Page 17 of The Virgin Duchess

“Let it be. I will not speak of this to him, and nor should you.”

With that, Rose departed the drawing room, likely back to her own bedroom, where she appeared to spend the majority of her day. Charlotte sagged into herself, plopping down onto the sofa with a thump.

Dammit.

Chapter Seven

“You have really put your foot in it this time, Charlotte.”

She paced the room as she chastised herself. Charlotte couldn’t believe that she’d allowed herself to be so forthcoming with her reservations. It was always best to keep that type of thing to herself, and yet again, she was caught in a tangle because of her mouth.

Perhaps Magnus was right. It was certainly possible that Charlotte was overly honest and prone to speaking too plainly. She stamped a foot down, spinning on the heel to start up another trek across the room.

It was impossible for her to be dishonest about her feelings. She’d never done well keeping her emotions and thoughts locked up behind the iron bars of her mind. The gaps between those bars were too wide, and the truth—however bold it might be—too frequently slipped through.

You will have to speak to Frederick. And to Rose. There’s no excuse for your words, and you must make this right.

As she rounded the corner of her bed, beginning another lap, a soft knock came through the door. It was too cordial to be Frederick, and why would Rose come to see her? It must have been one of the servants.

Charlotte steadily approached the door, trying to gather her thoughts. When she pulled it open, she saw one of the younger maids standing before her. The woman was becoming more familiar with her sunny blond hair and blue eyes. She believed her name was Gemma.

“Good evening, mistress. A letter has come for you, freshly delivered by a private messenger.”

The girl had a slight accent, one that Charlotte could tell she was trying to hide. Still, there was no denying the bit of Scottish brogue that cut through.

“Oh, thank you, Gemma.” Charlotte held out her hand to receive the letter, and Gemma supplied it with a quick curtsey. “You said it was a private courier?”

She shook her head. “No, miss. It was not a courier. A young boy delivered it. He said that it was of the utmost importance that the mistress of the house receives the letter presently. He looked as if he hadn’t eaten or bathed in a time.”

Nerves gripped Charlotte’s intestines, and she chewed on the inside of her lip as she glanced down at the letter. There was no return address, but even hastily scribbled, she could recognize the handwriting.

Oh, no.

“Thank you again, Gemma. I’ll read it now. That’ll be all.”

Gemma curtsied once more and then left Charlotte to open the letter in the privacy of her room. When the door was shut, Charlotte scurried over to her small desk and procured a letter opener to slice through the messy wax seal.

It had only been dripped onto the parchment and allowed to dry. There was no signet pressed into the wax, and there would be no signature of some Lord or Lady within the folds. Charlotte knew exactly who this was from. She’d gotten several letters already, after all.

Slicing through the seal, Charlotte unfolded the thick paper and set about reading the message. With each line, her head dropped further into her feet, and her pulse raced all the harder. She needed to do something.

Remaining in the house tonight would be out of the question with what Charlotte had just read. Frederick had already agreed to permit her these nightly meetings as much as she wanted.

While she did notwantto visit under these circumstances, it was indeed necessary to go.

She would need a few of her things as well. Hurrying about the room, Charlotte began to pack up a bag. This was hardly the first time something like this had happened. The dangers of living in the dirty ends of London streets. As a result, Charlotte was somewhat prepared.

Procuring her limited stash of ground white willow bark from the apothecary, Charlotte prayed that, again, it would work as effectively as it had before. She gathered a few washcloths as well, and when her bag was nearly set, she rushed down the stairs to retrieve food from the kitchen.

A few apples, a loaf of bread, and a healthy supply of tea in one of the numerous cans contained in the pantry. The lot should serve her well and hopefully provide a bit of comfort, too.

Is that all I can bring? I should have gone to the market. I would have more to work with. But I can’t dally. They need me.

Stuffing everything together in the large cloth bag that she had, Charlotte sprinted for the door. A servant in the front hall followed up after her.

“Mistress, is everything quite all right? Do you require transport?”

She paused only briefly. “Yes, I require a carriage to take me into London. Do we have a driver at the ready?”

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