As the Duke talked of the gardens and the grounds, Gemma found her mind wandering, dwelling on dire consequences and dark circumstances. Even the feel of his strong, unbending arm beneath her hand was not enough to reassure her. The easy pleasure she had taken just a few moments ago in the Duke’s company, and their mutual desire, was fading before the stark nature of reality.
This is a temporary respite only. Probably by tomorrow I shall be on the road again. Thank you, Your Grace, for your compassion, but it is not meant to be.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
“Forgive me if I’m being impertinent, My Lady. But you seem out of sorts this evening,” Charlotte said.
She was helping Gemma to dress for dinner. It was an unusual circumstance for Gemma, who had not had the luxury of a lady's maid before. At first, it had seemed incredibly decadent, to have another human being responsible for dressing oneself, a skill learned in childhood by most.
But Charlotte’s easy manner had won her over. It also helped that the young woman clearly had as little experience in being a lady's maid as Gemma had in having one. After a few minutes of reservedness, Charlotte had proved to be chatty and frequently seemed to forget that there was supposed to be a mistress and servant relationship.
“Oh? I do not want the Duke thinking that I am being maudlin. It’s just that…I find myself dwelling on things,” Gemma said, feeling as though the answer was quite inadequate but conscious of the fiction that she needed to maintain.
“Well, I know it isn’t my place. But my old granny used to say to me, a problem shared is a problem halved,” Charlotte said brightly.
Gemma was seated at a dressing table while Charlotte brushed her hair. Gemma watched her in the mirror and envied the easy smile and carefree manner that the woman possessed.
“I wish for the days when I could be as carefree and bright as you, Charlotte,” Gemma said with a sigh.
“Can you not? I would have thought you’d be cock-a-hoop, what with being His Grace’s ward and finding a husband and all,” Charlotte replied.
“Yes, one would think that. Unfortunately, life is not that simple,” Gemma replied.
Charlotte looked at her in the mirror, honest confusion on her face and a question in her eyes. Gemma smiled, disarmed by her maid’s utter lack of guile.
“What would you do, Charlotte, if you were forced to…run away from home?” Gemma asked, turning in her seat to look at Charlotte directly.
“Run away from home? Why…well…that is…I…” Charlotte stammered, looking down and tugging at strands of hair caught in the teeth of the brush.
Gemma frowned at the reaction.
Something that I said has made her very uncomfortable indeed. In fact…she seems on the verge of tears. Whatever can have upset her so?
Concerned, Gemma took Charlotte’s hands in her own, peering up into the maid’s eyes.
“Charlotte? I did not mean to upset you. I do not know how I have but I apologize regardless. Whatever is the matter?”
Tears flowed freely down Charlotte’s face now and she turned away, hiding her face in her hands. Gemma rose and put her arms around Charlotte’s shoulders, turning her and placing her in the seat that Gemma had just left.
“Oh, Miss Emily…I mean, My Lady…I mean…Your Ladyship. Oh, I can’t even remember what I’m supposed to call you! I knew I’d get found out. I just knew it!”
“Whatever do you mean, Charlotte?” Gemma asked, kneeling beside her.
“I am not Charlotte Sharpe, My Lady. Nor am I a Lady's maid.”
Gemma stared in astonishment. Then she burst out laughing. She could not stop herself. The ludicrousness of a woman pretending to be someone else, being attended to by another woman who was also an impostor was too much.
“I’m sorry, Charlotte. Forgive me. I will explain in a moment. Please, don’t worry. Tell me the truth and I swear by the Bible that I will not tell a soul.”
Charlotte looked into her face searchingly at these words before nodding.
“I ran away from home. That is why you caught me so upset. I thought it was a trap, to trick me into admitting it. I ran away because my old man was a brute. He used to beat me and was a drunkard and…anyway. I ran away.”
Gemma stroked her hair, smiling encouragingly and feeling empathy for the poor woman. Whether the old man was a father or husband did not matter. It was inexcusable to brutalize a lovely, innocent young woman like this.
“A friend of mine was helping me. She was in service in a big house in London. She gave me her references and made me take her name, provided I do so in a far-off part of the country where no one would have heard of her.”
“So, Charlotte Sharpe is your friend?” Gemma asked.
