Page 84 of How to Seduce a Duke this Autumn
Maddie chuckled, joining them on the bed.
Charlene found herself laughing, too. Short, sharp bursts that teetered on the edge of tears. Oh, it hurt, loving and losing all at once. But at least, among her friends, it didn’t feel quite so heavy.
She tossed the cloth aside and pushed to her feet, squaring her shoulders.
“If I must be a scandal,” she said grandly, “then by Jove, I shall face it with my head held high.”
Ashley grinned and clapped her hands.
Maddie wiped her eyes. “There’s our Charlene.”
Yet deep inside, where no laughter could reach, Charlene felt something shatter. Quietly. Irreparably. Forever.
Chapter Twenty-One
Steam rose gentlyfrom the teacup cradled in Charlene’s hands, the faint aroma of bergamot mingling with the sweetness of the sugar she stirred into the amber liquid. Across from her, Maddie sat perfectly composed, her sharp green gaze settling on Charlene with an expression equal parts curiosity and suspicion.
“What if I wanted to do something terribly stupid, romantic, and final?” Charlene’s voice was soft, almost as if she feared the weight of her thoughts might shatter the delicate porcelain teacup she held.
Maddie paused, her silver teaspoon hovering mid-air before she set it neatly onto her saucer. “I would always advise against stupid,” she replied, arching a brow. “Particularly if you’re aware of it beforehand. Romantic can be excused, provided it doesn’t teeter into scandal. But final? I must caution against it entirely.”
Charlene hesitated, the teaspoon slipping from her hand with a muted clink against the edge of her cup. “But what if I can’t stop myself?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost a whisper meant more for herself than Maddie.
Maddie tilted her head, studying her friend as one might a complicated puzzle. “Do you want it to happen?”
“Yes,” Charlene admitted after a long pause, though her confession tightened something low in her chest, a tension between desire and dread. But I shouldn’t, she thought firmly, though the words rang hollow even in the privacy of her mind.
“Then perhaps,” Maddie said with the patience of someone untangling a knotted ribbon, “you ought to provide me with the details. I can hardly be expected to offer sound advice otherwise.”
Charlene found herself fiddling with the edge of her linen napkin and avoiding Maddie’s steady gaze. “It’s about Adam,” she said finally. The name felt heavier than it should. “And a certain flower I’ve been thinking of giving him. One that doesn’t grow in my greenhouse.”
There was a sharp, familiar tsk from Maddie, her disapproval clear before she even spoke. “Don’t,” she said plainly, her lips tightening slightly over the single syllable.
“Why not?” Charlene’s words had an edge now, though whether it was defiance or desperation, she wasn’t sure. “I want to.”
Maddie leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful beneath the faint rigidity of propriety. “You can’t possibly know what it is you want to do, having never done it,” she said matter-of-factly. “Therefore, you mustn’t.”
“When you put it that way, it sounds dreadfully reasonable,” Charlene muttered, though it didn’t soothe the quiet ache of longing she had tried, and failed, to push away. “But… what if I long to know what it is I’m missing?”
Maddie sighed, the exasperated sound only tempered by the concern etched into her features. “Do you recall your fourteenth birthday?” she asked suddenly, her voice gentler this time.
“No,” Charlene said quickly, too quickly. She knew where this was going, and she hated the way her pulse skipped at the memory.
Maddie’s smile was faint but knowing. “Of course you don’t. But I do,” she said. “You cried all night, and I stayed with you until you finally fell asleep.”
“You’re a very good friend,” Charlene murmured, her eyes fixed on the rim of her cup, unwilling to meet Maddie’s gaze.
“There’s more to it, isn’t there?” Maddie prompted softly. “You don’t need me to remind you why. You did something then. Something romantic, stupid, and terribly final. Does that not sound familiar?”
Charlene exhaled slowly, the resistance draining from her shoulders. “I remember,” she admitted at last, though her voice was low, as if speaking the words might summon the humiliation anew. “I gave Adam my first dance.”
“And how did that go?” Maddie asked, though her tone suggested she didn’t truly need to hear the answer.
Charlene swallowed hard, her throat suddenly tight. “My father played the pianoforte, and I… thanked Adam afterward. I… I thought it was a lovely dance,” she said carefully, though the memory of the moment still stung. “Then he told me I wasn’t girlish at all, and that I danced poorly.”
Her voice faltered as she tugged at the lace edging of her sleeve, refusing to look up. “I told him that ‘girlish’ isn’t even a proper word, then ran to my room before the cake was served.”
Maddie reached for her teacup but waited a moment before lifting it. “Exactly,” she said, her tone calm but firm. “And this one, whatever it is you’re scheming about now… it could be so much worse.”
