Chapter Sixteen
“Charlotte?” Una said, placing her hand against Charlotte’s sleeve and drawing her mind groggily from sleep. “Charlotte, wake now, lamb.”
Will had ridden back to Darton Hall with Charlotte to see her safely home. They had reined their horses alongside one another, stopping a distance from the house and remaining there in silence for a long while, fog curling about them, enfolding them in shadows.
He had kissed her farewell, leaning precariously in his saddle to cup her face between his hands. The kiss had lingered for long, precious moments, their breath intermingling, until Charlotte’s horse had snuffled and stomped its feet, impatient at their delay. Will had laughed softly against her mouth, and she had smiled, even though to leave him had filled her with terrible, profound sorrow.
“I love you,” she had whispered as they drew apart, as he had righted himself astride his horse once more.
“I will always love you, Charlotte,” he had told her. He had caught her hand against his, hooking fingertips with her as she had pressed her heels against the nag’s belly to coax it into forward step. They had held their fingers locked together until the margin of space between them had widened beyond their arms’ full reaches. As she had felt his hand slip away from hers, as she had watched Will disappear into the fog, dissolving into silhouette, the ache within her had deepened beyond any measure she could bear.
She had returned to the house and slipped upstairs to her chamber, promptly crumpling into her bed. She had not imagined that sleep would be possible, not with her heart so stricken, her breath so tangled with tears she stubbornly refused to acknowledge. She had been unable to accept that this marked the end, that she would not be with Will. She knew there had to be a way to set things right, and if she only thought long and hard enough, she would discover it.
She had steeled herself with this firm resolve and her eyes had drooped closed, and she had fallen into an unintended, exhausted sleep.
“Charlotte,” Una said again, and Charlotte became aware of dim, golden light seeping through her eyelids. A lamp in front of her was aglow. Una shook her and Charlotte felt her dazed mind jostle from murky unconsciousness. She opened her eyes a slight measure, groaning aloud.
“What?” she croaked, blinking at Una. The maid was little more than a blurry figure draped in shadows and light in front of her. Another solid shaking corrected this; Una snapped into view as the cobwebs flapped from her mind, and she realized it was not yet dawn. The room was still dark and the only light came from the bedside lamp Una had lit. It was too early for Una to rouse her for dressing and breakfast, and Charlotte sat up in bright alarm. “What is it?” she gasped, terrified that she had been discovered, that her mother had learned somehow of her clandestine trip to Theydon Hall.
“You must get up, lamb,” Una said. “Hurry now. You must dress. Lord Harlow has sent word—the midwife has been summoned and consulted. Your sister’s baby is coming.”
Charlotte gasped, shoving her blankets aside. She swung her legs around to the floor and stood, stumbling sleepily. “Caroline, is she… ?”
“Come now,” Una said, hooking her hand against Charlotte’s elbow and steering her toward the wardrobe. “Babies seldom come quickly or easily, but you have no time to dawdle. Your mother is nearly ready. She will be waiting for you. Come on.”