by Leah Conolly
“Take them,” he said, gesturing to the officers. “Be sure to notify Lord Devon of his daughter’s whereabouts. ”
At Duncan’s words, Charlotte felt as though the breath had been knocked out of her. She went limp, further pleas dying on her lips. She would have collapsed, if not for the officer’s firm grip returning and lifting her from the seat. Her head fell, but from the corner of her vision, she could see Helena Lancaster smirking. Charlotte was too wounded to feel anything but sadness, and she refused to look at the woman’s face, as the officers escorted her and Ruth from Duncan’s estate.
The ride from Duncan’s was the longest and quietest of Charlotte’s life. In many ways, it reminded her of the day she left her home to board the ship to France. She closed her eyes, wishing fervently that she had never chosen to hide her identity. However, even after the horror of the evening, the one thing she did not regret was meeting Duncan, or any moment she had spent with him. Her only regret was that he never wished to see her again.
Charlotte and Ruth’s wait in a locked room was just as silent as the carriage ride, and colder than the early spring night. The officers signed papers and talked amongst themselves, without saying a single word to the women. Charlotte overheard her father’s name, and she had to close her eyes, to make the room stop spinning.
Ruth touched her gently, and for the first time since the officers had arrested them, she looked at her maid. Ruth looked as distraught as she felt, and she let out another sob.
“Oh, Ruth,” she said. “I am so very sorry. Please forgive me.”
Ruth’s lip trembled, and she embraced Charlotte.
“You are not to blame,” she whispered. Her voice, though terrified, sounded completely sincere, but Charlotte knew it was not true. This situation was most certainly her fault because it had been her idea to hide their identities.
“You are too good to me,” Charlotte said, her voice thick with tears.
“It was the duchess who did this,” Ruth said, as though reading Charlotte’s thoughts. “If not for her, you would have told Lord Willeton everything, and we would not be here.”
Charlotte choked out a laugh, replaying Duncan’s reaction and words in her mind.
“I am not so sure,” she said.
* * *
Charlotte and Ruth were stirred awake the next morning by the rattling of keys in the door. Charlotte started, suddenly realizing where they were. As she saw an officer and her father’s cold, angry expression, everything came rushing back. She rose slowly and approached the opening door with caution.
“You are both free to go,” the officer said, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor.
Charlotte looked back at Ruth, who was slowly moving to join her. As soon as they were out of the room, Charlotte put a gentle hand on her father’s arm.
“Father,” she said.
The earl did not look at his daughter or react to her touch. He began to walk briskly toward the front of the station. Charlotte and Ruth followed quickly behind, knowing better than to agitate him further. None of them spoke, until the carriage pulled away from the building.
Just as Charlotte began to feel that the tense silence might swallow her whole, her father began to speak.
“You are a disgrace, Charlotte,” he said, his voice low but full of anger.
Charlotte looked at her father, trying not to flinch from the fury in his eyes.
“Father, I am sorry,” she said, her voice trembling. “Please, you must understand . . .”
“You presume to attempt to explain yourself to me now?” he asked, his voice rising. “What on earth could justify such behavior from a lady of your status? What could be a good enough reason to create such a scandal for your family?”
Charlotte stared at the earl, wounded by his words, but unsurprised.
“Scandal,” she said quietly. “Is that what most concerns you?”
“You presented yourself as a poor girl,” he said, his face reddening. “To a well-respected duke and duchess, no less. I should think that you would be more concerned about causing such a scandal yourself.”
Charlotte did flinch at the mention of Duncan. Truthfully, losing him was the only thing she cared about. It did not matter if she lived the rest of her days as a social outcast. If she did not have Duncan, she had no intention of showing her face in public ever again.
“I suppose I should have gone ahead and married a man as sophisticated and upstanding as the Comte?” she snapped sarcastically. Her father narrowed his eyes at her, and she knew she should not have been so brazen. Nevertheless, her heart was too heavy and her mind too ill at ease for her to regret her bold remark.
“Yes, the Comte,” her father said bitterly. “I imagine you have squandered that opportunity, as well. If he has not already discovered what has happened, he will certainly be furious once he does.”
Charlotte sighed with exasperation.
“He has the bride he sought,” she said. “And he is surely wed to her by now. Why must he know anything?”
“He does not have the bride he sought,” her father hissed. “He has the daughter of a lowly baron, which is an affront to a man of his station. Did you really think that you would get away with this?”
Charlotte did not answer. She had suspected from the first day that she would be discovered, but she did not wish to admit that to her father and give him more reason to ridicule her.
