Charlotte had been caught up watching her stepsister talking to Lord Withington, wondering whether Lady Emma was confessing that she had told him falsehoods. It had been a few days since their conversation in the gardens, and in that time, Lady Emma had appeared to have the change of character she had promised.

She had been nothing but kind towards Charlotte, even going so far as to link arms with her and discuss the day’s events with her in a warm and friendly manner. Charlotte had not known what to do other than to go along with it but still refusing to trust that her stepsister was entirely trustworthy.

Lady Perrin, of course, had been delighted to see such a transformation and had encouraged them both in different ways—although Charlotte had never seen the flicker of doubt in Lady Perrin’s eyes entirely disappear. It was not something she could easily let go of either, not when it had only been a short time since Lady Emma had declared her change of heart.

And then, to see her lean forward and kiss Lord Withington full on the mouth, it had struck an arrow right through Charlotte’s heart.

The worst of it was that Lord Withington had not immediately moved away. Charlotte did not know why he had not, her eyes unable to remove themselves from the scene unfolding in front of her. Finally, when he had broken it off and stumbled back, she had seen him stare at Lady Emma before turning his gaze to her, searching for her amongst the crowd.

She had been unable to remain, unable to watch what would occur after such an incident, and so she had taken to her heels, hurrying away from the ballroom, and in the process bumping into Lady Perrin.

Somehow, Charlotte had come up with a garbled explanation about having a headache, and before Lady Perrin could even respond, Charlotte had left her side and hurried up the corridor.

The thought of going to her chambers was an unwelcome one—for surely that was where Lord Withington would seek her out first. Instead, she had hurried outside, relieved that she had her thin shawl with which to cover her shoulders.

The cool night air was a welcome relief, a calming stillness away from the hubbub of the crowd and noise of the ballroom. Charlotte had not known where she was going, her feet taking her in a random direction as she sought to find a place of solace.

The lily ponds were quiet and still, and Charlotte sank down onto a bench by the water, her eyes filling with tears. She could not express how she felt with words, for the tearing of her soul was so painful it racked her entire being. Sense told her that Lord Withington had been taken by surprise, but then why had he not moved away almost at once? Why had he lingered?

Charlotte’s tears dripped onto her lap, soaking into her dress. Her stepsister still hated her with every part of her being, that was for certain. This had all been a ruse, a cover to allow her to concoct a way to tear Charlotte’s life apart, to make her believe that Lord Withington could be easily pulled towards another.

The memory of them on the staircase was burned into Charlotte’s mind and was not something she thought she would easily be able to forget. How did one simply dismiss something like that?

Wiping her eyes hurriedly, Charlotte heard the sound of running feet. Quickly hiding herself behind a rather large tree, she heard Lord Withington shouting for her.

“We need to talk. I beg of you, let me talk to you. Do not let your stepsister’s evil ways push us apart. Not when I have so much to say to you!”

His words tore into her already damaged heart, trying to believe that what he said was true, but finding it impossible to forget what she had seen. She did not want to see him, not now. Not yet. It was still too soon, still too fresh.

“Charlotte?” he called again, stepping into the arbor, and Charlotte took her chance. Seeing the lantern-lit maze just behind her, she quickly hurried towards it, thinking that she would hide herself there for a time. Her heart thundered in her chest as she moved away from him, tears still running down her cheeks in rivulets.

“Charlotte!”

He had seen her.

Her feet moved quickly, pushing her to run faster, moving heedlessly through the maze.

“Charlotte, please!” he called, his voice closer to her than before. “Do not run from me. We need to talk! You know we do. What happened—it was not of my doing! I swear it to you.”

Charlotte could hardly get her breath, sobs rising in her chest as she tried to hide herself from him, but finding that the deeper she went in the maze, the more hopelessly lost she became.

“Leave me, Lord Withington,” she called, her voice breaking with pain. “I do not wish to speak to you.”

“I cannot leave things as they are,” came the reply, from only just behind her. “Charlotte, stop.”

Turning one more corner, Charlotte came to an abrupt halt. There was nowhere for her to go. This was a dead end. The only choice she had was to turn back and find another path through, but unfortunately, that path would also lead back to Lord Withington.

