by Bree Wolf
Waiting in the study after the butler had gone off to alert his master to his rather early visitor, Sebastian found himself pacing the length of the room, his mind busy sorting through all that needed to be said, trying to determine the best way to say it. After all, the rest of the world believed Charlotte to be dead.
And the rest of the world included Frederick and his wife.
When the door finally opened, Sebastian’s heart leapt into his throat, and he turned to greet his friend’s brother as well as the new marchioness with shaking hands. “Good morning. Please forgive my early visit. However, what I have to say cannot wait.”
Seeing the tension on Sebastian’s face, Frederick’s eyes narrowed. “Is something wrong? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.” Escorting his wife to the settee, he gestured for Sebastian to sit in the armchair by the window and took the seat opposite him.
“I suppose that’s a fitting description,” Sebastian mumbled, taking a seat, “under the circumstances.”
“What circumstances?” the marchioness asked, her kind eyes drifting back and forth between her husband and their untimely visitor.
Sebastian swallowed, wringing his hands. “This is about Leopold,” he began, and their faces darkened. “Rumour said that he died of poison, but as far as I know no one ever discovered who had done it.” He glanced from the marchioness to her husband. “I came to enquire if there were any news.”
The marchioness drew in a deep breath and her gaze travelled to her husband, who sat rigid in his chair, his eyes focused on Sebastian. For a long moment, he remained still before his gaze narrowed and a frown drew down his brows. “Why do you ask?”
Sebastian exhaled the breath he’d been holding as he saw the suspicion on Frederick’s face. “You know who did it, don’t you?” he said, not knowing how else to begin. “Tell me.”
Frederick’s shoulders tensed, and he glanced at his wife, a silent communication passing between them before he returned his attention to Sebastian. “I do not know what you speak of.”
Sebastian shook his head, and the ghost of a smile flashed over his face. “She killed your brother, and yet, you protect her. Why?”
With his eyes trained on Frederick, Sebastian saw him fall apart as utter shock claimed his expression. Staring at Sebastian, he gulped down a couple of breaths before asking, “How do you know?” Then his gaze drifted to his wife, who seemed equally stunned, her hand reaching for his, pulling it into her lap.
Holding Frederick’s gaze, Sebastian said, “Because she’s my wife.”
“Charlotte,” the marchioness gasped, her eyes wide, uncomprehending. “Charlotte is your wife, but…” She turned wide eyes to her husband. “We thought …”
Frederick swallowed, then leaned forward and scooted to the edge of his seat, his eyes unblinking. “She died,” he gasped. “Less than a year ago.”
Sebastian shook his head. “No, she didn’t. She escaped the fire.”
Shaking his head, Frederick rubbed his hands over his face as his mind tried to process such unexpected information. “And she’s your wife? How?”
In as few words as he could, Sebastian told them how he had met Charlotte as Lotte at his friend’s estate and whisked her off to Gretna Green less than a fortnight later.
“And she told you about Leopold?” Frederick asked, his eyes still clouded with grief whenever he mentioned his brother’s name. “She told you what she did?”
Sebastian nodded. “She did.”
“Then why are you here?”
Sebastian shrugged. “I’m not sure. I came because …” He looked up into their kind faces and hoped that somehow they could tell him what to do. “Did you forgive her for what she’s done? How could you do it? Suddenly, when I look at her I feel …” His hands balled into fists as words failed him.
“You love her,” the marchioness whispered, a pleased smile coming to her face. “I’m glad she’s found you.”
“You are?” Sebastian asked, unable to comprehend how she could think so. “Does it not pain you to know that the woman who killed Leopold is …?”
“Alive?” Frederick asked, then he nodded. “A part of me does feel pain at the thought of her, at the thought of what she did to Leopold, at the thought of his loss, yes.” He swallowed, then rose from his chair and sat down on the settee beside his wife, pulling her right hand into his and holding it tightly as though only her touch gave him the strength he needed to continue.
