“It was awful.” Charlotte sobbed, her tears coming thick and fast as the presence of her friends caused all her emotions to well up at once. “William caught us, and then Henry said he never could, and then I told Mother I wanted to go home, and I’m so sick of all of them, and….”
She stopped and blew her nose. Her friends exchanged glances at her garbled rush of words.
“Slow down,” Genevieve said, rubbing soothing circles on her back. “And start at the beginning. Miranda said you turned your ankle and Henry escorted you and her back to the house, is that right?”
Charlotte nodded and took a breath. Her voice steadier now, she told them, with flaming cheeks, about kissing while Miranda was distracted by her flower. Felicity gasped, Adeline tutted, and Helena grinned in delight as she recounted how she had melted in Henry’s arms.
“I am a terrible friend,” Miranda bemoaned, but no one paid her any attention.
They all listened, rapt, as she told them how William had come across them, and Henry had called the kiss nothing but a moment of foolishness.
“He insisted he would never marry me,” she whispered, her eyes burning with shame as she stared at the floor. “Even when William said he had ruined my honor and reputation.”
“Not if no one hears of it,” Adeline said flatly. “I’m sure your brother won’t want it to be known. It’s his reputation too, and Miranda has already proven to be steadfast.”
Charlotte reached for Miranda’s hand and squeezed it. “Thank you, my friend.”
Miranda squeezed back in an unusual display of affection. “I should have done better in the first place.”
“William may be concerned for his own reputation, but men are never affected by such things as women are,” Felicity muttered to Adeline.
“Hopefully, in this, he is discreet,” Adeline replied.
Miranda’s expression grew thoughtful. “While I witnessed most of these events myself, I must admit that this behavior does not seem typical of the duke, from what we’ve seen and all you’ve told us of him. Didn’t he imply there is some kind of secret that prevents him from marrying?”
Charlotte wiped her eyes, remembering Henry’s odd words. “That’s true.”
“Which may explain his reluctance to marry at all,” Genevieve chimed in.
Miranda nodded. “Yes,” she said, drumming the fingers of her free hand on her thigh. “That might explain things. I’ve always thought that the duke is uncommonly fond of you, Charlotte, and the kiss does not surprise me… although I do wish I’d played the role of chaperone more effectively. The duke’s reaction to William though… it’s not characteristic of him.”
“Perhaps he is just an absolute cad, like all men,” Adeline said glumly.
Helena hissed at her to shush, but Charlotte shook her head bitterly. She didn’t need her friends to spare her feelings. She could not possibly be crushed any further than she already had been by Henry’s words.
But Miranda, always the practical one, thought otherwise. “No; it makes too little sense. I would suggest that this mention of a secret means there is a good reason why Henry insisted that he cannot marry you. So it may not be that he doesn’t wish to, but rather that he feels he can’t. We must get to the bottom of whatever this secret is.”
As the other girls nodded, hope flickered in Charlotte’s breast, but she quickly suppressed it. She couldn’t allow herself to be disappointed again. Henry’s words had seemed so final. He would never marry her.
She rested her hands on her lap, willing herself not to hope, not to believe that there could be any explanation that might change Henry’s stance. “It doesn’t matter what the secret is. The only thing that matters is that he refuses to marry me. He sees no future with me.”
Helena huffed. “Oh, nonsense. Men are stubborn creatures, and Arundel is one of the worst of them. He could be making excuses.”
“He didn’t look as though he was making an excuse,” Charlotte murmured, replaying the scene once more. “He looked… wretched.”
“That’s what makes this all so strange,” Miranda said, leaning forward. “If he didn’t care, he would not have looked so wretched. And that is why we must find out what, exactly, is holding him back.”
Charlotte lifted her gaze to Miranda’s, her stomach a tangle of knots. “And if it’s something insurmountable that truly prevents him from marrying me?”
“Then at least you will have answers,” Miranda said simply. “At least you will know whether to fight for him or let him go.”
Charlotte bit her lip, clenching the folds of her gown. The idea of letting Henry go sent an aching pang through her chest, but the thought of fighting for him, only to lose in the end, was equally unbearable.
“I’ve already written to him,” she confessed. “I sent notes to both him and my brother.”
Her friends exchanged wary glances, and Genevieve’s voice was gentler than usual when she spoke. “What did you write in your note to the duke?”
Charlotte hesitated. “I asked them both to meet me,” she admitted. “In the library after tea. Although I’m devastated he won’t marry me, neither do I want him to be forced into it by my brother.”
