A lady always packs well, and with assistance.

—MISS PENCE

September 8, 1891
Fort Collins, Colorado

Charlotte instructed the maids to pack everything, including her canvases and brushes. Where she was going she wouldn’t need most of these things, but it felt right to empty the room that had been her refuge and prison at the same time. And though she had no paints, she liked knowing the other tools of her hobby were available should she decide to pick them up again someday.

Moving to the window, Charlotte allowed her attention to slip past the breathtaking view of the Rocky Mountains to the cornflower blue Colorado sky. She would miss the West with its broad expanses of open land and bracing fresh air. While a storm could take her by surprise on the Continent, here in Colorado Charlotte could see one approach from miles away.

She let out a long breath. If only she’d seen her feelings for Alex before they’d surprised her in the cabin.

“No,” she whispered as the fear rose. “I’m sorry, Mama. I can’t.”

Charlotte wrapped her arms around her middle and closed her eyes. This fear was new, strange, and in direct opposition to the loss of independence she once worried about. And yet everything about knowing for certain that giving in to a marriage meant allowing for the same loss her mother suffered felt true. Right. Terrifying.

A knock sounded, and she turned to bid the maid to enter.

“Beg pardon, ma’am,” the girl said, “but there’s a problem with one of the trunks. Might we leave it here until a replacement is found?” When Charlotte nodded, the girl gestured to someone behind her. “Bring it on in.”

A lad, not much bigger than the damaged luggage he carried, struggled to gently set the trunk in the center of her room. A nod and a poor attempt at a bow later, both servants scurried away.

Absently, Charlotte returned her attention to the sky and then to the trunk sitting squarely between her and the writing desk. Apparently the latches had given way, for the top was askew and one side bore a crack that reached midway down the trunk.

She opened it. No wonder the latch had broken. The trunk was full to the brim with books and papers and letters. One of the servants needed a lesson in packing.

Charlotte reached over the mess to the writing desk for the bell to call the maid, but she stopped when she spied an envelope from Uncle Edwin wedged partway inside the copy of Sense and Sensibility Uncle Edwin had given her at her wedding.

Odd that she hadn’t opened it when she opened the gift. Especially with her uncle helping Grandfather run the company, as the missive could contain important information.

A glance at the mantel clock told her there was nothing to be done for it now. After the reception, Charlotte could read and respond to the almost-missed correspondence. She set the letter on top of her writing desk and penned a note to the maid.

Then it was time to submit to the hairdresser and the small army of servants it took to remove all vestiges of the woman who’d awakened in her bed this morning.

Finally they finished, and Charlotte stood back and looked in the mirror. Miss Pence would have been proud of her transformation.

“Shall I fetch the mister?” the maid inquired.

“The mister,” Charlotte echoed. “No.”

Though she knew making an appearance with Alex by her side would be required of her, Charlotte planned to delay the inevitable as long as she could.

She touched the pearls roped around her neck, the pearls Alex had given her aboard the Teutonic. When her fingers found the bejeweled locket at the end of the rope, she opened it to reveal the time.

Already guests were assembling for what had been predicted by society columnists at both the New York Times and the San Francisco Chronicle to be one of the must-attend events of the year. Papa had outdone himself, sparing no expense as he hosted the Old West’s version of an elegant celebration.

Though she’d avoided all pretense of interest in the proceedings, it had been impossible to miss the barrels, crates, and wagonloads of party preparations arriving daily for the past week. Great tents had gone up where the horses once roamed, each furnished with enough gold, silver, crystal, and fine furnishings to fill a palace drawing room. But then, that was the intention.

To top it all, Gennie had pressed Papa’s old friend Colonel Cody to linger a bit longer before returning to Scouts Rest Ranch for the winter. He responded by commanding his best performers to join him in preparing a private Wild West extravaganza in honor of the newlyweds.

It was all too much.

Charlotte set such thoughts aside. Tomorrow the ruse would be over. No more playing blushing bride to Viscount Hambly, and no more avoiding Gennie and Papa when her husband was in their company.

She released the watch, allowing it to slide into place in the hollow of her neck. But something about the evidence of a memory she shared with Alex against her bare skin made her uncomfortable. Shifting the pearls around, she moved the bauble until it swung from the longest strand.

“There,” she said softly as a ridiculous tear threatened to fall. “No need to keep track of the time tonight.”

And yet she knew she would.

When the knock came, she composed herself. Crossing the room with her head held high, Charlotte opened the door to find not Alex but Papa.

“Might I come in?” he asked.

