Lucy removed another gown from the trunk, pausing to unwrap the protective tissue paper from the long skirts. “I don’t know why you brought so many ball gowns! We’ll only be here for a few weeks and except for the wedding, there are no formal events.”

Verity, who was peering out the window, answered in an absent tone, “I know, but now I’ll have a variety of choices for the wedding day, which is good, for I have no idea what colors Olivia will wear, and I cannot clash with my own sister-in-law or—Oh!” She straightened. “There’s Charlotte, returning from her ride now.”

“Just in time for tea,” Lucy said.

“Yes, and—” Verity’s eyes widened. “Oh, my.”

Lucy paused in hanging yet another gown. “What is it, my lady?”

“She’s not alone. Did we pack my opera glasses? They would be most useful.”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Drat it. It’s difficult to tell from this distance, but her companion looks to be very handsome—”

“What?” Lucy was already peering over Verity’s shoulder. “Oh my. He does, indeed. Is that the fiancé?”

“No. The viscount is blonde. Old Viking blood, I suspect. Personally, I prefer a dark-haired man, one with shoulders like – well, like that one.” My dear Charlotte, where did you find that treasure? Perhaps Nimway Hall wasn’t as secluded as Verity thought.

Lucy agreed. “Dark-haired men are much more handsome. Take Lord Rackingham, for example.”

Verity had done just that, and on more than one occasion, but all she said was, “I wonder who this gentleman might be? His clothing is quite fine, and—Oh! He has left her and ridden down the path to the stables.”

“Perhaps he’s returning his mount. He must be one of those gentlemen who like to oversee the care of their own horses. Men who like to hunt often do such things.”

“I suppose so,” Verity said. “Perhaps it’s best he won’t be with Charlotte when I see her. That way I can ask about him.”

Charlotte was now approaching the house, her horse clipping along at a smooth trot.

“What a monstrous huge animal,” Lucy said in a critical tone. “I’ve never seen a lady ride such a brute.”

“The horse is large, but while she’s a handful with others, she’s quite gentle with Charlotte.” Or so Verity’s brother Jack had insisted when she’d some something quite similar.

A groom hurried forward to hold Charlotte’s horse and she dismounted. She looked at the coach as she unpinned her hat and tucked it under arm, speaking for a few moments with the groom before she came inside.

“Oh no, the poor thing is limping!” Lucy frowned. “That big horse must have thrown her—”

“She always limps,” Verity said shortly, snapping the curtain to. “But not overtly so. In fact, she limps a very little, and even then, she does it gracefully.”

“She limps gracefully? How can anyone—” Verity’s expression froze the main’s words in place. After a moment, Lucy cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, my lady. I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, you weren’t. There’s a little problem with my niece’s back. It isn’t as straight as it could be.”

“Such a pity, my lady.”

“Indeed. She was fine until she was about twelve, and then they noticed the curve. It grew worse every year until she was fifteen, when it stopped. It was a great relief for us all, but especially to Charlotte, for it stopped that wretched horde of doctors with their tortuous cures.”

“One of the must have worked.”

“I doubt it. I think it just stopped because she was no longer growing. If you knew what that child has been through – painful braces and weights and some contraption where she was suspended from her shoulders for hours— Oh dear! When I think about it now, it sickens me. It was quite unfair, although there was no choice. We all wanted her to be better. Thankfully, all that’s left is that Charlotte has one hip slightly higher than the other and a tell-tale limp, but nothing worse.”

Lucy tsked. “Poor Miss Charlotte. So pretty, and to be crip—”

“You wretch! Don’t you ever say that again!”

Lucy’s mouth dropped open.

“I’m leaving. I am going to visit my lovely and perfect niece.” Verity yanked her shawl from where she’d dropped it on a chair, tossed it about her shoulders, and swept to the door. “You, meanwhile, will stay here and finish unpacking!”

Without waiting for an answer, Verity slammed the door behind her. In stiff outrage, she marched down the hallway. She reached the stairwell where she stopped to lean against the wall and took several deep breaths. She shouldn’t have lost her temper, but oh, how she hated the heavy-handed term Lucy had flung about as if that cold and cruel word didn’t weigh a thing.

