Page 114 of Unmasking the Diamond
Lydia’s face grew wistful. “I wish I could say the same of my husband. He only married me for my dowry. I was never his choice… merely his consolation prize.”
Charlotte’s heart ached for her. “My life hasn’t been simple either,” she confessed. “My father blamed me for my mother’s death. I can count on one hand how many times he spoke to me before his own passing.”
“Do you blame yourself?”
“Sometimes,” Charlotte admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Lydia moved to look at her through the gap, her expression tender. “As a mother, I can tell you that no woman blames her child for her death. I would gladly give my life for my daughter.”
Charlotte bit her lip. “Even if she accomplished nothing in life?”
“If my daughter grew to be anything like you, I would call her a triumph,” Lydia replied.
Charlotte looked away, emotion tightening her throat. “I am nothing special.”
“Oh, but you are,” Lydia said, her gaze unwavering. “You’ve shown me kindness when no one else has. You stood up to those people who visited your cell without hesitation.”
Charlotte shook her head. “I had no choice. I couldn’t let them hurt Luca.”
“Many are brave when there’s an audience. True bravery is when no one sees it at all.”
Charlotte pressed a trembling hand to her chest as Lydia’s words stirred something deep inside her, something that refused to die, even here in the darkness. “You are most kind,” she whispered.
Lydia smiled faintly, though her eyes still carried a thousand sorrows. “It is easier to be kind to others than to ourselves, is it not?”
“It is.” The truth of it settled heavily between them. How often had she berated herself for not being clever enough, strong enough, fearless enough—while offering compassion freely to others who suffered less?
After a quiet moment, Lydia tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her tired gaze. “Tell me, this Luca—the onewho owns the newssheets—is he not the son of the Duke of Ashmoore?”
Seeing no reason to deny the truth, Charlotte replied, “He is.”
“I thought as much,” Lydia said, a faint spark of amusement returning to her tone. “It was too great a coincidence otherwise. I met Lord Luca once, at a soirée hosted by the Marchioness of Dalrymple. He was… rather handsome, as I recall.”
Charlotte’s cheeks warmed despite the chill of the cell. “He is,” she admitted.
Lydia’s eyes glimmered with mischief. “That is all you can say about your fiancé? He is one of the most sought-after bachelors of the Season, you know. I heard half the debutantes of Mayfair sighed after him.”
Charlotte couldn’t help a small laugh. “Then they were sighing in vain. Luca offered for me not out of passion or ambition, but to protect me from the Duke of Brackenford. Luca is the most honorable man I know.”
Lydia’s expression darkened. “The Duke of Brackenford…” She shuddered visibly. “I have heard the whispers about his ill-treatment of his wives. I do believe everyone has.”
“He will get his comeuppance.”
Lydia’s brows arched. “How, I wonder? He is a duke, wealthy and untouchable, and we are”—she gestured to the filthy walls—“trapped in this wretched place.”
“As long as Luca is out there, he will not rest until he finds us. He will uncover the truth, no matter the cost.”
Lydia gave a soft, weary laugh and lay back down upon the cold stones. “And there goes your optimism again,” she murmured, pulling her thin blanket up to her chin. “Perhaps one day it will serve you better than it has me.”
Charlotte turned her gaze upward towards the narrow window. Beyond the grime-streaked glass, she could see a faint patch of pale sky—the only hint of freedom left to her. She closedher eyes and hoped that Luca and Alistair were searching, that they would not stop until they found her.
Because if they didn’t… she wasn’t sure how much longer her fragile hope would last.
Luca paced the length of Alcott’s study, his boots striking the floor in an uneven rhythm. He’d lost count of how many times he’d crossed the same worn stretch of carpet, but the ceaseless motion was the only thing keeping him from giving in to despair. Nearly a full day had passed since Charlotte’s abduction—twenty-four hours of waiting, of searching, of grasping at faint leads that led nowhere. Every moment that ticked by without her felt like another weight pressing on his chest. He wanted her safe. He wanted her home. He wanted her with him.
“You two need some sleep.”
The familiar voice cut through his turbulent thoughts. Luca halted mid-stride and turned to find Lady Alcott standing in the doorway, her expression soft with concern.
