Isla’s grip tightened on the book. “Did he invite you, then?”
“Do you think I forced the lock?” Charlotte’s mouth curved. “Your husband may be lax in some areas, but not in security.”
“My husband,” Isla said, “has never taken me into that room. Nor explained why it is shut.”
Charlotte’s eyes gleamed. “Perhaps he wishes to protect you.”
“From what?”
“From what lies inside, of course.” Charlotte smoothed her skirts. “We all have rooms we would rather some people never see.”
Isla swallowed. “What is in there?”
“Memories,” Charlotte said lightly. “Papers. Objects. Things that burden him. He does not show them to everyone.”
“You are not everyone,” Isla replied coolly.
“No,” Charlotte agreed. “He and I have known one another many years. It is natural he should seek my counsel about matters that trouble him.”
“Natural?” Isla repeated. “In his own house? With his wife under the same roof?”
Charlotte’s gaze flicked idly over Isla’s gown, her book, the faint smudge of dust on her cuff from the stables earlier. “You concern yourself so much with roofs, Lady Isla. Scottish roofs falling. English roofs sheltering. One might mistake you for a housekeeper.”
Isla felt heat rise in her cheeks. “I am Duchess of Wexford,” she said. “This is my house.”
Charlotte laughed, a little breath of derision. “Is it? How charming.”
“Yes,” Isla said, more sharply. “By law and by vows. That makes that room, and all others, more mine as yours.”
“Law,” Charlotte said, echoing her earlier conversation with Edward without knowing it. “Not sentiment.”
The word hit home.
“How close did you come?” Charlotte asked suddenly.
Isla blinked. “To what?”
“To the altar,” Charlotte said. “With the others.”
“The others,” Isla repeated slowly. “You will have to be more specific. People in England are obsessed with plural nouns.”
Charlotte smiled without warmth. “The other men your brother marched you before. Deverell. Wilmot. That tedious viscount from Bath. How many horses were you led past before someone finally bought you?”
The insult landed cleanly.
Isla stiffened. “I was not a cow at market.”
“Really?” Charlotte tilted her head, her tone mild as cream. “From what I hear, your brother disagrees.”
Rage flared, sudden and bright.
“How dare you speak of my family?” Isla said.
“How dare your family use mine?” Charlotte answered. “Edward might forgive your games, but not all of us are obliged to. I have seen your sort before, Pretty faces, empty purses, brother’s hands behind your back shoving you forward into the light.”
“That is enough,” Isla said, her voice shaking. “Haud yer weesht! You can get out of this hoose. Now. Door or window. Your choice.”
Charlotte looked amused. “You think you can order me from Wexford Hall? I think that is what that gibberish was intended to convey.”
