Page 26 of A Lady’s Dangerous Secret (Scandalous Secrets #1)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I t had been three days of angst since Charlotte left Lord Carrington’s town house and wove through the backstreets with a mixture of emotions.
She worried the Bow Street Runners would uncover her identity as Mrs. Gibson, which placed a pressure on her to marry the Duke of Westcliffe as soon as possible.
She was also upset that James had used her.
During her entire journey, she had the odd sensation she was being followed and would pause every so often with her pistol raised before concealing it in her cloak and moving on.
Eventually, she made her way back to her aunt’s home.
Once she was safely in her bedroom, Charlotte allowed all the emotions that had raced through her mind while navigating the backstreets to rush forth.
She collapsed onto her bed and cried until she reached a point of utter exhaustion and fell asleep.
The nightmares of the Incident returned, and she suffered through a tortuous slumber.
Charlotte rose from bed the next day with the sun high in the sky, but it went largely unnoticed aside from Bailey, since the household still believed her to be ill.
James’s revelations gutted Charlotte, and she fell into a melancholy she could not break.
Although her group of friends visited and tried to cheer her up, she preferred to stay in her bedroom, which left her alone with her thoughts for too long.
She felt deceived by James, and it was akin to a dagger being thrust into her heart. He just wanted to take her virginity and force her to marry him. He was after her dowry—which was secretly protected by her grandfather from his grave—and no better than the debt-ridden lords who had pursued her.
Charlotte picked at the food on her tray while she sat by the fireplace and stared into the flames.
Soon Bailey would come to prepare her for the masquerade ball.
The costume Eleanor had put together in mere days hung in her armoire, ready for an evening of revelry, which no longer excited her.
She did not know how she could ever trust another person or her own judgement again.
A knock on the door broke her maudlin thoughts, and soon Bailey was standing next to her.
“Lady Charlotte, are you ready to dress for the ball?”
“I suppose,” Charlotte responded dismally.
Bailey marched over to the chair in which Charlotte was seated and crossed her arms. “Milady, I realize you may have me sacked for this, but you need to pull yourself together. You can’t have some no-good man ruin you like this.”
Charlotte raised her eyes warily as Bailey loomed over her with a stern expression that she must use for her errant, younger siblings.
“Up with you. Otherwise, I’ll be getting you with a bucket of cold water. It’s what gets the little ones out of bed.”
Charlotte did not take Bailey seriously until her lady’s maid returned with a bucket of water and eyed her with a look that would make any governess proud. Although Charlotte had sunk rather low, she still had her pride, and she was not going to let Bailey embarrass her.
Charlotte stood abruptly. “Fine!”
Bailey curtseyed with a glint in her eye and went to the armoire to retrieve the night’s costume. Before helping her dress, Bailey eyed her neck where her wound had scabbed.
“It’s healing.”
She nodded in response.
Bailey coaxed her out of her dress and into the black tunic Eleanor created for her Persephone costume, to represent her life in the Underworld after Hades captured her.
It draped at her shoulders, leaving her arms bare.
Since Persephone was picking narcissus flowers when she was kidnapped, Eleanor provided a beautiful bouquet of daffodils for Charlotte to carry.
The flowers were at the end of their season, but Eleanor had been relentless and found enough that were still in bloom.
In order to cover Charlotte’s scar, Bailey wrapped the wound with a bandage, then covered her neck loosely with vines as a sort of necklace to further symbolize that Persephone was in the garden prior to being captured.
“Sit down, milady,” Bailey urged, so she could arrange Charlotte’s hair.
She sat at the vanity and turned her face to the left and to the right, noting her sunken eyes in the mirror.
She looked awful, but she supposed the one saving grace would be that it was a masquerade ball, and no one would see the sorry state of her visage.
After Bailey created a braided crown with her hair, she handed her the remaining accoutrement to her costume, a black veil. Charlotte had argued with Eleanor that a black mask would suffice, but her friend would not relent. Persephone had to appear in mourning.
“Chin up, milady.”
Charlotte forced a smile onto her face. “Thank you, Bailey.”