Verity might not have children of her own, but her feelings for her nieces and nephew had made her all too aware of both the joy and the pain of being a parent. She was so upset now that her hands shook and she could barely think. To calm herself, she took some deep breaths, spent some time admiring the lovely new carpet her sister-in-law had purchased for the hallway, and imaged herself slapping her maid repeatedly for her impertinent behavior, Verity calmed down. She smoothed her hair, adjusted her shawl, and then continued downstairs where found Charlotte speaking to Simmons just inside the great hall.

“Aunt Verity!” Charlotte’s smile lifted Verity’s mood. “I was on my way to see you!” She left the butler and hurried forward, her boots muffled by the thick rugs on the floor.

The last time Verity had seen her niece, she’d been dressed in a faded, worn riding habit, one cuff torn loose, her hair tangled with twigs, her cheeks flushed from a wild ride she’d just taken through the fields surrounding Nimway. Today, less than a year later, she was dressed in a fashionable brushed wool riding habit of sapphire blue, her hair coiffed in a current style, a beautiful fall of lace spilling from the neck of her fitted habit. Except for her slightly sun-darkened skin, she could easily have been any of a number of young women of fashion.

But as she drew closer, Verity saw that a few auburn curls had come loose from their pins and lay tangled on her niece’s shoulder, while grass clung to her skirt beside a stain near her knee.

Verity breathed a sigh of relief. There’s still some of the old Charlotte left. Thank God for that. She held out her arms. “Charlotte, my dear, how are you?”

Charlotte sank into her aunt’s perfumed hug with a laugh. Oh, how she loved her Aunt Verity! No one made Charlotte laugh more. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming. Mama was certain you’d arrive last Tuesday.”

“Your Mama was ever the optimist, but even she must have known I could not miss the Duchess of Richmond’s ball. It was a costumed affair, and you know how I love those.”

Charlotte smiled. When she was a child, one of her favorite past times had been going through her aunt’s closet, as it had been stuffed with glittering gowns and elaborate costumes. “Did you wear that lovely swan mask you showed me the last time I visited?”

“Oh no. I wore the swan costume to the masquerade at a private dinner at Vauxhall for the Earl of Cragnair nigh on six months ago. When one is in society, one cannot wear the same costume twice. That would be gauche.”

“So what did you wear to the Richmond ball?”

“I dressed in a silver gown and went as Venus. It was risqué but tasteful. My new maid Lucy put my hair up in such a way, what with silver ribbands and bows and little arrows and – well, it was perfection. No one could say enough about it.” Aunt Verity, who always looked as if she were half asleep, flashed her easy smile, although her eyes seemed unusually bright as she examined Charlotte. “You look radiant, my dear, but I do wish you’d stay out of the sun. You’re getting quite dark, and that will never do.”

Charlotte chuckled. “Now you sound just like Mama.”

“Your Mama is a woman of great sense and, I must say, has shown an exceptional talent for decorating.” Verity gestured around the great hall where two new chandeliers, freshly upholstered furniture, and numerous gold framed paintings were on display. “So many changes! I almost didn’t recognize it.”

That was an exaggeration, Charlotte decided. Even with the new decorations, the great hall was a still very much a relic of time past. With its heavy dark mahogany paneling and the huge, medieval style fireplace in the far wall, accented by heavy oak beams that spanned the entire width of the ceiling, the great hall still whispered of times gone by. In fact, if she closed her eyes, she could imagine kings and queens holding court before the fireplace, knights in shining armor eyeing a bevy of beautifully gowned ladies-in-waiting.

Even with many changes Mama had wrought on the hall, there was no way to completely eradicate the historical feel of the room. I’m glad for that. This is the heart of the house and it shouldn’t be changed.

Simmons, who’d been waiting a respectful distance away while Charlotte greeted Aunt Verity, now cleared his throat. “Forgive me for intruding, but although Lady Barton had tea when she first arrived, I wonder if she’d enjoy another cup? It is a bit damp today.”

“Lud, yes,” Aunt Verity said fervently.

The butler smiled. “I’ll make certain you have extra sugar for your tea, as well.”

Aunt Verity couldn’t have looked more pleased. “Simmons, you must come and work for me at Chase Manor.”

Charlotte gasped with laughter. “Aunt Verity! You shouldn’t attempt to steal Mama’s butler!”