“Papa,” she said on an exhale. She moved back and allowed him to enter her room. “Yes, of course.”

He went to the window, where she’d stood some hours earlier. Rather than admiring the view, he too looked deep in thought. When she shut the door, he turned to face her.

“You might be fooling Hambly, Buttercup, but you have not fooled me.”

Her heart sank. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” The truth, she realized, for she’d shared very little with her father these past few months.

Papa’s gaze bore through her. “You love him.”

The accusation stunned her. How had her father guessed when she had barely acknowledged the fact to herself?

All attempts at pretense fell away. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” Papa said. “Until just now.”

“Oh, Papa. What am I going to do?” She fell into his arms, not caring what the embrace and the tears that came with it did to her carefully constructed exterior.

“There, there,” he said. “Is it so awful?”

Look what happened to Mama.

Charlotte bit her lip and tried to will away the thought. The fear.

She failed miserably on both counts.

“What is it?” Papa demanded. “Has he treated you poorly? If he has, I swear on my life I’ll—”

“No, he’s been nothing but a gentleman.” Most of the time.

“Then if the problem isn’t Hambly, it must be …”

“Me.” Charlotte slipped from her father’s embrace and wrapped her arms around her waist. “It’s completely me.” Slowly she lifted her eyes to meet Papa’s stare. “I’m … afraid.”

He shook his head. “Of what?” Then his brows lifted. “Ah, well … perhaps you should have a conversation with Gennie regarding the wifely …”

Papa coughed as his face reddened. Had she not been so heartbroken, Charlotte might have giggled.

Instead, she shook her head. “No, that’s not it at all.”

Papa’s look of relief was short-lived. “Then you’ll have to tell me, Buttercup. I’m all out of ideas.”

She took her father’s hand. “For reasons that are mine alone, I can’t marry Alex,” she said. “Not now. Not yet.”

“Darling, you are married.”

“You’ve the connections to remedy that,” she said. “As does Alex. Only he refuses.” Charlotte paused. “There are valid grounds to annul the marriage. Do you wish me to state them?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I can guess.”

Charlotte tightened her grip on his hand. “Will you help release me from this marriage?” She paused. “Please?”

Papa looked away, then slowly returned his attention to Charlotte. “Not without knowing exactly the why of all this.” He held up his hand to prevent her response. “If you love him and you’ve got no compunction about performing the, um, requirements of a wife, then I need to understand why you want out of a marriage you’ve already been in this long.”

“All right.” Charlotte swallowed hard to dislodge the lump in her throat. “I won’t allow what happened to Mama to happen to me. I won’t … I won’t let myself love someone only to have them leave me.”

Her honesty appeared to take all the starch from Papa’s spine, for he quickly found the nearest chair. Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, her father sighed. Slowly, he lifted his head to find her.

“Come here.” He gestured to the chair nearest him.

She complied, though her feet nearly refused to move. “I’m sorry, Papa, but you required an answer, and that is the only true response I can give.”

“Well, I suppose it’s time we got around to the truth, you and I.” His shoulders sagged as their gazes collided. “It’s not fair to you that I’ve refused to speak of your mother. It just seemed simpler that way.”

Had she been able to find her voice, Charlotte would have told Papa exactly how complicated his simple solution had been.

“Until I met Gennie, your mother was the only woman I ever loved. It’s not right to find a love like that at so young an age.” He shrugged. “I was a fool, but I’ve no regrets. Were I to go back to the day I chose Georgiana for my wife, I’d do it all over again.” He sat back and waited for some sort of response from Charlotte. When none came, he shrugged. “I suppose you’re looking for more than that.”

Charlotte cleared her throat. “Yes.”

“All right.” Again he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Your mother was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen. Just looking at her caused me to lose all good sense. It was a good two weeks before I could speak more than a sentence or two in her presence without stuttering.”

At Charlotte’s smile, Papa continued. “Georgiana wasn’t without suitors. Chief among them was my brother.”

The breath went out of her. Uncle Edwin and Mama?

“But she loved you,” Charlotte offered.

“I thought so.” Abruptly, he rose. “Charlotte, I don’t feel comfortable going any further with this.” He moved toward the door. “Suffice it to say your mother loved you and never wished to cause you any harm. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be going and so should you. Our guests will be wondering where the bride and groom are.”

Charlotte stumbled to her feet and blocked his path. “With all due respect,” she said. “I deserve more than the crumbs you’ve just offered.”

“Crumbs?” Papa gave her a look of great offense. “Have you any idea what you’re asking of me?”

