“I have interviews lined up at the end of the week,” I tell her, noticing the pinch in her brow. “Unless… Do you not want one? It’sentirely up to you.”
“It’s proper, is it not?”
“I don’t much care about proper,” I readily admit. “If you prefer to bathe and dress yourself, I haven’t a problem with it. I do not have a valet, Charlotte.”
“You don’t?”
Her relief is palpable, and not for the first time, I try to puzzle out what, exactly, I have yet to pinpoint when it comes to Charlotte’s every comfort being met.
“I do not,” I confirm. “You’d like for me to cancel the interviews, wouldn’t you?”
“Please.” The answer is soft but decisive.
I tuck an errant strand of Charlotte’s hair behind her ear. “Consider it done, my dear.”
Charlotte and I finish our meal with talk of the manor. I give her more details about the library, which is filled with books from generations past, as well as go over our extensive indoor plumbing, which I know Charlotte herself is used to. I explain the gardens out back and tell her of the roses planted using cuttings of those I grew up with. She seems especially interested in seeing the third floor and the spiraling staircase that leads there.
Once our stomachs are satisfied, I set the tray aside. Since the only clothing of Charlotte’s we have access to is her wedding gown and the corset she surely doesn’t wish to wear, I jog downstairs to grab an outfit befitting the day.
Charlotte looks stunned as I come through the doorway with a full trunk in my hands, since I wasn’t sure what she’d prefer.
“Arthur.” There’s laughter in her tone as she steps off the bed as if to help me. In the end, she simply watches me place the trunk near the foot of the bed, my shirt covering her hipsbut not her bare legs. I quickly double back to shut the door, although the staff is nowhere near.
Catching my breath, I wave to the trunk. “Voila.”
With a chuckle, Charlotte opens the top. I give her privacy to dress, closing the drapes and making myself busy with straightening the various items on her vanity. When I finally turn around, Charlotte is pulling the tie at the back of her dress tight.
“If you ever can’t reach, I’m happy to help,” I tell her, knowing her more formal attire may be difficult to navigate on her own. But if Charlotte doesn’t want a lady’s maid for such, I certainly won’t force her.
She nods, giving me a soft, grateful smile. But the moment she finishes her tie and runs her hands over the fabric, smoothing it at her waist, I see it. The dimming of her eyes. Like a candle blown out.
“Do you need a different trunk, my love?”
“No.” Charlotte’s reply is quick, another smile offered my way. “This is perfect. Now let me tidy my hair, and you can show me the gardens.”
Putting away my frown, I collect our breakfast tray and bring it back to the kitchen while Charlotte pins her hair. By the time I return, she’s ready, her locks in a gentle twist at the back of her head. I offer my arm, and she accepts it easily, the two of us walking to the back lawn.
Charlotte’s gaze roams over the hollyhocks that are in bloom as we stroll leisurely through the gardens. “What time do you regularly leave?”
“For the university? After breakfast. My lecture ends by midafternoon, and I’ll return shortly thereafter.”
“May I use your library while you’re gone?”
“Ourlibrary,” I say, giving her hand a squeeze on my arm. “And of course. You’re welcome anywhere within your home. And…if there’s anything you need to be happy, please do tell me, Charlotte. I will get it for you.”
She aims a gentle smile my way before stopping in front of a wall of roses, the blooms here a mix of red and white. “I’ve always liked roses.”
“Is that so?”
“They have a bite.” She flashes a grin before tapping, ever so gently, the thorn at one stem. It doesn’t pierce her, but she rubs her thumb over her fingertip nonetheless.
“Then they are like you,” I say, understanding now why she likes them.
Charlotte looks at me in surprise. “How so?”
“Charlotte, love, you are so much more than your finery and the fairness of your features. Surely you must know it’s the very reason you stole my affection?”
A second passes. And then two. “Do you not fear me drawing blood?”
