Margaret glanced sidelong. “Tuesday next.”
“Would you wager Mr. Roylance plans to extend a marriage proposal at said ball?”
“Why, of course.”
“And Miss Roylance. Is she engaged yet?” His heart tightened as he asked it.
“You ask a great deal of questions,” the maid replied.
“That will be the last question, if you’ll answer it,” he said, coming to the side of his desk. He tried to smile kindly, but her eyes were still tight with nerves.
She lowered her voice and clasped her hands together. “Miss Roylance and Lord Ainscough are perfectly suited. They are notyetengaged, but I think it is more than sure they too will be engaged by the end of the ball.”
He nodded, biting back the acrid taste that rose in this throat. As soon as he gestured to the door, she fled, the harsh clang of the handle sounding in his ears.
Releasing his white-knuckled grip on the edge of his desk, he crumpled into his chair. Charlotte and Lord Ainscough. Even the servants thought their future certain. He thought back to his discussions with Charlotte. Lord Ainscough was Yorkshire pudding—not terrible butnother choice. No doubt she felt trapped, forced into this future, to save Alex.
But if shehada choice, would she choose him instead? She had said as much when they last saw each other, but did she still feel the same?
He needed to find out.
If he could just find a way to take her out of the castle without being caught, to sidestep Chris and his tyranny, to give her a chance to make her own decision, he hoped to have a future with her. He couldn’t be completely certain she’d choose him, but what he wanted more than anything was to make sure she had theopportunityto choose in the first place.
Through bleary eyes he glanced at his ledger, the names of the miners he’d lost glaring him in the face. He’d thought his situation dire before.
He would not lose Charlotte too, not if she wanted him.
***
On Saturday morning Moxham stared directly at Alex as he spoke. “Are ye sure?”
“Go.” Alex waved him away with both hands and chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ve told you three times; I can more than manage without you.”
An excited yet semi-reluctant gleam shone in Moxham’s eyes. “I thank ye.” He took a few steps and then turned. “On the night of the ball, I’ll be ready for ye.”
Alex shooed him away again, and the man turned down the road to the castle with a bundle over his shoulder.
Alex knew full well that his own plan, which Moxham had just alluded to, bordered on tomfoolery, but he had worked through the problem for the past day and still hadn’t come up with anything better. He would use the masquerade and its disguises to break into the castle. He knew full well what might happen if he were caught, but he didn’t allow himself to dwell on that possibility. It simply could not happen. No matter the cost, he was determined to ensure Charlotte’s freedom.
Later that afternoon, he hurried to the garden of the parsonage. He’d spoken with Mr. Laurence last night, and the man had said he would do what he could to help. When Alex came to the back of the house, Mr. Laurence stood next to his wife, who leaned on her husband’s arm as they admired some of their produce.
“Mr. Jenkins!” The vicar smiled. “I am glad you have come. I just heard back from the rector, and I can grant your request.”
Alex’s entire body flooded with relief, but his nerves still prickled underneath the surface. “What excellent news! Thank you for your help.” He eyed the vicar and his wife. “You... don’t think me utterly mad?”
Mrs. Laurence gave an eager smile. “Not in the slightest. I’ve been friends with Charlotte a long time, Mr. Jenkins. I remember her asking about you years ago, and to a discerning eye, it’s clear she’s hiding her grief over your parting.”
She nudged her husband, and Mr. Laurence cleared his throat. “We can’t help but root for the longtime favorite.”
Alex sighed. “Even when that favorite is now the arch enemy to our dear friend Christopher?”
Mrs. Laurence waved her hand in front of her and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Christopher Roylance is the most arrogant, self-important—”
“Dear,” the vicar interjected, placing a hand over his wife’s. “No matter what he is, you ought not to say such things.”
She cleared her throat and apologized. “Suffice it to say, Mr. Jenkins, Mr. Roylance is in the wrong.”
Their support buoyed Alex, though in the back of his mind, Christopher’s threats loomed closer and closer. With each passing hour leading up to the ball, Charlotte seemed to slip further away from him and deeper into her brother’s clutches. He could not let that happen. And he had to act quickly before Charlotte became Ainscough’s forever.
