Chapter Twenty
She was hiding from him.
Julian slid down the wall at his back until he rested on his haunches, his hands dangling helplessly between his spread knees. He’d been hovering in the hallway outside the marchioness’s apartments for the better part of three hours, but Charlotte had yet to emerge. The chamber doors remained firmly closed, and not a sound disturbed the silence on the other side.
She could be asleep, of course.
But she wasn’t. Julian knocked his head rhythmically against the wall behind him. Somehow, he knew she wasn’t. She’d slipped through his fingers again. He hadn’t any idea how, unless she’d gone out a window and shimmied down a trellis to the ground, but one thing was certain. He’d never find her now.
Like chasing a particularly clever fox through every alleyway in London. Except Hadley House, with its endless series of rooms and haphazard hallways made the London rookeries look organized. She hadn’t insisted he leave her house, after all, and no wonder. Why bother to chase him away? He may as well be at Bellwood for all the time he’d spent with her since he arrived here.
He’d wandered from room to room his first two days, fruitlessly searching for her. On the third day he rose before the sun and stationed himself at the foot of the main staircase so he could catch her before she disappeared into the complex maze of Hadley House, and he was forced to scurry after her like a dim-witted rat.
She’d frozen to a halt at the top of the stairs as soon as she saw him, but even this strange, hollow Charlotte refused to turn and run from him. She came slowly down the stairs, her face blank, but Julian could see her knuckles go white from her grip on the railing.
“Captain West.” Her dull eyes flicked over him and then away. “You’re up early this morning.”
His own face felt stiff, but he made an effort to produce what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Too restless to sleep, I suppose. May I escort you into breakfast?”
She eyed the arm he offered with a frown, as if she weren’t quite sure what to do with it. “No, thank you. I prefer to walk in the gardens before I breakfast, but I’ll be sure to join you for luncheon later this afternoon, or perhaps for tea—”
Gardens again. Gardens seemed to bring out the worst in him, but there was no help for it. “I’d be delighted to stroll in the gardens with you. I’m curious about the house. Cam’s told me a great deal about it, especially the grounds. He says they’re spectacular.”
He half expected her to refuse him, but after a moment she shrugged as if it made no difference to her what he did. She ignored his arm, but she didn’t object when he followed her down the hallway and through a glass-ceilinged conservatory to a terrace at the back of the house. “They’re commonly thought spectacular, yes.”
“But you don’t find them so?”
Because you dread being here, because you blame yourself for Hadley’s death—
He bit his tongue before the words could slip out and forced himself to keep his tone light. “Rolling green hills and extravagant formal gardens don’t appeal to you?”
Another shrug. “They’re very nice.”
Nice. A meaningless word, one that led nowhere, just as this garden did. The twisting pathways circled and doubled back on themselves, with no center and no visible end—
Julian halted on the path. No, that was wrong. Every pathway led somewhere, and every garden had a center, a heart. He couldn’t see it yet, but it was there, and it only took steady, careful steps to find it.
He brushed his fingers across the pink petals of a rose and smiled at Charlotte. “Just nice? I’d call them spectacular, but then I look at them with new eyes, a luxury you don’t have.”
A frown appeared between her brows, but it was the wrong frown, as if they were discussing a complex scientific theory instead of how she might feel about a place that had nearly destroyed her. “What does that mean?”
There was no heat in her voice. It wasn’t an accusation, only a simple question. He drew a little closer to her, until only a few steps separated them. “I mean you have terrible memories of Hadley House, Charlotte. The sorrow you endured here affects the way you see it.”
Her mouth opened, but she closed it again without speaking. Her expression didn’t change, exactly, but he sensed a faint shift in her, a new rigidity—a tiny fissure in the blank façade.
Gently. Go gently.
“Your husband’s death was sudden. A shock. It must have devastated you. It would only be natural if being here caused you pain.”
“I—it was sudden, yes.” She gave him an uncertain look, the look of a child whose hurt herself and isn’t sure whether her mother will hold her and soothe the pain, or punish her for recklessness.
God, he wanted to hold her, hold her until she was so warm and safe in his embrace she dared to reveal a true emotion, but he’d lost the right to touch her. “A tragic accident.” He hesitated, but then forced the words that must be spoken past his cold lips. “But it was an accident, Charlotte, and it’s time you stopped blaming yourself for it.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Or perhaps exactly the right thing, because she went suddenly stark white, and he saw at once he’d struck a chord, plucked at one of the taut strings inside her chest so the pain vibrated, reverberated.
