Chapter Nineteen
Darling Annabel,
You’ll never guess where I am, my dear! I’ve gone off to Hampshire to visit Hadley House. Such an adventure! I expect you will convulse with laughter when you hear I sneaked away under cover of night to escape the notice of my family, all of whom wish me in Kent.
I couldn’t, as you can imagine, countenance Bellwood for the winter. Here in Hampshire I may do as I wish, and you mustn’t worry for me, dearest, for I will have a splendid time of it. I shall sleep all day and roam the gardens in the moonlight like a proper ghost.
I daresay you’ll wonder why I’ve left London at all, especially without calling on you first to inform you of my intentions. I must beg your pardon for that, and ask you to convey my most abject apologies to Lissie and Aurelie. I’m a sadly impetuous creature, as you know, and once I decide on a course nothing will do for me but to put it into action at once—
Charlotte let the quill slip from her fingers and dragged herself from her chair to the fireplace. She held the letter over the flames, watching with fixed attention as the edges of the paper began to blacken and curl.
Odd, how much easier it was to write lies than to speak them. It shouldn’t be, for a paper and ink lie would last long after mere words were forgotten. Then again, with letters one needn’t look into the face of the deceived.
Only when the glowing flame began to singe her fingertips did Charlotte toss the letter into the fire. These lies had flowed easily enough, yet it wouldn’t serve, just the same. Annabel was no fool—she’d know this letter at once for what it was. The trouble was, the truth wouldn’t serve, either.
Something between the two, then. Charlotte returned to her desk and took up her quill.
My dearest Annabel,
I feel rather like a condemned criminal, sneaking away from London without as much as a word of warning. I hope you’ll forgive me, and will share my regrets with Lissie and Aurelie.
Lord Devon will have told you by now I’ve rejected his suit, though it gave me no pleasure to do so. I’ve been contemplating a sojourn in the country for some time, and given the awkwardness likely to arise from my refusal it seemed an ideal time to go. I beg you won’t worry yourself for me, but will look forward with anticipation to such a time as I may return to London and resume our friendship, though I can’t say as yet how long I may linger in Hampshire.
Such times we had this season, Annabel! I assure you, nothing Hadley House offers can console me for the loss of your diverting company. I feel it most keenly, but I will try and console myself over the long winter months with fond memories of our many adventures together—
Charlotte tossed the quill aside and pushed away from the desk.
It still wouldn’t do. Her friends were far too clever to believe she’d fled in the night to escape Devon, and it was horribly unfair to blame him for her cowardly retreat. God knew he deserved far better from her than she’d ever been capable of giving him.
But then so had they all. Devon, and Hadley before him, and before Hadley…
No. She wouldn’t think on it. She picked up the quill for the third time and bent over the paper.
Dearest Annabel,
I’d thought to have time to call on you before I left for Hampshire, but circumstances with my family are such that a precipitate departure for Hadley House seemed preferable for all concerned. I think, my dear, the solitude here will do me a world of good, though I confess it’s rather an unpleasant shock after the gaiety of London—
A world of good. Such a glaring deception. If she couldn’t write truthfully, perhaps it would be best if she didn’t write at all. But what if the widows should take it into their heads to come after her? A shudder slid down her spine at the thought of her vivacious friends suffocating under the gloom of this place.
She pushed the sheet aside, retrieved fresh paper from the desk drawer, and dipped her quill in the ink.
Dear Annabel,
You must not follow me here. Forgive me.
I am ever your friend,
Charlotte
Her fingers shook as she folded the letter and affixed her seal. There. It was done, and now…
Now, nothing.
The case clock on the first floor landing struck seven times.
She glanced toward the glass doors behind the desk. Her housekeeper, Mrs. Boyle had drawn the curtains, but now Charlotte rose and pulled them aside to look out. The doors opened to a terrace with a set of shallow steps leading out into a small private garden.
Seven o’clock.
