“Yes, of course,” the butler agreed. A footman came out to meet them and took Walter from Alex.
Alex dismounted and followed the servants, thinking it strange that the butler didn’t tell one of the maids to summon Christopher. He followed down the corridor to what he remembered was the nursery with a bedroom off to the side. As a boy he’d run through nearly every room in the castle, and he recalled that he and Chris had once let a frog go underneath the very nursery table in front of him to play a trick on Chris’s tutor. The drapes had since been redone, but the curved window seat in the corner remained, and a pang of nostalgia hit him with palpable force.
“I think here is best.” The butler gestured to a wide couch.
The footman laid the boy down, and Alex nodded to the butler. “I shall leave you to it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jenkins. We are all indebted to you.”
The butler’s genuine tone took Alex aback. First Charlotte and George and now the butler had actually thanked him. All of it made him long to be accepted here again, to be a part of everything he’d once known.
But instead of lingering, he simply bowed and exited the room, not needing to be shown the way out.
As he walked through the corridor, he heard a door open. Charlotte, George, and Joseph must have made it back. By the time Alex made it to the entrance of the castle, he saw only George and Joseph rushing past him. They hadn’t urged him to stay, nor had he expected them to. He continued walking toward the stables and was nearly to his horse when he heard, “Wait!”
His heel churned against the gravel as he spun around. Charlotte rushed down the steps, something in her hands, and though he ought to still be in shock over all that had happened to Walter, he was immediately struck by her beauty. A few bits of her hair blew about, having fallen from her bun, and her large, inviting eyes upon him rooted him to the ground.
“You know,” she said, out of breath and nearly to him, “next time you are in the area and wish to say hello, you needn’t go jumping into our pond. You could have simply knocked on our door.”
Her smile nearly undid him. She was teasing him, and that was thelastthing he’d expected. Shocked, he didn’t chuckle, and as her eyes earnestly searched his, waiting for an answer, her countenance fell.
“Here.” She thrust a wad of white fabric toward him, her eyes as tight as her pout. “I just wanted to give you a dry shirt. This is George’s, and it’s nearly new.” With both hands, she straightened it out in front of her, trying to see if the size was a good match, but in her flustered state, the shirt hung collar side down and she fumbled to right it.
Alex smiled at her mishap, but his thoughts were much more seriously employed. How had Charlotte come to be here, in the middle of the Season? Just a week ago he’d seen her in London. There had to be only one explanation—she’d come home to prepare for her wedding to that Ainscough devil. Drat him.
“Miss Roylance,” he said, stepping toward her and finally collecting his manners. “This is so kind of you, but I fear I can’t accept your charity.” He gripped the shirt and pulled the fabric down from in front of her face, and her startled, clear-blue eyes widened as his hand brushed hers. He didn’t miss how soft her skin was and immediately wished he could hold it to verify. He shook his head. She wasengaged. “I thank you for your presence of mind, but my shirt is nearly dry already, and I should have been on my way an hour ago.”
“Oh, of course.” She dipped her head deferentially, avoiding his gaze. “I’m sorry to have delayed you even longer, then. Thank you for all you did.”
“I am glad I could help.”
She finally looked up, and he found it hard to swallow. He ought not to let a girl whose family hated him and who was engaged to someone else affect him so. His duty today had been to Walter, and now he’d seen him home.
But he didn’t release his hold on the shirt and stood studying her. Something about her sad eyes and drooping shoulders didn’t seem like Charlotte to him, and he longed to know what was the matter.
“Forgive me, but are you always so complacent?” The words left his mouth before he had the good sense to rein them in.
“Excuse me?” Indignation rose with one of her eyebrows, and Alex found he liked the effect.
“Timidity was never your strong suit, Miss Roylance.”
“I...” She bit her lip in a charming way. “I don’t know what to say. I offered you something, and you declined. Who am I to challenge you?”
Alex peered at her. “Who are you not to?”
Her head cocked to the side. He was merely trying to make a point, he reminded himself. He wasn’t trying to win her over or flirt or prolong his time in her company. Although, all of that sounded quite nice.
“I was comparing your actions against the Miss Roylance I knew years ago. I still cannot accept this shirt, but I was expecting you to put up a fight about it.” He pressed the fabric into her hand and offered a curt bow. She scooped the rumpled shirt toward her waist, and he tried to ignore how pleasant her figure was. He ought to be going. “My hope, Miss Roylance, is that you haven’t lost your passion.”
What had possessed him to say that? He had no right to say that. And what did he know of this woman? The answer was disconcerting: far less than he wished to.
He felt Charlotte’s gaze burning into his cheek. “Thank you, Mr. Jenkins. You are most instructive.” With a swift grasp of her skirts, she executed a one-handed curtsy and then turned toward the house and walked swiftly back through the kitchen garden.
Had he noticed a flash of longing on her face, or was that his imagination?
No, it didn’t do to dwell on things that could not be.
***
