Chapter 2
“Charlotte, go wait in the carriage where Aunt Elicia is sleeping. I need to speak with Count Oslo,” said **Lydia Augusta**, the mother of the sisters, her face tense.
It was rare for Lydia—known for her kind and gentle nature—to look this upset.
“Sniff…”
Charlotte sniffled as Lydia held her arm. After the incident in the gallery hallway, Lydia had quickly taken Charlotte out of the crowd’s eyes. Now, outside on the gallery steps, Charlotte finally realized what she had done—and began to cry.
“Oh, Charlotte…” Lydia sighed and looked at her daughter rubbing her teary face with her gloved hands.
“What if Count Oslo demands compensation for all the broken statues?” Charlotte asked, her voice shaking.
“That’s why I’m going to speak with him—to calm him down. Helena and Bianca are inside apologizing on your behalf.”
“But it was my fault! I should go apologize myself…”
Lydia looked into Charlotte’s tear-stained face, paused, and shook her head.
“No. It’s better if you just wait quietly in the carriage. Don’t even think about waking your Aunt Elicia from her nap.”
Taking Charlotte back to the gallery, where people were surely whispering about her, seemed far too cruel. Lydia also wasn’t sure Charlotte could give a proper, mature apology.
After saying this, Lydia turned and walked back up the steps, leaving Charlotte alone. She burst into tears again, not knowing what to do.
*‘Now people won’t just talk about me in Brantwood. My ridiculous performance will be the gossip of all London.’*
Even though Charlotte was used to being called mischievous, she wasn’t sure she could recover from this. She could already imagine the gossip: that jealous, plain Charlotte tried to faint into a gentleman’s arms like in a play—and failed, destroying Count Oslo’s gallery in the process.
As she sighed and leaned against the wall, a low male voice reached her ears.
“Strange. Very strange.”
Charlotte turned her head—and saw a tall, broad-shouldered man leaning casually on the railing below the steps. The candlelight on the wall made his dark hair shine faintly. His green-gray eyes looked up at her coldly.
*‘It’s him…!’*
It was the handsome man she had seen earlier in the gallery. Her heart fluttered, but she blushed, thinking he must be talking about her foolish behavior.
“Hah, I thought so…” the man said, chuckling. His full lips curled into a smile, one that could’ve been a sigh—or a tease.
Just minutes ago, Charlotte was sure no gentleman would ever want to marry her after what happened. But now, seeing this dangerously charming man climbing the stairs toward her, her heart began to race again.
He climbed a few steps and met her gaze at eye level, raising one eyebrow with a slight smirk. Without breaking eye contact, he reached the landing where Charlotte stood. He was at least a head taller than her, so she had to tilt her chin up to look at him—but he didn’t seem to mind.
“…Lady, can you hear me?”
His deep voice was soft, almost seductive, and it echoed in her ears. It was clear he was teasing her—but his voice was so pleasant, she couldn’t be angry.
Wiping her tear-streaked face, Charlotte managed to reply, “N-no, I mean—who else would you be talking to…”
Her voice trembled. Then her eyes went wide. She realized she was alone on the stairs—with him. A young unmarried woman, alone with a man, without a chaperone. Panic grew on her face.
“You seem to be a gentleman from a good family,” she said quickly, “but still! It’s improper to speak with a lady like this—without an introduction, and with no chaperone! What if someone saw us?”
(*A chaperone was a person—usually a female relative—who accompanied young unmarried women to make sure they behaved properly in public.*)
Before she could finish her protest, the man stepped forward and gently held her face in his hands.
“Ah!” Charlotte gasped, her mind going blank.
It was the first time a man had touched her bare skin. And this man—so close, looking down at her with such intense eyes—was even more stunning than the statues she had knocked over earlier.
*Was he pretending to tease her, just to comfort her? A secret admirer who had come to check on her?*
As his green-gray eyes studied every part of her face, Charlotte’s thoughts turned rosy and romantic. His handsome face moved even closer.
Then, in that same low, smooth voice, he said:
“Good. So you really can see me.”
Charlotte, still caught in her daydream, didn’t understand what he meant. But if whatever she “saw” made him smile so beautifully—then she didn’t care. His smile, however, held a strange mix of happiness, sadness, and something like a warning.
His hands dropped from her cheeks and slowly moved down along her neck. His touch was light, barely brushing her skin.
A proper lady would’ve pulled away—but Charlotte couldn’t move. His transparent green-gray eyes seemed to hold her in place, like they were looking straight into her soul.
“Haa…”
She let out the breath she had been holding. This wasn’t like the fake fainting act earlier—her breathing was truly getting heavy now.
That was when she heard her mother’s voice behind her.
“Charlotte, you’re still here?”
Startled, Charlotte turned around. As if it wasn’t bad enough to ruin a gallery—now her mother had caught her standing this close to a strange man.
But surprisingly, Lydia didn’t get angry. She only looked tired, and said calmly:
“I told you to go to Aunt Elicia. Well… I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. Everyone’s heading home anyway.”
“Uh—Mother, wait, this man was just—”
But Lydia cut her off, her voice weary.
“Charlotte, Count Oslo didn’t accept our apology. Your father will have to speak with him. Let’s go home.”
She walked past them without saying a single word about the man standing next to Charlotte, leaving behind a cold silence.
Charlotte stood frozen between her stern mother and the mysterious man, unsure what to do.
Then the man leaned slightly toward her, watching Lydia walk away. His dark hair fell gently over his shining eyes as he whispered:
“See you again soon, Lady.”
His voice, like a soft breeze, lingered in her ear.
