She let the curtain drop and turned back to face the room. The fire crackled and hissed merrily in the grate, but otherwise the room was as silent as the garden. The smell of burnt paper lingered, and Charlotte’s stomach heaved a little in protest. It was just as well she hadn’t touched the tray Mrs. Boyle had brought earlier. She hadn’t taken more than a cup of tea since she arrived. Travel did tend to make her feel ill, but surely by tomorrow she’d have regained her appetite. Perhaps she’d order a large breakfast delivered to her room and dine in bed with a mountain of pillows behind her, like a grand marchioness should.
The case clock struck the half hour.
Seven-thirty. Too early for bed. If she went now, she’d wake early in the morning, and the day did seem endless when one woke too soon.
She resumed her seat in front of the fire, pulled out a fresh sheet, dipped the quill into the ink, and pressed the nib to the paper. She’d write to Ellie.
But what was she to say?
She’d begin with an apology—yes, that was right. She’d apologize for worrying Ellie, who’d no doubt been beside herself this morning when she learned of Charlotte’s disappearance. And shewassorry—of course she was, except she couldn’t quite feel the regret yet because of this strange numbness that clung to her like wet clothing.
But it wasn’t a lie, for surely by tomorrow she’d feel sorry.
She’d best tell Ellie she had no plans to come to Bellwood. Yes, she should get that out of the way at once, or else Ellie would try and persuade her, and Charlotte mustn’t let her, because one couldn’t escape their fate forever, and Hadley House was Charlotte’s fate. She’d hidden from it for a time in London, but now she saw how foolish she’d been to think she could outrun it, outmaneuver it, for it would find you and it would deal out your punishment again and again until you got what you deserved. It would have you in the end, just as this house had her now, locked in its grim embrace, squeezing the life out of her, because it was what she deserved, and London wouldn’t change that, and Bellwood wouldn’t change it and to pretend otherwise was utter madness—
“Lady Hadley? Pardon me, my lady. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Mrs. Boyle hovered in the doorway. She stared at Charlotte, her brow creased with concern.
Charlotte clutched at her quill. Surely she hadn’t been talking to herself? “I—no need to apologize, Mrs. Boyle. I’m afraid I didn’t hear your knock. Is something amiss?”
“Yes, my lady. Ah, that is no, not amiss exactly.” Mrs. Boyle wrung her hands. “You have a visitor. A gentleman.”
“At this time of night? But that’s—”
Oh, dear God. Cam had followed her here, and at a breakneck pace to have made such a quick journey from London, and now he was going to try and make her come with him to Bellwood.
“Shall I show him in, my lady?”
No. Send him away, back to Bellwood and his family where he belongs, and let him leave me here, where I belong.
But she knew very well she couldn’t turn Cam away. “Yes, please do, Mrs. Boyle.”
The housekeeper hurried away. Charlotte came out from behind the desk and took a seat on a settee in front of the fire. She’d have to explain it to Cam, to make him understand why she had to stay here and accept the punishment fate dealt her, that for her to leave now would only make matters worse—
“Captain West, my lady.”
Julian came into the room just as the case clock struck the hour.
Eight chimes.
By the fourth chime Charlotte had no air left in her lungs. By the sixth there was no air left in the room, the house—all of Hampshire. The clock fell silent at last, but by then the fear was a bottomless chasm in her chest, and she couldn’t look at him, couldn’t speak. Without thinking she stumbled to her feet and flew back behind the desk before he could see how badly she was trembling.
Was this what fate wanted from her?
To make me afraid, a coward, and to make me ashamed of it.
Julian saw it all—her trembling, her fear, even her shame, and a look of bitter regret passed over his face, a face already gray with exhaustion. He ran a weary hand though dark hair slick with sweat, then held out both hands in front of him, palms out as if to show her he had no weapon. “It’s all right, Charlotte. You don’t need to run away from me. I came here to help you, to escort you to Bellwood.”
At last an emotion penetrated the fog that had surrounded her since last night, after that terrible scene in Lady Elliot’s garden. Fury, sharp as a scalpel, cleansing.Bellwood. Bellwood. Bellwood. She was sick of the very idea of Bellwood. Even the word made her flesh quiver with anger, and on its heels a resentment so bitter it scraped her throat raw, gagged her.
Cam and Ellie—they’d senthimhere after her?Him. Why? So she could add another nightmare to those that already haunted this house? This place offered her nothing, no relief, no protection, but she’d thought at least to be safe fromhim, and now here he was, his gaze fixed on her, the black eyes aware of her every twitch and shudder. With each tick of the clock she grew more and more transparent. Soon he’d see all the way through.
His words from last night in the garden whispered through her, just as if he’d pressed his lips to her ear.I almost pity Devon… I don’t care about you.…
No. He couldn’t be here.Shecouldn’t be here with his ugly words ringing in her head, growing louder by the moment, their roar deafening her—
But then suddenly, nothing. Silence.
No sooner did the pain threaten to devour her than it retreated, and the blessed numbing fog descended again, leaving her drained, listless. Ah, yes. It was so much better this way. So much easier. “Bellwood. No, Captain, I won’t be going to Bellwood.”
