But Charlotte did not hear. She re-read the part of the letter that she could not share with Luke. The part in which her twin sister asked to switch places with Charlotte for a month as they used to in their youth.
She wishes to come here and live my life for a while. And I go to London! Live with the Willoughbys! It has been so long since we did this last...
But as Charlotte read on, she began to sense a difference in Amelia’s words. Gone was the playful excitement that had presaged one of their previous switching adventures. Amelia’s words made her seem almost desperate.
Whatever her reasons, I will help her however I can.
CHAPTER 2
FLEET STREET, LONDON
Seth Redmaine, Duke of Bellmonte, could not tell upon waking if the noise he heard was a loud banging at his door or the remnants of red wine in his head. He groaned, rolling over on his bed. He was fully dressed and even booted. His mouth was dry, and his blonde hair was in wild disarray about his high-cheeked face. Eyes that were usually the bright gleam of emerald were now tainted with red.
The room was blurred for a moment. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and waited for the room to stop spinning. It resolved itself before him. A bedroom with bare floorboards and rafters in which pigeons nested. A narrow window looking out over the tumbled rooftops of the city towards the white edifice of St Paul’s. Beyond the room’s only door was another room, and the door that Seth now realized was making the offending noise.
“Pipe down! I am coming!” he shouted, but immediately regretted his volume.
Staggering from the bed, he made his way into the other room, which had sparse furniture, none of which matched. He tripped over a rug and found the door locked. A moment’s searching revealed that the key was in the lock. Seth chuckled at his own foolhardiness and opened the door.
“Well, about time!” Elliot Harding exclaimed.
He was the same height as Seth but slim, while Seth was broad. His hair was brown, as were his eyes, and his lips were thin, with a slightly receding chin.
“I have been knocking out here for the best part of half an hour. There!” he suddenly exclaimed, “that is the bell of St Paul’s sounding the hour. Exactly half an hour I have been out here!”
Seth stepped aside, allowing his friend, the Viscount of Arkendale, to enter.
“My apologies, Elliot. I was dead asleep,” Seth flung himself into the embrace of an armchair. “There is flint and tinder on the mantle. Start a fire; there’s a good chap. Then we can have some tea,” he added.
“Deaddrunk, more like,” Elliot groused.
“The one circumstance does tend to follow the other,” Seth commented.
“Are you alone, at least?” Elliot said, craning his neck to peer towards the bedroom.
Seth smirked. “Feel welcome to have a look.”
Elliot crossed himself. “No, thank you. Anyhow, there is no time for tea. You are supposed to be promenading with your betrothed. You had clearly forgotten.”
“No, my friend. I had not forgotten. At least, I remembered before I began drinking last night. After that, forgetfulness is another condition that follows from being drunk,” Seth murmured.
“She will be furious. I am not sure your betrothal will withstand this latest insult. Which it is bound to be perceived as,” Elliot replied, pacing the room.
That is precisely the state of affairs I had hoped to achieve when I imbibed my first glass of that terrible red. Where was that? Somewhere in Cheapside, as I recall. Well, that will hopefully make three broken engagements out of three. And none ended by my own hand. Enough to satisfy that damnable clause of my father’s will.
“I suppose we can still salvage something. I have sent word ahead that you are under the weather but determined to keep the arrangement. She should be suitably impressed that you are dragging yourself from a sick bed,” Elliot declared with no little pride.
“What would I do without you, Elliot, old boy,” Seth murmured, trying to sound contrite and relieved.
This would be so much easier if I could bring my oldest friend into my confidence. But dear Elliot, you are far too good a Christian to approve, and I must keep you in the dark.
“I sometimes wonder. Now, where in this hovel do you keep a washbasin?” he looked around, “I mean, why do you insist on living in this garret when you have an entire mansion at Hillcrest, within sight of Hampton Court, too!”
Seth reached under his chair and came up with a battered tin basin.
“Water can be found from the pump at the horse trough outside,” Seth replied, “would you care to get me some?”
“Get your own!” Elliot exclaimed, snatching the basin from Seth, nonetheless.