“I think I do,” she answered though she truly did not.

“All right, then. If you wish me to admit it, I shall.” His gaze fell to the desk and he retrieved the letter from her uncle. “Oh, perfect. You’ve correspondence from Edwin.” He held it up. “Why haven’t you opened it?”

“I only just found it,” she said. Papa thrust it toward her. “I assume you’d like me to do that now?”

“Why not?”

She tore open the envelope and allowed the page to spill out into her hand. But instead of a letter, what landed in her palm was some sort of legal document. She tossed the envelope aside and unfolded the page to read it. “It’s a birth record.” She handed it to Papa. “Mine.”

He took the document. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way, Buttercup. I’ve loved you as any father would. You’re my world. My very life.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Of course you have, Papa. But why would Uncle Edwin give this to me? Don’t you find it odd?”

He looked away from her, down at the birth certificate. Slowly, a smile lifted his lips. “You’re mine,” he said softly. “Right here it says I am your father.”

“Of course it does,” she said. “What else would it say?” Her father didn’t answer, and a sick feeling bloomed in Charlotte’s stomach. “Papa?” she whispered.

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, Buttercup. It doesn’t matter at all.” He gazed again at the birth certificate. “Where did you find this?”

“It—it was in the book Uncle Edwin gave me at the church on the day of our wedding,” Charlotte said. “Somehow I never noticed it before now.”

“Yes, well, fortunate you found it, isn’t it?” Papa said the words with cheer, but Charlotte knew her father, and something was gravely wrong.

He retrieved the envelope and turned it over. “This isn’t from Edwin. It’s from your grandfather.”

“Papa?” She ran her hand along his arm, then entwined her fingers with his. “If you loved Mama so much, why did you leave her?”

Her father seemed not to hear the question. Or perhaps he merely wished to avoid the answer.

“You wished to open this discussion,” she reminded him. “I find it quite unfair to close it before it’s done.”

“Unfair.” He nodded and tore his eyes from the certificate. “All right. You said you fear what happened to your mother might happen to you. Exactly what happened to her? When I left, she appeared quite happy to see me go.”

This she hadn’t expected. “She missed you terribly.”

“And this you knew as a child of what, three? Four?” He shook his head. “Keep in mind that Georgiana did not bother to mention the existence of a daughter until she arrived on my doorstep in Denver.”

“I—I had no idea.” Charlotte wrapped her arms around her waist and willed away the awful thoughts swirling around her. “But she spoke of you so often, and I always assumed …”

“Never assume.” Papa clenched his fist around the certificate. “I loved her. What in all the years of growing up in my home has told you otherwise?” He paused only to take a breath. “And what in my behavior toward you has ever led you to believe you were not a child who was well loved and cherished?”

“Nothing,” she whispered.

“Then listen carefully, Charlotte,” he said in a tone that only vaguely resembled the man she knew and loved. “What happened to your mother was due to her own actions. Had she wished to come with me to America, she could have. She chose to remain behind, promising to follow when I sent for her.”

“Then why didn’t you send for her?”

“I did,” he snapped. “I sent multiple letters to …” His eyes widened, and his face fell. “Because I assumed she was still living at Beck Manor in Northumberland, I sent the letters in care of”—Papa shook his head—“of my father.” He turned away. “Could it be that Georgiana never received my letters? That she loved me and not …”

He appeared to ask this more of himself than of Charlotte.

“Papa,” she said gently, “my mother loved you until her dying breath. Why else would she seek you out even when she felt you didn’t want to see her?”

Her father’s eyes grew moist. “I asked her about the letters. Demanded that she explain why she’d waited so long. She claimed no knowledge of them, but by then I was certain that she and Edwin …” He looked away. “I dismissed the truth and believed a lie.”

Charlotte looked at the birth certificate crumpled in his hand. “Oh, Papa.”

She reached for her father and tumbled into his embrace. The years fell away, and she felt five years old again, newly arrived in a strange land. Then she was ten trying to be twenty, proving that while Papa was putty in her hands, he still loved her enough to say no to her schemes. And now, today, she was a grown woman, not newly married but about to be truly married.

A knock sounded, and the maid slid the door open just a crack. “Begging your pardon, but Mrs. Beck is looking for you and your pa.”

“Coming,” Papa called. “Tell my wife we’ve been slightly detained, but all is well.” When the maid closed the door, Daniel looked down at Charlotte’s tear-stained face through tears of his own. “All is well, isn’t it, Buttercup?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “All is very well.”