That was the question he had to answer now.
He reached the edge of the rose garden, only to pause as he spotted movement ahead. A small figure was standing among the flowers, her pale shawl gathered around her shoulders. It was Miss Felicity Doherty, Charlotte’s closest friend, with a maid lingering nearby.
She turned at the sound of his footsteps. “Lord Arundel,” she said, blinking at him with wide, sleepy eyes. “You’re up early.”
He bowed politely. “As are you. It’s not often that one finds company in the garden before breakfast.”
She brushed a stray curl behind her ear. “I never sleep well in unfamiliar beds.”
He nodded, understanding that all too well. “I rarely sleep soundly myself these days, and it’s such a beautiful morning that I thought the fresh air might clear my head. And you? You are also out for a morning walk?”
He wondered for a moment if she was meeting a lover, but from what he knew of Charlotte’s friend, he doubted it. She seemed even shyer than he had once thought Charlotte to be.
“Yes, I was just stretching my legs.” After a pause, she added, “I am glad I ran into you.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, I….” Felicity looked a little flustered now and unable to meet his eyes. “I mean, I suppose we are all worried about the situation. With Charlotte, I mean.”
Henry stopped walking. He looked at her, his brow furrowing. “She told you?”
Surely after their conversation last night, Charlotte would not have revealed his family’s shame to her friends?
“Only that she made you an offer,” Felicity said quickly. “She didn’t tell us anything you’d shared in confidence. She would never do that. She just said that she wanted to find a way forward. With the… betrothal.” Felicity blushed, obviously aware that she’d said more than was seemly.
Henry looked away. The roses were blooming brilliantly this season, their petals heavy with morning dew, but he gazed at them without seeing them, his mind preoccupied. “Then she will have told you of her suggestion. It’s more tempting than it should be.”
Felicity said nothing, just gestured for him to walk with her. They moved slowly between the beds of white and blush-pink blooms, their steps quiet on the stone path, and he glanced over his shoulder to check that the maid followed.
“If I may be so bold as to ask, Your Grace, what is your hesitation? Whatever it is that you must keep to yourself, well, if Charlotte is not put off by it, and you both wish to be wed, then why let it stop you?”
He was silent for a beat. “She’s risking everything,” he said finally. “If the truth comes out—about me—it won’t just be a scandal. It could cost her her place in society. Not to mention her security and her peace.” He kept his eyes trained ahead, watching the sun catch on a bloom just beginning to open. “She’s offering to risk too much. I couldn’t live with myself if she regretted it.”
Felicity’s mouth dropped into an O, and Henry guessed that Charlotte had not revealed just how much trouble his secrets could cause.
“So you see,” he continued, “she might think she understands the risks, but—”
“But you think she doesn’t?” Felicity interrupted him rather more sternly than he would have expected from her.
He blinked in surprise. “No. I just worry for her.” He stopped, frowning. “She will regret it. One day.”
Felicity studied him carefully. “Do you think that Charlotte is silly? Or naive?”
That took Henry aback. “Of course not. I think she’s one of the most intelligent women I’ve ever met.”
Felicity smiled. “Then why,” she asked gently, “don’t you trust her to make her own assessment of the situation?”
Henry stopped walking, turning to look at her fully as he processed her words.
Felicity continued, “You say you’re worried she’ll regret it. That she doesn’t know what she’s agreeing to. But if you believe her to be as intelligent as you say, why wouldn’t you trust her to come to her own conclusions? To make her own decisions?”
Henry opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked down at Felicity. She wasn’t accusing him—there was no heat in her voice—but the certainty of her words struck him.
“You’re trying to make the choice for her,” she went on. “I know it comes from a place of love. But it’s not entirely fair, is it?”
He exhaled, the breath catching in his chest. “No,” he admitted. “I suppose it isn’t, when you phrase it like that. But—”
“Respect,” Felicity cut in, “isn’t just about admiring someone. It’s about allowing them the autonomy to choose their own way even if their choice frightens you.”
