Page 83 of The Duke and the Wrong Bride

“I had no choice!”

“Of course, you did,” her father said.

“Phineas!” her mother chastised. “We’ve been through this.”

Her father grimaced. “You did what you had to do,” he admitted, albeit reluctantly.

“And we stand by you, dear,” her mother agreed. She reached across the table for Charlotte’s hand, but Charlotte didn’t offer it. “You’re a grown woman now, and your actions are your own.” Her eyes flicked to her husband, as if warning him not to say anything. “We just want to make sure that they were the right actions.”

“It’s not too late to go back…” her father added under his breath.

“I couldn’t possibly.” Charlotte sighed, sinking further into her chair, that same sickening sensation building in her as it had been this past week. “After what I said… what he said…” She shook her head. “What’s done is done. Only…”

A hopeful glance to the door, as if expecting a member of the staff to walk through with a letter in their hand. Or better, for Henry to appear as if by magic, falling to his knees and begging that she return.

“If he was to reach out.” Her mother nodded, understanding the meaning.

“Which he won’t do,” Charlotte admitted. “I see that now.”

Had she made a mistake? Had she gone too far? Acted too quickly? Spoken without thinking? At the time, she had truly felt as if she’d been left no choice. A marriage with no future. Love that wasn’t there. She might have liked to pretend that things were going well, that she and Henry were on a path to a better future, but that had been proven false.

Leaving him had felt like the right move. The only move. When she had received his letter, informing her that he wouldn’t be attending the ball, she’d hardly been able to believe it. With the way the two had been getting along, she had tricked herself into believing that love might grow between them, given time. That she loved him…

Five days since walking out, and she knew now that what the two had wasn’t love. It wasn’t even close. If it had been, he would have sent word by now. Heck, if he truly cared for her, he would have come himself.

It was a hard reality to face. Each day was as tragic as the last, the pain cutting just as deep, the hurt hitting her with just as much aggression. Worse that it wouldn’t end. That every morning when she woke up, she felt that same depression envelop and smother her, as if trying to choke the life from her being.

“Good morning, family,” Beatrice spoke stiffly and awkwardly as she entered the room. She cast her gaze about the table, grimacing at the sight of Charlotte, clearly depressed beyond compare. “Perhaps not so good…”

“Beatrice…” their father groaned. “Now is not the time.”

“Time for what?”

“Your cavalier attitude.”

“Me?” Beatrice scoffed as she walked around the table and rested a hand on her sister’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’re the one who is making things worse.”

“And how am I doing that?”

Beatrice looked down at Charlotte and met her eyes. A raised eyebrow and a shake of the head followed by an eye roll. This had Charlotte smirking, albeit barely. She knew to what Beatrice was referring, and although her parents weren’t doing it on purpose, Beatrice was right.

They were more loved up than ever. Like a couple of teenagers, the way they behaved. All kisses and joy and heavy petting. They couldn’t get enough of one another, apparently more in love now than ever. And while it wasn’t their fault, and while Charlotte was happy for them, she also wished they wouldn’t do it so much right in front of her.

“The good news is that I at least have Charlotte’s well-being in mind.” She gave Charlotte’s shoulder another squeeze. “Somebody has to.”

“And what does that mean!” their mother squawked.

“How are you feeling?” Beatrice asked Charlotte, her tone gentle and caring. “Any better?”

“Oh, yes.” Charlotte muttered absently. “A picture of happiness.”

“This is all my fault.” Beatrice then sighed despondently.

“No,” Charlotte said, only barely paying attention. “It’s not.”

“Yes, it is,” Beatrice rebuked firmly. “If I hadn’t done what I had done, none of this would have happened.”

Charlotte opened her mouth to respond, to tell her sister that then she would have been in this situation instead of her. But it felt like an irrelevant point. Nothing could change what had happened and dealing in ifs and buts only made things harder. So, instead of arguing the point, the most Charlotte was able to offer was a vague shrug.

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