The sound of a male voice clearing nearby jolted him. One of the manservants.
Miss Drake practically flew into the vehicle, quickly located the parasol and scrambled back out. Anthony made no attempt to assist her this time.
“Charlotte.” He could not resist saying her name. Anything to delay her disappearance. She halted and then turned slowly to face him.
Her eyes reflected the same tumult he felt.
But she shook her head. “I––cannot. You…” She shook her head again, and then more firmly. “I am Drake.”
Yes. She could not be Charlotte to him. And yet he stepped forward, eliminating all but a few feet of distance between them. “Miss Drake. Yes. But thank you. Both my mother and my sister will be happy with their gifts.” Taking hold of her free hand, he lifted it to his lips and bowed.
Her fingers were slim and fragile, as he’d expected. Her subtle fragrance tantalized him, as he’d expected. His lips craved to touch more than just her gloves, as he damn well knew they would.
What he’dnotexpected was the wave of rightness that crashed over him in that moment. As though he’d found a missing part of himself.
But when he glanced back up her expression tore at his heart. Because again, he recognized all of his own longing reflected there, but along with that, he saw what he could only conclude to be fear.
No, not fear, he corrected himself. Sheer terror.
Chapter 5
Impossible Thoughts
Charlotte sighed heavily.
The trip into town had been nothing less than a disaster.
But wonderful.
Tragically wonderful.
Because her heart had cracked wide open. Yes, such a thought aptly described the pain inside her chest. And now her splintered heart was causing intermittent bursts of elation, quickly followed by equally powerful catapults into devastation.
Foolishness! She knew better. To give into such an attraction meant only one thing for a servant girl. Her father would roll over in his grave if she were to go that route. He’d roll over if he knew she’d contemplated it even for a second.
Which she had not.
Pressing and brushing clothing allowed her far too much time to mull over the hopelessness of all of it. Perhaps she’d been mistaken. She’d imagined the earl’s attentions. She hadn’t eaten anything that morning. Would not that cause her to feel so lightheaded in his company?
But when Miss Fairchild began talking of her pending betrothal, a heavy sadness invaded her soul.
“He ought to have given me the gift, wouldn’t you agree? I hadn’t thought that he might be so stuffy, but he is considerably older… So very rude of him, though. For as long as I can remember, Lord Mapleton has been my father’s choice, but not mine. His lordship can be awfully dull, you know. And he’s not as good looking as his brother.” Miss Fairchild examined herself in the looking glass and sighed. “Lord Mapleton is the earl, though. He holds the title. How could I settle for anything less?”
“How indeed?” Charlotte mumbled. She’d brought out a red velvet evening gown for Miss Fairchild to wear to dinner and spread it across the bed.
Charlotte’s father, as a well–liked vicar, had introduced Charlotte to more than a few prospective husbands over the years. Tall ones, short ones, fat ones, thin ones, a few had even been handsome and one of the older ones had been wealthy. In each of them, she’d looked for that special elusivesomething, that feeling, of wanting and of needing. That feeling thatthis was the one.
But she’d not once come even close to finding it. So impractical! And the interest had dwindled to a trickle. Her last proposal was 3 years ago. Gentlemen weren’t interested in marrying vicar’s daughters who had achieved such and age as she had: six and twenty. In four years she would be thirty!
“His estate is grander than Papa’s.” Miss Fairchild added. “I’ll never want for anything.”
Charlotte tidied the lovely rose down with a soft brush. Miss Fairchild would look pretty in this color, rather than the pastels she normally wore. Her own brown skirt resembled a rag in comparison.
Perhaps Charlotte ought to have been more like Susan. Perhaps she ought to have exhibited such practicality. If she’d done that, she wouldn’t be working as a servant today.
Tears pricked the back of Charlotte’s eyes at the thought of lost opportunities, but she blinked them away, angry with herself for such futile thoughts.
When Lord Mapleton’s lips had touched her hand, she’d thought for an instant that all was right with her world. She’d ceased to be one person, alone, fighting for a place to belong. No, she had found her match, her other half.
