Chapter 28

Chapter 28

"I don't know how long it has been going on, but from this moment, I forbid you from ever seeing the Duke of Ashbourne again."

"I'm sorry?"

"It is unacceptable, and I forbid it. Do you understand?"

Charlotte sank into her seat, dread clutching her heart and squeezing. Tension buzzed through the room, and as she stared at the Turkish rug, the eyes of her uncle and aunt and Lucille bored into her. Surely it couldn't be. Surely her uncle would have given his blessing. She had been so certain. So sure.

"No! I… I don't understand," she stuttered, not looking up at him. Her vision blurred, but she blinked away the tears. There had to be more to this, more she didn't understand. More that she could fix.

"He came to see me today, quite out of the blue I might add," Uncle Elliot continued. "He asked for your hand in marriage, and frankly, Charlotte, I do not think he is a suitable candidate. I do wish you had come to me sooner."

"But…" She blinked again then looked up at her uncle, painfully aware of the others in the room. "He's a duke, and he's a kind man, and we love one another. I would have thought—"

Aunt Lydia tutted loudly from the couch. "What has love to do with anything?"

"And if you'll forgive my saying," Uncle Elliot added, "you are too young to truly understand what love is."

Charlotte furrowed her brow. Her uncle was behaving strangely. He had always been protective, but never had he been so condescending. Not like her aunt Lydia.

"Has something happened?" she asked. "You seemed to like him when you met in the theater."

The weight of the room bore down on her shoulders, and there seemed to be an acrid smell in the air. Aunt Lydia huffed from her seat, her arms crossed over her ample bosom. Lucille remained on her chair in the corner. Was that a smirk Charlotte detected?

She didn't want to look directly at her to clarify. She couldn't bear making eye contact with her. Not after everything. Not in such a personal, vulnerable moment. Finally, she glanced at Elliot to find his features had softened into pity and sorrow.

"I am sorry, Charlotte," he said in a quiet voice. "I know how disappointed you must feel, but we really don't think he is a suitable match for you. You know we only want the best for you."

We? Was he including even Lucille in that? A surge of irritation rushed through her. These people, her guardians, hardly knew her. Not really, not deep down. Aunt Lydia didn't approve of her unconventional ways, and though Uncle Elliot humored her a little more, even he didn't agree with the way her father had raised her, nor some of her more outlandish beliefs.

Was that why they were doing this? Because she had selected the duke? Because she wanted him? Maybe it was their lack of control that made them baulk at the suggestion. Perhaps it was because they hadn't chosen him themselves.

"Not a suitable match?" she repeated, shaking her head at her uncle's words. "I am the granddaughter of a viscount, not duchess in my own right! Even by your standards, my marrying a duke would be a step up—several steps up! And he has proven himself to be a good man. He is neither rake nor gambler. He is kind and proper. How could you think him unsuitable?"

"I think perhaps Lady Charlotte isn't aware of the truth," Lucille said in a quiet yet confident voice from the corner of the room.

Charlotte spun around and glared at her. How she was growing to hate this woman who had somehow infiltrated her life. She wanted nothing more to do with her. "And what is it to do with you?" she demanded.

"Come now, Charlotte," Aunt Lydia warned. "I know you are upset but there is no need to take it out on our guest. Don't forget your manners."

"I'm sorry," Lucille said, raising her hands in the air. "I shouldn't have said anything. It's just—"

"No, you're quite right," Aunt Lydia said. "It appears our niece is blind to the truth about this man she supposedly loves."

"What truth?" Charlotte spat. "If there is something to be said, then please say it. Otherwise perhaps I shall have to take matters into my own hands."

Uncle Elliot sucked in his breath. "And leave the folds of your home?"

"If that's what it takes, then yes."

"No, Charlotte," Aunt Lydia said. "That would be a very foolish move indeed. The duke is debt-ridden. He's a pauper."

"I have a wealth of my own," Charlotte snapped back, though the words had shocked her. Alexander hadn't mentioned anything about money troubles, and she wondered at yet another secret being kept from her.

"That is exactly the point," Uncle Elliot said. He leaned forward as if to grasp her hand and comfort her, but she snatched her hand away. She did not want his comfort.

"Charlotte, can you not see that he is using you to get to your inheritance?"

Charlotte scoffed, shaking her head. "You don't know what you're talking about. He loves me."

"No," Lucille said softly from the corner. "He loves me , but he wants your wealth."

