CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Charlotte sat in the morning room, her mother’s journal resting on her lap. She had been sitting in the same position for hours, tracing the edges of the pages with her fingers, trying to make sense of all she had read.

Her mind was spinning in a continuous circle from her mother’s past, and all that Charlotte now knew, then returning to the Duke of Lindenbrook and what the revelations might mean for them.

She longed to confide in someone, but the risk of exposure seemed too great. She did not know if her father had been aware of her mother’s feelings for the late duke. Society was a small place, and any attraction between two people rarely went unnoticed. Still, if her mother had been as secretive about her feelings as she was about her past, anything could be possible.

“Lady Wentworth?” Charlotte jumped at the voice that suddenly floated through the room and turned to find the family butler watching her, one hand on the door.

“Good morning, Waltham; my apologies; I did not hear you come in.”

“Good morning, Lady Wentworth. The Earl of Kenthurst has arrived to see you. Should I send him in?”

Charlotte’s gut clenched as her fingers tightened around the journal. Now, more than ever, she longed for her mother, wondering what she would tell her about her current predicament and whether, if she were here, she would have challenged her father on his stoic opinion of Kilby.

“Thank you, Waltham. I shall go to him directly.”

The butler bowed and left the room. Charlotte had spent a great deal of time with the servants when her mother had fallen ill. She had, to all intents and purposes, been the lady of the house for almost three years. Waltham had traveled with them from the country and was an exceedingly loyal and reassuring presence.

She stood, brushing down her skirts and looking at the journal thoughtfully. Her father rarely came into the morning room, and she knew if she were to secrete it here, he would not find it. Walking to a chair in the corner of the room she pushed the journal behind the upholstery at the back and covered it with a cushion, then went to face the day.

The corridors in the house seemed even longer this morning, like a march to a fate she wished to avoid at all costs. As she walked, she tried to reconsider her opinion of Kilby for a short time, attempting to convince herself that his smile was not quite as vacant as she had first thought.

I wonder how my mother felt. She would have had to let go of all her hopes for a man she did not want. I wonder what she would say if she were with me now.

Charlotte’s head was flooded with images of the duke, her heart yearning for the reality of their situation to be different. She had no confirmation that he even had intentions toward her, but the hope in her heart was very real.

Charlotte’s mood darkened further as she reached the drawing room, wishing fervently that something might prevent her from having to tread the path that was laid out for her.

As she entered the room her father stood beside Kilby, his smile broad and genuine as the two men stopped speaking the moment she entered. Their easy friendship only made Charlotte feel more trapped in her situation.

“Lady Wentworth,” Lord Kilby said, walking toward her and taking a bow. “What a pleasure it is to see you.”

She gave a reluctant smile as he indicated the settee, and she sat down beside her father opposite Lord Kilby. Before they could speak further, two servants entered with a pot of tea, and the rattling of cups and cutlery saved her from having to make awkward small talk for a few minutes.

I never feel awkward around the duke; conversation, even silence, is easy with him.

“I hear you attended Lady Winterson’s salon yesterday,” Kilby stated. “I trust it was diverting?”

Charlotte stirred her tea, deciding that now was the time to push aside her prejudices and try to get to know this man. Perhaps she could find some redeeming qualities in him.

“I did. Are you fond of literature?”

“Alas, I am not as well-read as one might be. Although I do enjoy reading in its place.”

“Its place, my Lord?”

“Well, one has no time for reading these days. There is so much else to be getting on with.”

“Quite right,” her father said pompously, and Charlotte’s fingers tightened on her teacup.

“What do you think of poetry?” Charlotte asked.

“Very little; if I hear the name Byron again at my club, I shall hurl my cards at the man’s face.” He laughed, as did her father and Charlotte was forced to pretend to find it funny so as not to be seen as mean-spirited.

Any other man trying to woo a lady might have asked why she had asked the question or followed up with an inquiry as to whether she herself liked poetry. Kilby had no such intention.

“As I was telling you last time we saw one another,” he said, “I have been rather busy with the renovations of my estate. I should very much like you to see them at some point soon.” His eyes glinted over the rim of his cup and Charlotte could tell that her father was excited by that comment in the way he leaned forward.

“Thank you, my Lord. I am sure that would be a welcome activity.” Charlotte watched Kilby select one of the cakes and begin to chew it. Once again, he was unable to do so without making sucking breaths through his open mouth as he chewed. It was most unseemly. “Do you have many properties?” Charlotte asked.

“A great many,” he said smugly.

“Tell me, do you have any in Scotland at all?”

Her father gave her an odd look, but Charlotte kept her expression as innocent as possible.

“Good Lord, no, I would not wish to stray so far from London. The weather in Scotland is quite atrocious. We may encounter our mists here in London, but they have a plethora of frets and fogs over the Highlands. I prefer to remain in the south, where the weather is most agreeable.”

Charlotte shifted slightly in her chair, a headache forming as she realized how exhausted she was. She had not slept at all after discovering the journal and could not get her thoughts to align this morning. Every word Kilby spoke grated on her nerves and she wished she could leave the room or say something so insulting that it could put him off for good.

Why has he singled me out from all the women in society? Surely, there is another he prefers who is not so freshly out.

