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It was nothing, really. Just two friends speaking to one another in a way that was perfectly friendly. A joke made here. A bout of laughter there. Beatrice slapping Henry’s arm, and Henry shaking his head at something that Beatrice had said.

Charlotte swallowed past the lump in her throat. “You know Beatrice, she gets along with everyone.”

“Exactly,” Agnes purred. “Which is why I know those rumors were unfounded. If Beatrice had so desired, I am certain she would have loved to marry His Grace. Relished it, in fact.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Charlotte could see the smug smile forming on Agnes’s lips. “That’s neither here nor there. His Grace chose to marry me.”

“Of course, he did.” Agnes rested a hand on Charlotte’s arm. “You were his first choice, and everyone knows it. And I am certain beyond anything that he doesn’t regret it for an instant.”

“Me, too,” Charlotte managed, however unconvincing it was.

“I just thought I should apologize.” Agnes sighed and took a step back. “The two of you seem so happy together, and now that your sister is well, I am sure that soon she will find herself married and just as content.”

“I am sure she will.”

“Let’s hope she can find someone as… as wonderful as His Grace.” Another moment’s pause, another gesture toward her husband and sister, who were still speaking alone, another smug smile that reached her eyes. “Anyway, I’m afraid I have to mingle. Host duties, you know?”

Charlotte barely heard her, forcing a friendly smile but not bothering to give her so much as a glance as Agnes tittered and swept back into the garden.

It was all in her head. Charlotte told herself this again and again. So what if Beatrice and her husband were getting along? Truly, it did not matter. If anything, she should have been happy about it. Thrilled because Beatrice was her sister, and it wouldn’t do for her not to be friendly with her husband. And while all of that made perfect sense…

Still, Charlotte could not bury the feeling that something was wrong.

Now, just to get the obvious out of the way, Charlotte did not think that Henry and Beatrice were having some sort of affair. Nor did she think they wanted to. Absurd! She trusted her husband and her sister implicitly. But that also wasn’t the problem.

What worried Charlotte, what confused her, was the appearance that Henry and her sister got along better than she and Henry did. That they were a better match. Just to look at them now, how congenial they were together, no fighting, no tension, no sense that they weren’t having the most wonderful of conversations, free of any hint that it might go awry… it was, to be perfectly honest, the biggest contrast to her own relationship with Henry.

Had Charlotte been a fool? Had she completely misread her marriage and her own sense of happiness in said marriage? She had thought they were happy. She had told herself time and time again that they were. But watching the two chatter away merrily, Charlotte tried to remember a single instance when she and Henry had gotten along anything close to what she was seeing. And do you know what she realized? That not once had they done so.

“He’s always had a way with women,” a voice spoke from over Charlotte’s shoulder.

“Excuse me?” She turned around, suppressing a groan when she saw Lord Talbot.

“Henry.” His smile was slimy and the look in his eyes just as much as he gestured to where Henry and her sister were standing. “He’s always had a way with them. Women, I mean.”

Charlotte eyed the man, not entirely sure what she should say to that. She did not like Lord Talbot. Not the first time they met. Not the second. And not the third. She also got the distinct impression that he didn’t like her either, even if he never said as much. Further to that point, although he’d never mentioned that night in the tavern all those weeks ago, she was certain that by now he realized who she was, which might have been one of the reasons he didn’t like her.

Even still… the point he just made, it was as if he could read her mind.

“I’m aware,” she said stiffly. “A fact that I benefit from greatly.”

Lord Talbot tittered. “I am sure you do. If there is one thing Henry knows, it’s how to keep a woman happy.”

“What does that mean?”

A vague shrug. “Oh, you know what he’s like. Too charming for his own good, that one. It’s a good thing you locked him up when you did.”

Charlotte felt a pang in her chest. No, she didn’t know what it was like. And that wasn’t to say that she hadn’t seen hints of Henry’s so-called charm. She had heard him joke and make fun before, certainly. But not with her. Never with her.

“Truly, this marriage was a Godsend,” Lord Talbot continued. “I only wish it had the desired effect, as far as his tenants were concerned.”

She frowned and looked back. “Excuse me?”

His eyes widened, even if he didn’t look surprised. “Oh my, I should not have said that. Please, forget you heard anything.”

“Is there a problem with?—”

“Please, Your Grace. I’m afraid I’ve had too much wine.” He indicated his glass and shook his head. “That paired with the sun—my red hair, you know. I get a little flustered at these day events.” A wink then, one that she didn’t at all care for. “But I do hope you’re having a wonderful day, nonetheless.” He offered her a short bow and wandered deeper into the gardens.