Even now she stood before the half-completed canvas with no desire to dip her brush in paint. That first day she had been enthusiastic about her project, but with each day that passed, her interest waned. She just didn’t feel like painting or doing anything else.
What the blazes was wrong with her?
She knew the answer. Tears welled again. Charlotte had cried since Victor had left. It wasn’t because she missed him, though she did. It was because two days after he had gone, she lost the babe she had been carrying.
She had been so hopeful for their child and looked forward to those first movements, to experiencing the growth…to have a child that she could shower with love and tell every day how perfect they were. But she had failed. She failed her child and she had failed Victor.
Dr. Forester had assured Charlotte that she had done nothing to cause the loss, and that losing a babe so early was not unusual. That still wasn’t a comfort.
Victor had been so happy. She had been happy.
Now she was empty.
She tried to tell him. Each day she settled at the desk in the library, fresh parchment before her, and quill dipped in ink, but she couldn’t bring herself to write the words that their baby was gone. He shouldn’t hear about it in a letter either. At least, that is what she told herself. Nor should she bother him. Someone had caused the dam to fail and the fields to be flooded and set fire to the stables. He was needed there because there was nothing he could do here.
“Miss Favreau has asked to see you, Lady Blackmar,” Callie announced.
Charlotte swiped a tear. “Please, have her join me in the parlor and ask Cook for tea.”
Charlotte couldn’t imagine why Monique was here, but she was thankful for the distraction.
After putting her brush aside, she changed into a dress and then met Monique.
“I came to deliver this.”
“Did I order a dress?” Charlotte had no memory of doing so.
“The commission was from Lord Blackmar,” Monique answered as she frowned. “Perhaps I erred. He may have wished to give it to you himself, but I was informed that Lord Blackmar was not at home.”
Why would Victor have a dress made. “Please, join me for tea?” Charlotte asked.
“I should not,” Monique held the package out to her.
“I shall not take it until you have tea with me.” She needed the company today. As nobody had known that she was expecting other than Victor and a few servants, Charlotte was saved from having to explain or answer questions. However, her maudlin state would bring inquiries and she hadn’t wished to explain so she had avoided her friends. However, today, it was good to have Monique here.
“Very well.” She settled onto the chair. “Will you now open the package?”
Charlotte reached forward and took it from Monique. When she tore the paper away, she gasped when she saw the material. It was the lamb’s wool dyed to the very periwinkle that she had struggled to get just right. The same fabric that Maria had coveted but Victor would not allow his sister to have.
“You should know that when I asked about the fabric when I had visited the mill, I was told by your husband and Lord Melcombe that it belonged only to you, so I was not surprised when it was delivered to me by Lord Blackmar with a request for a dress.”
Carefully she withdrew the dress from the package as tears came to her eyes. So light and delicate, even though it was wool. A beautiful day dress and perfect for the cooler autumn days. Charlotte hugged it to her breast, touched by his thoughtfulness and tried not to cry.
“If you try it on before I leave, I will make certain that no alterations are needed.”
“Your tea and the post, Lady Blackmar,” Walters announced as he carried a silver tray to her followed by a footman who placed the service in the middle of the table.
“Thank you.”
Charlotte quickly glanced at the missives and assumed they were for Victor. Except, one was from him, which she would read after Monique had gone, but the other came from her father’s solicitor.
“Is anything amiss?” Monique asked.
“I am certain it is nothing.” Charlotte set the missives aside and poured tea for her guest and then they discussed plans for future wool production.
Charlotte tried to concentrate on the conversation, but she kept wondering why the solicitor had written to her. He had never done so before.
“Read the letter,” Monique said after a moment. “It is clear that you are concerned.”