Hadley House boasted magnificent formal gardens and endless acres of parkland, but this tiny garden was her favorite. This room too, so snug, not like the other rooms, which tended toward high-ceilings and draftiness. Of course, the house had been designed to announce wealth rather than provide comfort for the hapless family who happened to live here, but this little study and the garden beyond were a small oasis in an otherwise vast desert of formal rooms and endless hallways. Why, she could slip right out these doors and into the garden without anyone taking any notice of where she’d gone. One couldn’t see into the garden from the master’s suite of rooms, or from the dowager’s apartments, and should someone in one of those rooms be screaming, one couldn’t hear it once the doors closed behind them.
Charlotte pressed her face against the glass. Perhaps she’d go outside now. It wasn’t so dark yet she couldn’t see the outline of the stone balustrades on either side of the wide staircase, and the shadows cast by the tall hedges in the garden beyond. Fresh air—yes, that was what she needed, and yet…
The shadows pressed upon her. She’d forgotten how deep the darkness, how profound the silence in the country. It was a shock compared to the chaos of London, but after a few weeks here she wouldn’t notice the shadows anymore. The silence.
Just a few weeks, and it would be as if she’d never left Hadley House at all.
Perhaps she’d go out tomorrow, instead.
She let the curtain drop and turned back to face the room. The fire crackled and hissed merrily in the grate, but otherwise the room was as silent as the garden. The smell of burnt paper lingered, and Charlotte’s stomach heaved a little in protest. It was just as well she hadn’t touched the tray Mrs. Boyle had brought earlier. She hadn’t taken more than a cup of tea since she arrived. Travel did tend to make her feel ill, but surely by tomorrow she’d have regained her appetite. Perhaps she’d order a large breakfast delivered to her room and dine in bed with a mountain of pillows behind her, like a grand marchioness should.
The case clock struck the half hour.
Seven-thirty. Too early for bed. If she went now, she’d wake early in the morning, and the day did seem endless when one woke too soon.
She resumed her seat in front of the fire, pulled out a fresh sheet, dipped the quill into the ink, and pressed the nib to the paper. She’d write to Ellie.
But what was she to say?
She’d begin with an apology—yes, that was right. She’d apologize for worrying Ellie, who’d no doubt been beside herself this morning when she learned of Charlotte’s disappearance. And she was sorry—of course she was, except she couldn’t quite feel the regret yet because of this strange numbness that clung to her like wet clothing.
But it wasn’t a lie, for surely by tomorrow she’d feel sorry.
She’d best tell Ellie she had no plans to come to Bellwood. Yes, she should get that out of the way at once, or else Ellie would try and persuade her, and Charlotte mustn’t let her, because one couldn’t escape their fate forever, and Hadley House was Charlotte’s fate. She’d hidden from it for a time in London, but now she saw how foolish she’d been to think she could outrun it, outmaneuver it, for it would find you and it would deal out your punishment again and again until you got what you deserved. It would have you in the end, just as this house had her now, locked in its grim embrace, squeezing the life out of her, because it was what she deserved, and London wouldn’t change that, and Bellwood wouldn’t change it and to pretend otherwise was utter madness—
“Lady Hadley? Pardon me, my lady. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Mrs. Boyle hovered in the doorway. She stared at Charlotte, her brow creased with concern.
Charlotte clutched at her quill. Surely she hadn’t been talking to herself? “I—no need to apologize, Mrs. Boyle. I’m afraid I didn’t hear your knock. Is something amiss?”
“Yes, my lady. Ah, that is no, not amiss exactly.” Mrs. Boyle wrung her hands. “You have a visitor. A gentleman.”
“At this time of night? But that’s—”
Oh, dear God. Cam had followed her here, and at a breakneck pace to have made such a quick journey from London, and now he was going to try and make her come with him to Bellwood.
“Shall I show him in, my lady?”
No. Send him away, back to Bellwood and his family where he belongs, and let him leave me here, where I belong.
But she knew very well she couldn’t turn Cam away. “Yes, please do, Mrs. Boyle.”