“All is fair in love and servants, and your Mama would be the first to agree.”

The butler bowed, looking pleased. “I’m honored, but I cannot accept your kind offer. Mr. Harrington would not allow it, as you know.”

Aunt Verity made a face. “My brother can be so infuriating. I suppose I shall have to make do with inept Rochester. He can barely hear, you know, and is cross as a bear.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Rochester loves you and you would be sad if he were not there to greet you when you got home. Now come. Leave poor Simmons alone.” She linked arms with her aunt and led the way to the sitting room.

As soon as they entered the sitting room, Aunt Verity sailed to the settee closest to the fire and collapsed upon it, looking around the room with approval. “Your mother has done wonders with this room.” She picked up a cream silk pillow and smoothed the blue tassel that hung from one corner. “I do love the neoclassical style.”

“I warned you Mama was redecorating the entire house.” Or rather, expelling everything that wasn’t nailed down. It wasn’t that Charlotte didn’t like the changes; they were all quite beautiful and it was nice to see Nimway Hall get the love she deserved. It was more a feeling of being left behind, as if Mama were purging the house of everything Caroline had so much as looked at, including Charlotte.

She pushed the uncomfortable thoughts away and sat beside her aunt. “I’m so glad you came.”

“I would not have missed it for the world, although I do hope your mama’s desire to redecorate does not include construction.”

“Nothing so elaborate. Mainly new wallpaper, rugs, furniture, and curtains, although she has commissioned a new marble fireplace for the dining hall, which is to be installed in the next few weeks.” Charlotte tried to ignore her memory of dark, chocolate-colored eyes, and a lop-sided smile that could charm a stone into a smile, but failed.

“Lud, I hope there’s no banging and hammering at odd hours. I need my sleep.” Aunt Verity propped her feet on a small stool, her skirts rustling in the quiet. “So tell me, my child, what tiresome tasks are we to oversee while I’m here? Your mother said something about a dressmaker.”

“I have fittings for my trousseau. Mama is worried it won’t be ready in time.”

“Ah yes. Your wedding.” Aunt Verity’s sleepy gaze rested on Charlotte’s face. “It is soon, isn’t it?”

“In a month.” One month . . . Goodness, that is so very close. Charlotte’s heart sank and it took all of her efforts to keep her smile in place. “Mama is an uproar over the decorations for the chapel, the invitations for the wedding breakfast, the flowers for service, and – oh so many things. It’s kept her busy.”

“Which is good since Caroline—” Aunt Verity’s lips quivered, her soft face folding as emotion overtook her.

“Please don’t cry.” Charlotte dug her kerchief out of her pocket, and handed it to her aunt. When Charlotte had been growing up, she’d refused to keep a handkerchief in her pocket. Mama had scolded, saying all ladies carried them, but Charlotte had resisted. Or she had until things had changed, until tears had become as common place as the sun rising.

Now Charlotte never left her room without her handkerchief.

Aunt Verity dabbed at her eyes. “I’m so sorry! I vowed not to mention her, and yet here I am. ‘Tis sad, but I cannot be trusted with a delicate situation. It’s against my nature.”

“You are too like me, saying what you think.”

Aunt Verity placed her hand on her niece’s knee. “It’s a curse, isn’t it?”

“A horrid one.” Charlotte mustered a smile, even though her chest ached as if someone were sitting on it. She was getting quite good at that, at smiling when she didn’t feel like it, and she wondered if she was now more mask than face.

Aware that her aunt was watching her, Charlotte added, “I worry about Mama. She misses Caroline dreadfully.”

“I know,” Aunt Verity said with a sigh. “How’s my dear brother doing?”

“Papa’s been busy cheering up Mama, which has helped him more than anything. They are getting better slowly.” Charlotte shook her head ruefully. “After all this time, they are still madly in love. They’ve set a bar none of us will ever rise to.”

“I’m perfectly certain you’ll attain their level of marital bliss. Or you will if you marry the right man.” Aunt Verity gave Charlotte a direct look. “You are marrying the right man, aren’t you?”

Goodness, why would Aunt Verity say such a thing? “Of course I am. I’ve known Viscount Ashbrook since I was a child. Why, John, Caroline, and I were practically raised with Robert here at Nimway and Mama believes he will be a calm, steady husband.”

