“I demand to see her and explain. That was not what it looked like, I can assure you of that. I’m afraid to tell you, my lady, that you have been hosting a harpy of the worst order. Lady Lucille is lady in name alone.”
“Is she indeed?” Lady Fairchild raised her eyebrows. “I’m afraid I cannot allow you to see my niece, Your Grace. As you saw for yourself, she was very upset by your actions. Aman truly in love would never do such a thing. Indeed, a man with morals never would either.”
Alexander forced his breath out, his nostrils flaring as he did so. “I have proof of her cruel ways, my lady, and if only you will allow me a moment to—”
“That will not be possible, Your Grace. Duke or otherwise, I am in charge for this household while my husband is away, and I care greatly for the young lady whose heart you have broken.”
Lucille giggled again, and Lady Fairchild met her gaze over Alexander’s shoulder. The look on her face gave him pause, for there was no anger nor confusion. Instead, there was a smile. It was small and subtle, perhaps, but it was undoubtedly there.
“Please,” he said, resorting to begging. “Allow me to see her. I’d like the chance to explain, and if she then wants me to leave, I shall never darken your doorstep again.”
“That’s quite impossible,” she said, her expression returned to the sour one she offered him.
Alexander narrowed his eyes. It was all becoming clear in his mind. Lucille he had long suspected, but Lady Fairchild? Alexander had been a fool not to see that the pair were workingtogether. To what end, he had no idea, but there was no doubt left in his mind. Lady Fairchild had a hand in his downfall.
“If you’ll follow me, Your Grace,” she said, ushering him out of the room. Dumbfounded and devastated, he followed her out of the room.
He spent that night at the club, drowning his sorrows in a vat of brandy, turning his memory of the day’s events hazy. But the following morning, he returned to the house. She wouldn’t see him, but Alexander wouldn’t give up so easily. She needed time, he decided. She needed to see that he was serious.
Over the following three days, Alexander didn’t rest. He sent note after note to Charlotte, though each one was entirely ignored. He had spent hours outside the Fairchild home and not once had he been admitted. He’d tormented himself for days, and now he didn’t know where to turn. He was on the brink of giving up, of accepting defeat, for what else could he do?
He paced the floor of his study, his mind racing, when the butler entered with a letter.
“A note had arrived for you, Your Grace,” he said, but Alexander had snatched it out of the man’s hand and ripped it open before he could finish his sentence.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted the scrawled signature at the bottom, Lady Charlotte Fairchild. He wouldhave preferred a little more familiarity than that, but at least she had written to him. At least she was thinking of him.
But when he read it, what little was left of his world fell apart.
The Duke of Ashbourne,
As you are aware, it has come to my attention that our friendship was built on a lie. I have since discovered a number of unhappy truths about you, thanks to family and good friends who care only for my safety and happiness.
I have tried ignoring you, I have tried staying away from you. But your insistence leaves me no choice: I politely request that you stay away from me. Do not call at the house, do not send any letters. I do not wish to see you—not now; not ever again.
Lady Charlotte Fairchild.
***
“Come now,” Aunt Lydia said after Charlotte had watched the note being taken away for posting. “Let’s get going. A little country air will do you the world of good.”
She held her arm out affectionately, her expression one of pity. Charlotte nodded and allowed herself to be led into the carriage. She had barely slept for days, and her eyes were dry and sore from too much crying.
There had been occasions when she had almost given in to Alexander’s request, but each time, her aunt reminded her of what he had done or discussed some other matter from his past. Charlotte was only grateful to have her and Uncle Elliot in her life. They knew what love truly was, and Charlotte was nothing but a fool. She should have known better.
The carriage pulled away from the house, the coach swaying in the wind as the wheels clattered over the cobbles.
“Sometimes I think it would have been better never to have loved,” she muttered as she stared out of the window. “Love only leads to hurt, after all.”
“Hush now,” Aunt Lydia said, patting Charlotte on the knee. “Thinking of it will only make it worse. Try and put it out of your mind.”
“But I have been made such a fool!”
“A girl so young as you and with such little experience isn’t to know,” Aunt Lydia continued.
Charlotte wanted to make herself as small as possible then disappear entirely. She’d always considered herself a woman of the world. Young, yes, but bright and never anyone’s fool. She thought herself intelligent and not likely to fall for trickery. And she certainly never thought she would be tricked into loving a man at all, let alone one who didn’t love her in return.
Since that terrible day, she had learned the truth about Alexander. He had never loved her. He only used her for her wealth. He had hoped to marry her, claim her money, then leave with Lucille. He was penniless and broken, and he had mounting debt. Charlotte couldn’t even truly blame Lucille, for she had been good enough to tell them all the truth in the end. She had a kind enough heart to stop Alexander from ruining Charlotte entirely.