The housekeeper hurried away. Charlotte came out from behind the desk and took a seat on a settee in front of the fire. She’d have to explain it to Cam, to make him understand why she had to stay here and accept the punishment fate dealt her, that for her to leave now would only make matters worse—
“Captain West, my lady.”
Julian came into the room just as the case clock struck the hour.
Eight chimes.
By the fourth chime Charlotte had no air left in her lungs. By the sixth there was no air left in the room, the house—all of Hampshire. The clock fell silent at last, but by then the fear was a bottomless chasm in her chest, and she couldn’t look at him, couldn’t speak. Without thinking she stumbled to her feet and flew back behind the desk before he could see how badly she was trembling.
Was this what fate wanted from her?
To make me afraid, a coward, and to make me ashamed of it.
Julian saw it all—her trembling, her fear, even her shame, and a look of bitter regret passed over his face, a face already gray with exhaustion. He ran a weary hand though dark hair slick with sweat, then held out both hands in front of him, palms out as if to show her he had no weapon. “It’s all right, Charlotte. You don’t need to run away from me. I came here to help you, to escort you to Bellwood.”
At last an emotion penetrated the fog that had surrounded her since last night, after that terrible scene in Lady Elliot’s garden. Fury, sharp as a scalpel, cleansing. Bellwood. Bellwood. Bellwood. She was sick of the very idea of Bellwood. Even the word made her flesh quiver with anger, and on its heels a resentment so bitter it scraped her throat raw, gagged her.
Cam and Ellie—they’d sent him here after her? Him. Why? So she could add another nightmare to those that already haunted this house? This place offered her nothing, no relief, no protection, but she’d thought at least to be safe from him, and now here he was, his gaze fixed on her, the black eyes aware of her every twitch and shudder. With each tick of the clock she grew more and more transparent. Soon he’d see all the way through.
His words from last night in the garden whispered through her, just as if he’d pressed his lips to her ear. I almost pity Devon… I don’t care about you.…
No. He couldn’t be here. She couldn’t be here with his ugly words ringing in her head, growing louder by the moment, their roar deafening her—
But then suddenly, nothing. Silence.
No sooner did the pain threaten to devour her than it retreated, and the blessed numbing fog descended again, leaving her drained, listless. Ah, yes. It was so much better this way. So much easier. “Bellwood. No, Captain, I won’t be going to Bellwood.”
His arms dropped to his sides. “I know you don’t have any reason to, but do you think… Is there any way you can trust me? Please, Charlotte. I won’t hurt you again.”
Charlotte stared at him, puzzled. He didn’t understand. He would hurt her again, and he didn’t need a weapon to do it. He was the weapon, and his task was to punish her. “But you will. It’s what you’re meant to do.”
His brows drew together. “I’m meant to hurt you? I don’t understand.”
No, he didn’t, did he? But how strange. If he didn’t understand, then why had he come at all? “Why are you here, Captain?”
He spread his arms wide, a helpless gesture, unlike him. He seemed not to know what to do with his limbs. “To bring you to Bellwood.”
“I’m sorry you came all this way, Captain, only to have to turn back again.”
He shook his head, his anxious gaze steady on her face. “No. I won’t turn back, Charlotte. I won’t leave you here alone.”
“Not leave? But of course you’ll leave, Captain. You can’t stay here with me. It’s not proper, and in any case I’m meant to stay here alone.” She frowned a little as she considered this. “Yes, I feel sure that’s right. It’s not a proper punishment if I have someone here with me.”
Julian’s face went grayer with every word she spoke. “Is that what this is about? Punishment? Are you trying to punish me for what I said, what I did? Do it. I deserve it. But don’t do this to yourself, Charlotte. You haven’t done anything wrong. Don’t punish yourself because I was cruel to you.”
Punish him? Again, how odd. Why should he think so? “No, you still don’t understand, Captain. Don’t you see? You pretended to care for me, and I pretended, too. I pretended I could learn to love Hadley. I didn’t realize it was a lie at the time, but it hardly matters. I lied to him, and then you lied to me. A liar is punished with a lie. It’s all just as it should be.”
