Page 4 of Charlotte's Kisses

Hugh crouched behind a tree and planned his next move.

Chapter four

The second Cricket sawher, she leaped about on her three legs, then charged toward Charlotte to nibble on her fingers.

“Hello, my sweet girl,” Charlotte cooed. “I am sorry I do not have an apple or a carrot tonight, but the evil one was guarding all of the food. Would you like to hear a secret?”

“Baa,” Cricket bleated.

“There were some lovely apricot tarts I desperately desired to eat,” Charlotte confided to her little friend.

Billy, the stable boy who looked out for Cricket, stepped out from behind a bale of hay. The lad could not have been more than fifteen years old and worked himself to the bone taking care of Papa’s horses. Hopefully, he had not heard Charlotte insulting her stepmother.

“My lady, you look quite lovely this evening,” Billy said. “Why are you not at the masquerade?”

Charlotte pushed down sadness and smiled as if all was right with the world. “The party is delightful, but I wanted to say hello to Cricket.”

“She is a good girl, my lady. A good girl indeed. She is always sun-shiny. Nothing gets her down. Not even limping around on only three legs,” the boy said.

As if agreeing with her caretaker, Cricket bleated happily.

Charlotte leaned forward to kiss the sweet girl on her head. One could learn so much about resiliency from animals.

Billy’s face contorted into sharp lines.

“Is something wrong?” Charlotte asked.

“Well, I don’t think it’d be proper for me to say.”

Since that response often went hand in hand with a retelling about her stepmother, Charlotte moaned. “What has Lady Chesterhill done this time?”

Billy stared at his boot before meeting Charlotte’s gaze. “Leon has been here askin’ questions about Cricket. Just seems odd. Why would the head of Lady Chesterhill’s staff be askin’ about an injured goat? A goat nobody but you cares about? Well, and me. I love you, girl.” He patted Cricket on the head.

Why indeed? Because the spying woman must know Charlotte was hiding the animal she had run over and left to bleed to death. Thank heavens Charlotte had been out walking and witnessed the entire accident. With Billy’s help they had sought out Doctor Wellington, and then the three of them had saved the sweet goat’s life.

What if Lady Chesterhill harmed Cricket out of spite? She would not put it past her stepmother because the woman destroyed everything that meant something to Charlotte. Poor Romeo and Juliet.

“Thank you for sharing that information with me,” Charlotte said. “If he continues to ask questions or you see any of her staff around the barn, please let me know.”

Billy nodded. “I will, my lady. I do not trust those people in capes. They think they are better than the rest of us. But I do not let them intimidate me, and I will do my best to guard this little lady.” The lad’s frown quirked upward, and he pointed at Cricket. “She thinks your dress tastes delicious.”

Sure enough, Cricket munched away at Charlotte’s hem.

Billy gently guided the goat away from Charlotte. “You return to your party, my lady. Cricket is in good hands.”

Charlotte waved goodbye, then retraced her path. However, she had no intention of returning to that stifling party.

Standing beneath the canopy of a large Oak, Charlotte closed her eyes and exhaled.

After visiting Cricket in the barn, talking to Billy, and a few minutes in the gardens, her spirits lifted, and she’d experienced an epiphany. She was done cowering—to her stepmother. To the cruel women in theton. To everyone. From this minute forward, she would be her own woman. She would say what she thought and do what she wanted. And no one would embarrass or talk down to her. Considering the last decade, what other choice did she have?

Despite Suzannah’s cruel eccentricities and desire for wealth and power, Charlotte and Alexander had done their best to make her feel welcome.

When Charlotte invited the new marchioness on her daily constitutionals, the woman declined with her nose in the air.

Charlotte planned delightful picnics until the marchioness had her favorite picnic basket burned.

“Ants!” the marchioness had screeched. “Destroy it now,” she’d told her staff of caped men. Charlotte had stoically swallowed tears as she watched the wicker catch fire and disintegrate, knowing full well it was insect-free. Suzannah simply loved destroying Charlotte’s precious possessions.