“I will make sure no one is about.” She waited for Bailey to check that the servants’ stairway was clear.
The Duke had written that he would be at the Rowley Ball the following night. He had given Charlotte the extra time she had requested before announcing their betrothal, but Charlotte knew she could not waste any more time given that the Bow Street Runners were searching for Mrs. Gibson.
She should have been savoring her last night as an unattached lady, excited for the scandalous masquerade ball. Instead, all she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and never leave her room.
Bailey’s head popped into her doorway to let her know all was clear.
Charlotte threw on her cloak and its hood, then made her way down the empty servants’ stairs.
She traversed the back garden and paused at the iron gate.
She checked her surroundings. Her heart pounded in her chest as memories of the night of her attack raced through her mind.
She glanced around nervously while trying to calm her nerves.
After ensuring no one was lurking about, she walked toward the end of the alleyway until she reached the intersection with the main thoroughfare, where an unmarked carriage awaited.
The door swung open, and the vehicle’s lamp illuminated the blonde hair of Eleanor.
A footman helped Charlotte into the carriage, and she lowered her hood.
“You look divine!” Eleanor clapped her hands together. She and Beatrice looked at Charlotte expectantly.
“Your costume is perfect!” echoed Beatrice.
Charlotte smiled, though it did not reach her eyes. “You worked wonders, Eleanor. Thank you.”
After Eleanor’s initial excitement dissipated, her smile turned into a frown. “But you don’t feel well, do you?” Eleanor glanced at an older woman snoring in the corner, whom Charlotte had not noticed.
“I’m afraid I do not.”
Eleanor reached over and grabbed Charlotte’s hands. “Let’s make the best of it. Bridget will meet us there. She sent a last-minute note that her brother found out she was going to sneak out, so he insisted on accompanying her. At least, the ball may be a distraction.”
Charlotte nodded in acquiescence. Beatrice and Eleanor chattered about who they thought would be at the event and the scandal of it all.
Soon, her heart raced, courtesy of being in a carriage and the Incident , and she searched the vehicle’s interior for an object on which to focus.
The woman’s snoring provided a rhythmic distraction, and she stared at the rise and fall of her chest. She counted each of her breaths.
Blood-red crept into the periphery of her vision, and she tried to push it away on her own, but could not.
Against her will, James barged into her thoughts and shoved the Incident aside like a vengeful marauder .
As much as she wanted to hate him, she could not forget the moments of tenderness he had shown her, or how he had been her champion.
She wanted to move on as she had intended, but she could not.
Her heart was broken.
Yes, she had to admit herself James had stolen her heart.
But he had shattered it with his deception, which was the worst kind of pain.
He had made her believe he cared about her.
Then he had used her trust to sway her against marrying the Duke and position himself as the better choice.
All for the dowry he thought would be his.
Through Bridget, James had sent letters to her since their tryst, begging for forgiveness.
Yet, she could not trust him. It was all a facade.
No one outside of Arthur and her grandfather had ever truly seen her, and she had been a fool to think James was any different.
His apologies were false words to convince her to come running back to him.
The utter betrayal Charlotte felt from James exhausted her.
Despite being in a carriage, she dozed off and before she knew it, she was awakened by her friends as the carriage slowed down in Richmond.
An eight-mile journey had passed with her no closer to resolving her tumultuous feelings.
The only positive was that the dominance of James in her thoughts had overridden the panic associated with carriage rides.
A movement in the corner caught her attention.
The older woman opened her eyes. They mirrored Eleanor’s, except for the wrinkled lines at the creases, showing a life full of laughter.
Silver hair peeked out of her aubergine turban.
The woman looked around the interior of the carriage, and her eyes rested on Charlotte.
“You must be Pulverbatch’s daughter, Charlotte.”
“How rude of me!” Eleanor interjected. “Charlotte, this is my grandmother, Aurelia Balfour, the Dowager Countess of Downham.”
“It is an honor to meet you, my lady.” Charlotte bowed her head in deference.
“Posh, no need to be so formal. You can call me Nan, like these two hellions,” she said with a wicked gleam in her eyes as she looked at Eleanor and Beatrice.