Page 83 of Touched By a Traitor
Andrew sighed. “It’s all right, Daisy. I am a grown man, and she is your sister-in-law. This is your day, and you should not have to worry about my feelings.”
Daisy attempted a watery smile, but the tears continued to gather in her eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment. Andrew pulled her into a gentle embrace, mindful of her delicate gown and carefully arranged hair.
“Hush now. This is a day for joy and celebration, not for tears shed on my behalf. You look radiant, and I wish you and Lord Bridgewater find every happiness together.”
Daisy clung to him for a moment longer before she pulled away. With a final, reassuring squeeze of her hand, Andrew escorted his sister to the entrance of the church, ready to guide her down the aisle and into the waiting arms of her groom. And though his own heart was heavy with the weight of his loss, he could not help but feel a flicker of hope at the sight of Daisy’s luminous smile.
As the music swelled and the congregation rose to their feet, Andrew took his place beside his sister, his head held high, and his shoulders squared.
*
Charlotte had anticipatedseeing Andrew at the wedding, but nothing could have prepared her for the surge of emotions that coursed through her upon laying eyes on him. The mere sightof him sent a jolt of electricity through her veins, leaving her simultaneously overstimulated and bereft of coherent thought.
As the bridal march began, Charlotte took in the elegant decorations and the sizeable gathering of guests. Then, Andrew appeared, escorting Daisy down the aisle. Charlotte noticed the sharper angles of his jawline and the dark circles under his eyes. Though he didn’t meet her gaze directly, she knew he was acutely aware of her presence.
Daisy was radiant in her white-and-lavender gown, with a lengthy train and a crown of flowers. Susie followed behind in a matching lavender dress, both women a vision of beauty as they made their way down the aisle.
Suddenly, in a single, heart-stopping moment, Daisy stumbled, her foot catching on the hem of her gown. The congregation watched in horrified silence as the delicate fabric tore along the front seam, exposing her from groin to knee in a gaping wound of ruined silk. A collective gasp filled the air as Andrew leapt forward, positioning himself in front of his sister to shield her from prying eyes. With deft movements, he removed his own coat, tying it around her waist to preserve her modesty.
For a long, tense moment, no one else moved, not even Susie. They seemed frozen in place by the shock of the incident. It was Charlotte who sprang into action, hurrying to the bride’s side and gathering up the long train. Together, the three of them made their way to the waiting carriage, the tin cans tied to the rear clattering loudly as they drove away from the church.
Inside the carriage, Daisy sat with Andrew’s coat draped across her lap, her body shaking with the force of her sobs as she clung to Charlotte for comfort. Andrew, seated opposite them, stared out the window in stony silence, his face an inscrutable mask of gloom. Not a word passed between them during the long journey to Whistable, the only sound the muffled cries of thedistraught bride and the rhythmic clip-clop of the horses’ hooves against the cobblestones.
Eventually, exhausted by her tears, Daisy drifted off to sleep, her head coming to rest on Charlotte’s shoulder. Careful not to disturb her sleep, Charlotte reached out to adjust the coat that had begun to slip from her lap. As she did so, her gaze fell on the torn seam of the gown, and a sudden, chilling realization struck her like a bolt of lightning.
The stitches along the inner layer of the seam had been cut with deliberate precision, weakening the fabric and causing it to give way at the slightest provocation. It was no wonder Daisy had stepped on her hem, for the altered gown had left her particularly vulnerable to such an accident. It was most likely that was precisely what Daisy had hoped for. Charlotte’s instinct told her there was no foul play to consider.
A shiver of unease ran down Charlotte’s spine as the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. She recalled the mysterious circumstances surrounding the loss of Daisy’s virtue. Could it be that the young woman had intentionally orchestrated these events, deliberately causing herself harm and humiliation? The thought was almost too frightful to contemplate, but Charlotte could not shake the growing sense of dread that settled in the pit of her stomach.
As the carriage rolled to a stop before the entrance of the cottage, Andrew leapt from the vehicle, waving away the footman who rushed to assist them. With a gentleness that belied his stern expression, he helped first his sister and then Charlotte to alight, his hand lingering for the briefest of moments in Charlotte’s own before he released her and bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time in his haste to see to his sister’s comfort.
Barking orders at the assembled servants, Andrew quickly had a contingent of maids surrounding the distraught bride,ushering her up the grand staircase and toward the privacy of her chambers.
As she watched Daisy disappear, her slight frame supported by the attendants, Charlotte couldn’t help but wonder what secret pain had driven the young woman to such a desperate act.
Charlotte lingered at the entrance of the drawing room, her mind awhirl with the unanswered questions that plagued her thoughts. Andrew was engaged in hushed conversations with various members of the staff, his voice low and urgent as he issued a series of orders and directives. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he turned his attention to her, his expression hardening as he fought to control the simmering anger that bubbled just beneath the surface.
“Would you care for some tea, Miss Morton?” he asked, his tone clipped and formal, his address implying the end of their marriage.
“Yes, I would. Thank you, Lord Carlisle.” Charlotte bobbed a small curtsy in acknowledgment of his offer.
Without another word, Andrew turned on his heel and strode toward the small drawing room, his long legs carrying him swiftly across the polished parquet floor. Charlotte hurried to follow, her steps quickening to keep pace with his determined gait, feeling for all the world like a wayward pupil being summoned to the headmaster’s office.
Andrew made a beeline for the bar in the drawing room, his movements brusque and purposeful as he poured himself a generous measure of amber liquid. Charlotte silently watched him drain the glass in a single, swift gulp, the muscles of his throat working as he swallowed. He refilled the glass immediately, offering it to her with a raised brow, but she declined with a small shake of her head, her stomach churning with unease.
Shrugging, Andrew tossed back the second drink, the empty glass clinking sharply against the polished wood of the bar as he set it down. He made no move to invite her to sit, his body radiating a tense, coiled energy that set her nerves on edge.
Seeking to put some distance between them, Charlotte settled herself in the farthest chair from where he stood, her hands folded primly in her lap as she studied his profile. She could practically feel the waves of anger and frustration rolling off him, and she found herself holding her breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion.
Andrew, for his part, seemed indifferent toward the silence, his jaw clenched tightly as he stared into the fireplace, his hands gripping the mantelpiece with such force that his knuckles turned white.
But the eruption never came. Instead, after several long, tense moments, Andrew seemed to collect himself, his shoulders straightening as he drew in a deep, steadying breath. But there was no mistaking the undercurrent of rage that threaded through his body.
*
As Andrew drainedthe third glass of brandy, a mirthless chuckle escaped his lips, the sound harsh and grating in the oppressive silence of the drawing room. In a twisted way, he found himself welcoming the anger that coursed through his veins, preferring its familiar bite to the relentless onslaught of pain that had plagued him for the past month.
His mind churned with a maelstrom of fury and frustration, each thought stoking the flames of his ire. The groom had stood by like a useless figurehead while his bride suffered such humiliation. His own incompetence, his inability to prevent Daisy from falling, from being subjected to such indignity.
