A short time later, Charlotte and Marco slipped into Nimway Hall and silently made their way to the sitting room.
Marco closed the door and placed his lantern on the small table before the fire, watching Charlotte with a concerned gaze. She’d said very little after finding her sister’s diary. Her face pale, she perched on the edge of the settee, the book on her knees.
He waited, wondering if she would read it now, but instead she stroked it slowly, her eyes filled with tears.
Marco stirred the fire back to life, and added some wood, careful not to let the poker clang too loudly when he returned it to its hook. When he turned back, Charlotte was hugging the book as if it were a child, rocking slowly back and forth, tears streaming down her face.
He thought of his own sisters and how protective he’d felt of them and how his own heart would break if something happened to them. Never had he felt so helpless.
A sob broke from her and he hurried back to the settee and gathered her to him.
Holding the book to her, she burrowed against him and wept. She wept until his shirt was soaked with her tears, until she could cry no more, until she’d broken his heart with her own.
Her cries subsided into shuddering sighs and, finally, into soft sniffles. Marco didn’t know how to comfort her, so as time passed, he rubbed his cheek against her hair, and whispered to her of his own family, of his sisters and brothers, of the funny stories, and the painful ones. It worked. Her weeping ceased, and she listened, even giving a watery giggle at one point.
It was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.
Finally, much later, his stories done, he began to yawn. She pulled away and placed her hand on his cheek. “I’m going to read this now.”
“Very well. I’ll—”
“No. I need to read it alone.” She kissed him tenderly. “Please.”
“Of course. But I’m not leaving your side.”
She nodded.
He piled pillows in one corner of the settee, and sat down, tucking her against him. And then while she read, he slept.
“Good God!”
Marco opened his eyes, aware of three things at once.
First, Charlotte was in his arms, her warm bottom pressed comfortably against him. What a lovely way to wake up in the morning.
Second, someone had thrown open all of the curtains and the sitting room was now flooded with light, which made it hard to see the third thing.
Which were the four faces now staring down at him over the back of the settee.
He squinted against the light, trying to figure out who had disturbed his sleep.
One was a distinguished gentleman with graying auburn hair, and a pair of suspiciously familiar dark blue eyes. The man looked alarmingly ready to kill someone. Mr. Harrington.
Beside him was an older, but still attractive woman dressed in the height of fashion, her still-blonde hair elaborately coiffed, jewels glittering at her ears and throat. Her gaze was pinned on Marco with such intensity that he could feel it sticking him in the ribs like a sword. Mrs. Harrington.
To the other side of the woman was a young, dark-haired, slender, well-dressed man, whose expression could only be described as ‘confused.’ Is this John, the brother? Somehow, Marco didn’t think so, for there was no family resemblance. Wait. You’re the abominable Roberto, aren’t you, my friend.
It took some effort to keep his scowl to himself.
The last face Marco knew. Lady Barton, as plump and bejeweled as ever, wiggled her fingers at him in greeting. Her eyes brimmed with merriment, her cupid’s-bow lips curved in a delighted smile. She said in a spritely tone even though she whispered, “Hello there! Fancy meeting you here.”
Mr. Harrington glared at her. “Damn it, Verity, this is not the time for levity—”
“Oh hush, Jack.” Lady Barton sent him an annoyed look. “And lower your voice. Charlotte’s asleep.” Lady Barton turned her smile back to Marco. She bent over the back of the settee and whispered, “Mr. di Rossi, would you like some breakfast? Simmons had just informed us that it was ready when one of the footmen discovered you here.”
Charlotte stirred in his arms, murmuring in protest at the noise. Her lashes fluttered open as sleep left her. He knew the second she saw the faces above her, for her eyes snapped open and she scrabbled to her feet, swaying at the sudden movement, the book tumbling to the floor at her feet.
“Good morning, child.” Lady Barton beamed as if Charlotte had just done the most amazing thing. “Sleep well?”
Mrs. Harrington favored her sister-in-law with a chilly gaze. “Verity, you have failed as a chaperone.”
“You think so?” Lady Barton’s gaze traveled slowly over Marco. “I was thinking I did rather well.”
