“And there,” Elizabeth continued, “is Victor’s father, my son. Very handsome, was he not?”
Charlotte inclined her head politely, though she felt a strange tightening in her chest.
“He bears a resemblance,” she said carefully.
Elizabeth beamed. “And when you and Victor have children, their portraits shall hang here as well,” she added with cheerful certainty.
Charlotte nearly missed a step. “Your Grace,” she said gently, “I must once again clarify that I am not…”
“Nonsense,” Elizabeth said, patting her hand. “You are far too modest, my dear.”
Charlotte pressed her lips together, resisting the urge to sigh. “I assure you, there is no engagement,” she said.
“Yes, yes,” Elizabeth murmured, already drifting. “Such a sweet girl.”
Charlotte allowed the matter to rest, though inwardly she felt the familiar prickle of discomfort.
Generations of nobility and grandeur, I am more aware now than ever, that I do not belong in such a place. Such wealth. Such power. And I… and my family in ruins.
“I believe I should like to rest,” Elizabeth said suddenly. “All this walking has quite tired me.”
“Of course,” Charlotte replied at once, guiding her gently from the gallery. “Let us return to your room.”
She settled Elizabeth into bed with practiced care, ensuring she was comfortable before drawing the curtains slightly.
“There we are,” she said softly. “You shall feel much better after a rest.”
“You are a good girl,” Elizabeth murmured sleepily. “Victor is fortunate.”
Charlotte smiled faintly, though she did not reply. Once the dowager had drifted off, she slipped quietly from the room, closing the door behind her.
The manor felt particularly still as she made her way downstairs, the silence almost echoing in the midday light.
“Perhaps I might find a book,” she murmured to herself, turning toward the library.
She had just reached the corridor when a sudden noise broke the quiet, a sharp, metallic clang from behind a nearby door.
Charlotte froze.
Her gaze shifted slowly to the door.
The door I have been expressly forbidden to enter.
CHAPTER 4
Charlotte grabbed a small candlestick. She clutched it tightly in her hand as the metallic clang echoed once more from behind the forbidden door.
Her heart quickened, each beat louder than the last, and when she heard a voice, low, unfamiliar, and distinctly not the duke’s, her resolve hardened at once.
“An intruder,” she whispered to herself, her mind racing with dreadful possibilities.
Squaring her shoulders, she raised her makeshift weapon and pushed the door open without further hesitation. The scene that met her was not at all what she had expected.
Charlotte halted abruptly, her breath catching as she stared at the duke, very much not in danger, and even less appropriately dressed. He stood near a desk, shirtless, while a woman beside him gasped and hastily gathered her things. The lady turnedaway at once, covering her face as though Charlotte herself were the scandal, and fled past her in a flurry of silk and embarrassment.
Charlotte remained rooted to the spot, still holding the candlestick aloft.
“I… I…” she began, then stopped entirely, her thoughts colliding in utter disarray. “I believed there was an intruder.”
