Page 50 of The Truth about the Rogue
Still a little unwilling, Charlotte turned her gaze to the page that Lillian had pushed her to read – and snatched in a breath.
Not only one but two pages were filled with poems. She counted twelve of them, some long, some short, but all of them filling up the entire space of each page.
“Goodness,” she breathed, turning her attention to the first. “I must say, I was not expecting that.”
Her sister giggled.
“I am sure that there is even more you will not expect.”
Unsure as to what her sister meant in that regard, Charlotte began to read – and by the end of the first poem, found tears in her eyes. There was such raw emotion in each and every line. She could feel all that the writer expressed. The tumult, the confusion, the way that he had been torn this way and that… she could sense his desperation, his doubt, and his fear.
“Whoever this is, his writing has become significantly improved,” she whispered, half to herself, before going to the next one.
Quite how long it took her to read them, Charlotte could not say. She took in each line, each word, with great consideration,her eyes filling with tears on occasion, her lips curving into a smile thereafter.
And then she reached the very last one.
Reading it slowly, her heart began to pound as she searched her way through every line. There was a sense of familiarity here, something that she could understand without being fully aware of what it was. Frowning hard, she made her way back to the beginning of it again, letting it sink into her very soul.
‘The whispers of malice, the murmurs of deceit,
Are brought to you, unexpected and unwarranted.
A mask of lies, covered and garish,
Threatening to shake the ground where you stand.
Your hand is pulled from mine,
Darkness and shadow haunting your steps.
I cry out for you, but my voice is lost,
The words spoken bring you naught but despair.
Oh, but if you would give me but a moment,
Then I might repair the brokenness.
Cast out the lies, my love, tread on them until they break!
Find my heart, no longer lost
But instead,
Only
Yours.’
“Look.” Lillian put out one finger, pointing to a line that Charlotte had not yet read. “Do you not see?”
It took Charlotte a moment to understand what her sister was saying, a second or two to take in what was written there but, the moment she took it in, it was as though the world shifted under her feet.
Lord Kentmore?
“It is your betrothed,” Lillian murmured, one hand going to Charlotte’s shoulder. “Hehas been the one writing all of these poems, I am sure of it! Right from the very beginning, he wasthe one who penned those poems, and now he has revealed it to all of society! Though, I believe that these poems are all for you. Some are about you - and you can see the tenderness and the sweetness in his words!”
“This… this cannot be,” Charlotte whispered, her eyes fixing themselves on the page. “I would have known… I would have found out…”
