“Will you ask me to leave him alone?” Octavia asked, stopping Charlotte in her tracks. She turned back, favoring the beautiful woman on the swing.
Charlotte shook her head before she even knew what to say. “That is not my business,” she said, curtsying. Then, she hurried off before she could be asked anything else. A tinge of jealousy gnawed at her. The idea that Octavia even wanted him made Charlotte jealous, even if she hated to admit it.
Maybe she should have put her foot down and fought for the man she loved, but she didn’t feel it was fair. Suppose that he really was meant to be with Octavia, then Charlotte would just be keeping him from true happiness. She had never felt this way. She had never truly wanted the best for someone, even if it hurt her deeply.
Charlotte wasn’t ready to give him up yet, but she certainly knew that ruining any chance he had for happiness for her own selfish reasons was too cruel. If this was just for the season, then it truly wasn’t Charlotte’s business what Octavia did or didn’t say. Love was special after all, and for some it was impossible to find. Although Charlotte might be lonely, if one was truly in love, then that love was worth fighting for.
She took a deep breath and met up with Arabella and Benedict. Once Charlotte arrived, Arabella looked around as if she didn’t think William could be far behind and neither could Lord Stanton.
“I apologize if that was awkward,” Charlotte said. “He had wanted to at least apologize to you over the whole situation.”
“It is…fine.” Arabella’s eyes were focused on the ground, distantly. Charlotte wondered what hurt more, hearing him apologize or walking away from him? None of it could be easy, especially when it had so clearly started like a fairytale. It was unfortunate because now more than ever, Charlotte truly believed that her sister’s reservation were her fault.
“Benedict?” Charlotte turned to her older brother, whose looped arm was still supporting Arabella. “You are familiar with Lord Stanton, yes? What do you make of this?”
Benedict shook his head. “I never knew him to be a rake, but if Arabella is under that impression, then that is all that matters. This is about her happiness.”
“But what if she is happier with him?”
“Charlotte,” he said firmly. “She has clearly expressed that that is not true. Stop meddling.”
Charlotte stopped her barrage of questions and simply nodded. She studied her sister’s face, but Arabella was looking elsewhere, likely seeing if Lord Stanton was near at all. When she caught Charlotte looking at her, she pretended to be present. “Um actually we just met Lord…” She paused. “Um, oh my, Lord…Lord…”
“Lord Branford,” Benedict reminded her.
“Yes, yes. He’s very…” she paused, seeming to look around desperately for a positive adjective. “Kind.”
“He is wealthy,” Benedict added.
Charlotte crossed her arms. “Is he?”
Benedict narrowed his eyes. “I think. Or perhaps I think of Lord Branton.”
“Are they related?” Charlotte asked.
“No, one of them is much handsomer,” Benedict recalled.
“Which…which one?”
“Probably Lord Branton,” Arabella clarified quickly. With that, she pulled Benedict along and they continued walking, eager to get away from Charlotte.
“Arabella,” Charlotte called out. “You do not seem content.”
Arabella looked over her shoulder and frowned but declined to respond. She hadn’t wanted to talk about it much anymore, even though it seemed the only thing present on her mind. As she walked away, Charlotte felt a pain in her chest as if this was all her fault. She didn’t like to admit that she was wrong, but now she felt compelled to retract her former statements about men of theton. William was right.
She had, after all, made a rake of him, so she wasn’t much better in the end.
Turning on her heels, Charlotte looked over both her shoulders for people she knew. When she felt satisfied that she was as good as invisible, she snuck further into the garden, down a narrow path between the tree line and around the lake’s edge. The waterwheel grew louder, and it sprayed a fine mist of water into the air as it churned the water. It was refreshing on Charlotte’s skin.
* * *
Charlotte opened the door of the watermill and stepped inside. When arms wrapped around her, she startled, attempting to push her assailant away, but as her eyes adjusted to the dim, dusty room, she realized it was just William. She narrowed her eyes.
“I could have screamed,” she admonished him, pushing her palm lightly against his chest.
“If you must, try my name,” he whispered.
“That is more than you deserve, no matter how skilled you are.”