Charlotte wanted to lash out, but the viscountess was right! Unwilling to listen to anything more without striking back, Charlotte burst into a run, nearly sliding and falling on her face in the process.
She hated this place! She hated Lady Denton! And Susan! And… him!
Most of all she hated him!
Once in the dressing room that had been her only private space, breathless and distraught, Charlotte drew out her carpet bag and stuffed her meager belongings in without bothering to fold them. She had her scarf and coat. Her torn gloves and two dull muslin dresses. She’d not bring the horrid mob cap.
Her journal. The watch her father had worn every day.
And nothing else.
She had no money.
Nowhere to go.
The storm raging within her rivaled the blizzard outside. To depart on her own at night, in freezing and wet weather, would mean certain death. She glanced down at her pathetic belongings and sighed. She needed to cut all ties with Lady Denton and her daughter, the future Lady Mapleton.
She needed to be certain never to see him again.
Because the explosive, powerful emotions that somehow sparked between the two of them could not be put to the test again. Had they not been interrupted in the music room she could not be certain she would not have abandoned all sense. As it was, she’d practically thrown herself at him.
He’d removed some of the pins from her hair.
And then he’d offered her that horrid proposal! Which, if she were to be honest with herself, ought not to have come as a surprise.
But it had been in the heat of the moment.
He wasn’t the sort of man to marry one woman and keep a mistress on the side. Was he? Despite his suggestion, he was a man of honor. She didn’t know how, or why, but she knew this about him. He’d made the offer on impulse, spurred by the passion of their embrace.
And she was not a woman who could give herself to another woman’s husband. She’d been raised a vicar’s daughter, and her father’s teachings remained in her heart.
But Lord Mapleton’s offer had been tempting…
Anthony.
She shook her head, dismissing the memory of his need to hear her speak his name.
“Miss Drake?” The housekeeper’s voice called out. After spending hours polishing silverware while listening to the woman regale her with all the village gossip, Charlotte would know that woman’s voice in her sleep.
Charlotte wiped her eyes and stuffed her bag into the back of the closet and then she emerged, ready to tackle whatever task awaited.
“Do you have need of me, Mrs. Gibson?”
But the housekeeper was already shaking her head. “This arrived yesterday. I’ve been so busy that I forgot to give it to you.” Her eyes were filled with pity. She knew.
“Did Lady Denton speak with you then?”
Mrs. Gibson nodded. “I’m sorry to see you go. I think you would have eventually made a fine companion.” But then she laughed. “With a little time and a lot of help.”
And then the older woman held out an envelope.
“When you’re finished, her ladyship says you’re to help out in the kitchen.”
Charlotte nodded vaguely. The envelope sent all kinds of thoughts racing through her mind. “I’ll be right there,” she mumbled.
Mrs. Gibson brushed her hands on her apron and then took her leave.
As soon as the door closed behind her, Charlotte tore open the missive. She read through the hastily scrawled lines three times before convincing herself of their meaning. Perhaps there was somewhere she could go after all…
