Stolen by the Cursed Duke (Stolen by the Duke #3)

Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

T he sunlight streaming through the tall windows of Charlotte’s room seemed almost mocking, a bright contrast to the storm of anxiety swirling inside her.

She sat at the small writing desk near her window, staring at the blank page in front of her.

Another letter? Another plea to Lavinia, begging for some kind of reply, for some sign that she was well?

The silence was unbearable.

She hadn’t seen Lavinia at the ball the previous night, and her absence gnawed at Charlotte’s already frayed nerves. Why hadn’t she come? Was it the Duke’s doing? Or was Lavinia’s new husband already tightening his grip on her freedom?

The possibilities made Charlotte’s stomach churn.

Please, Lavinia , she silently pleaded. Just send some word so that I know you’re all right.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the muffled sound of raised voices coming from downstairs.

She sat up straighter, straining to catch the words. She wished to race downstairs and see what the commotion was, but it was no use. Her door was, as promised, locked and guarded.

She listened more closely. Someone was shouting, their voice sharp and imperious, cutting through the usual quiet hum of the household.

It was familiar—a voice she knew well.

Grandmother.

Charlotte’s heart leaped.

She crept toward the door, pressing her ear against the wood.

The argument was heated though the words were muffled. The booming baritone of her father could be heard faintly, occasionally broken by her mother’s shrill interjections.

But it was Lady Clifton’s voice that dominated the exchange, growing louder with every sentence.

“…forcing her into this ridiculous engagement?—”

“Mother, you don’t understand?—”

“Do not interrupt me, Barbara!” Lady Clifton’s sharp retort silenced her daughter immediately. “I understand far better than you. You’re treating Charlotte as though she were an asset to barter with, not a person with her own mind and feelings!”

Charlotte covered her mouth, stifling a gasp. Her grandmother was fighting for her, just as she had promised.

“You presume too much, Lady Clifton,” came her father’s measured but strained response. “It’s a practical match?—”

“Practical?” Lady Clifton snapped. “That insufferable dandy has no business marrying my granddaughter! He’ll drain your family dry with his ridiculous vanity. How dare you act as though you’re doing her a favor! Have you even asked Charlotte what she wants?”

There was a tense silence, and Charlotte held her breath.

Then, her mother spoke, her tone icy and defensive. “She is our daughter. We know what is best for her.”

“Clearly, you do not,” Lady Clifton shot back. “And I won’t stand for it. I’ll not have you ruin her life because of your misguided notions of propriety and ambition.”

Charlotte pressed her palm against the door, her heart pounding.

For the first time in weeks, a flicker of hope sparked in her chest. Her grandmother might actually get through to them.

The muffled voices continued for a few moments longer before falling silent. Charlotte strained to hear more, but the quiet was broken only by the soft shuffle of footsteps approaching her door.

Then, Lady Clifton’s voice rang out sharply in the hallway, so close that it made Charlotte jump.

She scurried back to the bed quickly to pretend she hadn’t been listening.

“Open this door immediately,” Lady Clifton demanded.

Charlotte heard the unmistakable hesitation of the footman stationed outside. “I-I can’t, My Lady. I have orders?—”

“Do you wish to keep your position in this household, young man?” Lady Clifton’s voice was dangerously low. “Because if you do, you’ll unlock this door and allow me to see my granddaughter. And if you do not, then perhaps an umbrella around your head will persuade you! Now, which do you choose?”

A fumbling sound followed, and the lock clicked. The door swung open, revealing Lady Clifton in all her formidable glory. Her sharp gaze softened the moment it landed on Charlotte, and she stepped into the room, her skirts swishing with authority.

“Grandmother!” Charlotte exclaimed, rushing forward to embrace her, unable to stop herself.

Lady Clifton’s arms tightened around Charlotte for a moment before she pulled back, her expression uncharacteristically vulnerable.

For the first time, Charlotte noticed the faint glisten of tears in her grandmother’s sharp eyes. The sight made her chest tighten.