Watching them, Sebastian felt an ache in his heart as he remembered his own hopes and dreams for a future with the woman he loved. “Then how can you forgive her?”
“Maybe because I know only too well how pain and loss can force you down a path that you wouldn’t otherwise have chosen,” Frederick said, his voice thick with regret, and his gaze shifted to his wife, who smiled at him encouragingly, her soft eyes assuring him that she would remain by his side … no matter what.
For a moment, silence hung over the room before Frederick returned his gaze to Sebastian. “What she did was wrong. Of course, it was. And the part of me that only knows the loss of my brother, the part of me unwilling to see that there is a cause for every consequence will never be able to forgive her. It hates her with a burning rage.” His jaw clenched, and he drew in a deep breath. “I’m not proud of this feeling for I know she does not deserve it.”
Sebastian licked his lips and leaned forward, eager to hear how Frederick had achieved this balance he saw on his face despite the warring emotions within him.
“The war changed me,” Frederick whispered as though revealing a secret. “It changed how I saw the world and the people in it, but mostly it changed how I saw myself. I felt completely uprooted as though I was taking my first steps in the world and didn’t know how to feel and think, who to hate and love.” His hands tightened on his wife’s. “Life was torture, and I admit that I longed for death, for I thought I could bear it not a moment longer.”
Shocked beyond comprehension, Sebastian remained quiet, simply watching the honesty of Frederick’s words play across his face.
Lifting his gaze, Frederick met his eyes. “I’d be dead today,” he said, his voice suddenly strong, ringing with conviction, “if it weren’t for Ellie.” Turning his head, he smiled at his wife, who reached out her other hand and gently cupped his cheek, letting it run down his arm until it came to rest on top of their already linked hands … where it belonged.
Forcing his attention back to their guest, Frederick drew in a deep breath. “After returning from the war, I was a different man. There was darkness in my heart that threatened to engulf me day after day. I could barely keep it at bay and felt certain I’d succumb to it before long.” He nodded, his gaze clear. “And I would have, had my wife not been there to fight by my side. I would have been lost, for alone I could never have triumphed.”
Remembering Victoria’s words, Sebastian closed his eyes. Charlotte had been alone to fight the darkness that threatened to engulf her, and it had. It had changed her, forced her down a path she hadn’t willingly chosen. And yet, she had returned.
“The night of the fire at Elmridge,” Frederick continued, “the night I finally realised what had happened to her, she was a raging woman with no resemblance to the friend I had known.” Shaking his head, he sighed and lifted his gaze to Sebastian. “I believe with every fibre of my soul that the woman she is at heart would never have hurt Leopold. Grief, loss and pain changed her until very little of her true self remained.” He swallowed, an apologetic look in his eyes. “She must have loved Kenneth very much. Until that night, I hadn’t realised how much.”
Sebastian cleared his throat, remembering that there was a part of Charlotte’s story of which they were not aware. Taking a deep breath, he told them of Northfield and his attack on her. He spoke of the baby and how she’d lost it the day she had learnt of Kenneth’s death.
With each word, their faces grew paler and their eyes wider. The marchioness had tears in her eyes as she looked to h
er husband, and Sebastian could see the compassion she felt as she contemplated the many blows of fate Charlotte had had to endure. Frederick’s face, though, grew angry as he listened, and when Sebastian had finished, he rose to his feet and stomped around the room. “Curse that man,” he growled. “I should have known that something was wrong. I should’ve seen it. I …”
“Kenneth did,” Sebastian said, wishing he could have met the man who had been willing to sacrifice his own happiness to protect Charlotte. “He wanted to protect her. He did everything he could.”
Frederick’s hands balled into fists as he suddenly stood stock still in the middle of the room, his eyes staring into the distance, remembering a past moment. “He followed me,” he whispered then. “He was angry that I had left without speaking to him, and he came to bring me home.” He shook his head, regret filling his eyes. “I refused, and so he stayed … to protect me.”
