Charlie frowned, and his jaw ticked. He looked straight ahead. Whatever he thought or felt or feared, he buried. “We should go.”
Liza glanced at me questioningly, and I furrowed my brows. What could we say to comfort him? To reassure him that one man’s ill opinion did not mark his character for worse?
There was no tiptoeing around what had just happened. Charlie had attempted an apology, but Lord Langdon had threatened him in return. Angry feelings were one thing, but a threat was entirely another. There was nothing to say, nor anything to be done about it now.
We rode in the carriage for a quarter hour before Liza’s body went limp from sleep. Her head rested on Charlie’s shoulder. There were still hours yet before the sun would rise, but the lanterns and moonlight shone enough light to cast our outlines in the cab.
Charlie sat tall as he watched out his window. My instinct was to comfort him, though I could not be certain he wanted me to. If he cared about me—my stomach sank; what if he did not?—he was too good a man to say it. Too good a man to tempt me away from my commitment to the duke and to my family.
I sat across from him helplessly, unsure of what to do next.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head against my window. My mind was a mess, but my skin remembered the way Charlie’s touch had driven me to distraction. We were halfway to Mrs. Harrelson’s, but I was exhausted. I wanted nothing more than an empty mind, so I drew in even breaths, one after another.
For a moment, I forgot everything.
ChapterTwenty-Two
I awoke with a jacket covering me.
Charlie’s jacket. His hand was patting my arm, his voice gently calling my name. “We are home, Ros.”
Somehow, I stumbled inside the house and into my bed in the dark. But it seemed as soon as I’d fallen onto my pillow, a maid was pressing my shoulder. We had to leave early to make it back to Ivy Manor and home, but early had come far too soon. My mind swam through a fog of last evening’s events. My memories weren’t as sharp, but they were just as piercing.
We made quick time of dressing, and by the time we descended, our things had already been packed into the carriage.
“We must be off,” Liza said to her grandparents. “We are on a strict schedule, unfortunately. But it was so wonderful seeing you both.”
Charlie’s glance met mine for the twentieth time since we’d risen, though neither of us had said a word to the other.
“Oh, do come again soon,” her grandmother said, patting each of us on an arm. “None of you visit me enough.”
“Thank you for your kindness, and for accepting us into your home with such short notice,” I said as I embraced her. I felt as though we’d just arrived.
“Good luck, dear. And congratulations again on such a fortuitous match. I hope the wedding is as lovely as you deserve.”
I flinched, and she gave me an odd look. My wedding. It seemed like such a faraway thing, but it was real, and coming closer every day.
Charlie embraced his grandmother. She whispered something in his ear and squeezed him tighter than she had Liza and me. She walked us out to the carriage, and then we were off. Headed home at last.
“Well, you two are very quiet,” Liza said. She pulled out her pillowcase and began stitching another rose. Her eyes jumped between Charlie and me. “You’ve barely said a word to each other since we awoke.”
Charlie flipped a page in his newspaper without looking up. “How are you this morning, Rosalind?”
“Very well, thank you, Charles,” I replied, trying to appear as unaffected as I could.
“I trust you slept well?”
“Indeed. And you?”
“I tossed and turned all night,” he said.
My heart wedged in my throat as he folded his paper.
Liza raised a brow and looked between us, still stitching away.
“But I have been wondering . . . “ Charlie continued, “you have but one point left on your list. How are you feeling about marrying the duke?”
I choked on air and coughed, raising a hand to my neck. Of all the things to say. For once, I knew exactly what Charlie was thinking about. Me, engaged. The problem was, I did not know how to answer him. And I could not ask him the burning question I’d thought of ceaselessly: How was he feeling about me?
