What could Wolfgang do but grin?
“How charming that you thought I wouldn’t be.”
She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I don’t mean to shock you, but have you seen the size of your feet?”
Wolfgang didn’t bother to answer. He dipped into the turn and spun Charlotte faster for the pleasure of seeing her breathless. It was almost too much—the warm column of her back under his splayed palm, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder, the rush and retreat of her heavy skirts against his thigh.
After a few measures, she spoke again.
“You were gone.”
Ah.
At least she’d noticed.
“Yes. Lysander and I went to see a parcel of Warrick land he wants to use for his ironworks. I took your advice—it’s past time I started running the estate as I see fit.”
Her neck was arched into the turn, but that drew her gaze to his face. “I’m glad.”
He lowered his voice, speaking below the music so the others couldn’t hear. “Charlotte—what you told me. I thought I wasn’t hurting anyone but myself when I shut down after John died. But I hurt Lysander. God blind me, I hurtyou. I’m so damned sorry.”
She had such a mobile face and it held so many feelings. “We hurt each other, and I hate it.”
“Bad luck,” he growled. “Bad timing.”
Charlotte shook her head. “I knew something was wrong. I should have come to you and forced the issue, but I felt sostupid—”
“Stupid?”
Another sadness flitted across her face, another way for his heart to ache. Also another mystery to solve, but not in front of observers. Wolfgang waltzed her across the room and out the open doors onto the cool, dark quiet of the terrace.
Her lips quirked. “Well done, Your Grace. Were you as decisive on the battlefield?”
“Yes, when I had a clear objective in mind. How did I make you feel stupid, Charlotte?”
She hesitated. “We’d written to each other all summer, but you didn’t trust me enough with the biggest—” Her cheeks darkened. Music floated out onto the flagstone, but they weren’t dancing any longer, though he held her with one hand low on her back and the other wrapped lightly around her fingers. “I thought you doubted me, and for a while it made me doubt myself.”
It was all he could do not to howl.
“No, that wasn’t it. I simply couldn’t—I barely can now.” Wolfgang swallowed hard, but it was a week for ripping off bandages. “Shall I try?”
“You mustn’t feel you owe me—”
“I’dliketo tell you.” That wasn’t quite right. Going back to those days felt like taking a bayonet to his own gut and twisting. But Lysander had a point—it was long past time to dig himself out of the grave. “I must learn to talk of it or I’ll turn to stone.”
Charlotte nodded, and her hand tightened on his shoulder either to encourage him or to brace him, Wolfgang wasn’t sure. He also wasn’t sure where to begin, but every story has a worst part, so he steeled himself and started there.
“Lysander and I took it in turns to stay with John in the final weeks. We didn’t want to leave him with a nurse, and he couldn’t be alone.” His throat constricted. “But I did leave once, for a cloth and some water. John couldn’t swallow, and I thought it might give him some relief to swab his mouth. When I got back, he was gone.”
He’d walked into the room and known at once that it was empty.
“Not even you can fight death, Wolfgang.”
“I know, and I’m glad he went. It was intolerable, watching him suffer. But I saw lots of men die at Waterloo and it never shaped how I remembered them. When I reach back for John, I only see the last hours.”Christ. He couldn’t recall his brother’s voice, but he couldn’t forget the brutal sounds John made when he was dying. “I erased him, Charlotte.”
Much to his mortification, his shoulders began to shake. Charlotte pulled him close and her fingers found his collar, burrowing up into his hair and tugging gently, not to tug more from him but to let him know she was there.
“You didn’t erase him, you adored him.” Her voice was soft, her lips close to his ear. “You still do. It’s clear how much you three brothers loved each other.”