“I tried, my darling,” Lady Clifton said, her voice trembling. “I tried to reason with them, to make them see sense, but…” She shook her head, swallowing hard. “I couldn’t help you. Not the way I should have.”

Charlotte stared at her, stunned. In all her years, she had never seen her grandmother so distraught.

Lady Clifton was the pillar of their family, a woman whose strength and wit were legendary. To see her like this—to see her struggling—shattered something inside Charlotte.

“Grandmother,” Charlotte whispered, placing a gentle hand on her arm. “Please don’t upset yourself. I’ll be all right. I’m sure Lord Kinfield isn’t so bad after all.”

The words felt hollow even as she said them, but she couldn’t bear to see her grandmother so defeated.

Lady Clifton let out a soft, shaky laugh, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief she pulled from her sleeve.

“Oh, my dear, you shouldn’t be the one comforting me. I should be the one holding you up.”

“You have done so much already,” Charlotte said earnestly. “I know you have tried. I know, and it means the world to me. Perhaps I need to just accept my fate.”

Lady Clifton met her gaze, her wrinkled hands shaking as she took Charlotte’s in her own.

“Listen to me, Charlotte,” she said, her voice regaining some of its usual steel. “There is always a way. Even when it seems hopeless, even when the world feels as though it’s closing in on you, there is always a way. We just have to find it, that’s all.”

Charlotte’s lips curved into a faint smile, touched by her grandmother’s resolve. But deep down, hopelessness still weighed heavy in her heart.

“You don’t know how much I wish that were true,” she murmured. “But they’ve made up their minds. I don’t see how I can change them.”

Lady Clifton’s grip tightened on her hands, her gaze fierce. “You are my granddaughter,” she said firmly. “You have strength in you, Charlotte. More than they realize. And more than you realize.”

Charlotte blinked rapidly, willing herself not to cry. “I don’t feel strong,” she admitted softly. “I feel… lost.”

Lady Clifton cupped her cheek gently, her touch warm and reassuring. “Then we’ll find a way together.”

Charlotte nodded faintly though her heart remained heavy.

Her grandmother’s words were a balm, but they couldn’t erase the reality of her situation. Still, she was grateful for the brief reprieve.

Lady Clifton smiled though it had an air of falseness.

“Now,” she said briskly, straightening and smoothing her gown, “no more tears. If they’re determined to make your life difficult, we’ll simply have to outwit them, won’t we?”

Charlotte managed a small laugh despite herself. “You always know precisely what to say.”

Lady Clifton arched a brow, her usual composure returning. “Of course, I do. It’s in my nature.”

But as her grandmother stepped back, Charlotte’s faint smile faded. She watched her leave the room with her head held high, her heart aching with gratitude.

Still, despair set in as she heard the turning of the key in the lock once more.

Charlotte sighed as, that weekend, she was dragged to yet another ball.

The glow of the chandeliers had lost its luster, the sea of elegantly dressed attendees no longer so appealing. Charlotte wanted to be anywhere but here.

She entered on her mother’s arm, the suffocating pressure of her engagement to Lord Kinfield weighing heavily on her chest.

She hoped he would not be in attendance, but she doubted she was that lucky. But tonight, it was something else entirely that filled her thoughts.

Lavinia was there.

She had heard the whispers earlier in the evening—Viscount and Viscountess Arkley had arrived. Lavinia, newly married, had stepped into society once again, and Charlotte’s heart raced with anticipation and unease.

How could her friend face the world so soon after such a life-altering event? And what if Lavinia wasn’t happy? What if the rumors of Lord Arkley’s cruelty were true?

And I let her down by not stopping the wedding.

Charlotte’s breath hitched as she spotted them across the room. Lavinia stood at Christian’s side, her arm lightly resting on his, her face glowing with a happiness Charlotte hadn’t seen before.

They were speaking with a small group of guests, but it was clear to anyone watching that their focus was solely on each other.

Charlotte’s heart thudded painfully, and she frowned, confused.

