Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

C harlotte quietly made her way down the hall, her mouth clamped shut and her mind wandering after the odd conversation she’d just had with her godmother.

There was much they didn’t know about each other, that much was clear. Theodosia had high expectations for a lady in London, and Charlotte simply didn’t. The woman had countless stories with the occasional judgment and then the occasional comment that confused her.

“One should never rush the Season or their heart, I always say,” Theodosia had said while rising from her chair. She’d smoothed down her dress and ran her thin fingers over the tinkling chatelaine hooked at her waist. There were keys looped there along with a pair of spectacles and what looked like a few figurines Charlotte couldn’t quite place. “Charlotte, did you hear me?”

Charlotte had looked up. “Never rush the Season or the heart, I believe you said.”

“Good, you do listen. Now pay attention.”

And then Theodosia left, leaving her only more confused than usual, and all alone.

Their tea was finished, so she was free for the rest of the afternoon. There were no lessons today, since Adrian was busy with one matter or another. When Charlotte thought of it, she didn’t even have to worry about supper. Theodosia was attending a small private dinner with friends, and… there was no one else for Charlotte to concern herself with.

No longer entertained by the music room, she couldn’t think of anything she wanted to read or do. She had just finished a satisfying novel. The day was too rainy for a ride.

Wandering down the hall, Charlotte wondered about the various rooms on the east side of the house.

It’s such a large place that I cannot imagine ever knowing every nook and cranny. Not even every room…

The large double doors on her left were closed. Although she remembered passing them before, they didn’t feel familiar enough to her now.

What was behind those doors? They didn’t lead to the ballroom. Double doors would never lead to linens or closet space.

Charlotte reached for the intricately designed doorknobs. “If this doesn’t lead outside, then it should lead to… a gallery.”

She pushed the doors open all the way. It was a rather dark and shadowy room with the drapes of two windows closed. The hallway only offered so much light. Pausing in the hall for a candle, she took it with her and strolled into the room to satisfy her curiosity.

Twice the size of her spacious bedchamber, she walked slowly around the space as though she needed to prove to herself the size of this room for all the art. There were too many pieces on the walls to count. Small tables set against them carried more art like porcelain vases and glass flowers. In the middle of the room were a handful of statues and head busts all uncovered and waiting to be admired.

Unable to help herself, she eagerly admired them all.

“How quaint you are. And what a dashing figure you cut. A fine jacket even if it must have been made of some rough material,” she commented quietly to a painting of a soldier. Turning to the next painting of fields, she leaned in. “Oh, I should love to roll down that hill. I wound end up with a wreath of flowers on my head for all the time it would take to reach the bottom. Goodness. Oh, and look at this…”

This was an old game she used to play with her father with the two pieces of art they’d kept in his study. He used to tease her as a child that the artwork of her mother’s mother came to life at night to walk the halls and ensure everyone was abed. As she grew older, they talked about it and teased the woman like she was right there with them. And they used to talk about the painting he had of Paris, and how they planned to travel to France someday.

Feeling more homesick than she had in a long time, Charlotte chattered away in the hopes that the loneliness would fade. She was doing great at entertaining herself and holding back her feelings until she made it to the next wall, where a large portrait of a young man hung before her.

Clearly tall with strong features that could cast shadows in daylight, the man stared back at her with clear green eyes. Darker than she knew them to be. But still, who else could this be but a younger Adrian?

If only he weren’t so frightfully handsome. I’d have the courage then to do something about it.

“What a scoundrel you are,” she murmured. It came out much more breathless than she had intended.

“What are you doing?”

Fear struck Charlotte cold.

“Oh!” Whirling around, she nearly snuffed out the candle. Her hand rose to her throat. Blood pulsing in her veins, it took her a minute to catch her breath.

All the while, the real-life Adrian stared her down. The downward twist of his lips showed his derision, probably for being spooked. Except he couldn’t blame her for reacting the way she had, especially when she had been staring at him a second ago.

“You startled me.”

She inched out of the way to steal a glance at the younger version of him. Yes, they had the brow right. The eyes did appear darker, though. In fact, this painting made him appear downright cruel. She felt the fear ebb away.

Never would she be afraid of Adrian. The man was harmless, at the end of the day. But he could be a proud and demanding man who only annoyed her terribly.

Glancing at his reflection, Adrian’s scowl only deepened. “This room is usually closed up.”

“Hmm,” she said before she could help herself. “The painting doesn’t do you justice.”

It was a compliment. A very fine one, she thought. One that he even deemed acceptable in the realm of acceptable compliments when attending a social event. However, Adrian took this personally, as his face only darkened.

“What does that mean?” he asked her.

She spoke plainly, pointing loosely to the art on the wall. “Look at it. This painting looks like he cannot even bear to laugh. Like he’d rather die than chuckle. Whoever painted this made you out to be a villain.”

“How dare you––”

Hearing his anger, she decided to retract everything she said before he shouted at her. She thought of Theodosia’s words as she said, “I mean it to be well, goodness me. You should have someone else paint you to look better. I thought you would like such a compliment. Didn’t you just complain the other day that every compliment I made was less than paltry? I even wrote this one down. Really, Adrian––”

He leaned forward and gritted out, “That isn’t me! Don’t ever say that again, and don’t you dare compare us.”