Charlotte rose from her chair, propelled by the anger that now surged through her. "And you, my lady, are a fantasist if you truly believe that."

She turned and marched from the room, her skirt snapping between her legs as she went. She thumped up the stairs and stomped her room where she promptly slammed the door shut. It may have been childish, but if they wanted to treat her as one, she might as well act as one. She threw herself onto the bed and began to sob.

It was around half an hour before there came a gently knocking the door.

"Come in," Charlotte muttered.

To her surprise, it was not her uncle but Aunt Lydia who popped her head around the doorframe.

"May I come in?" she asked.

Charlotte shuffled on the bed until she was sitting up and leaning against the headboard. She nodded.

Lydia sat down on the bed next to her and took her hand. "I know you are disappointed, Charlotte. But you will get over this, I promise. I know it is hard to believe, but that just shows how clever a manipulator the Duke of Ashbourne truly is."

"It's impossible to believe," Charlotte replied.

Aunt Lydia patted her hand. Charlotte supposed she meant it as comfort, but it made her want to squirm away.

"Lucille told me herself. The duke explained his plan to her—to marry you for the money and then, once secured, to elope with her."

Charlotte couldn't stop herself from snorting. "And why, pray tell, would she then come and tell you? She would have everything she wanted—the duke and the wealth!"

Aunt Lydia shook her head and sighed. "You have such a bad opinion of her, but she is a good lady. It hurt her moral sensibilities to think of an innocent such as yourself being so hurt and used."

Charlotte shook her head again, astonished at the nonsense her aunt spouted. "You trust Lucille's judgement so greatly over mine, do you? Do you honestly think me so foolish and na?ve that I would fall for such nonsense, do you?"

"It is not like that," Aunt Lydia pleaded. She seemed to glance around the room, searching for an answer, and when she returned her attention to Charlotte, she spoke quickly. "I have seen evidence of his manipulative skills with my own eyes. I have seen the way he looks at Lucille, heard the way he speaks to her. Do not take me for a fool either, young lady."

"What evidence? I do not take you for a fool, Aunty, but I can assure you that you have read the entire situation incorrectly, as has Uncle Elliot. Alexander is a good man."

Her aunt jolted at her use of such familiarity, but Charlotte didn't care. "Well then," she replied, finally pulling her hand away, "if you won't believe me, maybe you will believe the duke himself. If you need proof, I shall get you proof. We should invite him around to confront him."

"Not to confront," Charlotte pleaded, reaching for her aunt's hand again in the hope that the affection would make her see sense, "but to give him a chance to explain this misunderstanding, for I am certain that is what this is."

Aunt Lydia stood up and looked down her nose at her niece. "Very well. I shall invite him tomorrow. Now get some sleep."

As she left the room, closing the door quietly behind her, Charlotte slipped down on the bed and breathed a sigh of relief. Though her bubble of happiness had been well and truly burst, at least now there was a glimmer of hope at retrieving it.

***

Lydia huffed as she descended the stairs. She should have known it wouldn't be so easy. Her niece had always been stubborn and determined—another fault her father had bred in her. And she always thought she knew better. Admittedly, Charlotte was right in this case. The truth was far more complicated than Lydia let on, but that didn't mean she could let her niece win. She had to push her plan one step further.

She made her way to the drawing room. Elliot had taken his leave, and Lucille had moved to the main table where she sat picking at the remains of the cheese and bread. She wore a smug expression, and Lydia noted how well she had settled in. The girl clearly thought of herself as belonging. Lydia gritted her teeth as she smiled politely. She would use Lucille for as long as she needed, and then she would be pleased to be rid of her.

Lucille looked up at her with a glimmer in her eyes and a cube of cheese between her thumb and forefinger. "She didn't seem happy, did she?" she said with a hint of glee and then threw the cube of cheese into her mouth.

Lydia grimaced. The whole plan may have been her idea, and it was true she didn't want Charlotte to marry the duke, but she still had some affection for the girl she had raised as her own for the previous few years.

"No, she didn't," she replied plainly. She lowered herself onto the couch with a groan and when she spoke again, she kept her eyes on the fireplace in front of her. "You ought to go to bed too, Lucille."

"Oh! All right." Lucille's surprise was evident from her tone, but she had been brought up well enough that she got to her feet and made to leave. "Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight," Lydia said without raising her eyes. But as her partner in crime reached the doorway, she called, "Oh, Lucille? Be ready for the final part of the plan. We shall enact it tomorrow."