Page 33 of The Duke's Hidden Scandal
As though by design, Elizabeth drew Lady Wentworth toward him through the room, and Colin’s body tensed as she approached. She was such a lovely-looking woman, and having come to know her personality, he believed her to be one of the most beautiful women of his acquaintance. Beauty was not just skin deep, and Lavinia Norwell was a testament to that fact. She might be extremely pretty, but her smiles were false, and she had a sharp, vicious tongue that he had heard on several occasions.
Charlotte was all soft lines with a kind and settled temperament. He had not spent such an enjoyable evening with anyone for many years, and that she could drag his mind away from his ledgers was proof enough to her conversation.
As she came level with him, he bowed.
“Thank you for your insight into the books and poems this evening, Lady Wentworth. I believe I shall speak to Hayesworth about visiting his Scottish estate as soon as I am able to.” Her face fell just a fraction, and Colin felt a judder of hope run through him. “Not until the end of the season; however, I have much to do here in the meantime.”
Lady Wentworth smiled. “Good evening, your Grace, I hope you have managed to steal some of the political pamphlets to read on your journey home.”
Colin chuckled. “You know me too well, Lady Wentworth.”
At that, his mother returned to him, and he escorted her out. He felt lighter on his feet, his mind clear for the first time in weeks, and he had only Lady Wentworth to thank.
***
That night, Charlotte went to bed feeling a mixture of excitement, uncertainty, and dread. The shadow of her father’sexpectations still hung over her, and she could not understand why he was so certain of Kilby’s suitability.
As she made her way to the side of the bed, a floorboard creaked loudly beneath her foot and shifted slightly. She looked down at it in surprise to find that a large gap had formed beside it, as though the floorboard itself could be removed.
Glancing up to ensure she was alone, and no servants had entered the room without her knowledge, Charlotte knelt on the ground and pulled the floorboard up and out of the groove where it sat.
Beneath it, she found a dark red journal, its pages yellowed with years beneath the floor. She drew it out, her heart thudding with excitement.
Moving to the fireplace she settled into a chair as the flames crackled beside her and tucked her feet beneath her as she opened it to the first page. The entry was dated twenty-five years before and was written in her mother’s familiar hand.
"April 15, 1790-Tonight, I met him again at Lady Brookfield's ball. Auric Ludlow, the most captivating gentleman I've ever encountered. His eyes seem to see right through me, and when we danced, it felt as though we were the only two people in the room. Father would never approve, of course. The Ludlows, while respected, lack the ancient lineage he so prizes. But oh, how my heart soars when Auric is near!"
Charlotte's breath caught in her throat. Auric Ludlow – the duke’s father. She read on, her fingers tracing her mother’s handwriting as she absorbed the words within the journal. It told a story of a passionate romance, of which, until this moment, Charlotte had known nothing.
"May 3, 1790-Auric and I stole a moment alone in Lady Brookfield’s Garden. He spoke of his dreams, his ambitions in Parliament. The way he talks about making a difference, about using his position for the good of others-it makes me love himall the more. He asked me to meet him tomorrow, away from prying eyes. I know I shouldn't, but how can I refuse?"
"June 12, 1790-Auric asked me to marry him today. My heart wants to shout 'yes' from the rooftops, but fear holds me back. Father's disapproval looms like a storm cloud. Auric says we'll find a way, that love conquers all. I desperately want to believe him."
The entries that followed spoke of secret meetings, of plans made and unmade, of a love that seemed to defy the constraints of society. It was a soaring romance for the ages, and Charlotte could hardly believe that the flowery prose and deep sentiments belonged to her own mother.
But then, the tone changed:
"July 20, 1790-It's over. Father found out about Auric and me. His rage was terrible to behold. He's forbidden me from ever seeing Auric again, threatening to ruin the Ludlows if I disobey. Auric tried to reason with him, but Father wouldn't hear of it. He says I'm to marry Lord Richard Wentworth instead. My heart is shattered. How can I go on?"
The final entry, dated a month later, was tear-stained and barely legible:
"August 25, 1790-I am to be married tomorrow. Not to Auric, my love, but to Richard Wentworth. Father says it's for the best, that I'll learn to be content. Auric's last letter arrived today. He writes of duty, of the pressures from his own family. It seems we were both too weak to fight for our love. I'll lock away these memories, these dreams of what might have been.
Charlotte closed the journal, her heart aching. She did not know how to feel, wondering if the duke knew of the history between their families. Her own feelings for him were so new, so tentative, but they were real, nonetheless.
Are we doomed to walk the same path?She wondered.Is that the future that lies ahead of me?
Feeling the weight of history pressing down upon her shoulders, Charlotte reopened the journal and poured over the entries again. She found new insight into her mother in the words she read—her creativity, her hopes and dreams laid out in prose for her to read like a precious gift.
As dawn’s early light began to stain the far horizon, Charlotte was still awake beside the dying embers of the fire. She did not feel the despair she had felt when she first read the journal now. There was a spark of defiance in her breast that would not be extinguished.
I will not let my own story end the same way. Somehow, I will find a way to choose my own path.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Colin’s desk was littered with paper as he and Edward finished reviewing the documents before them. It had been an arduous task, all the more unpleasant, as Colin revealed multiple areas of suspicious activity from his father.
“Do you understand the pattern here?” Colin asked, bewildered by the myriad pieces of evidence that showed how severe the late duke’s judgment had become.
