He rose and plodded back through the flower bed, peering again into the front window. No signs of life. Returning to the front stoop, he hunched down, resting his chin in his open palm.
“I feel like an actor in a play making my monologue.” He laughed dryly. “Although if you’re not listening, I suppose it’s a soliloquy. Oh, Charlotte, I hope you’re listening.”
A lone cloud passed overhead, sweeping a frosty breeze through the front columns and chilling him beneath his coat. He shivered.
“Why are you so set on impressing everyone?” He asked to the door. “The aristocracy is made up of nothing but shallow and conceited people who have done nothing more with their lives than inherit a title. Why does it matter so much to you what they think? You outrank all of them now anyway. Besides, perfection is a lark. Just look at my mother. She’s so obsessed with perfection she’s miserable that nothing and no one is ever perfect. Please, don’t turn into my mother. Let’s enjoy the imperfections of life.”
As a last-ditch effort, he tried the knocker again, not that he thought she would open the door.
“Don’t you believe in happily ever afters?” Drake pressed his forehead against the cold wood of the door.
Speaking more softly than before, talking more to himself than to the front hall beyond, he said, “I do. I never did before, but I do now. I believe in happily ever afters, but I don’t think they turn out how we expect. It’s not a single moment that determines life as happy from this moment forward. We have to work at the happy part when times are tough, but we know we’ll always be together and able to resolve any conflict if we work as a team. You’re my happy ever after, Charlotte. My world rises and sets on you. You’re my horizon. As long as I’m with you, I’m invincible. I’m desperately sorry that I embarrassed you at the party. Please, forgive me and tell me you believe in us. Tell me our life will be happy no matter the odds because we will face the trials together. Don’t you love me, Charlotte? Just a bit? Enough? Even a little?”
Silence answered louder than words. Defeated, the pit of his stomach settling into his boots, he slumped down the portico steps to walk back to the manor.
Charlotte’s forehead pressed against the inside of the front door, her hand on the handle. Encouraged after a deep breath, she opened the door, dashing out onto the portico.
“Drake!” she cried, but he had already gone.
Come back! She willed silently.
Oh, he didn’t understand. He thought she was angry about the scene at the soirée, and indeed she had been, but it wasn’t at him she was angry. It was herself. She was the cause of everything that went wrong.
Against his pleas, she’d insisted on hosting the party, determined for his music to be heard, determined for everyone to see him as she did, set on hosting everything herself without her mother-in-law’s guidance, desperate to be seen as a perfect hostess, and in doing so, she’d ruined everything. The family was a laughing stock. Not only had his father’s name been tarnished, but so had Drake’s. All his worst fears had been realized. She noticed he hadn’t mentioned it while waxing poetically outside the door. It must be too painful for him, all the old wounds reopened. And it was her fault!
Couldn’t he understand how ashamed she was?
As much as she disliked her mother-in-law, Charlotte never dreamt how deeply the woman internalized emotion or how long she’d held onto the old accusations. Lady Annick’s words had hurt not because they meant to hurt but because they were spoken by a woman in obvious pain from heartache, lashing out at the person who had resurrected the old demons.
How could Charlotte ever face Drake or her mother-in-law again? She was ashamed of herself. She always suspected she would be a failure, but could never have guessed it would go this badly wrong. This was the ruining of lives. All it took was one seed of doubt, one rumor, and the whole of the Annick name would crumble in scandal.
The romantic in her wanted him to scale the wall with a rope-ladder, climb in through a window, and rescue her from her self-made prison, but in truth, there was nothing he could do to remedy the situation when it was she who had made the mistake. Hiding from shame in the dower house may not be the most mature of choices, but she wanted to escape from it all, escape from the humiliation of her failure.
Oh, how hurt Drake must be. He’d worked so hard to build a reputation to combat rumors, and in one evening, she’d unraveled his efforts. His pain was her fault. He didn’t deserve to be married to such a failure. He should have married someone of his own ilk, someone who knew how to follow rules and how to behave.
Drake may not see the importance of perfection, but she did. A duchess could be nothing less than perfect. A duchess did not host scandalous parties where men careened into tables. A duchess did not earn a reputation for thwarting her duties of producing heirs, thus being seen as frigid. However heartfelt Drake’s words, he didn’t understand her shame.
She hadn’t even smoothed over the incident, rather froze in place while the prince made excuses. The prince! She was forever shamed. How could she show her face in Lyonn Manor? She was a disgrace to all of Annick.
The first day passed peacefully enough at the dower house, despite Charlotte’s troubled mood. The servants who lived in the house acted happy enough for the opportunity to serve, even welcoming Beatrice into their fold. The only unpleasantness arrived at nightfall when Charlotte tossed and turned in the unfamiliar bed, missing Drake’s embrace. To make matters worse, a fox screamed her awake each time she drifted into darkness.
After the moon moved to the opposite side of the window, she gave up sleep, and instead lay against the pillow, thinking over Drake’s words of apology and encouragement.
Was she really turning into his mother with her need for perfection? If Drake had been defending her and his family against Lord Stroud, did that mean he hadn’t been defending himself and the accusations of him being like his father? Was he not as hurt by the words as Charlotte thought?
