She breathed deeply and steadied herself. “You all decided what best suited your narrative. That I was a vain, foolishcreature who ran off with him for theromance of it.” She swallowed, pushing down her fury and humiliation. “And when he said no one would believe me, I knew he spoke the truth—for you never even thought to question it. You were all so eager to believe the worst.”
The duke flinched, a hand rising halfway before falling uselessly to his side. “Charlotte—”
“You never once inquired if I was safe or had been harmed. If I was frightened. And I was, Your Grace—I was frightened beyond reason. Imagine being taken by carriage in the night to some godforsaken house and kept there for days! The doors were locked, the servants bribed, and no one knew where I had gone.”
The words were pouring out of her now and she found she could not hold them in. “He was in that room with me, night and day. I did not eat, I did not sleep. I believed I should never leave. I thought—“
She drew a breath, her composure breaking at the edges. “And when you came, when you and Langley burst through that door, I was so relieved to be rescued. And you scolded me.” Her voice cracked. “As though I were his partner in some mischief, not his victim.”
“Charlotte, I had no notion—”
“You said it was a lesson I would not soon forget. And indeed, I learnt it well. I realised quite quickly that it was less shameful to be thought a fool than to confess the truth: that I was frightened, and used, and that I could no longer recognise the girl I had been before.”
She fell silent, and clasped her hands to still them, but the tremor would not quite cease. Jasper had sunk down onto the lowest terrace step, pale as she had ever seen him.
The duke, by contrast, stood red and towering before her. His jaw was set, but his eyes betrayed him; they burnt not withoutrage now, but with shame. “Did Marchmont… did he force you?”
Lottie hesitated. “No. Not as you mean it. But fear can be a most persuasive gaoler.”
“Then it is much the same thing,” the duke said hoarsely. “By God, the man shall answer for it. He shall be made to stand trial for abduction, for coercion, for—”
“For what, Your Grace?” she interrupted, suddenly cold. “It is my word against a titled gentleman. You would have me sit before a row of solemn-faced men while they debate the extent of my disgrace? You would have them decide whether I was unwillingenoughto deserve their pity?”
“Your word would be enough,” he said sharply. “Your father is a lord, and so am I. Marchmont would not escape unscathed.”
“Unscathed? Oh, no—he would bechastised.At most, a fine, and nothing more than he has already suffered at the mercy of your fist. The law does not trouble itself to wound a man of rank, Your Grace. Meanwhile, I should be the talk of every drawing room until the end of days. Every whisper will ask the same question:was she willing?”
Her eyes shone, but she would not cry. Not for any of them. “I am sotired,Your Grace, of men deciding my fate. My future. My very worth. I will not have another lord, or magistrate, or father determine what should become of me.” She drew a breath. “So yes, if the world insists upon seeing me as the foolish, ruined girl, then I shall play the part to perfection. At least then, for once, it shall be my choice.”
Chapter 35
There are moments in a man’s life when words fail him entirely, and for Jasper Deverell, this was such a moment.
He had thought himself a man of charm, and quite equal to any conversation—but no wit, however sharp, could touch what Miss Charlotte Tolliver had just laid bare. It had silenced and sobered him utterly, and he found himself almost grateful that she had swept past them into the rose gardens with her head held high, leaving the two of them to flounder most inelegantly in the debris of their own reflections.
He had always considered her defiance a sort of glorious, reckless sport—a battle of wits between equals. It had not occurred to him until this moment that perhaps she broke Society’s rules only because they had first contrived to break her.
The Duke of Morleigh stood before him, a monument of pride and mortification, his hands clasped behind his back and his expression as fixed as if he were carved from stone. The silence between them stretched uncomfortably.
Jasper cleared his throat. “Well. That went rather poorly.”
The duke turned to him with the look of a man who might, at any moment, decide to commit murder. “Deverell, if you have any intention of making light of what has just transpired—“
“None whatsoever,” Jasper said quickly. “I find myself wholly bereft of humour. A distressing development, I assure you.” He paused, then added more soberly, “You may glare at me all you wish, Your Grace, but it will not change the fact thatyouhave done very poorly byher, indeed.”
The duke’s head snapped up. “You forget yourself, sir.”
“On the contrary,” Jasper replied evenly, though his heart was hammering an unhelpfully rapid tattoo, “I am only just beginning to remember what sort of man I ought to be.”
The duke simply stared at him for a long moment, and Jasper thought fleetingly that Morleigh must have been a terrifying presence in the cavalry—one of those men whose authority needed no announcement and whose fury alone could scatter a regiment. Still, Jasper held his ground, for he was no coward, though certainly a fool.
The duke broke first, running a hand over his face. “God help me,” he muttered. “I have made a damnable mess of it.”
Jasper blinked, before snorting a laugh. It was not the confession he had expected of the man. “You are not the only one.”
The duke sighed heavily and, to Jasper’s astonishment, moved to sit upon the step beside him.
“I have no siblings, Deverell,” he said after a moment. “Certainly, no sisters. No notion of how to manage such tempests.” He gestured helplessly towards the rose garden where Lottie had vanished.