The earl shook his head, and for a moment he looked sad. Charlotte allowed herself to hope that he would take pity on her, that her place as his daughter would take precedence over his concern about a scandal. Then, he shook his head and looked away from Charlotte, his jaw tight.
“I will write to the Comte as soon as we arrive back in Plymouth,” he said, his voice once again low, but every bit as angry.
Charlotte’s heart sank. Had Christine already wed the Comte? Had he learned of their deception and postponed his wedding plans until he found Charlotte? After everything, she was once more facing the destiny she had tried so wildly to escape. She prayed silently for the rest of the journey to Plymouth, begging for any future that did not result in her marrying Comte Francois. Any fate, she felt certain, was better than being wed to that horrid man.
Chapter 22
Duncan collapsed in his dining room chair, as the two women he thought he knew so well were escorted out of his home. He stared at the food that had hardly been touched, barely recognizing it. His mind was reeling as he tried to make sense of everything that had transpired.
He did not even realize that he was not alone until he felt a cold, bony hand on his shoulder.
“I am so sorry, Duncan,” his mother said.
Even in his distressed state, he could hear the satisfaction dripping from his mother’s voice. He flinched away from her touch, saying nothing.
“Darling,” she continued, in her faux caring tone. “I wanted more than anything to resolve this differently. I did not wish for you to have to experience such shame.”
Those words sparked Duncan to life. He jumped from his chair and whirled to face his mother.
“That is the crux of this for you, isn’t it?” he hissed. “The shame that this could bring to our family. To you.”
Helena put her hand to her chest, appearing wounded by her son’s words. Duncan saw right through her act, but all he could do was stand there and stare at her in disbelief.
“That is not true at all,” Helena said. “I care about you, and I see how much pain you are in.”
Duncan shook his head.
“Stop, Mother,” he said. “Spare me the theatrics. If you cared at all about my feelings, you would have avoided causing such a hurtful scene tonight. You would have done anything except what you did.”
Helena maintained her sympathetic, hurt expression.
“Don’t you think that I tried?” she asked. “Don’t you think that I did my best to rectify the situation before it led to this?”
Duncan laughed dryly.
“Oh, I believe you tried a great deal,” he said. “But I do not think that you did any of the right things. Furthermore, I believe you know that.”
Helena beckoned for one of the servants to bring them some wine. Duncan was furious at his mother’s audacity, but he felt that a drink might soothe his nerves. His mother’s presence, however, was doing him no favors.
“Duncan, darling,” his mother said as the servant brought them the wine. “I really did try to give that young woman every opportunity to tell you the truth.”
Duncan paused in the middle of drinking. He looked at his mother with wide, angry eyes.
“Are you telling me that you knew all this time?” he asked. “Why did you speak so cryptically, instead of telling me outright?”
Helena shook her head indulgently.
“No,” she soothed. “I only had my suspicions until tonight. I came to you as soon as I knew the full truth.”
Duncan laughed dryly.
“Yes, and what a spectacle that was,” he said. “Did you truly feel that involving the constables was better than telling me in private?”
Helena gave her son another sad smile.
“I could not risk her overhearing our conversation and attempting to poison your mind with more lies,” she said. “Or worse, evading justice.”
Duncan shook his head. His mother never ceased to surprise him, and always in the most hurtful way.
“I would have been satisfied with banishing her and her maid from my home,” he said. “There was no need to turn it into an event that will have all of London gossiping for the foreseeable future.”
Helena smiled at Duncan, in a way he assumed was supposed to be warm and caring, but the look did not reach her eyes. Duncan thought that a mask could show more warmth, and he looked away in disgust.
“Perhaps we can make the best of this,” she said. Her tone began to sound more natural again, and Duncan was instantly suspicious.
“How might we do that?” Duncan snapped.
Helena sipped her wine, seemingly oblivious to her son’s wariness.
“Well, consider all the ladies who will think that what that young woman did was despicable, and will feel sympathy for you for falling victim to such malicious deceit.”
Duncan stared at his mother, genuinely bewildered. Even for Helena Lancaster, this was a new level of manipulation and conniving.
He was unsure what was worse; the fact that his mother had been right about a woman using him for the first time in his life, or that she was going to use the scandal to her advantage.
Perhaps he was reading things wrongly, and his mother was simply trying, in her selfish fashion, to lift his spirits. However, her words had the opposite effect. Even if she thought she was trying to help, he knew she was up to something, and he was in no mood for another of her schemes. He rose from his seat and gestured for his mother to do the same.
“I think you should go, Mother,” he said.
Helena looked at him, once more feigning a wounded expression.
“I only wish to help you, Duncan,” she said.
Duncan tightened his jaw and shook his head.
