Lady Charlotte's First Love

by Anna Bradley

  A horrible suspicion began to form in Julian’s mind. No. She wouldn’t have gone there, not by herself.

  But even as he shook his head he knew it was true, and in the next moment Devon confirmed it. “Last night, not an hour after you dropped her off at her house, Lady Hadley left for Hampshire. For Hadley House.”

  Cam and Julian stared at him, mute with shock.

  “That’s right. She left in the middle of the night with no one to attend her aside from a maid and two footmen. Whatever you said to her last night to make her leave London certainly had the desired effect, West.”

  The floor gave a sickening lurch under Julian’s feet. “But she told me—she promised she’d leave for Bellwood—”

  He fell silent as he thought back to her words last night. No, she hadn’t promised that. He’d heard a promise because he wanted to hear one, but her actual words…

  You have my word, Captain, I will leave London immediately.

  She’d meant Hadley House. By the time he finished with her she no longer intended to go to Bellwood. It was too close, and she must have known at some point she’d see him there.

  Julian groped for the mantel to steady himself. Last night when she’d disappeared into her house—God, she’d looked so small as she passed through that cavernous entryway. Hadley House would devour her, swallow her whole.

  Devon was watching him. “So you do care about her, West.” His face relaxed ever so slightly. “I wouldn’t have believed it possible.”

  “How do you know about this, Lord Devon?” Despite the early hour Cam went to the sideboard and poured a finger of whiskey into each of three glasses, then crossed the room to hand one to Devon and the other to Julian.

  Devon tossed his back at once. “I went to her house this morning. I was concerned after last night. When she left, she looked so…unlike herself. Her butler, Nelson, told me she gathered a few things together and was gone not an hour after she arrived home from Lady Elliott’s ball. Her lady’s maid, Sarah, confirmed it. Sarah is under strict orders to pack up Lady Hadley’s things and come to Hampshire at once. Once she’s gone, the servants will close the house.”

  “She intends to stay away from London for quite some time, then,” Cam muttered. “This is bad. Hadley House is remote, with no neighbors nearby to speak of.”

  Julian gripped his whiskey glass with white fingers. What had Charlotte said about Hadley House? It’s an estate without an end. For her to be there alone, all winter…

  Devon slammed his glass down onto a table. “She’s in no state of mind to be alone in that enormous house. No company, no distractions, nothing to keep her mind occupied—she may as well be locked in a tomb.”

  Distractions. All at once the truth crashed over Julian, spitting foam and spray in its wake. The scandals, the whorehouse incident, the gaming—they were what kept Charlotte in London. The widows and Devon were part of it—a convenient means by which to achieve an end—but they weren’t the real reason she insisted upon staying in the city. They hadn’t led Charlotte into vice. She’d come to London in search of it, to silence the voices in her head.

  And what better place than London to lose oneself?

  For the past week he’d chased her from one corner of the city to another, like… How had Cam put it? Like a hound after a very clever fox. But she’d begun to run long before he arrived in London. Didn’t she know it made no difference whether she was in London, at Bellwood, or at Hadley House? No one could run fast enough or hide well enough to escape themselves.

  He knew that better than anyone.

  “We’ll go after her, of course. Immediately.” Cam turned to Devon. “Did Nelson say what time she left last night?”

  “Midnight, or thereabouts.”

  “She has an eight hour start on us. Damn it. It’s impossible for us to overtake her before she reaches Hadley House. Even on horseback—”

  “I’ll leave at once,” Julian said. “I won’t stop except to change horses. If I make good time she won’t be alone at Hadley House for more than half a day.”

  Cam frowned. “No, Jules. I’ll go after her myself. You’ll stay in London.”

  Julian felt the refusal like a blow to the stomach. Cam looked away, but not before Julian saw the truth on his face.

  His cousin didn’t trust him to go after Charlotte.