Charlotte was frantically trying to set herself to rights, tugging on her skirt, smoothing her straying hair, and in general trying to make herself look less ‘slept upon the settee.’ “Mama! Papa! When did you get in? I—” Her gaze fell on the young man, who had yet to say a thing. “Robert?” Her voice cracked.
Marco decided it was time he joined the fray, so he stood, only to discover that his shirt had bunched up and had rolled high under his arms. He tugged his shirt back into place, aware that Lady Barton’s eyes followed his every move, showing her approval with an enthusiastic nod.
For all the approval Lady Barton was showering on him, Charlotte’s ex-fiancé was dousing Marco with a scowl. “You, sir, will answer for this!”
Marco was more than willing, but Charlotte sent him a warning look and then stepped in between them. “Robert, I assume you received my letter.”
“I did.” The young man dragged his gaze from Marco and turned to Charlotte. Instantly, his face softened. “Charlotte, please! You must rethink this. Everything you said was right. I left as soon as we became engaged, and that’s my fault, but—”
“Robert, don’t. As I said in the letter, we were never meant to be. And you know it, too.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Mrs. Harrington said stiffly. “Charlotte, this is ludicrous. What are you thinking? That man is nothing more than a common sculptor and—”
“No.” Charlotte slipped her arm through Marco’s. “He is not a common anything. He’s an exceptional sculptor, and soon he will be an exceptional husband and, then, an exceptional father.”
Husband. Father. Marco had to fight the desire to sweep her off her feet and give her a kiss she wouldn’t soon forget. Sadly, given the circumstances, all he could do was cover her hand with his and squeeze her fingers.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Harrington had paled at Charlotte’s words, while Robert flushed a deeper red, his hands fisted at his sides.
Lady Barton clapped in delight as she beamed at Charlotte. “You’ll have children! How lovely!” She leaned toward her brother. “They will be beautiful. I mean, just look at them.”
Oddly enough, Mr. Harrington was no longer looking surprised, nor even upset. Instead, he now watched Marco with a cool, calculating gaze that made him wish he’d worn his court clothing.
Lady Barton beamed at the small group with all of the pleasure of a hostess greeting her guests at a party. “May I suggest that we retire to the breakfast room? I, for one, am famished. Perhaps some food would not be amiss before we have The Discussion?”
“I am not sitting with this man,” Robert snapped.
Charlotte frowned. “Robert, please. You don’t wish to marry me. Admit it.”
“I’m admitting no such thing.” Robert glared over her head at Marco. “This fool and I should step outside and finish this once and for all.”
Marco shrugged, willing to go in whatever direction this young hothead wished.
“Verity’s right,” Mr. Harrington said in a calm tone. “We should repair to the breakfast room and finish this discussion in a calm manner. To be honest, I am starving, too.”
Marco was starving as well, so he nodded.
“No!” Mrs. Harrington snapped. “Jack, I am not sitting down with this man for breakfast, or dinner, or tea, or anything else. He’s compromised our daughter!”
“Really?” Mr. Harrington looked at Marco. “Have you compromised her?”
“She’s going to marry me. If that’s what you mean by ‘compromise,’ then yes.”
Charlotte, who’d sent him a surprised look, blushed, and then slipped her hand back through the crook of his arm. “I would be glad to marry you.”
“I’ll get you a ring today,” he said under his breath, covering her hand with his.
“I’ve seen enough.” Mr. Harrington turned to his wife. “They are getting married, so there’s no more for us to say.”
Robert made a muffled noise. “No! They cannot!”
Marco thought he detected tears in the young man’s voice.
Charlotte must have heard it, too. She released Marco’s arm and bent down to scoop up the diary where it rested by her feet.
The color drained from the man’s face and he staggered to a nearby chair, where he sat, gasping, his gaze locked on the book.
“What’s this?” Mr. Harrington said sharply.
Charlotte kept her gaze on Robert. “It’s Caroline’s diary.”
Mrs. Harrington’s hand stole to her throat and she stared at the small book. “Charlotte, are . . . are you certain?”
“I am. I found it last night.”
“And you read it?” Mr. Harrington asked sharply.
She nodded and then crossed to where Robert sat, his hands shaking as if he were in a blizzard, tears streaming down his face. She dropped down before him and slid the book onto his lap. “I’m so very, very sorry. I didn’t know. She didn’t tell anyone, not even me.”
