Epilogue

Epilogue

" H ave you seen this?"

Charlotte, her eyes sore from the weeping she had endured throughout the night, turned her attention away from the paper that Lillian held out to her.

"I am in no mood to read about society gossip, Lillian."

"It is not society gossip!" her sister exclaimed, her voice holding an excitement that made Charlotte frown. "It is more of those poems."

This did not lift Charlotte's spirits in the least.

"I have no interest in them, Lillian. Please, as I told you last evening, I had a severe headache and still find myself rather fatigued."

She had not yet informed her father and mother that she had ended the courtship between herself and Lord Kentmore, though it was still early enough in the day for that to take place. There was not enough strength within her to speak of it to them, not as yet, but that was her intention, at least. Her heart still tore with pain whenever she thought of it, her sorrow overwhelming, but the decision had been made, nonetheless. It was the right thing for her to do, she had told herself over and over again, hating that her heart still yearned for him, still wanted to cling to him, despite all that he had done, and all that he could never be to her.

"I think that you should read these." Lillian, refusing to accept Charlotte's disinterest, thrust the paper into her lap. "You must."

Charlotte wanted to throw the paper away, to demand that her sister leave her be. She wanted to scream that just because Lillian was happy and contented did not mean that she could simply force Charlotte to do whatever she pleased. Biting her tongue, she closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Please, Charlotte." Lillian's voice was softer now. "I am not suggesting it because of any other reason than that I know it will bring you joy."

"Joy?" Charlotte repeated, her chest tightening. "There can be no joy for me at this moment. Lillian, I beg of you, listen to me when I say that I cannot bear to read such a thing."

Her sister came to sit next to her rather than moving away, her eyes searching Charlotte's face.

"My dear Charlotte, I am well aware that there has been some difficulty between yourself and Lord Kentmore. Mayhap I was wrong to insist that you court and then become betrothed, given that my reasons were somewhat selfish, but all the same, I am glad to know that there has been happiness come out of it."

Confused as to what her sister meant, Charlotte looked away.

"I do not feel any happiness."

"You shall soon enough! Lord Kentmore spoke to our father last night."

Whipping her head around, Charlotte snatched in a breath, gazing at her sister with wide eyes.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I was there! For the moment Lord Kentmore stepped away, Lord Glenfield spoke with him thereafter! Our father had to give his consent twice within the space of a few minutes!"

Charlotte blinked, struggling to understand what her sister was saying. She had ended her connection to the Marquess of Kentmore last evening, so why had he then gone on to speak to her father, to seek his permission for them to wed? After all that had been said last evening by Lady Faustine, she had thought that he would feel nothing but relief at the ending of their courtship.

"Here." Charlotte felt the paper being pressed into her hands and, reluctantly, took it from her sister. "Now read it, my dear sister. It will lift your heart, I promise you."

Still a little unwilling, Charlotte turned her gaze to the page that Lillian had pushed her to read – and snatched in a breath.

Not only one but two pages were filled with poems. She counted twelve of them, some long, some short, but all of them filling up the entire space of each page.

"Goodness," she breathed, turning her attention to the first. "I must say, I was not expecting that."

Her sister giggled.

"I am sure that there is even more you will not expect."

Unsure as to what her sister meant in that regard, Charlotte began to read – and by the end of the first poem, found tears in her eyes. There was such raw emotion in each and every line. She could feel all that the writer expressed. The tumult, the confusion, the way that he had been torn this way and that… she could sense his desperation, his doubt, and his fear.

"Whoever this is, his writing has become significantly improved," she whispered, half to herself, before going to the next one.

Quite how long it took her to read them, Charlotte could not say. She took in each line, each word, with great consideration, her eyes filling with tears on occasion, her lips curving into a smile thereafter.

And then she reached the very last one.

Reading it slowly, her heart began to pound as she searched her way through every line. There was a sense of familiarity here, something that she could understand without being fully aware of what it was. Frowning hard, she made her way back to the beginning of it again, letting it sink into her very soul.

‘ The whispers of malice, the murmurs of deceit,

Are brought to you, unexpected and unwarranted.

A mask of lies, covered and garish,

Threatening to shake the ground where you stand.

Your hand is pulled from mine,

Darkness and shadow haunting your steps.

I cry out for you, but my voice is lost,

The words spoken bring you naught but despair.

Oh, but if you would give me but a moment,

Then I might repair the brokenness.

Cast out the lies, my love, tread on them until they break!

Find my heart, no longer lost

But instead,

Only

Yours.'

"Look." Lillian put out one finger, pointing to a line that Charlotte had not yet read. "Do you not see?"

It took Charlotte a moment to understand what her sister was saying, a second or two to take in what was written there but, the moment she took it in, it was as though the world shifted under her feet.

Lord Kentmore?

"It is your betrothed," Lillian murmured, one hand going to Charlotte's shoulder. " He has been the one writing all of these poems, I am sure of it! Right from the very beginning, he was the one who penned those poems, and now he has revealed it to all of society! Though, I believe that these poems are all for you. Some are about you - and you can see the tenderness and the sweetness in his words!"

