Page 47 of The Truth about the Rogue
“It is Lord Glenfield. Are you quite all right? I came out for a breath of air after my dance and…” He leaned closer to her, then caught his breath. “Goodness, you are not all right, are you? What can I do?”
Charlotte shook her head, her handkerchief already sodden.
“I just want to go home.”
“Then take my carriage.” Lord Glenfield leaned towards a nearby footman and directed him sharply, before returning to Charlotte’s side. “It will be here in a moment. Shall I fetch your mother or sister?”
“No, please do not.” Her words punctuated by sobs, she shook her head again, not able to look at him. “Just inform them that I have a headache and choose to return home. I have made that excuse before, and it has been accepted.”
Lord Glenfield put a hand to her arm for a moment, though Charlotte knew it was meant only as a kind gesture.
“Is this because of Lord Kentmore?”
Charlotte looked up at him. There was understanding in his eyes and Charlotte could not help but nod, not trusting herself to speak anything more.
“Then I will talk to him, will berate him for whatever it is that he has done,” came the reply, just as the carriage drew up. “I do wish you well, Miss Hawick. Lord Kentmore is not worthy of you, not worthy in the least.”
There was no strength within her to reply, though she did accept his arm and permitted him to help her up into the carriage. Whispering a thank you, she closed her eyes again andleaned her head back, more than ready to make her way home and as far from Lord Kentmore as she could.
“My courtship is at an end,” she whispered, brokenly. Her heart cried out as she spoke those words, telling her that she did not want such a thing to have happened. She did not want to have separated from the gentleman who had begun to steal her heart but, at the same time, recognized that she would never be happy should she remain with him. Her tears began to flow in earnest and Charlotte let them fall, finally giving in to all of her sorrow and pain, her heart broken beyond repair.
Chapter Sixteen
“What did you do?”
Andrew blinked as a strong hand grasped his arm and flung him around, his feet unsteady. “Glenfield, whatever is the meaning of this?”
“I have just had to lead Miss Hawick into my carriage so that she might return home, seeing her broken-hearted and sorrowful,” his friend hissed, his eyes narrowing. “I know that you are responsible. Whatever did you do to her?”
Andrew’s heart tore and he pulled the mask from his face so he might see his friend clearly.
“That is what I have been trying to discover. I did not think that Charlotte would leave, however.” He swallowed tightly, gesturing to Lady Faustine. “Evidently, Lady Faustine thought to inform Charlotte that I am just as much a rogue as I have ever been, and that she has no hope of ever having me fully devoted to her.”
“But that is quite true!” Lady Faustine exclaimed, throwing up her hands. “I do not understand what the trouble is! I have done just as I thought was best, seeing that you were pushing me away, declaring that such a thing could never be again… well, Irecognized that it came from a strange thought that you had to be loyal to this young lady! Now, you are free.”
“I do notwishto be free!” Andrew answered, speaking to her with as much force as he dared. “Miss Faustine, do you not understand? I have no interest in furthering my connection with you, whether I am courting Miss Hawick or not. I have no interest in pursuing anything any longer, aside from her!”
“Miss Hawick clearly did not understand that,” Lord Glenfield muttered, darkly. “Why did you not say such things to her?”
Andrew spread out his hands.
“I had no opportunity.” He made to step away from them both, the urge to go after her burning through him. “But I must speak to her, I must make her understand–”
“I informed her that we shared a kiss.”
Ice formed over Andrew’s heart as he turned back slowly towards Lady Faustine, seeing how her eyes gleamed behind her mask.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I told her that we shared a kiss,” the lady repeated, shifting her stance slightly so that she stood tall. “That is true, is it not? I wanted her to understand that any hope she had of having your full attention was not to be continued.”
Fear loomed, its shadow falling over Andrew entirely.
“We did not share a kiss,” he said, as quietly but as firmly as he could. “Lord Glenfield, you recall that I told you about this?”
Much to his relief, his friend nodded.
“I do,” came the answer. “I recall that you told me how much you disliked Lady Faustine’s nearness to you, that you stepped away when she attempted to kiss you.”
