Somehow, somewhere between fake courtship and stolen kisses, this situation has become terrifyingly real, or has it?
* * *
Charlotte barely slept that night. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Victor standing in the corridor with his hand at her waist, calmly announcing to Mrs. Holly that he intended to marry her. Then her thoughts would turn treacherous and drift toward the library instead, toward his mouth on hers. By dawn, her mind felt entirely exhausted from chasing the same impossible question in circles.
Did he truly mean it?
The morning at Mulford Manor felt strangely quiet. Sunlight poured through the tall windows as servants moved discreetly through the corridors. Charlotte wandered restlessly for nearly an hour before deciding she could no longer tolerate the uncertainty clawing at her chest. If Victor had truly meant to marry her, then surely he ought to say so plainly.
Her slippers tapped quickly against the polished floors as she marched toward his study. Charlotte lifted her hand and knocked firmly upon the heavy door. Silence greeted her. She frowned and knocked again, louder this time.
Still nothing.
“Well,” she muttered under her breath, “that is hardly reassuring.”
“Miss Brown?” came a voice nearby.
Charlotte turned to see Mr. Baxter, the butler, approaching with his usual composed expression. He bowed slightly toward her. “His Grace departed early this morning.”
“Oh.” Charlotte tried not to sound disappointed. “Did he say when he would return?”
“No, Miss Brown.” Mr. Baxter folded his hands neatly behind his back. “His movements today appear rather… urgent.”
Urgent?
The word did nothing to soothe her nerves. Charlotte forced a polite smile anyway. “Thank you, Mr. Baxter.”
“Of course, Miss Brown.”
She walked back upstairs with growing unease curling in her stomach. Perhaps Victor regretted his declaration already. Perhaps he had fled London entirely in horror at what he had done. Perhaps he intended to return and tell her it had all merely been another performance for society’s benefit.
Charlotte pushed open the door to her chamber and stopped dead.
“Hannah?” she blurted.
The maid turned with wide doe-like eyes while holding one of Charlotte’s gowns.
“Oh! Miss Brown, I did not hear you come in.” Charlotte stared in disbelief at the half-packed trunk sitting open upon the bed. Dresses, gloves, ribbons, and books had already been neatly folded inside.
“What exactly are you doing?” Charlotte asked.
Hannah blinked at her in confusion. “Packing your belongings, miss.”
Charlotte’s stomach dropped. “Packing?”
“Yes.” Hannah smiled brightly. “His Grace said that seeing as you are now properly engaged, it would not do for you to remain under the same roof together before the wedding.” She loweredher voice excitedly. “How romantic of him to think of such a thing.”
Charlotte thought she might faint directly onto the carpet.
“He arranged for the carriage to take you to your uncle’s residence this afternoon,” Hannah continued cheerfully. “I hope I folded your blue muslin properly. It creases terribly.”
Charlotte stared at her in stunned silence.
So it is real. Real enough to send me away. Real enough for servants to pack my belongings and speak of weddings as settled fact. Victor truly intends to marry me.
“Miss?” Hannah asked nervously. “Have I done something wrong?”
Charlotte quickly gathered herself. “No, no, of course not.” Her voice sounded strangely distant even to herself. “Thank you, Hannah. I shall help you finish.”