Putting shaking hands in front of her face, Charlotte tried to quieten her breathing, hoping that he would not hear her quiet sobs. Sinking down, she pressed her back against the hedge, putting her arms on her knees as she crouched low, wanting to hide herself entirely from his presence.

“Charlotte, please…”

His agonized whisper told her that his heart was tearing just as much as her own.

“Charlotte, I did not mean for that to occur,” he continued, bending down directly in front of her. “Lady Emma took me completely by surprise. I swear it to you.”

His words wrapped around her mind, settling into her soul. She knew them to be true. She knew Lady Emma too well to believe that he had anything to do with it.

Lifting her head, she looked into his face, seeing the agony written in his eyes as the lanterns flickered above them. “You did not step away at once.”

He closed his eyes, pain tightening the corners of his mouth. “No, I did not. I was overtaken by surprise.” Opening them slowly, he studied her, one hand tentatively reaching out to rest on her knee. “I can give you no other explanation than that, Charlotte,” he finished heavily. “When I saw you were gone, I knew what you must have seen and what you may have thought.”

Something heavy fell into her stomach. “Did any of the other guests see you?” She clasped his cold hand, a deep fear curling in her stomach. “Are they calling compromise?”

Lord Withington drew in a deep breath, and much to her relief, he shook his head. “No, I do not believe so. I spoke to Lady Perrin as I came to find you and discovered that she was quite unaware of what had occurred, and you know that she has very sharp eyes!”

All of her breath left Charlotte’s body in one go, making her chest heave with relief. She leaned back against the hedge and looked up at the sky as fresh tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. “I do not know why she hates me so,” she whispered, growing aware of how he was brushing her fingers with his thumb. “If I close my eyes, all I can see is her…and you.”

Lord Withington said nothing, but slowly got to his feet and gently pulled her up beside him. Charlotte looked up into his face, wanting to crumple into a million pieces, shattering entirely in the hope that he would be able to put her back together.

“I do not know what to do,” she whispered, her lips trembling. “Lady Emma can use this to her advantage. She will try everything to prevent—” Biting her lip, she shook her head and dropped her gaze to his chest, not quite sure what she was trying to say.

“She will try her best to prevent your happiness,” Lord Withington finished, brushing her cheek gently. “Even I know her well enough to see that now. I had thought her change in character was a genuine one, especially when she apologized to me for what she had told me about you.” A frustrated groan left his lips as he threw his head back and stared up at the sky, his hands clenching into fists. “How foolish I was!”

Charlotte drew in a long, shuddering breath, trying to find her equilibrium. “I do not blame you, my lord,” she managed to say, shivering a little with the chill of the night air. “I was just overcome with what I saw.”

“And who could blame you?” he muttered, returning his gaze to her. “My dear Charlotte, I care not a jot for Lady Emma. I swear it to you—here and now. The only person I care for, the only one I need, is you.”

Looking up into his face, Charlotte stepped closer and boldly put her hands on his chest. There was something solid about his presence, something that settled her mind and soul. “I believe you, Lord Withington. I am much relieved that no one saw what occurred.”

“I could never marry Lady Emma,” Lord Withington replied, fervently. “She is the very antithesis of you. All she cares for is her status and title, which is mayhap why she thought to try and force my hand. Had someone seen us, other than just you, then she might now be crying for matrimony.” His lip curled, his jaw tightening. “Just like all the others who sought me for my title.” Glancing down at her, he smiled softly, his anger fading. “Not like you, however.”

“I am glad that you know me so well,” Charlotte replied, looking up at him and seeing his irritation die away as he settled one hand on her waist, catching her cheek with the other.

Peace settled in her heart, her pain and sadness fading to nothing. Her stepsister was not about to win this, nor was she going to succeed in taking Lord Withington away from her.

“I am sorry for running off like that, Lord Withington. I was just completely overcome.”

“Withington, please,” he murmured, running one hand over her shoulder and down her arm until he caught her hand. “You need not apologize, my dear. I understand why you needed an escape.”

“Although now it seems it is you who has caught me in a trap,” Charlotte whispered, her skin prickling with anticipation, as she grew aware of just how entirely alone they both were.