Again, her mouth dropped open. She watched him pull back with a tortured look that evaporated as fast as it came. He rubbed a hand over his face as though to make sure the grimace was gone. And then he turned to go.

She couldn’t help asking, “Well, how was I supposed to know that? It looks just like you.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“It does! I mean, it does make sense that there would be family portraits. I hadn’t thought of that before I came in here. It’s easy to forget, since Theodosia is twice as pleasant as you are. But this must be… perhaps your father?”

Charlotte was trying to talk her way to an apology. But when Adrian flinched, something told her she was making it worse.

“It hardly matters. But we are not alike,” Adrian snapped so loudly that his voice echoed in the room.

Pausing at the sound, she glanced at the painting and then back at him. Tempted as she was to egg him on, she thought better of it. “I was only stating facts. But as you like to remind me, I am often wrong.”

“Yes, you are wrong,” he spat.

“So what if you share some of the features? It clearly isn’t enough.” That came out more sarcastic than she had intended. “What a shame it is to not admire fine art, however. Still, you don’t need to shout at me just because you don’t like a painting.”

“It’s not a painting!”

“Then what is it?” she asked, unable to help herself.

He made it too easy. When he took a step back, she moved forward. No matter how much they seemed to dislike each other, they were always right there before each other.

Adrian growled in frustration. He attempted to glance in the direction of the painting but couldn’t quite do it. That piqued her curiosity. “It’s only a bad painting. I told Aunt Theodosia she should have burned it years ago.”

“Burned it? But it’s art! That’s ridiculous.”

“It doesn’t matter. We have enough art, do we not?” he argued with a shake of his head. There came that tortured look in his eyes again. A visceral reaction that came and went in a blink. Charlotte took another step forward and was nearly struck on the shoulder when he waved his hand. “And perhaps we look like each other. In that case, we wouldn’t need two of us here, would we?”

“All right,” she said, wondering what was happening with her tongue. “Let’s burn it.”

“No, we should burn it––” Adrian halted. “I beg your pardon?”

She started to move forward again before realizing this would have her bumping into his chest. Clearing her throat, she tried to move back but only made it a tiny step. She put the candle between them to make the space seem bigger.

“We can burn it if you like. I’ve never seen a painting burn. Besides, there are plenty more to speak to here.”

“Speak to?” Adrian studied her carefully, as if he was waiting for her to make a remark he wouldn’t like.

How very insulting. I’m ridiculously charming!

Charlotte nodded, finding herself confessing something she knew would leave room for mockery. “Yes. I like to speak to the artwork. That’s what I was doing when you entered. I used to do that when I was a child, and I find it comforting.”

“You and your country ways.” Adrian began to straighten up. She thought the look in his eyes softened as he did so.

“Indeed. Why don’t you try it?” Charlotte tentatively shifted to stand closer to his elbow as she took a look at the artwork. Yes, the man painted there looked more dangerous than Adrian ever could. “What would you say to him?”

Silence fell over them. She felt his breath more than heard it, a deep sigh escaping his lungs. Curiosity ate at her. Holding still, she waited.

I should have stormed out. That’s what I should have done. We can argue like we always do and run away. And yet, as we have told each other, we must see some matters through. So, Adrian, what is it about your father you’d like to say?

“I would say that I do not miss him,” Adrian spoke very quietly but just as surely. Her breath caught at his sincerity and the pain behind it. “I would say that I regret not fighting him more. Fighting him better. And that I will never be like him.”

Neither of them spoke for a long time after that.

Charlotte sensed him staring at the painting, but she couldn’t bear it. There was something painful about the artwork now, too dark to appreciate or see. Adrian’s soft breath at her shoulder shuddered before evening out. Only then did she turn around to face him again.

“You’re not like him, if you would like to know that,” she ventured gently after a minute.

Scoffing, he glanced at her and began to turn away. She reached for his arm on instinct.

He stopped, the two of them locking gazes. “Charlotte.”

“I mean it,” she insisted.

“You never met the man,” he pointed out.

“Perhaps not, but I have seen this painting. Art can say a hundred things at a glance, Adrian. I told you he was painted dark. Painted mean. He carries a darkness that you don’t have. And just because you fight me doesn’t make you anything like him,” she added hastily. “I rather enjoy our fights. They don’t mean anything.”

Surprise flickered in his eyes. “They don’t?”

“Well, not… not exactly…”

She licked her lips, losing her train of thought with him staring her down. Her pulse had been steady a moment ago. But since his arrival, it only continued to speed up. She couldn’t catch it now if she was riding a galloping horse. Her eyes fell to his lips. They looked stern yet inviting.

“That is… I mean…”

If we kissed, I think he would taste like pomegranates. Bittersweet and forbidden. He would cradle my head with one hand and hold me captive. I could lose myself in those pale green eyes. If only…

“What do you mean?”

His hand enveloped hers, so gentle and warm. The contact made her jump. Feeling like a spooked cat, Charlotte pulled her hand free. Her mind was going everywhere she didn’t understand. Bewildered, she stepped away from him.

And she left in haste without another word. Adrian didn’t follow or call after her.

She told herself that was for the best, though she didn’t feel an ounce of relief as she ran away from whatever had just happened.