“I know Ashbrook, for he was always underfoot when you were growing up. I must say, though, I cringe at the concept of a calm, steady husband. You don’t have the Harrington auburn hair because you’re ‘calm’ and ‘steady.’ The Harrington passion complicates all of our lives and leads us to do the most reprehensible things. Just show a Harrington a rule, and they will break it. How would your calm, steady Robert handle that, I wonder?”

“Things have changed in the last year. I’ve changed. I’m not the scofflaw you think me.”

Aunt Verity reached out to pluck a blade of grass that had tangled with the lace on Charlotte’s skirt. “Really?”

“I was walking in the garden earlier.” Charlotte smoothed her gown and slipped her feet back so that they were covered by the skirts of her riding habit. She could only hope she’d gotten all the mud from her boots. It was possible that before her intriguing encounter in the woods with a lost sculptor, she’d visited her favorite spot beside the stream that cut through Balesboro Wood. There, away from the watchful eyes of the servants, she’d sat upon a rock, stripped off her boots and stockings, and trailed her bare feet in the cool water. So far, it’s been a lovely day.

“Stubborn, that’s what you are. I vow, but you are so much like my brother that I could scream.” Aunt Verity sighed. “So where is Ashbrook now?”

“He’s in London at his cousin’s house taking care of some business before the wedding.” I think. To be honest, Charlotte only knew Robert was in London because she’d noted the postmark on the hasty note she’d received from him a month ago. The note had been no more than a two-line scrawl informing her that, once again, he was postponing his return to Nimway and how he knew she would understand and wouldn’t mind. This time, he hadn’t even bothered giving a reason.

She supposed that if she’d been doing the same thing as he (writing to tell someone for the fifth time in a row that she wasn’t appearing as she’d promised) she wouldn’t have bothered to give an excuse, either. She was disappointed and yet also strangely relieved, and it was that last feeling that bothered her the most. Shouldn’t she want him to visit? They weren’t in love, of course, and were too mature to pretend otherwise, but still they were engaged and that should have accorded her some sort of attention.

A soft knock heralded the arrival of Simmons and the tea tray. While he fixed two cups, fussing over the correct amount of sugar for Aunt Verity’s, Charlotte wondered if she should write Robert again and instead of asking when he might return, demand it.

She took a tea cup from Simmons and hid her sigh behind it. Why should she have to demand his return? He should want to be here, with her. She wished she could speak to him because she was certain there was a perfectly good reason for his absence. Robert had been a significant part of Charlotte’s life for years now. As a child, and then later as a young man, he’d visited his grandmother nigh every summer, riding to nearby Nimway where he’d quickly become her brother’s best friend, the two inseparables. He visited so often, that Mama and Papa had eventually assigned him his own bedchamber.

Four years ago, when John had left to fulfil his commission in the Navy, Charlotte and Caroline had expected to see less of Robert, but to their surprise he’d visited just as often. Those four summers had been glorious, filled with picnics, laughter-filled evenings playing cards or re-enacting scenes from the newest novels, and – for her, at least, as Caroline didn’t enjoy riding the way Charlotte and Robert did – enthusiastic rides across the lands and fields of Nimway. Last year, when Charlotte and Caroline had been presented at court and had their short, rather calamitous season, Robert had been there, too, always ready to escort them and their mother to whatever amusement called.

Charlotte considered him a good friend, but during the dark months after Caroline’s death, he’d become more than that. It had been his gentleness and care during that horrible time that had led Charlotte to accept his sudden, unexpected proposal.

And now, they were to be married.

She couldn’t quite get her mind around that fact. It would have helped if he’d stayed after his proposal, but he’d left the second she’d said yes, claiming he had to “set things to rights” before they married. At the time, she’d applauded his common sense, but when he’d left nothing behind but a weak breadcrumb trail of sparse notes that were anything but reassuring, her doubts had grown. Now the uncertainty pressed upon her, a heavy boulder balanced on an already unsteady stack.

Something had changed, only she wasn’t sure what. She hoped that once she and Robert spent some time together, that they’d return to their previous easy, comfortable relationship and her doubts would be banished.