Silently, his wife moved to his side, wrapping her arms around his, her cheek resting against his shoulder.
Frederick took a deep breath then, his eyes shifting to hers, and the ghost of a smile flashed over his face. Then he cleared his throat and met Sebastian’s confused gaze. “When he came after me, he demanded to know why I would leave him a letter instead of speaking to him in person. I didn’t know what he was talking about. He told me he had received a letter, which implied that I sought to kill myself on the battlefield.” Shaking his head, Frederick furrowed his brows. “I couldn’t believe it. After all, I had sent no such letter. But Kenneth refused to believe me until … he suddenly grew thoughtful. He pulled out the letter and showed it to me, and that’s when he realised it hadn’t been my handwriting. I suppose he hadn’t noticed it before because he had been too concerned. He began to pace the floor, cursing under his breath, until he suddenly stopped and growled out one word.”
A cold shiver ran down Sebastian’s back as he waited for the confirmation of the awful suspicion that had settled in his stomach like a heavy lump.
“Northfield,” Frederick spat, his lips contorted in a snarl, as his body tensed with understanding. Gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes briefly. “He sent the letter to get Kenneth out of the way.” His eyes travelled from his wife to Sebastian. “I didn’t know. I told him to go back to her, and he said he would. He wanted to leave the next day, and then …” Again, he closed his eyes and drew a deep breath into his lungs.
“Unbelievable,” Sebastian muttered under his breath. Rising from his seat, he, too, began to stalk around the room, unable to keep still. “I had thought him a man of questionable character, but this,” he shook his head, “this is beyond what even I could have imagined.”
Frederick nodded, determination marring his features. “Something has to be done about him. We cannot allow him to continue in this manner.”
Scoffing, Sebastian shook his head in disbelief. “As I was out of the country as it happened, I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but,” he looked from Frederick to his wife, “he is my sister’s husband.”
A guttural growl escaped Frederick as his wife gasped.
“Charlotte is determined to free Victoria from her husband,” Sebastian continued, feeling relieved to share this enormous secret with another.
“How?” the marchioness asked, a concerned gleam in her eyes.
Sebastian swallowed. “She wants to kill him.”
Frederick shook his head. “They’d hang her for it.”
“I know,” Sebastian replied, fear gripping his heart. “But she feels it’s the only way for her to repay her debt, the only way for her to make amends for taking your brother’s life.”
Frederick swallowed, his lips pressed into a thin line as he stood silent for a moment. Then he shook his head in vehemence. “No, we will not sacrifice Charlotte,” he said, determination ringing in his voice. “I failed to protect her then, but I will not now.” His wife nodded, her arms holding his more tightly. “She is a victim as was Kenneth, and I will make sure Northfield will pay for what he’s done to both of them,” he swallowed, “as well as to Leopold.”
“How?” was all Sebastian could say as his blood hummed in his veins.
A devilish grin came to Frederick’s face. “Oliver will know.”
Chapter Forty-Five – The Impossible
Upon enquiring after her husband’s whereabouts the next day, Charlotte was informed that he had called for a carriage early that morning and hadn’t returned since.
Pacing the downstairs parlour, Charlotte wondered where he had gone. After he had disappeared for most of the previous day, only returning long after the sun had set, she had hoped to be able to speak to him the next day. Where had he gone? And why?
A nagging fear settled in her stomach as she pictured her husband out in some secluded spot in Hyde Park, facing Northfield, a duelling pistol in hand.
Shaking her head, she pushed that thought aside. No, he wouldn’t. He was not fool enough to call out Northfield. And yet, he had been rather enraged to find his sister’s husband attacking his wife only moments after his father’s funeral. Could she still count on his word not to do anything rash? Was he still ruled by rational thought? Or had his desire for revenge gotten the better of him?
Guilt joined the fear that lived in her heart as she thought about what losing him would mean to his family. They would be devastated, to say the least.
