The words landed like a stone in his gut. Heavy. Unignorable.
Felicity touched his arm briefly. “She loves you, Henry. That much is obvious to all of us. Let her decide. I know you care for her. Anyone with eyes can see that. But if you love her—even a little—then you must let her make her own decisions. Don’t protect her by dismissing her.”
Henry let out a breath and looked down at the gravel beneath his feet. The morning air was cool against his skin, but his thoughts burned hot. He didn’t speak again for a long moment. When he did, his tone was quieter. More humbled.
“Thank you, Miss Doherty. I needed to hear that. You are right.”
She gave a polite curtsy. “I’ll leave you to your walk, then.”
With that, she disappeared down the path with the maid, leaving Henry alone with the roses and with the weight of the truth she’d just handed him. If one of the things he loved so much about Charlotte was her quiet strength, he could hardly seek to take that away from her.
Sighing, he made his way back through the gardens. When he returned to the house, the halls were just beginning to stir. As he moved toward the breakfast room, he spotted Charlotte coming down the corridor. She looked tired, as though she toohad wrestled with her dreams all night, but she was lovely, nonetheless.
“Lady Charlotte,” he said, stepping toward her. “Might I speak with you in my office?”
She looked surprised but nodded. “Of course, Your Grace.”
She followed him down the corridor, and he held the large oak door for her as she slipped inside. The office was quiet and still. Morning light filtered in through the high windows, turning strands of her chestnut hair to gold. For a moment he just watched her, drinking her in before closing the door behind them.
“Charlotte. How do you feel about everything this morning?” It was always possible that she had changed her mind during the night.
She tilted her head, thinking about his question before she responded. “I feel as though I understand you more now than I did before. Why you acted the way you did yesterday. I can’t imagine what it’s been like, carrying that secret for so long. But I haven’t changed my mind.”
The relief that flooded him was proof enough of what his own decision was. He reached for her hand and took it gently between his own. “There is nothing I want more than to marry you. To have a life with you. If I thought there was no danger...”
She squeezed his fingers. “But there is, I know. Henry, I….” She shook her head. “Never mind.”
Her eyes were shaded, and he realized with a pang of remorse that she was preparing herself for another rejection.
“There is. There’s no denying that. But we can fight it. Together. I would like to speak with William and your mother. To announce our engagement. But I must make it clear that I won’t continue with the wedding itself until I’m sure the danger has passed.”
She smiled radiantly. “Then I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you.”
He pressed her hand to his lips. “We’ve already waited too long for each other. Let’s go and find William and your mother.”
They encountered Lady Fitzgerald first, in the morning room, thankfully alone and sipping her tea. Charlotte approached her, with Henry alongside.
“Mama,” she said. “There’s something you should know.”
Lady Fitzgerald looked up.
“We are to marry,” Charlotte declared, raising her chin, rather proud of herself.
Lady Fitzgerald blinked once and then broke into delighted laughter and clapped her hands
“Oh, my darling girl! Of course. I’ve hoped for this for weeks, but had quite given up expecting it to ever happen. How marvelous.”
Henry flushed. “I must caution you, my lady, that our marriage will not take place until we’ve addressed some... circumstances.” He looked over at Charlotte, who gave a brief shake of her head. There was no need to scandalize Lady Fitzgerald with the truth unless it became absolutely necessary.
“Nonsense,” she said, waving a hand. “You’ll work it out. You’re young and clever. I’m simply thrilled. We must have a betrothal party.”
“We’re not making it public knowledge just yet,” Charlotte warned her, but Henry could tell his fiancée’s mother was already planning her conversation with the modiste about dresses.
He grinned at Charlotte, and they left to find her brother.
William, unsurprisingly, was less enthused.
They located him in the parlor, reading the paper. When they told him, he set it down slowly.
