Page 88 of Unmasking the Diamond
Charlotte looked away, her voice barely above a whisper. “Because it’s the only way to protect myself.”
“From what?”
Charlotte fell silent. She did not have to answer. Jane’s own history—her father’s cruelty, his disownment—spoke for her. The quiet that followed was heavy with understanding.
Jane continued. “You may always speak to me, but perhaps it’s time you spoke to Alistair. He is in his study.”
Charlotte hesitated. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“Start from wherever you can,” Jane encouraged. “The rest will come.”
Charlotte nodded faintly and headed inside, her heart pounding with dread and resolve. The corridor seemed longer than usual, the lamps flickering shadows along the walls as if warning her to turn back. Yet she did not. She reached the study door and knocked lightly.
“Enter,” came Alistair’s familiar voice.
She drew in a deep breath and stepped inside. The air smelled faintly of ink and brandy. Alistair looked up from his desk, his expression brightening. “Charlotte, what a pleasant surprise.”
Her composure wavered. “I was hoping to speak with you.”
The warmth in his smile faded to concern. “Of course. Is something wrong?”
“Yes.” Her voice cracked.
Alistair rose at once, closing the door behind her before facing her fully. “You’ve been crying,” he said. It was not a question.
“I have.” There seemed little point in denying it.
“What troubles you?”
“Jane suggested I speak with you,” Charlotte managed.
He waited patiently. “What would you care to discuss?”
She swallowed hard. “Father.”
Alistair went still, every trace of ease vanishing. “What about him?”
“He holds too much power over me,” she admitted. “Even in death, I can still hear him—his voice, his scorn. Calling me worthless to his friends.”
Alistair’s jaw clenched. “He called you that?”
“Among other things,” she said bitterly. “He made me feel small… unwanted. Unlovable. So I learned to pretend. I locked everything away so tightly that not even you could see the truth.”
“Oh, Charlotte,” Alistair murmured, guilt and sorrow filling his tone.
She drew a shaky breath. “And I am angry with you, too. You left me behind when you joined the Army. You never answered my letters.”
Alistair’s eyes widened. “What letters? I never received a single one.”
“That cannot be. I wrote to you every week for years.”
“I swear to you, I never received them,” he said, stepping closer.
Understanding dawned—horrifying and cold. “Then Father must have stopped them,” she responded, tears welling anew. “He wanted to keep me alone.”
Alistair’s face darkened with regret. “I thought you were safe with your governesses. I knew he could be harsh, but I never realized?—”
“I hated when you left,” Charlotte confessed. “I felt trapped. Alone. I wanted to run after you, to escape everything.”