And what about you? Her heart whispered. What would you feel aside from guilt?
Cringing at the mere contemplation of his loss, Charlotte closed her eyes, finally admitting to herself that she, too, would be devastated …
… and heartbroken
… and inconsolable
… and close to despair.
Yes, losing him would break her heart like nothing ever had.
After all the darkness she had waded through the past few years, she could not imagine ever being without his warmth and compassion, his comfort and … yes, his love ever again. After all, he did love her, did he not? More than once he had said so, and her heart had rejoiced at hearing those precious three words.
And yet, she had not reciprocated.
Why? Her heart wondered.
In that moment, she couldn’t think of a reason. Everything had felt so simple … and yet, so complicated.
Again, Northfield shot to the front of her mind, and Charlotte groaned.
Nothing was simple. Nothing had been simple ever since that fateful night long ago. Yes, everything had been set into motion when Northfield had forced himself on her, but then it had been Charlotte herself who had made the wrong choices …
… and become a monster no one could possibly love.
And yet, someone did.
For a moment, she thought of Victoria as her feet continued to carry her around the room, unable to keep still. Although her sister-in-law had suffered a most similar atrocity, Charlotte couldn’t help but realise that despite everything, Victoria had remained true to herself. She was still as kind and compassionate as before her marriage. Never had she strayed from a just path to forget or not to feel.
Charlotte admired her greatly, wishing she herself had had that kind of inner strength.
The front door closed, and Charlotte’s head snapped up as the soft echo drifted from the hall to her ears.
For a moment, she stood stock still, debating with herself how to proceed. However, without knowing whether her husband had indeed returned, all further planning would be moot.
As she strode toward the door, determined to find out, it suddenly swung open, revealing Sebastian in its frame.
Stopping in her tracks, Charlotte stared at him, taking note of the dark circles under his eyes as well as the tension resting in his shoulders.
“There you are,” he said, his eyes meeting hers without judgement or accusation, and Charlotte’s heart beat a little faster.
“I’m glad you’ve returned,” she whispered, taking a careful step toward him. “I was worried. I’d thought …”
G
athering her meaning, he shook his head, a hint of regret coming to his features. “I apologise for leaving without a word.” He took a deep breath. “But I needed to think.”
“I understand.”
For a moment, he held her gaze, and Charlotte thought to see an old light spark briefly as though he, too, wished that things could be different. “Would you accompany me to my study?” he asked then. “There is something we need to discuss.”
“Of course,” Charlotte replied, her voice shaky as she spoke, and yet, her legs carried her down the corridor without a hitch, despite the slight tremble that shook her frame. What would he say to her? She wondered. Would he agree to her request and allow her to see his sister safe?
Now that the fog had retreated, was she even still capable of doing so? Charlotte wondered in a moment of uncertainty.
Opening the door to his study, her husband bade her to enter and then closed the door behind them.
Crossing the large carpet covering the floor, Charlotte stopped on her way to the armchairs facing the massive desk when she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye.
To her surprise, a man stood by the window front, gazing out onto the street. Even with his back turned, a sense of recognition washed over her, and Charlotte squinted her eyes.
Then he turned.
As her jaw dropped open, Charlotte’s hand involuntarily went to her throat. “Frederick,” she gasped, and the world around her began to sway dangerously under her feet.
In an instant, her husband was there, his steady arm holding her upright as he urged her to sit.
“Charlotte.” Holding her gaze, his eyes searching, Frederick drew in a deep breath. “It is good to see you,” he said, a slight tremble in his voice. “The last time we saw each other, I feared for the worst.” He swallowed. “And when I received news of your death, I grieved for you.”
Staring at him in shock, Charlotte couldn’t believe her ears. Had she strayed into a dream? She had to have for this couldn’t possibly be real. How could he speak to her with such compassion after what she had done to him? To his wife? To his unborn child? Most of all, to his brother?