Page 74

He raced through getting ready with the valet, being tempted at least half a dozen times to walk through their adjoining door, take her in his arms, and give her the proposal she deserved—a proposal that declared just how much he loved her and just how much he prayed she would spend the rest of her life with him.

But he could hardly do so if she were in a state of undress or if her lady’s maid was present. He wished for his declaration to be memorable. Loving. And most importantly, private.

So instead of barging in on her, he waited, pacing back and forth about his room, ignoring piles of business letters needing attention on his desk and wishing he were back in the cottage so he could hear if she was finished or not.

Just before the last of his patience drained, Charles headed for the adjoining door. Let propriety be hanged. He needed to declare his love.

He raised his hand to knock, but another tapping sounded behind him. His heart skipped a beat. Had Marie used the other door?

With quick feet, Charles answered the knocking, his disappointment keen as his valet appeared instead.

“Yes?” Charles asked gruffly.

“Forgive the intrusion, sir, but Mr. Page has arrived from London and requests an audience in the library.”

Dread pulled its heavy weight across Charles’s shoulders. Weeks ago, he would have died for news from his steward. Now, he cursed the man’s timing. Charles couldn’t put off speaking with him, either. Not when Marie deserved to know what the steward had determined.

What had Mr. Page determined?

Charles’s stomach churned. He peered over his shoulder, staring at their adjoining door before squaring his shoulders and leaving his room. In a matter of moments, he stood with Mr. Page, holding his breath as he listened to the steward’s knowledge.

“I’ve good and bad news, sir,” Mr. Page said. “I’ve discovered that one has the grounds to request an annulment if there is evidence that both parties were forced to sign the wedding document, which I believe both of you have.” He hesitated. “The bad news, however, is that no matter how hard I searched for an answer, there is absolutely no guarantee that an annulment would not injure either you or your wife’s reputation.”

Charles took the news in stride. This was exactly the answer his logic had expected. And yet, no relief came. He may no longer feel trapped within his marriage, but Marie might.

The last fortnight flashed through his mind. The looks she’d given him, the way she’d kissed him, how she’d brought him to the fair for their first adventure together. Then Tristan’s voice rose within his mind.

“You’re a fool, Charles.”

Hope took flight in his chest. He was a fool. And often. But tonight he wouldn’t be.

Marie had seen Mr. Page arrive.

“The guests are already here?” Jane had asked.

But when they’d both peered down from the window, they’d recognized the steward instead.

Marie hadn’t been able to concentrate since, and the moment Jane left her room, Marie’s eyes flicked to Charles’s door.

Was he in there waiting to share the news with her? Or would he wait for tomorrow?

Well, Charles may want to wait, but she could not. Picking up her soft pink skirts and heading toward the adjoining door, Marie forced herself to take courage. She had no hope of spending another ball in front of a crowd pretending that all was well between her and her husband—when she did not know if all was well. Things could have changed for Charles. Being around his parents again could have reminded him of his feelings from before—how trapped he was within this choiceless marriage.

She hesitated a moment before softly knocking on the door, but no answer came. Twice more she knocked, and twice more there was no reply.

Was he speaking with Mr. Page downstairs, or had he perhaps fallen asleep from their rigorous journey?

Slowly, she opened the door a crack with another knock. “Charles?”

No response came. She entered the room more fully, greeted at once by the smell of his cologne and the tidy nature of the space—aside from the mess of letters strewn about his desk.

Still, there was no sign of Charles.

With a sigh, she made to retreat. As she turned, she brushed too closely against the desk, and a few letters fluttered to the floor.

Swiftly, she picked them up and stacked them together before laying them on the desk. She made to turn away, but when her eye snagged on her own name written upon the top correspondence, she froze.

This is not yours, Marie, do not read it.