Her instinct was to go to him, to warn him and to tell him that the whispers had already begun, but she hesitated. He was already so cautious, so hesitant about their engagement. If he thought the gossip had started in earnest, he might take it as another sign to abandon the whole thing.
It had been worrisome enough to tell him about the note in case he did so. She didn’t want to test him again.
No, she decided. She couldn’t risk that. She was determined to be his wife, no matter what happened.
Instead, she turned her attention to William. He was laughing at something Helena had said, his turn at charades drawing closer. She caught his eye and gave him a meaningful look, tilting her head toward the corridor.
He frowned slightly but nodded.
His name was called next, and he rose, rolled his eyes at the crowd for their dramatic pleasure, and then strode into the middle of the room. His charade was a rather absurd rendering of a foxhunt, complete with leaping and mock horn blowing, and it earned plenty of laughter—especially from the gentlemen who’d actually been on the hunt with him that morning.
As soon as the group called out the answer, Charlotte caught his arm.
“Walk with me,” she murmured.
He followed her without protest, the two of them slipping out through the French doors and onto the stone terrace. From there, she led him along the edge of the garden until they were well out of earshot of the drawing room.
“All right,” William said, hands in his pockets. “You’ve got that look, like you’ve uncovered a great plot.”
She didn’t smile. “Someone raised the issue of Henry’s resemblance to the late duke during the portrait tour.”
William stopped walking, his eyes widening. “Hell.”
Charlotte grimaced. “Adeline told me. She overheard it.”
“And this was today?” he asked.
She nodded.
He let out a slow breath. “It might be unrelated.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“No, I don’t,” he admitted. “But I’d very much like to.”
Charlotte wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stifle the anxiety that rose within her. “So would I. Do you know if Henry has broached the issue with his mother?”
He grimaced. “She remains tight-lipped on the matter but allows that it is possible a servant learned the truth.”
“That isn’t particularly helpful.” She sighed. “I’m concerned. What if the blackmailer is starting to test the waters, seeing who’ll notice the rumors, who’ll whisper, and do his dirty work for him?”
William whistled under his breath. “This isn’t good.”
“No,” Charlotte agreed softly. “It’s not.”
Charlotte returned to the drawing room with her thoughts still spinning. She tried to focus on the current round of charades. Genevieve was up now, pantomiming something with increasingly wild gestures, but Charlotte’s attention kept drifting. The tightness in her chest refused to ease, no matter how many times she reminded herself to breathe.
She sat beside Adeline again, still half in a fog.
“From whom did you hear about the portrait?” she murmured, keeping her eyes fixed on Genevieve as if fully engrossed in the game.
Adeline didn’t hesitate. “Miss Brighton mentioned it. Apparently someone asked why Lord Arundel doesn’t resemble his father.”
Charlotte’s pulse quickened. “And did Miss Brighton say who asked?”
Adeline shook her head slightly. “No, only that she overheard it.”
Charlotte nodded, her lips pressed together. “Thank you.”
