“He was here on temporary work. He was to leave after the ball.” Alex clenched his jaw.
“The spy will have to do, I suppose.” Chris called over two grooms from the stables. “Hold this man until I return,” he said. “Joseph, stand guard.” He turned toward Charlotte. “It’s far past time for you to be in bed.”
***
Despite the throbbing, squeezing pressure on her arm, Charlotte fought with everything she could to delay Christopher. If only a guest stumbled upon them—but his grip grew more excruciating until she couldn’t ignore the pain.
“You won’t be able to get away,” he growled. “You’ve lost. Can’t you see that every time you struggle, things get worse for Jenkins?”
Charlotte turned to look over her shoulder, wondering if it was the last time she’d see Alex, and Christopher paused. The darkness of the night didn’t fully hide Alex’s pain or the watery glimmer she saw in his eyes. She’d seen him like this before—that day in the woods nine years ago. Defeated, stone cold.
“I don’t know why you still care about him after you learned what he really wants,” Christopher said, huffing out another breath and yanking her with him.
She raised her hand to her neck and clung to her necklace, the proof that she and Alex were meant to be together. With all the strength she could muster, she said, “You didn’t give him time to explain.”
Christopher was silent as he continued to pull her up the walkway. She was in a corner, just like Alex, and Christopher held all the cards. Acquiescence was her only option.
“Please, Chris,” she said as they ascended the back steps. “Let him go. Don’t hurt him. I beg you.”
“You keep yourself out of this,” he hissed.
“And what happens when Mother finds out?”
A menacing chuckle escaped him. “Ha! She won’t. She’s far too inebriated, and when she comes to her senses, none of my siblings would be idiotic enough to mention any particulars of the evening.”
He was right. Giving Mother the particulars would only make things worse for Charlotte. She hated how he’d worked his claws into every facet and came out triumphant.
She winced, the pins in her hair aching against the back of her head. They were nothing to the sharp pains in her heart that constricted every breath.
Christopher called a footman and then marched her up the main stairs to her room, as though she were a disobedient child, and slammed the door behind her, instructing a footman to stand guard all evening.
As soon as the bolt clicked, Charlotte turned, pent-up rage and agony coursing through her veins. She balled her hands into fists and pressed them against the door. How had it come to this?
In the silence she strode to her balcony. From her vantage, she saw into the dark night. The wind howled against her face, mocking her. A solitary candle in one window extinguished, and the entire castle seemed utterly asleep and unaware of the agony of the night. If she strained her head enough, she could also view the garden. Somewhere, beyond that hedgerow, Alex had kissed her.
And then the ever-present murder of crows started to caw, loud and insistent through the moonlight. Each piercing call sent daggers into her heart, and she wished she could throw stones at every single one.
The weight of the imminent, terrible future hung dizzily before her mind. This was all her fault. Christopher had never missed a shot in his life, and Alex would be fatally wounded by morning. She should never have let him stay. Never accepted his plan during their dance. Never returned his caress and fallen into his embrace.
Back in town, the vicar and Mrs. Laurence waited for them to come, but they never would.
And somewhere between town and her lay the woods. Her land. The most valuable thing about her. She was nothing more than the trees that stood there. That was why people wanted her. Why her mother valued her. Why Christopher maneuvered everyone and everything to his advantage. And, perhaps, though she couldn’t imagine it to be true, a strong reason Alex wanted to marry her.
Nothing she’d ever said or done had truly mattered to anyone.
“No matter what you say,”Alex had said once,“your words will never matter.”
Those awful words had never felt more true.
The invisible weight of them pressed on her from every side, and the pressure threatened to crush her. In her anguish she slumped against the window seat and looked up.
And it was then that the stars glimmered brighter than ever.
The stars. Was Alex right? Did God care?
At the very least, God’s hand had to be in the stars, for such vastness wasn’t controlled by men. The same was true for the trees. They rose to the sky without man’s volition. Maybe God’s hand was in nature. And if His hand was in those trees, those stars, the very air... maybe His hand was in her life too.
Maybe He cared about her more than the trees. Maybe she was more than a pawn in her family. Maybe she was worth something merely because she existed, not because of what name or property was associated with her.
