Page 41 of Her Scottish Duke
“Excellent, that is good.”
“But how do I get there?”
“We’ll—” Charlotte broke off sharply as there was a light tap on the door. “Come,” she called, and the butler poked his head around the door again.
“I am sorry to interrupt, my lady, but a letter has arrived for you.” He walked inside, proffering a letter toward Lady Charlotte. “Is there anything you need, Lady Frederica?”
“Thank you, no. You are kind.”
The butler smiled and promised he’d be outside if they should want for anything, then he left.
As the door closed behind him, Charlotte looked down at the letter in her grasp. She knew that handwriting. It couldn’t be mistaken. It was the same handwriting that had been on the notecard accompanying the gift of the sage green gown.
She tore open the letter, reading it as fast as she could.
Dear Lady Charlotte,
Thank you for the theatre trip last night. I did not think I would have enjoyed it so much if you had not put me at my ease there.
Pray, when will our next lesson be? As you have no doubt seen, I am still hardly adept at being the formal and excessively proper that a duke should be.
Your friend,
Gerard.
He hadn’t signed it with his title. His name on the page made her run her finger across the bottom. She felt her heart skip in her chest, thinking about what he would say if he knew of Frederica’s predicament. She could picture the outrage, and the protective way he would extend his arm.
“You deserve happiness, Frederica,” Charlotte said suddenly. “You deserve a man who respects you, who understands you, and who knows that you should be allowed to make a scene if you do not wish to be in his company.” She folded up the letter and placed it on the table.
She would have to reply to the duke later. She would tell him with a heavy heart that their lessons would have to wait whilst she helped her friend. For now, the priority was Frederica, but she would come back to him again, in time.
Frederica is the priority now, and I believe he would understand that.
“You must stay here tonight,” Charlotte pleaded. “We will not even tell my parents. The butler can put you up in the servant quarters, so no one will know where you are.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.”
“You can, and you will.” Charlotte stood and began to pace, her mind working fast. “We cannot get you a private carriage all the way to Cornwall, but there are stagecoaches, are there not? Tomorrow, I shall make enquiries to find one for you.” She swept back, pacing the other way in front of the fire. “We will take you to one that leaves in the dead of night, where you can’t possibly be seen, and we’ll send you to Cornwall. It’s best not to write to your aunt in advance, just in case the letter could be intercepted.”
“Wait.” Frederica stood from the chair with some difficulty. Her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks puffy. “Charlotte, are you sure about this?”
“Of course, I am.”
“No, you must understand all.” Frederica stepped toward her. “I am now a scandalized woman,” she whispered in a horrified tone. “If you are seen to help me escape, you will be tarnished too by association. If you are seen in the dead of night helping me into a stagecoach, think of what people will say if you are recognized. Charlotte… it is great risk indeed!” she declared vehemently. “I would not ask it of you.”
Charlotte could well imagine what her Aunt Susan would say to such a risk. She could also picture the way men of thetonmight glare at her, knowing she had associated with a scandalized woman.
Then she saw another’s face. She saw the Duke of Rodstone, and the way he had winked at her.
Courage grew in her stomach, and she nodded.
“What’s life without a little risk?” she asked.
“Who are you and what have you done with Charlotte?” Frederica suddenly laughed through her tears, and Charlotte laughed with her.
“Oh, I am still very much myself,” she assured Frederica. “I am just realizing something, that is all. Your happiness is so much more important than a reputation, my friend. Now, come, let us get you a bed for the night.”
“Thank you.” Frederica turned back to her teacup to drink the dregs when her eyes fell on the letter. She lifted it up, reading the Duke of Rodstone’s name at the bottom of the letter. “It seems you have secrets of your own, Charlotte.”
