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A rolling of the eyes. “Please, Harriet, I just want to talk to her.”

“I’m sure you do. And if I knew where she was…” Harriet trailed off when she noticed Charlotte looking past her and the smile that spread across her face.

“Good day, Beatrice,” Charlotte said as her sister appeared in the doorway.

“Charlotte,” Beatrice said simply, almost appearing unsurprised by her sister’s sudden, unannounced arrival. “What took you so long?”

* * *

“I’m not going back,” Beatrice said, arms folded, face taking on that expression of determined stubbornness that Charlotte knew all too well. “You can’t make me.”

“No one is going to make you do anything,” Charlotte said. “But you must realize that you can’t run forever. And you certainly can’t stay here.”

“And why not?”

“I assume Harriet is perfectly fine with playing host to a fugitive, then?”

Beatrice blew through her lips. “Please, I’m hardly a fugitive.”

“Our parents seem to think you are,” Charlotte pointed out, which had Beatrice grimacing. “But that’s nothing compared to what everyone else thinks.”

This had Beatrice hesitating, the first time she’d stopped to consider the greater implications of what she had done. “W-what does everyone else think happened?”

“Do you really want to know?”

She sucked through her teeth. “It’s that bad?”

“Worse,” Charlotte said rightly. “From the rumors of our father chaining you up in our basement to the ones that suggest you’ve been shipped off to a nunnery in the north. Everyone has noticed your absence, Beatrice. And you know how this town talks.”

Oh, how they do that.

It was strange how the dynamics had shifted between Charlotte and her sister. Only one year apart, Beatrice had always had a sort of power over Charlotte, a natural consequence of being the older sibling. And indeed, once they were led inside and Harriet sat the two down to talk finally, Beatrice had tried to re-instate this dynamic. It was just the two of them in the living room, alone, a situation that might have once had Beatrice walking all over Charlotte.

Not anymore.

Perhaps it was her marriage that had done it. Charlotte felt older and wiser than her sister. Or perhaps it was simply that Charlotte was frustrated and annoyed and through with how childishly Beatrice was behaving. Her running away had affected Charlotte’s life far beyond anyone else’s, and Beatrice needed to know how serious this was. That this wasn’t a game.

“It’s only rumor…” Beatrice said unconvincingly.

“Rumor that people believe,” Charlotte pressed. “You’ve embarrassed Father. You’ve forced me to lie for you more times than I can count. And even Henry—His Grace,” she corrected. “Even he is finding himself entangled in this gossip. This isn’t just about you, Beatrice. It never has been.”

Finally, her sister began to look regretful, unable to meet Charlotte’s eyes for the first time. “I didn’t think anyone would care.”

“Of course, they would.”

“And I didn’t know—” Beatrice looked at Charlotte, pain now taking over her visage. “I didn’t know they would force you to marry…” A glance toward the kitchen, where Henry was waiting with Harriet. “I didn’t know they would force you to marry His Grace. I can’t believe they did such a thing!”

“What did you expect?” Charlotte said simply. “He was promised a wife, and you were gone.”

Beatrice winced. “I didn’t want to marry him.”

“I’m aware.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t think.”

“Again, I’m aware.”

“I’m sorry, Charlotte. Truly, you must know that I am. If I had known what would happen…” she trailed off, again glancing toward the kitchen. “I would have never.”