Page 62 of Her Heart's Rightful Earl
Margaret and Arabella said nothing as they watched Charlotte with wild eyes as she said the words they had been dreading.
‘He ismad,just like his uncle.’
***
‘Miss Charlotte!’ Thomas crossed the morning room in three direct strides, and Charlotte stood at his greeting. ‘Are you hurt?’
The look of relief on Charlotte’s face was palpable as Thomas showed his concern. ‘No. Thank you. I am quite well … just a little shaken.’
Thomas cast his eyes around the room, meeting Arabella’s anxious expression with a sombre knowing and looking to Margaret with a gentlemanly bow, laden with an apologetic grace. It was not lost on him that the worry he attended with was essentially accusing her son of some wrongdoing.
‘Will you walk with me, Miss Charlotte?’ Thomas was keen to extricate Charlotte from the increasing threat of the house where Marcus roamed.
‘I would be happy to, thank you, Lord Carrington.’
The couple departed, and Arabella noticed her sister was still shaking as she went, despite the season’s warm sunshine.
Alone in the room, Arabella turned to Margaret, and they simply looked at one another blankly for a few moments.
‘He is getting worse, much worse,’ Margaret declared in a tone of devastation.
‘He is,’ Arabella asserted. ‘And his presence becomes more sinister, more alarming …’
Margaret nodded regretfully. ‘I no longer recognize my own son.’
Arabella considered going to Margaret and offering her hand in comfort, but she felt an energy from her ladyship, which suggested she needed a moment of solitude.
Arabella walked to the window to look out across the lawns, wondering what the most sensible next step would be to keep them all safe.
As she stared out at the blue sky and horizon of lush green grass, Charlotte and Thomas walked along the path down below. They stopped as Thomas said something, and Charlotte launched her arms around him. His arms enveloped her protectively, and Charlotte buried her face in his shoulder.
It was clear from the tremor in her shoulders that she was crying. The chaperone who stood nearby, respectably turned her face away from the apparent grief.
‘Oh …’ Arabelle involuntarily empathized.
Her reaction caused Margaret to shift from her chair and, leaning heavily on her cane, she crossed the room to join Arabella at the window.
‘Oh dear …’ she agreed as she saw poor Charlotte crying on Thomas’s shoulder.
‘I am pleased she has somebody safe to go to, to confide in and comfort her …’ Arabella mused, partly to herself.
‘I wish that foryoutoo, my dear–’ Margaret said in a hushed voice. Arabella met her pained expression with a look of understanding.
‘He cannot be permitted to continue hurting people …’ Margaret asserted, and they both knew, without her speaking his name, that she was talking about Marcus.
‘The madness has entirely taken his mind now.’ Margaret’s voice tremored as she said it. ‘There is no predicting what measures he would go to now, to protect his dark secrets.’
Arabella blinked sympathetically at Margaret and turned her attention back to the window, where Charlotte and Thomas now walked beside one another, with their chaperone trailing behind.
‘Promise me, Arabella,’ Margaret said, her voice firmer now and her face set with a determined alertness that Arabella had not witnessed for several months. ‘That you will ensure Charlotte stays close to Thomas?’
Arabella looked at Margaret in alarm.
‘He is a good man. I trust him, and he will take care of her,’ Margaret continued.
‘Do you believe Charlotte to be in some direct danger?’ Arabella asked, her chest a flurry of panic.
‘Not directly. But Marcus sees threats everywhere now, and he reacts to them with volatility. I fear that curious young women asking questions could provoke him to a state of irrational impropriety.’