  Cam turned to Lord Devon with a respectful bow. “I offer you my thanks, my lord. I believe I’ve misjudged you. Perhaps I had reason to, given your questionable behavior with Charlotte over these past months, but it’s clear to me now your intentions were honorable. I beg your pardon.”

  Devon looked as if he didn’t quite appreciate this apology, but after a moment the white lines around his mouth eased and he returned Cam’s bow. “I ask you to favor me with a line once you’ve located Lady Hadley. Whatever else may have passed between us, we’re friends.”

  Devon didn’t look at Julian again, but turned and left the study.

  “Lord Devon. Wait.” Julian followed him into the hallway. “Are you and Lady Hadley simply friends? Or are you betrothed?”

  It was a dangerous question, one he had no right to ask. Whether they were betrothed or not could make no difference to him. He was betrothed to Jane Hibbert, and he wouldn’t lose his one chance to make amends to Colin.

  But none of this mattered. Nothing mattered as much as his need to know.

  Devon regarded him in silence for a moment, then shook his head. “She accepted my offer, but then last night, in the garden, right before you came upon us…” Devon drew the moment out until Julian’s nerves screamed in protest. “She retracted. Strange, isn’t it? I can’t imagine what could have happened yesterday afternoon to make her change her mind. Can you, Captain West?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer, but turned and took his leave.

  Julian went back into the study to face Cam, his mind in turmoil. Those stolen moments with Charlotte in the carriage—

  Tell me it matters.

  It matters. It matters, Julian.

  Was that when she’d changed her mind about marrying Devon?

  Cam was waiting for him, but as soon as he saw Julian’s face he began to shake his head. “No, Julian.”

  “Cam. Please. I have to.”

  “No. I should never have asked you to do this in the first place.”

  Julian’s chest went tight. “I’ve made mistakes. I don’t deny it, but this time I promise you—”

  “I can’t trust your promises anymore, Julian.” Cam’s mouth was hard. “I won’t risk having Charlotte hurt again.”

  “I—I won’t hurt her. Not ever again. Please. Give me one more chance, Cam.”

  But Cam looked away. “No.”

  Julian fought back the panic that threatened to close his throat, to choke him. To silence him. “You’re meant to leave for Bellwood this morning. Ellie and Amelia are ready to go. It has to be me, Cam. Don’t you see? Please.”

  Cam searched his face, looking for…what? Some trace of the Julian he remembered, perhaps. Would he find any?

  “Cam.” Julian’s voice broke. “I’m begging you.”

  Cam’s gaze shot back to his face. He was silent for a long moment, then, “She won’t go anywhere with you if she doesn’t trust you.”

  “I’ll find a way—somehow, I’ll find a way to make her trust me. Please let me try. If she won’t come with me, I’ll write you at once, and then stay with her until you can get to Hampshire.”

  “I won’t have her forced or coerced or manipulated, Julian. Do you understand me? You’ll have to persuade her. Gently.”

  “I understand. I give you my word.”

  “Your word.” Cam looked him in the eyes. “You were a man of your word once, Julian. Are you still?”

  I don’t know. I don’t know who I am anymore.

  But he kn
ew one thing—a small, insignificant, paltry thing, but at the moment it was all he had. He held Cam’s gaze. “I want to be.”

  Julian held his breath as Cam studied his face. Please, let him find some trace of Julian there still. Please—

  Cam blew out a long breath. “Go and get her, then. But don’t make me regret this, Julian.”

  Julian’s breath rushed from his lungs and his eyes closed. “Thank you,” he rasped. “Thank you for giving me one more chance.”

  Cam sighed. “I warn you, Jules. It won’t be easy.”

  No, it wouldn’t be easy. Rescues never were. Not even for a hero.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Darling Annabel,

  You’ll never guess where I am, my dear! I’ve gone off to Hampshire to visit Hadley House. Such an adventure! I expect you will convulse with laughter when you hear I sneaked away under cover of night to escape the notice of my family, all of whom wish me in Kent.