She gasped a little, and her hand flew to her throat. “I won’t speak to you about him—him, or anything else that happened here. I know you don’t truly care about me. Do you think I’ve forgotten what you said? You’re a liar, Julian, and a liar will say anything to get what they want.” She threw the words between them, piling them one on top of the other, hurtful words to build a wall he couldn’t scale.
But he could. He would. Gently. One stone at a time.
He held out a hand to her. “I did lie to you. I lied when I said I didn’t care about you. I do care, Charlotte. So much.”
All the anger he felt, the bitterness and shame, the regret—it had torn and bruised him inside, so badly he hadn’t believed he could find anything to salvage in that wreckage, but it was there, underneath the hurt and pain and guilt—so fragile still, like a tiny, beating heart—but it was there.
Tenderness. For her.
“No!” She pressed her palms over her ears. “I don’t believe you.”
His heart crashed against his ribs, both pain and hope at once. It hurt, God, it hurt to see her suffer, but her pain was pure, and like blood flowing from an infected wound, it would heal her. “I know you don’t, sweetheart—not now. But you will, Charlotte, because I’m going to stay here with you until you do, and when you’re ready, I’ll take you home.”
She stumbled back, away from him. “I won’t ever be ready. Not for you.”
She ran then, and it took everything in him not to chase after her, but it was enough—for today, for now, it was enough. If he pushed too hard all at once he’d hurt her too much. Later, he’d try again, and then again, as many times as it took to reach her heart.
But he didn’t see her later. She didn’t leave her room for the rest of the day. The following morning he waited for her at the bottom of the staircase again, but she never came down at all.
Now it was four days later, and today would be another day wasted. His face fell into his hands. With each day that passed Charlotte would retreat further and further into herself, and all the while the pain trapped deep inside her would continue to poison her.
He couldn’t bear to watch it.
If he didn’t bring Charlotte to Bellwood soon, Cam would come for her, and once he was here he wouldn’t accept her refusal. Time was slipping away like sand between Julian’s open fingers—slipping away with every hour, as surely as Charlotte was.
I’m failing her.
“Why, Captain West. What are you doing here? Are you lost?”
Julian looked up to find Mrs. Boyle standing over him, her arms full of fresh linens and her kind face creased with concern. “Lost?”
She propped her bundle against her hip and gave him a cheerful smile. “Aye. Such a large, rambling place, Hadley House, with hallways running every which way. It’s quite easy to get turned around, you see.”
Julian came to his feet. “No, I didn’t get turned around. I was just—”
He hesitated. It was hardly proper to lurk in a hallway waiting for a lady to emerge from her bedchamber, and Mrs. Boyle struck him as the type of woman who didn’t tolerate nonsense from curious gentlemen. “I thought I might escort Lady Hadley down to breakfast, but I seem to have missed her.”
Mrs. Boyle looked confused for a moment, but then her face cleared as realization dawned. “Oh, dear. I see the trouble. Lady Hadley doesn’t use these apartments, Captain. She’s taken a much smaller bedchamber on the other side of the stairs, at the end of the hall.”
Julian blinked. For God’s sake, he’d spent the entire morning sitting outside an empty room? “But these are the apartments meant for the lady of the house, aren’t they?”
Mrs. Boyle shifted her burden to her arms again. “Yes indeed, but they adjoin the master’s apartments, you see, and Lady Hadley doesn’t like…that is, ever since his lordship passed… Well. I’m sure you understand.”
No, he didn’t understand. That was the trouble. He didn’t understand any of this, but he wanted to, and finally here was a stroke of luck. He could hardly ask Mrs. Boyle where her mistress slept without arousing the good lady’s suspicions, but he didn’t need to ask. Those linens in her hands could only be for Charlotte. There were no other guests, and his room was in another wing of the house. Mrs. Boyle was about to lead him to her mistress’s bedchamber, and he’d sleep in front of Charlotte’s door before he let her slip away from him again.
“May I help you, Mrs. Boyle?” Before she could refuse he lifted the bundle of linens from her arms. “Where shall I take these?”