On top of everything, Drake spoke of love. As much as she wanted to shout through the door that yes, she did love him, all of him, even the impulsiveness, especially the impulsiveness, she knew he couldn’t possibly return the affection, not if she resembled his mother, not if she had placed him in a position of ridicule. Conflicted, she stared at the canopy until dawn.
Not long into the next day did a visitor pay a call. Lady Hallewell was shown into the front parlor where Charlotte had wallowed in melancholy for most of the morning. Even Captain Henry puffed his feathers in the corner, missing the space of his aviary at Lyonn Manor and blaming Charlotte with scolding squawks for confining him to an unknown parlor. He was a creature of habit.
Lady Hallewell bustled into the room, happily accepting tea.
“What a pleasant surprise,” Charlotte smiled politely, preparing her own cuppa, hoping her eyes weren’t too obviously red-rimmed and puffy.
“I should hope it isn’t a surprise. We arranged to meet in two days, didn’t we? I’ll not ask what you’re doing in the dower house, as it is none of my concern, but I will ask how you plan to show me without a pianoforte the dance music you promised. Don’t tell me you forgot,” admonished Lady Hallewell, a hand to her bosom.
“Oh, no, I’m afraid I did. I have been utterly distraught since the soirée and have no qualms in telling you since we have become such dear friends,” Charlotte confessed, bringing the cup to her lips.
Despite a slight age difference, she did consider Lady Hallewell a friend and had, before this mess, hoped to deepen the friendship. Charlotte was surprised her ladyship dared be seen calling on her after the scandal which would have ripped through the dukedom by now and possibly beyond.
“Distraught? Whatever for? The soirée was a complete success, and I must commend you for hosting the first and only enjoyable party that has ever been held at Lyonn Manor. Your mother-in-law’s parties are always dreadful bores, as anyone
will tell you.” She tasted her tea, thought for a moment, then said conspiratorially, “I don’t suppose you have any sherry? No, no, forget I asked. Let’s enjoy the tea. We’ll have sherry next time.”
“I could ring for sherry, if you’d prefer.” Charlotte moved from her seat, but Lady Hallewell shook her head and indicated for her to return to her seat. A bit relieved since it was too early in the day for sherry, Charlotte sat and picked up her cup and saucer before saying, “I am obliged to your kindness, but you have no need to soften the blow. I know I’m a laughing stock.”
Lady Hallewell set down her cup, eyeing Charlotte curiously. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Why exactly are you a laughing stock?”
“There’s no need to be coy. We both know what happened, and however indelicate it might be to talk about, I see no reason friends can’t discuss such matters openly. Oh, Lady Hallewell, I didn’t know people thought so poorly of me until Lord Stroud called me—well, said I was—well, you know. Having it said so boldly at my own party is dreadfully embarrassing. And then the references to His Grace and the previous Duke of Annick, and, and, oh, then that scandalous affair with the brawl. I was worried enough about the musical selections, but to have the whole event sullied in such a gruesome manner, well, it’s all beyond repair.” Charlotte’s eyes brimmed with tears.
“Edwina. Call me Edwina. I believe we’re past formalities, don’t you?” Lady Hallewell patted Charlotte’s hand.
After she accepted the handkerchief her friend offered, Charlotte added, “My soirée will be known as the scandal of the year. I’ve disgraced the Annick name, Edwina. Forgive me for blubbering, but I have no one else with whom to talk of these misgivings.”
“I mean this with no disrespect, but you have much to learn about the aristocracy.” Edwina waited for Charlotte to recover from another bought of sobs before continuing. “For starters, your mother-in-law has never hosted anything but bland parties with the same pretentious guests. The beau monde does not waste time with bland parties, especially not with officious hostesses. They thrive on gossip and scandal for their entertainment, and I’ll be the first to say, your soirée produced enough entertainment to flap lips since Lady Carmichael eloped with her father’s coachman.”
“You’ve said it yourself! It was a scandal!” Charlotte protested.
“Not the scandal you think. They’re all convinced that Lord Stroud tripped over the table cloth. It doesn’t matter what they saw or heard. Once the guests leave with tongues wagging, they embellish the truth, always to the detriment of the person they don’t favor. It would seem you were well liked by the guests, and no wonder, so all I have heard for the past two days is how enjoyable your party was and how foxed Lord Stroud must have been to trip and fall headlong into the table. They’re convinced, you see! They are counting the days until you will host another event, hoping desperately that someone else will make a right fool of themselves so they have something new about which to gossip.” Edwina clapped her hands in satisfaction that she could be the one to ease Charlotte’s mind.
When Charlotte didn’t immediately respond, Edwina added, “Something to consider for future parties. If the guests ever leave with nothing to gossip about, they’ll claim the event a dreadful bore and not be so inclined to attend another. You’re an entertainer more than a hostess, you see.”
Charlotte blinked. “But what of Lord Stroud’s accusations?”
Edwina tittered. “Fiddle faddle! Everyone knows he attempted to court Lady Mary. He’d say anything to save face, the old coot.”
“But to go so far as to accuse the Duke of Annick of such sins?” Charlotte dared to whisper the question, “Is there any truth to the old rumors? You know, about the duke?”
