CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Charlotte paced the drawing room, her mother’s journal clutched to her chest. Elizabeth had left only a few minutes before, telling her that she would send word if there was any news.

Charlotte’s mind was whirling with possibilities about what might be being discussed at the meeting. Apparently, both Lord Kilby and her father had been invited.

What does that mean? What could the duke possibly want with both of them?

She had found solace in her mother’s journal that morning, reading over the earlier passages and absorbing her mother’s words like a lifeline. Charlotte hoped that her mother had found happiness in some form after she had married her father and that, in her way, she had been content.

Charlotte stopped pacing as the door opened. She expected to see her father enter the room, desperate to know what had taken place, but instead, it was Waltham standing before her.

“The Duke of Lindenbrook has arrived to see you, Lady Wentworth. Shall I show him in?”

Charlotte looked about her to ensure she was not dreaming. The world outside was gray, the clouds having gathered throughout the morning and the rain was falling gently against the windowpane. Everything looked just as it should.

But how is the duke here?

“Yes,” she whispered. “Please show him in.”

She placed the journal on the mantelpiece, noting her pale cheeks in the reflection in the mirror, pinching them to give herself some colour. She was brushing down her skirts and ensuring that she looked as well as she could when a figure appeared at the door.

Charlotte stared at him in disbelief.

Their eyes met across the room, and everything else fell away. She no longer cared about Lord Kilby or what her future might hold—this man had to be her future. Somehow, he already was.

For a long while, neither of them spoke, the air charged with feelings that neither of them could express. Then, that gentle thread, fine as gossamer, pulled them together in a way that Charlotte could neither refuse nor deny.

They moved toward one another, and without a word, the duke took her hands in his, the feel of them firm and filled with promise. But after a few seconds only, the duke appeared to recover himself and pulled them gently free again, although he did not step away from her.

“Lady Wentworth, I have some news that I must impart to you.”

Charlotte nodded, hoping that whatever he would say could shed some light on why he was here, and give credence to the hope in her heart.

“Lord Kilby has been arrested.”

Charlotte stilled, her heart pounding an alarming rhythm in her chest as she absorbed those words.

“I beg your pardon, your Grace?”

The duke’s eyes were dark and uncertain as he examined her face, his mouth set in a grim line.

“Your father has informed me that you were betrothed to him. I felt it my duty to come here to tell you of it in person, for it was by my hand that his reputation has been dashed to pieces.”

Charlotte’s heart sank slowly to the floor. The duke had only come here to explain what had happened with Kilby—nothing more.

“What happened?” she asked.

The duke held out his arm and they both moved to a chair. The room was strangely silent, the bustle of the streets muted somehow. Charlotte listened to the crackle of the fire and the distant clinking of cutlery in the servant's quarters.

As they sat down together, Charlotte was reminded of their time in the literary salon. They had conversed for so long about their shared interests, and she realized it was in that moment where she had begun to truly care for him.

The duke’s handsome profile faced the floor as he took in a deep breath, seemingly to gather himself for the conversation to come.

Even if we have no future together, I am at least free of Kilby, Charlotte thought with intense relief.

The duke finally looked up and met her gaze.

“Lord Kilby has been arrested upon suspicion of blackmail, Lady Wentworth. I have been investigating his business dealings for some time, and I have found evidence that Lord Kilby has been extorting money from my father for many months, right up until his death.”

“Oh, your Grace, that is terrible.”

He bowed his head, his eyes sad. “I am sorry that the man you thought you were promised to is such a simpleton.”

His eyes were sad and filled with yearning, and Charlotte could stand it no more. Even if she had her heart broken for exposing her feelings, she had to tell him the truth.

“I am grateful for you telling me, Your Grace. But this news is not painful to me. As much as I am very sorry for what happened with your father, my only feelings about Kilby’s arrest are relief. I have never cared for him. The match was arranged by my father, and I had no say in the matter.”

The duke’s eyes never left hers as she spoke, searching her face in confusion.

“You did not care for him at all?” he whispered.

“Never,” she replied. “Indeed, I always thought there was something strange about him. The first time I was introduced to him, it was as though he was not being his true self. I cannot explain it, but clearly, there was far more to his character than I knew.”

The duke’s eyes were fixed upon her, and after a few seconds of hesitation, his face broke into a wide smile. It was unguarded, happy, and unique—the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

“You did not want him?” he asked, his voice laced with hope.

“No, your Grace. Never.”

The duke looked down, and after an interminable length of time, where seconds seemed to stretch into minutes, his hand moved to cover her own in the gentlest of gestures.

Charlotte’s breath caught in her throat as he curled his fingers around hers, the motion so alarmingly intimate she could hardly contain her joy.

