Lionel’s lips curved into a rare smile. “How refreshing,” he said. “I cannot recall the last time my brother was so thoroughly rejected.”
Victor did not look at him. His gaze remained fixed on Charlotte, thoughtful and unreadable.
“Do not stay too long outside. There could be an uncomfortable chill,” he said, his tone returning to its calm authority.
Charlotte opened her mouth to reply, but he had already turned away, Lionel following with a faint chuckle. She watched them go, her irritation rising.
How rude. The nerve of that man.
Elizabeth patted her arm. “Men are often so… curt,” she said wisely.
Charlotte exhaled, forcing herself to regain composure. “Come, Your Grace,” she said, offering her arm once more. “Let us enjoy the air while we may.”
And yet, as she walked beside the dowager, she could not quite dismiss the memory of his hand at her back, nor the way he had spoken as though the matter were already decided. Which, she thought with a faint scowl, made it all the more difficult to ignore.
It is infuriating, presumptuous, and entirely unacceptable. How shall I manage in such a place… with such a man?
CHAPTER 3
Charlotte sat at the small writing desk in her comfortable bedchamber, her candle flickering softly as she attempted to collect her thoughts for a letter home to her mother. It was the only way she could sleep otherwise, the thoughts bounced around in her mind too loudly.
The events of the day had unfolded with such speed and unpredictability that she scarcely knew how to order them in her mind. From securing the position to being mistaken for a duchess-in-waiting, it had been nothing short of astonishing.
“He is insufferable,” she murmured to herself, though whether she referred to the duke or the situation as a whole, she could not quite decide.
A faint sound reached her ears, something between a shuffle and a confused murmur echoing through the corridor. Charlotte paused, her brow furrowing as she listened more closely. The manor had been quiet when she retired. Rising at once, she stepped into the hallway.
What could that be?
The sight that greeted her was both concerning and entirely unsurprising. Elizabeth stood several doors down, dressed only in her nightgown, turning slowly in place as though the corridor itself had become unfamiliar.
“Oh dear,” the dowager murmured, her voice soft with uncertainty. “This is not quite right, is it?”
Charlotte hurried toward her at once. “Your Grace,” she said gently, “you are quite safe, I assure you.”
Elizabeth looked at her with visible relief.
“My dear,” she said, reaching for Charlotte’s hand, “I cannot seem to find my room. I do not know how I came to be in the corridor.”
Charlotte smiled reassuringly.
“That is quite all right,” she replied. “I shall take you back myself.” She offered her arm, guiding Elizabeth carefully down the corridor.
“I thought I heard Peter,” Elizabeth continued, her tone wistful. “I did not wish to keep him waiting.”
Charlotte’s heart softened at once.
That is her husband. I remember from what the Duke said.
“You must not trouble yourself,” she said kindly. “You may rest now, and all will be well in the morning.”
Elizabeth nodded, though her gaze remained distant.
They reached her chamber soon enough, and Charlotte settled her gently back into bed, ensuring the covers were properly arranged. “There we are,” she said softly. “You shall be quite comfortable now.”
“You are a good girl,” Elizabeth said, her voice warm with affection. “Victor has chosen well.”
Charlotte bit back a sigh, though she managed a polite smile.