She’d taken pains to speak politely, but for some reason her words made him cringe. He took a step toward her. “You think this is your fault.”
Oh. Now she began to see the problem. He believed it was his fault she’d come to Hadley House, because he’d said all those cruel things to her in the garden. Well, it couldn’t have been pleasant for him to have to be the one to deliver those truths, but someone had to do it. “And you think it’s yours, but it isn’t. Try and see it this way, Captain. My family struggled for months to get me to leave London, and they all failed. You succeeded because you told me the one truth I couldn’t ignore.”
He went paler still and… Oh dear, was that fear on his face? Whatever ailed him?
“The one truth.” He cleared his throat, but his next words were strained, hoarse. “What truth is that?”
Didn’t he remember? She remembered everything about that moment as if it had just happened. His face, and his tone when he’d said it. So much contempt. At the time she’d shrunk from him, from the disgust in his eyes, but that was before she understood it was all for her own good. “You said nothing but heartache can come—”
An odd catch in her throat suddenly stopped her words. It made no sense her heart should choose this moment to swell as if bruised, to rush into her throat and silence her. She wasn’t saddened by what he’d said. Oh, she’d been devastated at the time, of course, but she wasn’t…anything now. Not anymore. So much easier that way. “You said nothing but heartache can come from wanting a woman like me.”
Julian went rigid for a heartbeat, but then his entire body slumped, his shoulders hunching into his chest. He covered his eyes with his hands as if it pained him to look at her, and when he let them fall, his face was slack, ashen. “I should never have said such a thing, not only because it’s cruel, but because it’s a lie. Please, Charlotte. I would do anything not to have said it.”
Charlotte felt a slight shift in her chest, a vague twinge of sympathy. “But you had to say it, and it’s not a lie at all. You, Hadley, Devon. It’s rather an incriminating trail of disappointment, heartbreak, and death. Don’t you agree?”
“No,” he whispered. “But I can understand why you might think so, after—” He broke off, and for a moment he seemed not to know what to say, then, “You didn’t make those things happen, Charlotte. Those things—they happened to you, not because of you.”
Dear God, he was naïve. “You mean to say they were simply bad luck.”
A glimmer of hope lit his eyes. “Bad luck, yes.”
She gave him a pitying smile. “There’s no such thing as luck, Captain. Only justice.”
The glimmer died. “Do you really believe that?”
“Don’t you?”
A strange look passed over his face then, one she couldn’t decipher. He didn’t answer the question, but asked instead, “Do you remember the night we first met, Charlotte? Before things went wrong. Before Hadley.”
“Yes.” She remembered, but she wished she didn’t, because she didn’t want to think on it.
Now he was looking into her eyes. “I lied to you then. I swore I didn’t seduce you in the garden that night to aid Cam’s scheme to blackmail Ellie into marriage. Do you remember?”
“I remember. What of it?”
“My lie set in motion this entire nightmare—our estrangement, your marriage to Hadley, his death, and every heartbreak that followed. If anyone should be punished it’s me, not you. That would be justice.”
But you have been punished, in the most terrible way a person can be punished. You simply don’t know it.
The words rushed to her lips, but she choked them back. He was trying to trick her into revealing her secrets again. The minute she trusted him, the minute she revealed herself he’d hurt her. He’d say it was her fault, all her fault—that she deserved everything she got, and worse.
He seemed to be holding his breath, waiting for her answer.
She looked away from him toward the glass doors. “I suppose you’ll have to stay here tonight, after all. It’s too dark to travel.” She pulled the bell, and after a moment Mrs. Boyle appeared. “Captain West will remain tonight, Mrs. Boyle. Please make up a room for him, and bring him some refreshment, if you would.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Julian stood frozen before the desk, stiff and silent, staring at her.
“Oh, and Mrs. Boyle?”
The housekeeper turned back. “Yes, my lady?”
“No need to go to too much trouble with the bedchamber. Captain West will be leaving us tomorrow.”