“Oh no, that’s not necessary, Captain.” Mrs. Boyle’s hands fluttered like two agitated birds. “I couldn’t possibly ask you to—”
“You didn’t ask.” He smiled. “I offered, and I insist.”
Mrs. Boyle flushed. “Oh well, I suppose that’s all right, then. So kind of you. Just this way, Captain. I should have sent a maid to do this, but the silly girls refuse to enter this part of the house. They claim it’s haunted. Can you imagine such nonsense?”
Julian followed Mrs. Boyle down the hall, past the stairwell, and around a corner. “Well, young girls are a dramatic lot, and Hadley’s death was rather tragic, I believe?”
“Just here, Captain.” Mrs. Boyle held out her arms for the linens. She didn’t answer his question, and she clearly didn’t intend to let him into her mistress’s bedchamber.
But Julian wasn’t quite finished with Mrs. Boyle yet. “Difficult for your mistress, wasn’t it? Such a shock.”
“Difficult, yes.” The housekeeper said no more, but nodded meaningfully at the linens.
Damn it. Mrs. Boyle wasn’t a gossip, unfortunately. Julian tried a different tack. “I wonder, Mrs. Boyle, if you might help me. Your mistress is suffering from low spirits since she returned from London. Do you have any suggestions as to how I might cheer her?”
Mrs. Boyle’s face softened at mention of Charlotte’s distress. “Ah, well. It’s the house, you see, Captain. Not enough time has passed for her ladyship to be easy here. His lordship is gone just over a year now, and then there was that terrible business with the dowager ladyship, and what followed afterwards—”
“Afterwards?”
But his expression must have been too eager, because Mrs. Boyle gave him a wary look. “Well, the less said about that, the better. This house holds too many distressing memories for her ladyship, Captain. The best thing you can do for her is to take her away from Hadley House.”
Julian couldn’t agree more, but short of abducting her, he didn’t see how it could be done. He handed the linens into Mrs. Boyle’s waiting arms. “Have you seen Lady Hadley today, Mrs. Boyle?”
The housekeeper’s brow furrowed. “Now let me see. No, not since this morning. She took tea in her room, quite early. Didn’t eat a bite, though.” Mrs. Boyle shook her head over this. “Doesn’t eat enough, you know. Too thin by half.”
Julian did his best to disguise his impatience. Lady Hadley was thin, but not quite invisible yet, which meant someone must have seen her. “And you haven’t seen her since then?”
“No, I’m afraid not. She likes to walk in the small garden off the study. Perhaps you’ll find her there.”
He doubted it. Charlotte knew how to disappear. He’d not find her in any of her usual haunts. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Mrs. Boyle.”
He spent the rest of the day scouring the house and grounds for Charlotte. He wandered from the portrait gallery to the drawing room, from the library back to the hallway outside her bedchamber, from the rose garden to the stables. He spoke to one giggling maid after another, cornered each of the footmen, and even followed the butler about until the harassed man finally ducked into the pantry to escape him, but no one had seen Charlotte.
By tea time he’d nearly gone mad, and to make matters worse, Charlotte didn’t appear for tea. Julian took it alone, then retired to his chamber and threw himself on the bed, exhausted. He lay there with his arm over his eyes for a long time, lost in thought. Dusk had descended before he at last dragged himself from the bed and took a seat at the desk by the window.
He’d have to write to Cam. He doubted his cousin would be surprised to receive his letter. Cam must have known all along it would come to this, and was only waiting for Julian to admit it to himself.
A kindness on Cam’s part. One I don’t deserve.
Cam would have to come and retrieve Charlotte himself. She must leave Hadley House at once. Her happiness—no, her very health depended on it, and he could see now she’d never agree to let him take her to Bellwood. He’d hurt her too badly, and nothing he said or did would make her trust him again.
He pressed his palms to his eyes and let the emotions roll over him—each more familiar than the last, but terrible still, for all that they’d become his constant companions. Loss. Regret. A sorrow so deep his bones ached with it.
All the time he’d chased Charlotte around London he’d told himself it was for her own good, but he hadn’t truly done it for her. He’d done it for himself, because every time he looked at her he was reminded of the man he’d once been. Julian. That man had embraced life, had treasured every tug and swell and burst of his heart as the sweetest thing life had to offer.
