only the day before when Lydia reminded Charlotte of her dislike of His Grace, insisting that she not dance with him, even if he was in attendance at the ball.

"It was good to see him again, I must admit," Lucille said with the hint of a contented sigh. "It has been too long."

"You used to be friends, didn't you?" Aunt Lydia asked.

Charlotte's back tensed, and she listened carefully, curious about Alexander's past. Had he spent time with Lucille in the same way that he had spent time with Charlotte herself?

"More than friends," Lucille said. "We courted for a while."

Charlotte sucked her breath in between her teeth, her needle slipping and pricking her finger. Courted?

"Whatever's the matter, Charlotte?" Aunt Lydia snapped, her tone entirely different with Charlotte than Lucille.

"Nothing," she said quickly. Her cheeks reddened, hot and embarrassed. "I pricked my finger, that's all."

Courted? She raised her finger to her lips and sucked the tip, enjoying the pulling sensation.

Aunt Lydia tutted. "You never were that adept of embroidery."

Charlotte glared at her, finger still in mouth, but said nothing more.

Courted? The word swam around in her head, repeating itself over and over. Surely it wasn't true. Surely he would have said something!

"Alas, it didn't work out," Lucille said, her voice almost dreamy, "but seeing him again today reminded me of my fondness for him."

Charlotte risked a sly glance at her from under her lashes, and she wasn't entirely surprised to find Lucille watching her in return, her lips upturned in the beginnings of a smirk. Charlotte lowered her eyes and refocused on her embroidery. She didn't want to hear any more.

She had been right to dislike the duke in the first place, and foolish to allow herself to develop feelings for him. He could never like someone like her . Not when he could so easily have a lady like Lucille. She couldn't put her finger on why, but she disliked the woman her aunt had invited into their home intensely.

"Perhaps there is still time," Aunt Lydia said. "I wouldn't be surprised if he calls again here soon enough, and then perhaps you can rekindle what you once had."

Charlotte gritted her teeth.

"Perhaps, though do you think he could really like me?" Lucille flicked her perfect, golden hair over her shoulder, her bright blue eyes shining in the light.

"How could he not?" Aunt Lydia declared. "You are one of the most beautiful ladies of the ton , are you not?"

"Mm, yes, I suppose I am."

It was not so much that Alexander had once courted Lucille, nor that she was so much prettier than Charlotte, so much more accomplished in her feminine ways. It was more that Alexander had not mentioned it to her. Not once had he even recalled Lucille's name. In fact, he had not mentioned any previous engagements.

Charlotte supposed it wasn't truly any of her business. After all, she and Alexander weren't even courting. They were friends at best. She wondered whether he still had feelings for Lady Lucille. She couldn't blame him if he did—she was beautiful and witty—but she still felt the twist of jealousy in her gut.

"You're slouching, Charlotte," Aunt Lydia said, her cold words cutting through Charlotte's burning pain. She sat upright, stretching her back perfectly straight, her lips pursed in annoyance. She hadn't realized her shoulders had begun to stoop, but wasn't that what happened when one received depressing news?

"Yes, dear Charlotte," Lucille added with a note of false concern. "Slouching will do your posture no good. You don't want to become a hunchback, do you? However would you find a husband then?"

"I should rather a husband who cares not about the shape of my body but rather prefers the depth of my mind," Charlotte retorted, but Lucille only giggled.

"Honestly! Sometimes I wonder whether you've swallowed a dictionary."

"Too intelligent for her own good sometimes," Aunt Lydia replied. "But there are some men who like that sort of thing, I suppose."

Charlotte looked up and huffed, letting her embroidery fall to her lap. "Is it really necessary to talk of me as if I am not even here?" she demanded. "I am part of this family, you know."

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Aunt Lydia said, quite ignoring Charlotte's outburst. "Arthur is visiting this weekend."

"Again?" Charlotte raised her eyebrows.

Arthur Mulligan, aged thirty-two, as Lydia's nephew—by blood rather than by marriage as Charlotte was. He was a decent enough fellow. Harmless and kind enough. But he was also terribly simple, seemingly lacking in any mind of his own, and in truth, boring. He was gray when Charlotte craved color. He was bread while she wanted cake.

Still, they spoke fondly enough when he visited, which seemed more and more often of late. Aunt Lydia had begun inviting him to dinner or drinks or a walk in the garden at least once, if not two or three times every single week, and she often conjured ways of leaving Charlotte and him alone. If Charlotte didn't know any better, she would think Aunt Lydia were up to something, but her aunt always made it clear that she didn't care one way or another whether Charlotte married or not.

"Don't say it like that," Aunt Lydia said. She held her needle upright, the sharp tip of it glinting dangerously in the light. "He enjoys coming to see us, and I thought you liked his company too."

"I like his company well enough," Charlotte replied. "But if he comes around any more often, we will need to provide him with a permanent bedroom!"

Aunt Lydia tutted. "Don't be so unsociable, Charlotte dear. A little socializing now and then will do you the world of good."

And yet it is always with Arthur. Hardly a rounded socialization.

"I for one adore having guests," Lucille replied, that dreamy not returned to her voice.

"You see," Lydia said, pointing her needle in Lucille's direction. "Not everyone hates it as much as you do."

"I don't hate—"

"And Arthur does seem to like you very much."

"No, he doesn't. He is an uninterested in me as I am in—"

"Oh how adorable," Lucille cried. "Do you think they might end up marrying?"

"No!" Charlotte cried. "And that is not Aunt Lydia's intention either! We are family and nothing more."

"It is not for me to say," Aunt Lydia said, acting coy. Charlotte stabbed her needle into her linen. "But I must admit, I think Arthur would make a wonderful husband. His calmness might even tame some Charlotte's wilder ideas."

"They say opposites attract," Lucille said. "Wild and tame go together surprisingly well. It was the same when the duke and I met. We're such different people and yet the attraction was instant."

Charlotte got to her feet, throwing her embroidery down onto the couch behind her. She couldn't listen to any more of this.

"What are you doing?" Aunt Lydia said, craning her neck to look up at her niece.

"I have a headache," was Charlotte's simple reply. "I am going to lie down. Good afternoon to you both."