“You have done more than enough,” he said, his voice low. “I want to be alone now, so I bid you goodnight.”
Helena stepped toward Duncan with her arm outstretched. Duncan held up his hand, preventing his mother from touching him.
“I said goodnight, Mother,” he said, raising his voice just loudly enough for the butler to overhear. Before Helena could object further, he turned away from her and went to his study.
Once inside his office, he walked to his liquor cabinet and pulled out the bottle of brandy. He grabbed a tumbler from the silver tray sitting atop the nearby table and filled it with the amber liquid. He sat down at his desk gently to keep from spilling it all over himself or on the papers sitting neatly on his desk.
As he looked for a spot to set down the glass, he glanced over the perfectly stacked pages and neatly arranged items on the desk. His heart squeezed as he recalled how hard Christine had worked to keep his office tidy.
He gave himself a shake, reminding himself that her name was Charlotte, not Christine, and his anger returned. Once more he found himself in disbelief that his mother had been right.
He had defended Charlotte to Helena, nearly destroying his relationship, such as it was, with his mother. He had even taken Charlotte into his home when she had fallen ill that night at the theater.
With sudden, heavy realization, it occurred to him that she had likely not been ill. She had looked as though she had seen a ghost, and Duncan finally understood that she had probably seen someone who knew her real identity. More deception, he thought bitterly.
He took a long drink from his glass. He was still trying his best to discover Christine’s motivation for lying to him. She had not been seeking him out that day on the docks. She had been trying to sneak aboard a ship. She had no idea who he was until he had introduced himself. Or had she?
Duncan thought back to an earlier conversation with his mother when she had tried to tell him about Christine’s deception. Duncan had dismissed the accusation, because it was not the first time Helena had made it about a woman.
However, in light of the web of lies in which Charlotte had been caught, Duncan had to face the real possibility that his mother was right. The only reason that a woman like Christine would have for creating such an elaborate deception was that she was after his fortune.
Tears filled Duncan’s eyes, as he prepared for bed that evening. He did not expect to get any sleep, but he would be glad for the comfort of his bed.
Before he lay down, however, he gave the butler strict instructions. Until further notice, none of the household staff was to welcome any guests into his home, including his mother. Especially his mother.
Until he could compose himself and recover from the terrible and painful events of the evening and from the hurt that Christine had inflicted upon him, he would not see anyone. If his business ventures suffered as a result, so be it. He could not bring himself to feel or care about anything except the terrible, aching hole that Christine had left in his heart.
Chapter 23
The ride back to her childhood home in Plymouth was one of the longest of her life. Her father remained stoically silent, and the atmosphere inside the coach was the coldest she had ever known. She dared to glance at Ruth a few times but felt so guilty that she found it nearly impossible to maintain eye contact with her maid.
Charlotte felt a surge of mixed emotions, as the carriage stopped in front of the house. If she was honest with herself, there had been times that she had felt a little homesick, especially when she was ill after seeing her mother at the theater. Yet, as familiar as the estate was, she could not shake the foreboding, prison-like feel that her home now projected.
When they entered the house, her mother was standing beside the butler, waiting to greet them. After her father’s anger, Charlotte braced herself for another tongue-lashing.
Her mother had encouraged her betrothal to the Comte as much as her father had, despite Charlotte’s oft-expressed desire to marry for love. However, her mother’s eyes now filled with tears, and she opened her arms to her daughter.
“Charlotte, darling,” she said, embracing her. “I am so glad that you are well.”
The earl cleared his throat.
“I had to retrieve our daughter from the constables, and you are welcoming her warmly, as though she has not disgraced us?” he asked.
Her mother glared at her father.
“She is still our daughter,” she said, giving the earl a defiant look. “There is no need to be so callous.”
The earl frowned.
“There will be plenty of time for reunions this evening at dinner,” he said. “For now, Charlotte will go to her room and stay there. I am too angry and disappointed to continue this conversation just now. Perhaps you should send Ruth back to her duties.”
Charlotte looked at her mother,
her eyes pleading. Her mother looked from her to her father, clearly wanting to say more. At last, however, she nodded.
“Very well, darling,” she said. She looked at Charlotte with a sad smile. “I will see you this evening.” She squeezed her daughter’s hand warmly, then gestured for Ruth to follow her.
When the women were out of earshot, the earl led Charlotte up the stairs and straight to her room.
“We will discuss this further, Charlotte,” the earl said, keeping his voice low. “I am very disappointed in you and will not overlook this little rebellion. For now, you will remain in your quarters, and you will not upset your mother. She is devastated and embarrassed by all of this, just as much as I am.”