However Charlotte felt, it wouldn’t do to let Aunt Verity know. As much as Charlotte loved her aunt, she was well aware the woman could not keep a secret to save her life, and would immediately spill everything to Mama, who had enough going on in her life without worrying about Charlotte.

Simmons picked up the empty tray and bowed his way from the room.

Aunt Verity sighed happily. “No one knows how I like my tea better than Simmons.”

“He’s quite good,” Charlotte agreed.

Aunt Verity’s sleepy gaze rested back on Charlotte. “I’m rather surprised the household isn’t in more of a tizzy, what with a wedding in the offing.”

“We’re all in a tizzy, especially Mama. The wedding is important to Mama and has kept her mind off other things. She’s been so despondent since Caroline—" The word stuck in Charlotte’s throat and, just like that, deep soul-shattering sadness roared over her.

She’d discovered over the last ten months that sadness wasn’t a constant. It didn’t reside within one’s mind every minute, but was instead a stealthy thief, sneaking up from behind when one least expected it, snatching away one’s happiness in the blink of an eye. Then it would slip away again, hiding in wait, ready to return as soon as one’s guard was down.

“Oh child!” Aunt Verity set down her cup and patted Charlotte’s hand where it was balled on her knee in a fist. “Don’t look like that. I’m so sorry for bringing up – I’m ruining everything!”

“No, no. It’s not you. Sometimes, it just hits me.”

Aunt Verity nodded wisely. “Would it help if we talk about something else?”

Charlotte sent her aunt a grateful look. “Yes, please.”

“I saw you riding in on that big, white brute of a horse. I take it you are still riding every day?”

“When I can, yes. I’d just returned from—” Charlotte stiffened. Good God, had Aunt Verity seen her talking with di Rossi? Charlotte sent a searching glance at her aunt, but all she saw on Verity’s round face was bland, polite enquiry. Relieved, Charlotte said, “I love to ride, as you know. With Mama gone, I’ve been able to do it more often.”

“I’m glad you’re getting some fresh air. It’s good for you in so many ways—Why, look at the color in your cheeks now!”

Charlotte murmured her agreement and then hurried to change the topic, asking if Aunt Verity had heard any good gossip whilst she was in town.

That did the trick. Brightening, Aunt Verity instantly dived into all of the latest on dits while Charlotte pretended interest.

There were many things Charlotte was willing to share with her beloved aunt, but the short time she’d spent in the wood with a sculptor, a meeting that had included a shocking kiss, was not one of them. Neither did she wish to share the particulars of her precious morning rides across the golden hills and fields of Nimway, around the sparkling waters of Myrrdin Lake, and through the twisty, mysterious paths of Balesboro Wood. Those belonged to her and no one else. It was only when she was on the back of a horse that she felt whole.

Or so it had been before Caroline had died. Since then, nothing made Charlotte feel whole, not her precious wild rides, not the safety of Nimway Hall, not even an exciting encounter in the wood with a handsome sculptor.

Unaware Charlotte was no longer listening, Aunt Verity shared a scandalous rumor about the prince and a certain Catholic widow. As the story progressed, Aunt Verity’s empty tea cup was returned to the table, and in between words, she began to yawn mightily, her eyes drooping. Charlotte knew that in ten minutes or less, her aunt would be asleep.

While she waited, she glanced down at her hands, which were now folded neatly in her lap. The emerald and old gold engagement ring Robert had given her winked in the sunlight. She closed her fingers around the warm metal, holding it close, her thoughts slipping from Robert and to a dark-haired man with a compelling gaze, his smoky laugh as delicious as honey.

She wanted more of that, she realized with a start. She wasn’t sure if it was the illicit nature of the man himself, or his dark Italian good looks, and just his patent unsuitability, but just the thought of seeing him again made her heart quicken. Her aunt’s words about the Harrington red hair and propensity to break rules came tumbling back. If Charlotte wished her life to remain on the safe, prudent course she’d set, she’d avoid the man even if she had to forgo her favorite trails and take her morning rides to the other side of Nimway.

Yes. That’s what she would do; she’d make certain she never set eyes on Marco di Rossi again, at least not while she was alone. And then, once Robert returned, everything would work out.

It will because it has to.

It wasn’t much, but right now, with Robert absent, it was all Charlotte had.