"This… this cannot be," Charlotte whispered, her eyes fixing themselves on the page. "I would have known… I would have found out…"

"Evidently, you did not." Lillian pressed Charlotte's arm. "My dear sister, the gentleman cares for you a great deal! Is it not evident? Though there is obviously a good deal of confusion within him – or there was, at least, for these poems read like a story."

"Yes, they do," Charlotte agreed, her voice rasping with emotion. "He is confused, doubting his own feelings, uncertain of why he is desirous of turning his back on all that he once knew. Then, there is a path towards realization, towards understanding that his own heart has changed and the hope for a new beginning, a future reconsidered… only for the poem at the end to bring an end to that hope."

"What happened last evening?" Lillian asked, quietly, as Charlotte shook her head. "What lies is he speaking of?"

Charlotte closed her eyes as tears welled up in an instant.

"The very worst, though I believed every word." A hoarse laugh broke from her. "Though now I find that I am greatly troubled and confused myself, uncertain as to what all of this might mean! What was truth and what was a lie?"

Her sister smiled.

"You will have to ask him."

"I shall, I–"

"Miss Marshall has come to call."

The butler opened the door and Miss Marshall rushed in, her face pink and her hand holding The London Chronicle.

"My dear Charlotte, did you see this? Have you read them all? I confess that I have been both astonished and left in awe at the skill he has in writing such beautiful words!"

Charlotte rose to her feet, leaving the paper behind but grasping Miss Marshall's hand instead.

"Might you come out for a walk with me?"

Miss Marshall blinked.

"A walk?"

"Yes. I have somewhere that I must go, and I cannot have my mother or father with me."

Understanding drew itself into Miss Marshall's expression at once.

"Oh, of course. I would be glad to do so."

"Lillian, might you tell Mama that I have taken a short drive in the carriage with Miss Marshall?" Feeling a little frantic, Charlotte grasped her sister's hand. "Will you?"

Lillian placed her other hand on top of Charlotte's, calming her a little.

"I shall. I do hope that you will return to this house happier than you have ever been."

Charlotte smiled, though a tear slid down her cheek all the same.

"I thank you," she whispered, pausing for a moment to embrace her sister. "Thank you for practically forcing me to read those poems, Lillian, and for insisting that I wed Lord Kentmore in the first place! I did not think it at the time, did not believe it for many a day, but now, finally, I believe that I shall have the chance of both love and happiness, and my heart is filled with hope at that thought."

"Then go." Lillian urged her from the room, with Miss Marshall letting out an excited giggle. "You cannot wait a single moment!"

No, I cannot , Charlotte thought to herself, barely stopping to take her bonnet and gloves. I must speak with him, I must talk with him about it all… and be truthful with him about the state of my heart.

"Lord Kentmore."

A little breathless, Charlotte walked into his study, the door left open, and Miss Marshall stationed in the hallway, though Charlotte had every belief that she would make her way from one end of the hallway to the other rather than lingering near the door in the hope of hearing every word.

"Charlotte." Lord Kentmore's voice was breathless as he rose from his study chair, moving so quickly that it scraped back on the floor. "You… you are here. I…" Seemingly a little flustered, he pushed one hand through his hair, then gestured to a chair. "Please, do come and sit down. I–"

"I read your poems."

Lord Kentmore came towards her, rounding his desk as though he could not get to her fast enough.

"You did?"

"You wrote them all?" Charlotte's voice was thick with tears, though she smiled as he nodded, putting one hand to her heart. "That is why you were always so angry with me when I did not think too highly of them."

Lord Kentmore winced, closing his eyes briefly as he stopped only a step or two away from her. "It was my arrogance, I confess. Though, thereafter, I found that my desire to please you was not solely because of my own sense of self-importance. Rather, I wanted you to think well of my work so that you felt happy, contented, delighted, satisfied, or even joyous in what you read. It was your happiness and contentment I found myself seeking, rather than thinking of myself – and even that unsettled me!" He took a small step closer to her, his hands going out either side of him as he shook his head. "I have broken your heart, Charlotte, and for that I cannot apologize enough. I have reveled in idiocy, losing myself in confusion, unwilling to give myself up to all that I felt, simply because I did not want to. I did not want to lose the rogue. I did not want to step into a future that was different from the one I had hoped for… and yet, when I finally realized just how much of a fool I had been, you had stepped away from me."

A knot tied itself in Charlotte's stomach as she took a deep breath, knowing that there was one question she had to have the answer to.

"That lady who spoke to me–"

"Lady Faustine."

"Lady Faustine." Charlotte pressed her lips tightly together for a moment. "Did you share a kiss with her?"

The moment that Lord Kentmore shook his head, Charlotte went weak with relief, dropping her head forward and letting out a prolonged sigh.