“Robert?” Mrs. Harrington said, looking as if the world might tilt over. “And Caroline?”
Charlotte never looked away from the weeping man. “They’ve been in love for years. The night she died, she was on her way to meet him. They were going to elope.”
Mr. Harrington slipped his arm about his wife just as her knees gave. He helped her to the settee and placed her on it.
Robert stared at the diary, his tears dampening the cover. “Where did you find it?”
“In the crofter’s cottage where you used to meet.”
“I should have thought to look there.” He ran his hand over the book. “I was to fetch her at midnight, but I suppose she . . . I don’t know what happened.”
“I know,” Charlotte said. “She was so excited that she left early. She took the horse and thought to surprise you on the path. It’s the last entry she made in her diary. She’s loved you for a long, long time. And you, her.”
“Since she was fourteen.” He picked up the book and hugged it, his face pale. “She was so beautiful and—” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he could breathe again, he lowered the book to his knees. “You all knew her, too, so I don’t need to say more. We’d been talking about getting married for so long, but she wanted to wait, and then she wanted a season before—” He gave a bitter laugh. “I was jealous and wrote her some scathing letters, and all for no reason. She was always true to me. I—I just wish I’d been there for her when she needed me.”
Charlotte placed her hand over his. “You did what you could. She was trying to prove herself to you, I think.”
“I don’t understand,” Mrs. Harrington said. “We would have welcomed you to our family. Why didn’t she just tell us?”
“She thought she was being romantic,” Charlotte said. “For once, she was breaking the rules, and she found it very exciting.”
“She’d always wanted to elope, and I didn’t have the heart to argue.” Robert looked at Mrs. Harrington. “May I take the diary with me? As soon as I read it, I’ll bring it back.”
She hesitated, but after a moment, she nodded. “Of course.”
“Thank you.” He turned to Charlotte. “I’m sorry. I asked you to marry me because I thought Caroline would want me to take care of you. And I wanted to do that, not just for her sake, but yours. But I couldn’t stand being here at Nimway. I see her everywhere. In every room of this house, in every corner, in every memory I have.”
Charlotte hugged him, her heart so full that she could barely speak. Robert was her other brother, she realized. And had he married Caroline, he’d have been one in more than mere name. “You’re a dear, good friend, Robert. I’m glad Caroline had you in her life while she was here.”
He closed his eyes and held her tight.
After a moment, Charlotte gently disentangled herself and stood, aware of Marco’s calming presence nearby.
Papa broke the silence. “Well. That was too exciting of a morning for me. Shall we have breakfast now?”
“Not yet.” Mama smoothed her gown over her knees, her color almost back to normal. “We’ve settled everything where Caroline and Robert are concerned, but there is still something that needs discussing.” Mama’s cool blue gaze locked on Charlotte before she turned to Marco. “Mr. di Rossi, I understand you have installed the fireplace surround.”
He nodded, and Charlotte could tell from the tightness of his mouth, that he was preparing for the worst.
Mama continued, “If you will wait, I will pay you the agreed upon amount. More, in fact. But only if you and your assistants will pack your things immediately and—”
“Olivia?” Papa said, his voice oddly soft.
“What?” Mama snapped.
He pointed to a table by the window.
Everyone turned. There, sitting beside a vase of flowers, was the moonstone.
Mama stood, as white as a sheet. “The orb!”
“Orb?” Charlotte frowned. “I thought it was a mace head.”
Mama’s gaze locked on Charlotte. “You’ve seen it before?”
“Many times. Marco says it’s a mace head, while Simmons seems to think it’s a decorative piece, but he can’t seem to figure out where to display it.”
“Oh dear.” Mama turned to Marco. “And you? You’ve seen it, too?”
“It came to my workshop where it spilled ink and got in the way.”
“That solves that,” Papa said, looking amused. “Doesn’t it, Olivia?”
For a moment, Mama stared at him as if he had three heads. And then, to everyone astonishment, her lips quirked. “You want me to admit I was wrong.”
“That would be a nice beginning,” he said, his eyes agleam.
Mama flushed, her smile blossoming for real. “It will never happen.”
“We’ll see about that,” Papa murmured, giving Mama such a loving look that Charlotte blushed.