  I couldn’t, as you can imagine, countenance Bellwood for the winter. Here in Hampshire I may do as I wish, and you mustn’t worry for me, dearest, for I will have a splendid time of it. I shall sleep all day and roam the gardens in the moonlight like a proper ghost.

  I daresay you’ll wonder why I’ve left London at all, especially without calling on you first to inform you of my intentions. I must beg your pardon for that, and ask you to convey my most abject apologies to Lissie and Aurelie. I’m a sadly impetuous creature, as you know, and once I decide on a course nothing will do for me but to put it into action at once—

  Charlotte let the quill slip from her fingers and dragged herself from her chair to the fireplace. She held the letter over the flames, watching with fixed attention as the edges of the paper began to blacken and curl.

  Odd, how much easier it was to write lies than to speak them. It shouldn’t be, for a paper and ink lie would last long after mere words were forgotten. Then again, with letters one needn’t look into the face of the deceived.

  Only when the glowing flame began to singe her fingertips did Charlotte toss the letter into the fire. These lies had flowed easily enough, yet it wouldn’t serve, just the same. Annabel was no fool—she’d know this letter at once for what it was. The trouble was, the truth wouldn’t serve, either.

  Something between the two, then. Charlotte returned to her desk and took up her quill.

  My dearest Annabel,

  I feel rather like a condemned criminal, sneaking away from London without as much as a word of warning. I hope you’ll forgive me, and will share my regrets with Lissie and Aurelie.

  Lord Devon will have told you by now I’ve rejected his suit, though it gave me no pleasure to do so. I’ve been contemplating a sojourn in the country for some time, and given the awkwardness likely to arise from my refusal it seemed an ideal time to go. I beg you won’t worry yourself for me, but will look forward with anticipation to such a time as I may return to London and resume our friendship, though I can’t say as yet how long I may linger in Hampshire.

  Such times we had this season, Annabel! I assure you, nothing Hadley House offers can console me for the loss of your diverting company. I feel it most keenly, but I will try and console myself over the long winter months with fond memories of our many adventures together—

  Charlotte tossed the quill aside and pushed away from the desk.

  It still wouldn’t do. Her friends were far too clever to believe she’d fled in the night to escape Devon, and it was horribly unfair to blame him for her cowardly retreat. God knew he deserved far better from her than she’d ever been capable of giving him.

  But then so had they all. Devon, and Hadley before him, and before Hadley…

  No. She wouldn’t think on it. She picked up the quill for the third time and bent over the paper.

  Dearest Annabel,

  I’d thought to have time to call on you before I left for Hampshire, but circumstances with my family are such that a precipitate departure for Hadley House seemed preferable for all concerned. I think, my dear, the solitude here will do me a world of good, though I confess it’s rather an unpleasant shock after the gaiety of London—

  A world of good. Such a glaring deception. If she couldn’t write truthfully, perhaps it would be best if she didn’t write at all. But what if the widows should take it into their heads to come after her? A shudder slid down her spine at the thought of her vivacious friends suffocating under the gloom of this place.

  She pushed the sheet aside, retrieved fresh paper from the desk drawer, and dipped her quill in the ink.

  Dear Annabel,

  You must not follow me here. Forgive me.

  I am ever your friend,

  Charlotte

  Her fingers shook as she folded the letter and affixed her seal. There. It was done, and now…

  Now, nothing.

  The case clock on the first floor landing struck seven times.

  She glanced toward the glass doors behind the desk. Her housekeeper, Mrs. Boyle had drawn the curtains, but now Charlotte rose and pulled them aside to look out. The doors opened to a terrace with a set of shallow steps leading out into a small private garden.

  Seven o’clock.

  Hadley House boasted magnificent formal gardens and endless acres of parkland, but this tiny garden was her favorite. This room too, so snug, not like the other rooms, which tended toward high-ceilings and draftiness. Of course, the house had been designed to announce wealth rather than provide comfort for the hapless family who happened to live here, but this little study and the garden beyond were a small oasis in an otherwise vast desert of formal rooms and endless hallways. Why, she could slip right out these doors and into the garden without anyone taking any notice of where she’d gone. One couldn’t see into the garden from the master’s suite of rooms, or from the dowager’s apartments, and should someone in one of those rooms be screaming, one couldn’t hear it once the doors closed behind them.

