She held onto her father, closing her eyes tight when she felt tears threatening again.
“I’m sorry we can be trying sometimes,” he whispered to her softly.
“Don’t be,” she whispered back. “I love you all, it’s just… not an easy time.”
He patted her on the back, not releasing her, and Charlotte didn’t pull away. At that moment, all she wanted was the comfort of her parents and not to think of the outside world.
When her father did eventually release her, and Margaret suggested they have a family dinner together to celebrate reconciling their differences, Charlotte’s eyes were drawn by a letter addressed to her, waiting on the nearest hall table. She didn’t pick it up, but she recognized the handwriting from where she stood.
It's from the Duke of Rodstone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Gerard was restless in the living room, pacing up and down.
“She is coming, Gerard,” Mrs. Philips called from the doorway. “I have just seen her horse pull up at the end of the road.”
“Thank ye,” Gerard nodded at his housekeeper.
She smiled and walked away. Gerard considered calling after her, asking her to chaperone them again, but the thought of someone watching him with Charlotte made his skin crawl. He wanted this moment alone with her, especially when their last minutes together had gone so badly wrong that she had cried.
He turned to face the mirror above the mantelpiece and looked at his reflection. He wore one of the fine cravats from the tailor’s shop that Charlotte had suggested, though it was itchy, and he repeatedly rearranged it, disliking the way it looked around his throat.
“I look like a dandy,” he muttered. He wished he could have torn the cravat from his throat, but the thought that Charlotte might like it urged him to keep it in its place.
There was a knock at the door, and he hurried to answer it.
He stepped back, allowing Charlotte inside. She lowered the hood from her cloak as he closed the door behind her.
“How are ye?” he asked, paying particular attention to her face.
“Well enough,” she murmured in reply. She met his gaze as he spoke, but there was something else in her expression today. It was a lingering sadness.
“I dinnae mean to make ye cry.”
“It was not your fault. It was my doing.”
“Aye, sure it was.” He shook his head, knowing the truth of the matter. He went to help her with the cloak, as was now their custom, but his breath halted in his throat when he saw what gown she had worn.
It was the sage green gown that he had purchased for her. He didn’t move and just stood there, dumbstruck as he gazed at her in the dress.
“I needed an excuse to leave the house,” she said hurriedly, clearly catching his eye and the way he stared at her. “I told my mother I was going out for dinner to my aunt’s house. I had to dress as if I was going for dinner.” She paused, her hands fidgeting together. It almost looked as if she was afraid to hear what he would say next.
“Ye look… beautiful,” he said with a small sigh. She smiled. It was the first sign of her relaxing in his company since she had walked through the door. He matched that look and hooked the cloak over the coat stand, then led the way into his living room.
“Have you made arrangements, then?” she asked, following him inside. They kept the door open.
“For what?”
“For Scotland,” she said in a smaller voice. “From what you and the viscount were saying the other day, you will be leaving sooner.”
“I have made some arrangements.” He suddenly didn’t like the idea of talking about when he was going to leave. He wanted to think about this moment alone. “I have a request. Somethin’ for ye to teach me. Ye can refuse me.”
“In my experience, you do not like being refused much,” she said with something of her usual wit about her. They shared a small smile.
“I ken what I like in this world.”
“And you are somewhat used to getting it,” she teased him.
