The Captain’s grip upon her fingertips tightened slightly.
‘Then I shall await your decision—at least until I depart. Might I call upon you in two days’ time? I set sail shortly afterwards, but...’ He hesitated. ‘There are things I wish to say to you, and I fear it may be my only opportunity before I leave England.’
Charlotte thought immediately of tomorrow—the arrests, the revelations, the inevitable collapse of the charade.
‘Yes, of course,’ she replied softly.
What did the Captain wish to say to her? Did he intend to propose?
When she had fled her home, Charlotte had never truly imagined marriage for herself, much less the prospect of building a life beside someone kind and dependable. Yet as she danced with the Captain, she found herself imagining precisely that.
If she married him, she might finally travel abroad as she had dreamed of doing since childhood. He was gentle, honourable, agreeable in every respect. She could picture a peaceful marriage with him.
She would be content. Perfectly so.
Then why did the thought leave her feeling so strangely hollow?
A deep, soul-wrenching certainty rose suddenly within her.
No.
She could not marry the Captain.
And then, with a force so sudden it left her reeling, the truth struck her at last.
She was in love with Lord Stanley.
There was no denying it now. It stood before her as plain as daylight itself.
By the time the dance ended, Charlotte felt utterly shaken. How had this happened? She could not even identify the precise moment Lord Stanley—Henry—had somehow forced his way past all her careful defences and settled himself firmly within her heart.
‘Miss Lucas, you look rather pale,’ the Captain said with concern. ‘Please sit here a moment whilst I fetch you a cordial.’
She watched his retreating figure numbly.
The poor man. She had all but allowed him to believe there remained a chance she might accept his hand. But she could not. And she needed to tell him so plainly.
Even if Lord Stanley rejected her, she still could not marry the Captain.
‘Here you are, Miss Lucas.’
She accepted the lemonade with trembling fingers.
‘Captain, I must apologise—but I must make one thing perfectly clear. Regardless of what happens between Lord Stanley and myself... I cannot marry you.’
He looked visibly taken aback. Hurt flickered across his features—and perhaps even a trace of anger. She could hardly blame him.
But he mastered himself admirably.
‘You must do what you feel is best, of course. But if you should ever have a change of heart...’
‘I shall not,’ Charlotte interrupted softly. She simply could not. Her heart belonged elsewhere now.
He nodded sadly. ‘I understand. But we may at least remain friends?’
‘Of course.’
‘Well, in that case—if I am indeed to sail off and join the war against Napoleon, it is hardly certain I shall return. I should like to spend half an hour in the company of a friend before I go.’ He hesitated for a while, as he looked over her, unable to meet her eyes, as though mastering emotions he preferred not to reveal. ‘Perhaps you would permit me to call upon you in two days’ time?’
