“They say that he is not quite the usual duke,” Susan added with interest, now standing on her toes in order to try and catch a glimpse of the Duke of Rodstone. “His manners are not what they should be. They say he is more beast than gentleman.”
“Oh, I see.” Charlotte felt a twinge of empathy for the poor Duke of Rodstone though it didn’t last. The thought of a beast in a suit was rather fearsome, making her gut quiver. Yet she was learning what it was like to be whispered of, when no one really knew her.
“That is not all they say,” Frederica lowered her voice, as if she was about to speak a scandal. “Everyone is terrified of him.”
“Terrified? Whatever for?” Charlotte asked tightly.
“He is a scary man to look at,” Frederica explained. “He’s quiet, cold, and people fear malicious in manner too.”
“And some people are desperate to fill silence with whispers, so will make up anything in order to fill that space.” Susan’s wise words made Charlotte nod in agreement.
She was wary of believing gossip without any fact. After all, the whispers about how her father had lost his money were varied, and some tales could not be further from the truth.
As if in answer to her thought, she saw a group of ladies nearby turn and face her in unison. There was not just joy in their faces,but also suspicion. One lady lifted her chin high, as if Charlotte’s lack of fortune was a stain upon her own gown.
“If you would excuse me,” Charlotte muttered, “I need some fresh air. I think all the gossip about me is making the air quite…”
“Insufferable?” Susan said with a nod. “Very well. Do not linger outside, Charlotte. You know what it is to be alone in the dark.”
“I know, Aunt. I know.” Charlotte forced a smile and turned to put down her champagne glass, quickly making her way toward the door of the ballroom.
She headed outside onto a veranda that was occupied mostly by men smoking pipes, laughing and jesting about some wager that had been made between them. Desperate to escape the air of smoke, Charlotte braved the dusky late and stepped off the veranda, into the depths of the long garden behind the assembly rooms.
She didn’t go far, for she did not dare, in case she was seen quite alone. Instead, she found a narrow path between yew bushes and walked up and down it, her hands on her hips.
I can return to the assembly rooms. I simply must not let these words and whispers touch me.
Yet her heart fluttered in her chest, in argument against her very words. Deep down, she feared returning, and feared what people said of her.
“Oh, please, stay another minute more,” a lady’s voice suddenly exclaimed.
The tone made Charlotte jump. It was pleading, yes, but there was also a tremor in the lady’s voice, as if she was a little scared.
Charlotte tiptoed toward a gap in the yew bushes and peered into a small courtyard, with a sundial in the center and rose bushes surrounding patio stones in a perfect circle.
In the yard was a lady sitting upon a bench, fluttering a fan in front of her chest in an effort to draw attention to the deep neckline of her gown. In front of her stood the tallest man Charlotte had ever seen. He quite dominated the grounds, then he turned a little, and she saw his face.
Dark brown, unkempt hair, tangled around his ears, and he had bristles across his chin, as if he had not bothered to shave in days. His suit was not that of a gentleman, but richly black and more businesslike. He wore no cravat, but a simple necktie, and his waistcoat was plain. Broad-shouldered and imposing, he was a striking figure, but it was the face that struck Charlotte the most.
The strong brow gave way to large eyes, and an equally sharp nose, with cheekbones that looked as if they had been carved out of alabaster. He was handsome, but in an austere sort of way.
There was an iciness to his face. So imposing and intimidating, Charlotte felt herself quake. She felt a longing to run, as fast as possible, back to the house, and away from that cold look.
“Your Grace…” The lady on the bench called to him and Charlotte froze in realization.
Is this the new Duke of Rodstone?
CHAPTER TWO
This is a scandal!
Charlotte knew she should run away at once. A gentleman and a lady alone in a garden together, oh, it was appalling! Had they been seen together they would be made to marry at once.
Yet, as much as Charlotte’s mind begged her to run, her feet were riveted to the spot. There was something in the Duke of Rodstone’s face that made her stay. She continued to look at him, watching as she scratched the back of his neck. It looked almost like a habitual action, something he did often.
“Please, Your Grace,” the lady said again. There was that same tremor in her voice as before, as if she was nervous and scared of the man before her but determined to speak anyway. “That room is so heated. I would be glad of your company out here for a little longer yet.”
The Duke of Rodstone did not reply. He turned on the spot and glanced back in the direction of the house.
