Charlotte let the quill slip from her fingers and dragged herself from her chair to the fireplace. She held the letter over the flames, watching with fixed attention as the edges of the paper began to blacken and curl.
Odd, how much easier it was to write lies than to speak them. It shouldn’t be, for a paper and ink lie would last long after mere words were forgotten. Then again, with letters one needn’t look into the face of the deceived.
Only when the glowing flame began to singe her fingertips did Charlotte toss the letter into the fire. These lies had flowed easily enough, yet it wouldn’t serve, just the same. Annabel was no fool—she’d know this letter at once for what it was. The trouble was, the truth wouldn’t serve, either.
Something between the two, then. Charlotte returned to her desk and took up her quill.
My dearest Annabel,
I feel rather like a condemned criminal, sneaking away from London without as much as a word of warning. I hope you’ll forgive me, and will share my regrets with Lissie and Aurelie.
Lord Devon will have told you by now I’ve rejected his suit, though it gave me no pleasure to do so. I’ve been contemplating a sojourn in the country for some time, and given the awkwardness likely to arise from my refusal it seemed an ideal time to go. I beg you won’t worry yourself for me, but will look forward with anticipation to such a time as I may return to London and resume our friendship, though I can’t say as yet how long I may linger in Hampshire.
Such times we had this season, Annabel! I assure you, nothing Hadley House offers can console me for the loss of your diverting company. I feel it most keenly, but I will try and console myself over the long winter months with fond memories of our many adventures together—
Charlotte tossed the quill aside and pushed away from the desk.
It still wouldn’t do. Her friends were far too clever to believe she’d fled in the night to escape Devon, and it was horribly unfair to blame him for her cowardly retreat. God knew he deserved far better from her than she’d ever been capable of giving him.
But then so had they all. Devon, and Hadley before him, and before Hadley…
No. She wouldn’t think on it. She picked up the quill for the third time and bent over the paper.
Dearest Annabel,
I’d thought to have time to call on you before I left for Hampshire, but circumstances with my family are such that a precipitate departure for Hadley House seemed preferable for all concerned. I think, my dear, the solitude here will do me a world of good, though I confess it’s rather an unpleasant shock after the gaiety of London—
A world of good. Such a glaring deception. If she couldn’t write truthfully, perhaps it would be best if she didn’t write at all. But what if the widows should take it into their heads to come after her? A shudder slid down her spine at the thought of her vivacious friends suffocating under the gloom of this place.
She pushed the sheet aside, retrieved fresh paper from the desk drawer, and dipped her quill in the ink.
Dear Annabel,
You must not follow me here. Forgive me.
I am ever your friend,
Charlotte
Her fingers shook as she folded the letter and affixed her seal. There. It was done, and now…
Now, nothing.
The case clock on the first floor landing struck seven times.
She glanced toward the glass doors behind the desk. Her housekeeper, Mrs. Boyle had drawn the curtains, but now Charlotte rose and pulled them aside to look out. The doors opened to a terrace with a set of shallow steps leading out into a small private garden.
Seven o’clock.
Hadley House boasted magnificent formal gardens and endless acres of parkland, but this tiny garden was her favorite. This room too, so snug, not like the other rooms, which tended toward high-ceilings and draftiness. Of course, the house had been designed to announce wealth rather than provide comfort for the hapless family who happened to live here, but this little study and the garden beyond were a small oasis in an otherwise vast desert of formal rooms and endless hallways. Why, she could slip right out these doors and into the garden without anyone taking any notice of where she’d gone. One couldn’t see into the garden from the master’s suite of rooms, or from the dowager’s apartments, and should someone in one of those rooms be screaming, one couldn’t hear it once the doors closed behind them.
Charlotte pressed her face against the glass. Perhaps she’d go outside now. It wasn’t so dark yet she couldn’t see the outline of the stone balustrades on either side of the wide staircase, and the shadows cast by the tall hedges in the garden beyond. Fresh air—yes, that was what she needed, and yet…
The shadows pressed upon her. She’d forgotten how deep the darkness, how profound the silence in the country. It was a shock compared to the chaos of London, but after a few weeks here she wouldn’t notice the shadows anymore. The silence.
Just a few weeks, and it would be as if she’d never left Hadley House at all.
Perhaps she’d go out tomorrow, instead.
