As he sat in his study, tapping his fingers on the wooden table, the click-clack resonated in the silence. Had he been too harsh with her? Charity's stricken expression replayed in his mind's eye, and he cringed at the memory. He had indeed been too harsh—he should not have acted so.
He ought to have continued as he had for the past few days, avoiding her presence whenever feasible. But no, she had followed him, demanding the truth. How much had she discerned? Had someone spoken out of turn?
No, it must have been Barron—the wretched Barron. That accursed Markham. His hands curled into fists at the thought of both men. Barron had infiltrated his uncle’s ball to sow doubt within Charity’s mind, and he had succeeded. And Markham? Markham had confronted him solely to convey that they were far from being in the clear.
A knock sounded at the door then.
“Come,” he called. The housekeeper opened the door and stepped in.
“Your dinner, Your Grace. And documents just arrived via messenger from your solicitor,” she said.
“Mrs. Frames, I appreciate it,” he said when the housekeeper entered with his tray of food. She placed it down in front of him and glanced up. He wanted to ask after Charity, if she’d eaten yet, but refrained. He did not wish to draw Mrs. Frames into his predicament any more than he had to. He simply thanked her and watched her leave before eating his food.
It was lonely, eating alone after having dined with Charity for almost a fortnight now, and yet he knew he had only himself to blame.
He finished his dinner and rang the bell for the tray to be taken away. This time, it was a footman who arrived to collect it rather than Mrs. Frames. Once this was done, he settled back into his chair and reviewed the documents that had just arrived concerning Charity's inheritance.
Lord Pembroke had been a man of considerable wealth, though it paled in comparison to Eammon’s family fortune. As he read through the will, he noted with some satisfaction that the entire family was well provided for, not just Charity. However, Charity had inherited a number of valuable books and possessions. He couldn't help but wonder if his mother-in-law, Lady Pembroke, fully grasped the treasure trove her daughter now possessed. Did she even care about the significance of the volumes included in that collection?
He shook his head and flipped through the papers. Charity had inherited a tidy sum along with bonds. He was startled to discover that her sister, Eleanor, had a similar inheritance tied to a marriage as well. It struck him that Lord Pembroke might have crafted the terms this way to ensure Charity did not find them odd or unusual, nor would society, for that matter. He imagined he would not want to draw attention to anything too peculiar.
Still, a thought nagged at him: he wished to do something for Eleanor so she wouldn’t find herself in a situation as complicated as her sister's. Setting the papers aside, a wave of guilt washed over him for the harshness with which he had spoken to Charity recently. He really hadn’t needed to be so callous. Perhaps he could talk to her, explain that there were matters he could not disclose for her own safety, and ask her to refrain from pressing him further. Maybe she would understand.
He glanced at the clock. It was nine in the evening. Surely, she must have finished dinner by now. Standing up, he exited his study, making his way toward the dining room. To his surprise, the room was empty.
“Mrs. Frames!” he called after the housekeeper, who was ascending the stairs. “Where is Her Grace?”
She paused, turning to face him. “Her Grace left this afternoon. She hasn’t returned yet.”
Had not yet returned? A knot of anxiety formed in his stomach. He looked out the window; darkness had set in, and distant thunder echoed ominously, signaling a storm approaching. “Where has she gone?”
“I cannot say for certain,” Mrs. Frames replied. “She informed Jean that she would return this evening and that she wouldn’t need her until late. She expected Jean to help her to bed around nine.”
“It’s nine now,” he pointed out, noticing a slight furrow in the housekeeper’s brow.
“I’m aware, Your Grace. I suspect she’s visiting her cousin or her sister,” she reassured him.
“Of course,” he replied with a nod, but anxiety continued to creep into his consciousness. If Charity had gone into London, who knew what kind of people she might encounter? The thought sent a chill down his spine. Would Markham consider harming her? But what could he do? Markham had likely shared everything with Eammon, leaving the matter beyond his control.
Still restless, he felt compelled to find her and explain the truth about his marriage to her. Running a hand through his hair, he tried to shake off the unease. He needed to stop dwelling on these thoughts.
Determined to distract himself, he returned to his study and pulled out the estate ledger. Keeping himself occupied would be the best course of action. When Charity returned, he would speak to her. They needed to find common ground—some way to bridge the chasm that had formed between them. They simply had to.
CHARITY
“Look at this!” Eleanor said, holding up a book titledGoody Two-Shoes.
Charity chuckled as she took it from her. “I can’t believe that was in the pile. I didn’t know he kept that! Do you remember how he used to read it to us when we were little?”
“I do,” Eleanor replied, her eyes brightening.
“He would make all those funny voices. It was wonderful! I loved it so much. I didn’t think he’d kept any of those books. Here, you should have it!” She handed the book to her sister, but Eleanor shook her head.
“No, it should be yours. You’re going to have children first.”
“Don’t be so certain,” Charity said with a sigh. “Eammon and I scarcely get along. Any talk of children seems far off, if at all.”
Eleanor’s mouth dropped open. “But I thought you were so happy! I thought you were in love and everything.”