  Charlotte pressed her face against the glass. Perhaps she’d go outside now. It wasn’t so dark yet she couldn’t see the outline of the stone balustrades on either side of the wide staircase, and the shadows cast by the tall hedges in the garden beyond. Fresh air—yes, that was what she needed, and yet…

  The shadows pressed upon her. She’d forgotten how deep the darkness, how profound the silence in the country. It was a shock compared to the chaos of London, but after a few weeks here she wouldn’t notice the shadows anymore. The silence.

  Just a few weeks, and it would be as if she’d never left Hadley House at all.

  Perhaps she’d go out tomorrow, instead.

  She let the curtain drop and turned back to face the room. The fire crackled and hissed merrily in the grate, but otherwise the room was as silent as the garden. The smell of burnt paper lingered, and Charlotte’s stomach heaved a little in protest. It was just as well she hadn’t touched the tray Mrs. Boyle had brought earlier. She hadn’t taken more than a cup of tea since she arrived. Travel did tend to make her feel ill, but surely by tomorrow she’d have regained her appetite. Perhaps she’d order a large breakfast delivered to her room and dine in bed with a mountain of pillows behind her, like a grand marchioness should.

  The case clock struck the half hour.

  Seven-thirty. Too early for bed. If she went now, she’d wake early in the morning, and the day did seem endless when one woke too soon.

  She resumed her seat in front of the fire, pulled out a fresh sheet, dipped the quill into the ink, and pressed the nib to the paper. She’d write to Ellie.

  But what was she to say?

  She’d begin with an apology—yes, that was right. She’d apologize for worrying Ellie, who’d no doubt been beside herself this morning when she learned of Charlotte’s disappearance. And she was sorry—of course she was, except she couldn’t quite feel the regret yet because of this strange numbness that clung to her like
wet clothing.

  But it wasn’t a lie, for surely by tomorrow she’d feel sorry.

  She’d best tell Ellie she had no plans to come to Bellwood. Yes, she should get that out of the way at once, or else Ellie would try and persuade her, and Charlotte mustn’t let her, because one couldn’t escape their fate forever, and Hadley House was Charlotte’s fate. She’d hidden from it for a time in London, but now she saw how foolish she’d been to think she could outrun it, outmaneuver it, for it would find you and it would deal out your punishment again and again until you got what you deserved. It would have you in the end, just as this house had her now, locked in its grim embrace, squeezing the life out of her, because it was what she deserved, and London wouldn’t change that, and Bellwood wouldn’t change it and to pretend otherwise was utter madness—

  “Lady Hadley? Pardon me, my lady. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Mrs. Boyle hovered in the doorway. She stared at Charlotte, her brow creased with concern.

  Charlotte clutched at her quill. Surely she hadn’t been talking to herself? “I—no need to apologize, Mrs. Boyle. I’m afraid I didn’t hear your knock. Is something amiss?”

  “Yes, my lady. Ah, that is no, not amiss exactly.” Mrs. Boyle wrung her hands. “You have a visitor. A gentleman.”

  “At this time of night? But that’s—”

  Oh, dear God. Cam had followed her here, and at a breakneck pace to have made such a quick journey from London, and now he was going to try and make her come with him to Bellwood.

  “Shall I show him in, my lady?”

  No. Send him away, back to Bellwood and his family where he belongs, and let him leave me here, where I belong.

  But she knew very well she couldn’t turn Cam away. “Yes, please do, Mrs. Boyle.”

  The housekeeper hurried away. Charlotte came out from behind the desk and took a seat on a settee in front of the fire. She’d have to explain it to Cam, to make him understand why she had to stay here and accept the punishment fate dealt her, that for her to leave now would only make matters worse—