“Heavens, I couldn’t tell you. Horace and I had only returned from our honeymoon when we heard the rumors. We heard all sorts of tales ranging from unsavory routs to Her Grace forcing His Grace to move to the dower house.”
Charlotte covered her mouth to quiet a gasp.
“Servants talk, you know. It was whispered about across at least two counties. Eventually, they settled their dispute, whatever it was, and he moved back to the manor, but not before tongues wagged with all sorts of dreadful rumors. His Grace was a man of some magnetism, so I don’t see how the rumors could be true, but I’d be the last person to know such things.”
Charlotte bit her lip and redirected. “And what are they saying now? Do they think the family is a disgrace? Do they think I’m a disgrace?”
“Lord no!” Edwina exclaimed, patting Charlotte’s hand again. “The only words I’ve heard are compliments. They’re all pleased to have a new duchess who knows how to entertain. The duke, you must know, is a local favorite, always the life of the party, and I believe they see the two of you as quite the match. It is Lord Stroud, in fact, who is in the midst of scandalous disgrace. I couldn’t possibly repeat the names they’ve called him and still attend church on Sunday.”
Charlotte laughed for the first time in two days.
Edwina sampled a sandwich from the tray. “Mmm. These are delicious. You might want to swap cooks with the manor to keep this one full time. Now, let’s talk music. I’m under strict orders from two of my neighbors to invite the mystery composer to their holiday festivities. The festivities will only be en famille, but my neighbors have large families. Tell me, is the composer desirous of fame, fortune, or both?”
For the next half hour, they talked of music. Charlotte even teased she might be able to convince the composer to visit Edwina himself to finalize the arrangements.
By the time Lady Hallewell left, Charlotte was in good spirits, feeling quite foolish for overreacting. That didn’t stop her from still feeling the shame at having realized Drake’s worst fears and hurting Catherine so abominably, but she did feel better knowing she hadn’t disgraced the family or herself as she had thought. She could show her face at the manor again and apologize to everyone for the pain she’d caused.
She owed Drake the greatest of apologies, especially since she’d ignored his pleas to speak with her. During his time of need, she should have been there for him, but she’d been so selfishly ashamed, she’d pushed him away to wallow. She’d created her own failure by expecting to fail. Oh, what a self-centered ninny she’d been! How could she have done that to him? To put him in a situation where he could be ridiculed, then to run away when he was ridiculed. She didn’t deserve to be forgiven, but she would do whatever it took to make it up to him.
Charlotte saw everything with a new clarity, and she knew how to correct her mistakes. It started with a candid talk with her mother-in-law. Mama Catherine was far more vulnerable than Charlotte had ever known or ever tried to know, and she was determined to understand the woman. If Lizbeth could befriend the woman, then so could Charlotte with a bit more courage. Mama Catherine needed to be forgiven, for she only ever vocalized what Charlotte herself felt. After a heart-to-heart, Charlotte would tell her to move to the dower house. It was time Charlotte stood up for herself instead of expecting everyone else to save her.
And then, she would go to Drake, a confident duchess prepared to run the manor and support her husband no matter what troubles came their way.
Before dawn could wake Charlotte the next morning, banging at the dower house’s front door roused her. By the time she reached the top of the stairs, a night robe hiding her dressing gown, a footman had already opened the door. Mary rushed past the footman to the foot of the stairs.
“Good gracious, Mary. Whatever is the matter?” Charlotte yawned, descending towards her sister-in-law.
“Oh, Charlotte. It’s dreadful! I came as soon as I could dress. My maid woke me but half an hour ago with the news.” Mary hiked up her hem and took the stairs two at a time to meet Charlotte halfway. “Drake duels at dawn!”
Charlotte braced herself against the banister. “Pardon?”
“Lord Stroud chal
lenged him to a duel. Drake should have been given weeks to apologize, but it seems the duel is to be this very morning! Oh, Charlotte, what are we to do?” Mary’s eyes glistened, her eyelashes wet.
“He can’t duel! He just can’t. I haven’t even seen him in two days. I haven’t apologized. This is all my fault! I—he can’t duel!” She protested.
“Well, he is! His horse is already gone from the stable. I looked!” Mary sobbed.
“We can’t do anything unless we know where it’s held. What did your maid say?” Charlotte tugged Mary upstairs as she spoke.
“She didn’t know anything aside from there being a duel.”
“We have to find out where it’s being held. Let me dress, and we’ll go back to the manor to question the staff,” Charlotte reassured, although she felt as frantic as Mary.
“But there’s nothing we can do! He’s already left!” Mary squalled.
“As soon as we arrive at the manor, I need you to rouse James the coachman. Can you do that or find a servant who can?” Charlotte placed two calming hands on Mary’s cheeks, willing herself to be in command of her faculties for both of their sakes.
Mary nodded and leaned against Charlotte’s shoulder.
Chapter 28
Charlotte and Mary hastened their pace as they approached Lyonn Manor. Charlotte remained outwardly strong for Mary, calm and in control, but her insides had turned to jelly. The duel was her fault from start to finish and only she could right the situation.
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