"She tried to press her lips to mine." Lord Kentmore's voice was low, and when she looked at him, the colors in his eyes seemed to grow all the more intense. "It was at that moment, that very moment, that I realized that my heart was changed. Normally, in the past, I would have wrapped my arms around her and reveled in the connection but instead, I felt sick at the thought of doing so. I wanted nothing more to do with her – or with any other – and I confess that I told her as much." A tiny, rueful smile crept up one side of his mouth. "Then, when you asked me that day in your drawing room if I would be devoted to you, I did not give you a clear answer, though I found myself desiring to. I wanted to confess to you the waves of confusion and doubt that I had been captured by."

"And that is why you came back to the garden," Charlotte breathed, finding herself moving closer to him without having had any real intention of doing so. "You wanted to speak more with me."

He nodded.

"And instead, I heard you speaking of me in such an honest way that my heart quite broke. I saw then the pain and the sorrow that I had caused you and, within myself, came that strong determination never to do that again. I went home rather than speak with you and for that, I am truly sorry." His eyes squeezed closed for a moment. "I should have come closer to you, rather than run. Instead of lingering, I returned home, I sat at my writing desk, and I wrote and wrote and wrote – and then Lord Glenfield came in." A quiet chuckle came from his lips. "He told me the truth, which I refused to accept at first. Once I saw that he was right, I was determined to find you, to explain everything… only Lady Faustine got to you first." Reaching out, he took her hand in his and Charlotte moved closer still, not resisting him for even a moment. "I cannot tell you how sorry I am over all that I have done and all that you have had to endure."

Charlotte swallowed hard, smiling gently back at him, aware of the tears that were just behind her eyes.

"You have come to the truth at last," she whispered, as Lord Kentmore nodded fervently. "I saw the story in your poems, I followed the path that your heart has taken."

"And it is a path which has led me to you," he answered, his other hand going to find hers. "I do not deserve to have you beside me, Charlotte. I have known that from the very beginning of our connection, I am not worthy of you, given how beautiful, delightful, and affectionate you are, and how much of a scoundrel I have been."

"But that does not matter to me," Charlotte answered quickly, taking her hand from his and boldly, settling it upon his chest. "If you are true in your words, then you have turned your back upon all of that, have you not? You are going to be just as devoted to me as I am to you."

Lord Kentmore nodded slowly and then, with his free hand, lifted it so that it rested against her cheek. His eyes searched hers, the gold flecks within them transfixing her, just as they had always done.

"I am devoted to you, Charlotte." There was a quietness about his words, a tenderness which held a firmness with it. "I shall never turn my back on you, never. I will not go back to being a rogue but instead, I shall give you all of myself – my whole heart – and live a life of utter devotion to you."

A single tear fell from Charlotte's cheek as she looked back at him, with Lord Kentmore brushing it away gently with his thumb, making her smile softly.

"Kentmore." Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, her emotions welling up within her, crying out for her to speak. "My dear Kentmore, I have been torn asunder knowing that my heart has filled itself with an affection for you which I feared would never be returned." Opening her eyes, she snatched in a breath as Lord Kentmore began to lower his head, a whisper of anticipation climbing up her spine. "I told myself I was a fool for falling in love with a rogue – even if he was to be my husband – but now I can say I am a fool no longer."

A small hint of a smile danced across his lips.

"You could never be a fool, Charlotte," he murmured, his other hand tugging away from hers but only then to wrap his arm about her waist so that she was caught up against him. "I am the fool, I assure you, who has been given more than he ever deserved."

When he lowered his head, Charlotte was ready for him. Her lips met his, her hands slid up around his shoulders, her fingers brushing the hair at the nape of his neck. This kiss, however, was nothing like their first. There was no desperate, furious passion but instead, a sweetness, a tenderness which gently called to her. It was as though he were kissing her for the first time, as though he had never done such a thing before.

"My goodness." Lord Kentmore breathed softly against her lips, his forehead resting against hers. "I have never kissed a lady that I am in love with before." Another breath whispered across her cheeks. "My darling, it is more wonderful, more beautiful than anything I have ever experienced."

Charlotte leaned her head against his shoulder, pulling herself all the more into his embrace, her heart so happy, it was overflowing with sheer joy.

"We have found our path together, it seems," she murmured, tilting her head up so that his lips came near hers again. "Our love will lead us into a happy future, I am sure of it."

He kissed her lightly but did not linger.

"As am I. You will marry me, Charlotte?"

Charlotte smiled up at him, marveling at just how wonderful this moment felt.

"Of course I shall… on one condition."

Lord Kentmore pulled back just a little, his expression suddenly grave.

"Name it."

Her hand brushed against his cheek, a soft smile on her lips.

"Promise me that you will write poetry for me still, my love. I have come to love your words, and I desire to read much, much more of them."

A brilliant smile spread across Lord Kentmore's face as he clasped her to himself once more.

"I shall write it every day," he promised, coming to kiss her again. "And I shall write it solely for you."

I love the poetry loving rogue! I hope you do too! So glad they found their perfect match!

Did you miss the first book in the Whispers of the Ton series? Here it is! The Truth about the Earl Read a few pages ahead to see a Sneek Peak!