Aunt Verity sighed. “Jack, please stop. She’s had a shock. You’re being a brute to expect anything from poor Olivia now. Perhaps, after breakfast and some tea, she might—”
“He’s right.” Mama smoothed her skirts. “Charlotte?”
“Yes?”
“You may marry your sculptor.”
Charlotte exchanged a shocked look with Marco. She turned back to Mama and said in a tentative voice, “Really? I can marry him, and you won’t disown me?”
Mama looked shocked. “Disown? Charlotte! I would never do that!”
Papa’s brows had lowered. “Surely you already knew that.”
“I wasn’t sure. Things have been so different since Caroline’s death and—”
“Oh Charlotte!” Mama crossed to Charlotte and enveloped her in a hug. “I can’t believe you thought such a horrible thing for even one moment, although . . .” She pulled back, tears in her eyes. “I suppose I can see why you might have. We haven’t dealt as well with Caroline’s death and that’s my fault. I became very strict with you, because I was afraid something might happen to you, too. I’m sorry.”
“It’s been difficult for all of us.” She smiled at her mother. “Although I’m still curious about this orb.”
“Thank God!” Aunt Verity exclaimed. “I want to know about it, too.”
Mama smiled at her sister-in-law. “It’s a part of Charlotte’s heritage. The orb is . . . I don’t know how else to say this, but it’s magic.”
“Really?” Aunt Verity sent an impressed glance toward the moonstone. “What do you do? Rub it?”
“No! The orb is a part of Nimway, and it appears to the guardian when it’s needed.”
“Caroline was the guardian,” Robert said, his mouth tight as if the words pained him.
“She was. Now, apparently, it’s Charlotte.” Mama’s gaze turned back to Charlotte. “I should have realized that after Caroline’s death the Hall might look to you, but I was too busy mourning. Where did you find the orb?”
“It was on the old mantel, the one Marco replaced. I’d never seen it before then.”
“The orb only appears to a guardian when the time comes for her to meet her true love. Sometimes, if it’s necessary, it even helps a bit.”
Marco’s warm smile found Charlotte and she smiled. “I suppose you could say it helped.” She turned back to her mother. “You’ve never told me about this.”
“I should have. I see that now. But I had my reasons. When I met your father, the orb kept leading him to me, over and over. I knew what it wanted of course, but I hated the thought that the orb was making your father fall in love with me. I wanted him to fall in love with me on his own.”
Aunt Verity looked impressed. “The orb can do that? Make someone fall in love with you?”
“I don’t know what it can and can’t do. But it caused me to doubt my feelings and I didn’t want that to happen to either Caroline or Charlotte.”
Charlotte nodded. “So you didn’t tell us.”
“No. There are many stories about the orb. I’ll share some of them over breakfast.”
“Breakfast,” Papa said with a note of relief. “Please.”
He held out his arm, but instead of taking it, Mama merely patted his cuff, and then turned to Marco. “Mr. di Rossi, if you don’t mind escorting me, I believe Charlotte would like to sit with her Papa, especially as she’s to be leaving soon. Aunt Verity, if Robert wouldn’t mind escorting you?”
“My pleasure,” Robert said, as he hurried to slip the diary into his pocket. He arose and took Aunt Verity’s ready arm.
Papa came to Charlotte’s side and, together, they watched as Marco bowed and then offered his arm to Mama, his manner as grand as any prince.
“Madame,” he said gravely, “it would be my pleasure.”
She placed her hand along his arm and allowed him to escort her out of the sitting room, Robert and Aunt Verity falling in behind.
Alone in the sitting room, Charlotte slipped her hand into her father’s.
“Don’t look so worried,” he said, smiling down at her. “He will charm her, and she will start thinking of how children you’ll have, and all will be well.”
“I hope so,” Charlotte said fervently. “For I mean to have him, with or without her permission.”
Papa chuckled. “Ever a Harrington, aren’t you? I’m sure there will be no objections, not now. Perhaps, to seal the deal, after breakfast we’ll all visit the dining hall to see your sculptor’s work. If it’s as impressive as I expect, that will go a long way toward soothing your Mama’s acceptance of your chosen one.”
Charlotte had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. “Maybe not. I think we should wait on that.” She smiled up at her father. “She’s had enough excitement for one day, don’t you think?”