Joyful, and kind—so kind, with eyes both dark and light at once, like a sky full of stars.
Every time he saw Charlotte he was reminded he wasn’t that man anymore, but he wanted to be—God, he wanted to be, but how could he when he had nothing left in his heart but hurt? Even now, sitting here at this desk, he still didn’t know who he was.
But he knew more than he had when he’d arrived.
He knew who he wasn’t.
He was no hero, and he couldn’t save Charlotte any more than he could bring Colin back to life. The best he could do now was make amends by taking care of Jane. Maybe Charlotte was right and there was no luck, only justice, and he’d pay his dues with a lifetime of regrets.
He stared listlessly out the window. Below in the stable yard a groom led out an enormous gray stallion and held him with some difficulty as the horse pranced and pawed at the ground, anxious to be off.
The man called to someone behind him, someone Julian couldn’t see. Damn risky time for a ride. It was nearing dusk. Who—
Charlotte hurried into the stable yard clad in a dark blue riding habit.
Julian rose slowly to his feet. No. She couldn’t possibly be so foolish.
She mounted the block and swung herself up into the saddle.
His fist met the glass, but neither the groom nor Charlotte turned at the sound. They were too far below to hear him. The groom was speaking to her, his expression earnest. He hadn’t relinquished the reins to her yet, and now Julian focused every particle of energy he had on the man as he pounded again and again on the window.
Don’t let her ride out. Refuse her—
Charlotte tapped her crop impatiently against her boot. She shook her head at the groom and thrust out a hand, beckoning with her fingers for the reins.
No! For God’s sake, don’t let her—
Julian held his breath, but it was no use. The groom handed the reins over to Charlotte. She grabbed them, brought her crop down lightly on the horse’s flanks, and in the next breath she was off, the whirl of her dark blue skirts lost in the great cloud of dust kicked up by the stallion’s heavy hooves.
Julian raced for the door, his chair toppling to the floor with a crash behind him. He didn’t notice the bedchamber doorways flying past him as he tore down the hallway, and he didn’t hear the startled squeak of the maid he nearly trampled in his fury to get down the stairs.
Dear God, but the front door was miles away and, incredibly, retreating farther with every one of his pounding strides to reach it.
This house truly was haunted, haunted and cursed.
At last, at last he was through the door and flying toward the stables, his heart sinking in his chest as he realized how deep the shadows around the house had become, deep and ominous, and that horse, Jesus, he’d never seen a larger horse, and the way it twitched and stamped to be off it looked almost wild—
No, don’t think about it. Don’t think about Charlotte’s fragile body broken, her neck twisted…
Don’t think on it. Just get to her.
It took years to reach the stables. Decades. A lifetime, and at some point the words became an endless refrain set to the rhythm of his ragged, panicked breaths—don’t think on it just get to her—until it became one word only, echoing over and over in his frenzied brain—
Please, please, please…
He began shouting before he reached the stable yard. “A horse, at once! Now, damn you! Move!”
The groom whirled around, his mouth falling open in shock as he saw Julian barreling toward him, but he darted into the stables and returned at a run, pulling a tall black stallion behind him. The groom tossed him the reins and Julian mounted in one quick, fluid move.
“I’m sorry, sir! I tried to go with her, but she—”
“Later.” Julian’s reply was tense, clipped. “Where will she go?”
The man looked up at him. “Maybe to the summerhouse? She likes to go there sometimes—”
“Are you sure?”
The groom shook his head miserably. “No, but she went off west, and that’s the direction—”
Julian didn’t wait to hear the rest, but set his heels into the horse’s sides with one sharp jab and headed west, urging his mount into a full gallop as soon as he’d cleared the stable yard. Charlotte had a hell of a start on him—he couldn’t see any hint of her in front of him, not even a telltale cloud of dust. It was too dark.
But he was cavalry. He knew how to handle a horse.
He leaned low over the animal’s neck until he could see the ground flying beneath him through the horse’s ears. The refrain still echoed in his head with each beat of the hooves against the turf…please, please, please.
And with each soundless plea came the truth, as sure as the beat of his heart in his chest. He’d never leave Charlotte here. If Cam wanted him out, he’d have to drag him out, and Julian would claw and bite and kick with everything inside him to stay. He’d never give up on her.
He would catch her. He had to.