The duke was still for a few moments, and then he began to speak.

“Lady Wentworth, the news of Lord Kilby is not the only reason I have come to see you this day.” His eyes were soft and earnest as he looked up at her. “For a long time, I never believed that I would find happiness. I had little interest in matrimony, occupied as I was with my father’s business and the estate. My mother often spoke of finding a match, but I never met any woman to my liking.” He gave her a rueful smile as he sighed, his other hand coming to join the first.

“I thought that if I ever did choose to marry, that the match would be the result of duty.” He looked up at the ceiling with a fond smile. “But then, on one rather fine summer’s evening, I met a woman by moonlight who has, quite simply, changed my life.”

Charlotte’s breath was coming faster now, her fingers tightening around his.

“I convinced myself, when we saw each other again, that it had merely been a coincidental meeting and that you had no real interest in me. Then we spent the day at Gunter’s, and I felt a connection I was unable to describe—something that I came to treasure.

“When I asked you to dance at my mother’s ball, it was just before the world fell apart around me, but I recognized in those slow steps about the floor a truth I had not seen before.”

The duke paused, a slight frown marring his handsome face.

“I had a strange upbringing, Lady Wentworth. I was rarely shown affection by my parents despite being an only child.” He looked at her then, deep into her eyes. “You must forgive me for not recognising love when it bloomed in me, but I was not accustomed to the feeling. Not before I met you.”

Charlotte sucked in a sharp joyful breath.

“Your strength of character, compassion for others, and the unwavering spirit you show to the world have captivated me from the first moment I met you. I pray now that I am not too late. That you might harbour the same feeling for me.

“I have been torn between two worlds, shredded into pieces by them both, knowing that in one there is a world of duty and responsibility for my family, and in the other my ever-deepening feelings for you.”

Charlotte’s eyes were filled with tears, and she could not find the words to speak. The duke’s eyes were so imploring that she longed to express everything as eloquently as he had done but she was unable to find the words to do so.

Rising to her feet, she walked to the mantelpiece and took down her mother’s journal. The duke’s face was confused as she returned to him. With trembling fingers, she opened the journal and took his hand again.

Charlotte was not able to find the adequate words, but she knew someone who had said everything she needed to say, who was just as dear to her as the man sitting beside her.

Finding the right passage, she began to read.

“I have spent my life wishing to find a man who I could speak with as an equal, to whom I might find the greatest of companionship. I believe I have found that in Auric. He is a light in a dark world, a path that I do not fear to tread. When I met him, I felt like my life had fallen into place, and it continues to do so every time we are together. I have been happy, truly happy, in his presence, and I can only pray that he feels the same.”

The tears had begun to fall as she had read the passage and the duke gently brushed them away. When she turned to him, he was frowning down at the pages.

“What is this?” he asked.

“It is my mother’s journal, your Grace. I discovered it hidden in my room some weeks ago. I had no knowledge of it—my mother never spoke of her past loves—but it has given me an insight into her life. I do not know if your father ever spoke of this to you; but my mother and your father were very much in love at one time.”

The duke’s face was all astonishment. “I had no notion of this. Those were your mother’s words?”

“They were. I have read this book a hundred times in the past few weeks, seeing the parallels between the life my mother lived and my own. Her words have resonated with me, not just as a mother’s words might influence a daughter, but because of the similarities of our situations. I had to accept Lord Kilby, your Grace. I had no choice but to do so. But all the while I was trying to find a way that I might undo the promise I made to him. A promise I now know he did not deserve. I do not want to repeat the past and live a life of misery as my mother did.”

She looked up at him then and she saw the same vulnerability in his expression as she knew must be in her own.

As she finished speaking, she gasped as his hands came up to cup her face, and he looked lovingly into her eyes, his expression truly unguarded for the first time.

"Charlotte," he said softly, "we will not repeat those mistakes. We will learn from them. Ever since we first met, I have felt a connection with you that I have never felt with another. That is a rare and precious thing that must be fought for. I want to build a life with you as my equal. I want to see us shape each other into the people we will become.”

Charlotte leaned into his touch, closing her eyes as his were filling with tears.

“Colin,” she said gently, “whatever life we build together will be beyond anything I could ever have dreamed of.”

As she opened her eyes, her gaze met his and the rest of the world faded away. Slowly, and giving her time to pull away, the duke leaned forward and placed his lips on hers.

She pulled him to her, the secret, wonderful moment binding them together in joy and happiness as they embraced one another, their lips moving softly, gentle touches over and over until he pulled her into his arms.

They sat there together in the silence of the room, the pattering of the rain the only sound, as the gentle thread between them tightened, becoming an unbreakable bond that nothing could pull asunder.