“I know.” His eyes were dark when he raised them to hers. “You wrote me.”
Heat crept up Charlotte’s neck at the thought of that last stilted letter, just a few short lines. She still had his letters at the bottom of a drawer somewhere, as well as the hot, furious ones she’d written and never sent.
“It was odd to address a letter to Your Grace, the Duke of Warrick. It felt as if I were writing to someone else entirely.”
Although, of course, that wasn’t the only reason he’d seemed suddenly a stranger.
“It’s still odd. My father was the duke, and then he raised my brother to take his place. It was never meant to be me.” He gave a strange laugh. “I was always thesecond son, as I’m sure you remember.”
Charlotte frowned, not quite understanding. “Did you feel like the second son?”
“I’ll always be the second son. John might be gone, but that doesn’t make me the oldest—it only means there’s an empty spot where he’s meant to be.”
Her eyes pricked. “Of course.”
The carriage went quiet, and Charlotte had to fight the urge to cross over to his side and wrap her arms around him tight. Instead, she turned her head and stared at the countryside flashing past, wondering why the quiet in the carriage felt peaceful, instead of like a quick lull before they took up arms again. Blast it, she’dlikedhim once, until those black days that left her wondering if she’d ever known him at all.
“You should help Lord Lysander with his ironworks,” she said softly. “Especially if it creates a place for men who don’t have one. You should do whatever you like to make the estate your own. Isn’t that what your brother would have wanted?”
Wolfgang’s gaze seemed to pierce her, reaching uncomfortably deep, and soon the air thickened again—
“I find I’m quite tired!” she announced rather desperately. “Will you mind if I drift off?”
“Of course not.”
Charlotte nodded politely, turned her head into the velvet squabs, and snapped her eyes shut. There—much better! She could almost find her equilibrium, if she didn’t have to look at him.
“Charlotte?”
Blast. His voice surrounded her more completely when her eyes were closed.
“Hmm?” she managed.
“About our kiss—I don’t regret it. Not in the least. I’d drag you onto my lap and lose myself in your mouth for a hundred miles, if I thought I could stop there.”
Her eyes flew open. “Why would yousaysuch a thing?”
“Because it’s the truth.” Wolfgang regarded her steadily. “I’m beginning to think it’s time for some between us.”
CHAPTER 34
Gran’s landau was designed tobe spacious, but Charlotte had never lost anything in it before. Certainly not her reason, her wits, or her willpower, which had all melted away on the short stretch of road between Maidstone and Clare. When the carriage finally crunched onto the pea gravel drive, Charlotte shot out of it, chased up the stairs and into the house by the warmth of Wolfgang’s gaze on her back.
“I’ve packages in the carriage,” she called to a footman in the foyer. “Please send them up to my bedchamber and ask Miss Marby, Miss Alexandra, and Miss Helena to join me?”
It wasn’t long before her friends peeked around her door and she tossed them each a fat parcel wrapped in paper.
“What do you think?” asked Charlotte, sitting cross-legged on her counterpane. “There’s enough yardage for a ball gown for each of you.”
Alexandra tore into her package and a length of silk printed with the hellebore pattern spilled out onto the Axminster. She gathered it up and buried her face in it. “Is it from your mill? Lord, it’s stunning.”
Elizabeth, perched at the end of the bed, unwrapped hers more carefully. “Peonies!” Her face softened and she traced the edge of a flower. “But don’t peonies suit Alexandra better?”
Charlotte tilted her head. “Why?”
“Well…” Elizabeth reddened. “Peonies are such beautiful flowers and of course Alexandra’s so beautiful, and I suppose I think—”
“Lizzie, stop. Youmustlet me dress you—never mind! I won’t foist old arguments on you, but please know I chose the peonies especially for you. They’re a bold flower and it takes a certain presence to carry them off.” Charlotte turned to Alexandra. “I picked the hellebore for you because I’m mad for that pale purple-green, yet it also reminds me a little… well, of a corpse. I thought you’d prefer something less pretty.”