Was that why Kilby had singled her out? Because she lacked experience?

Kilby had a good reputation in society and had been known to her father for a long while, but they did not truly know anything about him other than what other people had said. She watched him speaking, his smooth lips constantly curling into an arrogant smile. She had never seen a man smile so much and yet seem so tense.

“Lady Wentworth, if the prospect pleases you, I would be honoured to invite you to a small gathering for a picnic at Richmond Park tomorrow,” Kilby stated. “The sun promises to grace us, and I can think of no better company with which to admire it than yours.”

Charlotte’s eyes flicked to her father, who was giving her a look that brooked no argument. She nodded to Kilby as her spirits lowered ever further.

“Of course, my Lord, it would be a great pleasure,” she lied.

After that, the talk was all business. Kilby discussed some new investments that he had heard were doing well and her father spoke a little of the capital he had transferred to their country estate for repairs.

Kilby once again discussed the work being done on three of his properties, and both men bemoaned the intricacies of tenant management and the necessity for a good steward.

Charlotte felt herself fade into the background, present in the room but a ghost amongst them. Neither man referred another question to her once the time for the picnic had been secured; it was as though Kilby had need of her presence outside of the house but had no interest in getting to know her within it. The idea of spending her life with him was a very depressing one.

She wondered how her mother must have felt on the eve of her wedding, the walls of her gilded cage closing in around her just as Charlotte’s were. She could not imagine how it must have felt to love a man and have to give him up because of what her father wanted.

Or perhaps I can, she thought bitterly. Perhaps that will be my fate, too.

As Kilby took his leave, Charlotte had never been so thankful to bid farewell to his presence in her life. She swiftly made her way back to her mother’s journal, determined to write as much as she could in her own journal about what she had discovered and hoping against hope that she might be able to extricate herself from this predicament.

***

Colin must have read extracts from eight hundred pages through the night. The room about his feet was littered with papers, and his eyes were raw from reading by candlelight.

Feeling for his friend, he had sent Edward home in the early hours of the morning, but he had been unable to rest himself.

The frustrating part of his recent search was that he had found little evidence of anything new. His father’s dealings were certainly strange; there was no denying that, but he was yet to see the name of any third party, not even Wentworth was mentioned often. He wanted to find contrary information proving that Lady Wentworth’s father was innocent but had so far come up short.

He stood, stretching his back and hearing the click of his shoulders from sitting hunched over his desk for so many hours. The room was a mess, piles of paper everywhere and he decided that after a full night’s work, the best thing he could do was make it look slightly more presentable.

Edward had done a wonderful job of stacking everything into sections, and Colin began the laborious task of bundling and tying together everything he had already examined. It took a good hour to get everything in order, and the desk was still piled high with papers, but at least the rest of the room did not appear as though a herd of wild horses had trampled through it.

He was grateful he had taken the time to work through the mess, for his mother soon entered the room, looking as elegant as ever, her sharp eyes surveying the papers strewn about with concern.

“Whatever are you doing?” she asked suspiciously.

“I am looking through old documents, Mama. I need to find the name of a man father was working with and I have been unable to do so.” Colin considered asking his mother if his father had ever mentioned the third party to her, but he was too worried that it would lead to his mother prying into what he was doing, and he did not wish her to find out the truth before he had come to his own conclusions.

“My goodness, it is a disaster in here,” she said reproachfully. “Look at all the plates you have stacked. Did you work in here all night? Why have the servants not been in to light the fire?”

“I asked not to be disturbed, Mother, and they have respected that. I shall go and dress directly and the maids can come and see to things.”

She sighed heavily and stepped over several documents as she moved further into the room.

“Have you slept? You look exhausted. Are you sure all is well?”

“Quite well, Mama. And I have slept, but not a great deal; I shall rest today.”

“Be sure that you do. Your face is positively gray. Shall I call the physician for a draft?”

“Please stop fussing, Mother, I am quite well. Why did you need to see me?”

She pursed her lips disapprovingly but continued all the same. “We have been invited to the Earl of Kenthurst’s picnic tomorrow at Richmond Park. I came to ask if you will attend?”

Colin scanned the work on his desk and everything he had yet to look through but knew that he was duty-bound to attend such things, especially if his mother wished to go. He could always tell if she was keen to answer an invitation in the affirmative because she would make a point of reminding him, he needed to respond.

“Yes, I shall attend.”

“Excellent.”

She clasped her hands in front of her, looking very pleased with herself and Colin rubbed his eyes, the weight of a full night’s work lowering over his shoulders.

He was surprised when he opened them to find his mother had moved around the desk and was standing before him, examining him with some concern.

“Are you sure you are well? You look very ill.”

“Nothing some rest won’t cure; do not trouble yourself, Mama.”

He froze as her hand came up and brushed his hair out of his eyes in an affectionate gesture that was so rare it caught his breath. Her hand cupped his jaw briefly, her eyes searching and sad.

“Do not work yourself too hard,” she whispered before whisking from the room as though she had never been there.

Colin stared after her, a warmth in his chest that had not been there before. He touched his jaw where his mother’s hand had been and felt the lingering warmth of it for a long time after she was gone.