Chapter Thirteen
“Charlotte, darling, lift your head. Let me look at you,” Lady Epping said, her eyes aglow with delight. “Lovely,” she murmured, brushing her hands against Charlotte’s cheeks. “Simply lovely.”
Charlotte could not have hoped that in this—likely her most broken and miserable hour—she might have at least only endured Una and Meghan’s company as she dressed. Instead, Lady Epping and Lady Chelmsford had fairly well insisted on loitering about Charlotte’s chamber, fussing over her, cooing and squawking together. To Charlotte, it felt like each of them poked her repeatedly and insistently with the sharpened tines of fish forks.
“That is such a fetching gown on her,” Lady Chelmsford declared, walking in broad circles about Charlotte, inspecting her. “She is a beautiful girl, Audrey. By my breath, she is.”
“Darling, here…” Lady Epping said, leaving Charlotte momentarily and hurrying toward the bed. She took a small box in hand and brought it back to her daughter, opening it and holding it up for Charlotte to admire. “Look what Lord Roding had delivered for you today.”
Charlotte looked down at the matching diamond necklace and earrings with disinterest. “Are they not divine?” Lady Epping gushed breathlessly. She handed the box to Meghan, and pinched the necklace between her fingertips, lifting it and admiring the play of lamplight against the faceted stones. “Are they not exquisite?”
“Exquisite,” Lady Chelmsford clucked in murmured echo.
“They do not suit the dress,” Charlotte said, and Lady Epping blinked at her, her smile faltering. “They are far too extravagant. I do not want to wear them.”
Lady Epping’s brows narrowed slightly, nearly imperceptibly. “Well, you are going to wear them,” she said. “Lord Roding had them custom-made especially for you, Charlotte. He meant them to be wedding gifts, but was so eager and pleased when he paid called today, he insisted I give them to you for tonight.” She hooked her hand against Charlotte’s arm and turned her smartly about. “Now lift your chin and let me fasten the clasp…”
“I do not want to marry James,” Charlotte said, feeling the cold press of the necklace against her throat. “I realize you think it is best for me, Mother. You have convinced Father to your point of view, but I do not want this.”
“I do not think it is best for you, Charlotte,” Lady Epping said, finished with the clasp. “I know it is.”
Charlotte turned to her. “I do not love him,” she said. “I want to choose my husband for myself.”
Lady Epping arched her brow. “You have already tried your hand at choosing for yourself, and look what has come of it,” she said. “A worthless cad beneath your station in a dilapidated house with no servants, much less windowpanes. A man who, by his own admittance, has overindulged in drink, engaged in brawling, been jailed and pilloried. You have certainly chosen well and wisely when afforded such opportunity.”
“Kenley is a good man,” Charlotte said. “I love him and he loves me. He told me he does.”
“Of course he told you that,” Lady Epping snapped. “He would tell you anything to see his way beneath your underpinnings and between your thighs. I know his sort, lamb.”
“Obviously, you do not know his sort at all, Mother,” Charlotte said, frowning. “Kenley is far too well-mannered a gentleman to take such advantage.”
“A gentleman she says,” Lady Chelmsford muttered with a scornful snort.
“Yes, Aunt Maude, I do say,” Charlotte said, angry now. Lady Chelmsford blinked at her sharp tone; her eyes grew wide, and she stumbled slightly, her voice fluttering in a warbling moan. “Go ahead, keel over,” Charlotte said. “You and your vapors! My God, why are you not airborne from them yet?”
Lady Epping slapped her across the face.
Charlotte gasped at the stinging blow, her hand darting to her cheek.
“How dare you speak to your aunt with such disregard?” Lady Epping said. “She has shown you great kindness, welcoming you into her home as no less than a daughter of her own. She loves you dearly. You apologize this moment, Charlotte.”
Charlotte blinked at Lady Chelmsford, keeping her hand against her cheek. Lady Epping had never struck her in all of her days; more than any pain from the slap, the shock of it left her stunned. “I… I am sorry, Aunt Maude,” she whispered.
“Now you listen to me,” Lady Epping said, grasping Charlotte by the arm and offering her a scolding shake. “You stop this ridiculous, childish petulance. You are marrying Lord Roding—a proper gentleman, an earl’s heir, and a suitable husband—whether you wish it, will it, want it, or not! Do you understand me?”
Charlotte winced as Lady Epping gave her arm another firm shake. “Yes,” she whispered.
“Good,” Lady Epping said, turning her daughter loose. She drew in a deep breath to reclaim her composure and struggled to smile. “I am not sending you to the gallows, child. It is a wedding, not death! Can you not even offer pretense of some good cheer, Charlotte?”
As Lady Epping pivoted toward the doorway, she paused, her eyes widening. “Reilly, darling,” she said, startled. “At last! Where have you been all day?”
Charlotte saw her brother at the threshold. He had obviously witnessed the entire exchange between mother and daughter, and he stared at them, his expression stricken. “I… I am sorry for my delay, Mother,” he said quietly. “I have been riding.”
Charlotte wanted to launch herself at him. She wanted to pummel him with her fists and curse him. It was his fault this had happened; whatever he had done to make Kenley abandon her, she wanted to see Reilly answer for it.
“Well, no matter,” Lady Epping said, managing a nonchalant little laugh, like all was rightly well in the world. “Go now and change, darling. We have been invited to Hudswell Hall tonight. Do wear something appropriate, perhaps to match your sister’s gown?”
“I… I am not feeling up to any engagements, Mother,” Reilly said. “I thought I might take to my bed and—”
“Oh, no,” Lady Epping said, her brows narrowing. “Not again. Not tonight. If you are well enough to spend the day roaming about on horseback, you are well enough for a ball. Now go make yourself presentable. Put some powder on your face. You look ghastly.”
He did look terrible, Charlotte realized. Reilly’s face was ashen, his eyes ringed in heavy shadows that were more than just a play of the light and his vantage in the doorway. He seemed to be leaning heavily against the doorframe, as though mustering the strength to draw himself upright was beyond his capacity to bear. He looked miserable enough that she nearly worried for him, until she reminded herself that he was to blame for her troubles.
Reilly moved to leave, his motions stiff and deliberately slow. “Yes, Mother,” he said quietly.
“Reilly, darling, you have not even commented on your sister’s good fortune,” Lady Chelmsford said. “She is to wed Lord Roding now. It has been arranged properly and officially. Does she not look lovely for the occasion?”
Reilly met his sister’s glowering gaze, and his brows lifted unhappily. “She is always lovely, Aunt Maude,” he said. He turned and limped toward his room.