Could it be real? Could Lavinia truly be happy with the man Charlotte had fought so hard to save her from?

Surely not.

Before she knew it, she had slipped her arm out of her mother’s and her feet were carrying her across the ballroom, weaving through the throngs of guests.

She ignored her mother’s protests, ignored the curious looks thrown her way. Nothing else mattered in that moment but reaching her friend.

“Lavinia!” Charlotte called, her voice trembling with emotion.

Lavinia turned at the sound of her name, her face lighting up when she saw Charlotte.

She opened her arms just in time for Charlotte to throw herself into them, embracing her tightly.

“Oh, Lavinia,” Charlotte breathed, clutching her friend as if she might vanish at any moment. “You’re here. I have been so worried. I wrote to you—did you not get my letters? How are you? Are you?—”

“Shh,” Lavinia soothed, pulling back just enough to look into Charlotte’s face. Her hands rested gently on Charlotte’s shoulders, grounding her. “I am fine, Charlotte. More than fine. I promise.”

Charlotte searched her friend’s face, her eyes darting over every detail. The glow in Lavinia’s cheeks, the brightness in her eyes, the relaxed curve of her smile—she looked radiant.

It wasn’t the expression of someone hiding misery behind a mask.

“But…” Charlotte hesitated, glancing over Lavinia’s shoulder at the Viscount. He was speaking with another gentleman, his expression warm and engaging. “How? How can you be fine? I?—”

“Charlotte,” Lavinia interrupted gently, squeezing her shoulders with a giggle. “It’s all right. Truly. I know you were worried, and I know why you did what you did. But I assure you, Christian is… he’s everything I could have hoped for.”

Charlotte blinked, her heart warring between relief and disbelief. “Are you certain? I mean, I thought?—”

“I know what you thought,” Lavinia said, her voice soft but firm. “But Christian has shown me nothing but kindness and devotion. He loves me, Charlotte. And I…” She glanced over her shoulder, her cheeks flushing prettily. “I love him too.”

Charlotte’s breath caught. It was true, then. The way Lavinia’s eyes sparkled when she looked at the Viscount, the gentle curve of her smile—it was unmistakable. She was happy .

“I…” Charlotte swallowed the lump in her throat, her eyes searching the floor for an answer. “I don’t know what to say. I was so sure…”

Lavinia’s expression softened, and she reached out to take Charlotte’s hand.

“You acted out of love, Charlotte. And for that, I will always be grateful. But you don’t need to worry about me anymore. Christian and I…” She hesitated, a blush coloring her cheeks again. “We’re happy.”

Before Charlotte could respond, the Viscount approached, his presence commanding without being overbearing. He greeted her with a polite bow, his sharp blue eyes assessing but not unkind.

“You must be Lady Charlotte,” he said, his voice deep and steady. “I have heard much about you.”

Charlotte straightened, her instinctive protectiveness of Lavinia flaring. “I am sure you have, My Lord.”

To her surprise, the Viscount smiled. “Only good things, I assure you. Lavinia holds you in the highest regard.”

Charlotte glanced at her friend, who beamed at her husband with such open affection that it momentarily stole her breath.

Perhaps the Viscount wasn’t the monster Charlotte had feared after all.

“I hope we’ll get to know each other better,” he continued. “But for now, if you’ll excuse me, I must greet an old friend.”

He inclined his head and moved away, leaving Charlotte alone with Lavinia.

Charlotte watched him cross the room and approach none other than the Duke of Thornvale himself, the two men clasping hands in greeting. Her heart gave a strange lurch at the sight, but she pushed it aside, turning back to Lavinia.

“Lavinia,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You’re truly happy?”

“I am,” Lavinia said simply, her hand resting lightly on Charlotte’s arm. “I never thought it possible, but I am.”

Charlotte swallowed hard, her emotions swirling in a storm of relief, confusion, and something she couldn’t quite name.

For the first time in weeks, her walls began to crack, and she allowed herself to hope.