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Chapter Text

Adrift in fields of gold, Charlotte wandered aimlessly, her fingers grazing the wheat stalks as they swayed in the warm breeze. She plucked one and crushed it absently between her fingertips, her mind as restless as her steps. Time in Willingden seemed to stretch endlessly, but something always demanded her attention. Since her return, she had thrown herself into every chore, every tearful sibling's embrace, and every petty squabble, as if staying busy could quiet the storm inside her. But her parents saw through it, as always. With gentle concern, her mother pulled her aside, hoping Charlotte would confide in her, unburdening herself of whatever weighed so heavily. Yet she had refused—stubborn as ever, unwilling to give voice to the grief that consumed her. How could she explain the loss she felt? Not just of a man but an entire family, a dear future that had slipped through her fingers like blades of grass.

To lose love two summers in a row was almost too much to bear. At least with Sidney, she understood the reason. He had been clear—he was marrying Eliza out of obligation, not love, to secure Tom’s future. But Mr. Colbourne? That wound was deeper, more baffling. He had pushed her away, coldly dismissing her with a rehearsed speech and icy indifference. And then, not an hour later, he returned to Trafalgar House with a fumbling attempt at an apology, apparently urged on by Augusta. It was all so wretched.

Charlotte exhaled sharply, muttering soft curses at her own foolishness. How could she have let herself fall for such a man? She never truly understood him. Their conversations had been sparse, often argumentative, until that night when he opened his heart to her, bearing his darkest secrets and deepest regrets. Mr. Colbourne had trusted her with his shame and grief, and for the first time, she saw the integrity, honor, and quiet strength beneath his brooding exterior. He had carried his burdens alone for so long, his guilt isolating him from the world. And when she had reacted not with reproach but with compassion, he seemed almost shocked. 

And then, most unexpectedly, he had kissed her. 

Brushing her fingertips across her lips, she closed her eyes momentarily, letting the memory of the kiss wash over her. She could still feel the tender hesitation as he first leaned in, the way his half-lidded eyes searched hers, the gentle squeeze of his hand on hers, seeking her permission. His lips moved with agonizing sweetness at first, unsure and tentative, before giving way to a profound passion. She had little to compare it to, having been kissed only once before. Sidney’s kiss had been all-consuming, driven by a lust that overwhelmed and confused her. But Mr. Colbourne’s kiss was different—needful, yet reverent. He kissed her worshipfully, pulling her closer with a devotion that left her breathless.

When they had finally broken apart to catch their breath, he had apologized, stumbling over his words, his voice tinged with guilt. After all, he was her employer. But she had no regrets and told him so. ‘I cannot believe you’re real,’ he had whispered, flashing a rare, crooked smile, in awe of what had just transpired.

Then why had he let her go?  

Huffing in frustration, she sank onto an old bench at the edge of the field, her thoughts circling around the mystery of the man who had occupied her mind for the past two months. It was no use trying to unravel it now. Something had shifted that day at the army camp—every hope, every unspoken wish, had been shattered. Whatever demons plagued him resurfaced, dragging him away once more. ‘I feel only shame and regret,’ he had said.

A knife to the heart might have been kinder—a quick and clean death, instead of this slow, agonizing one.

But now, she had bigger, more pressing matters: Ralph Starling had proposed two days ago. It hadn’t come as a surprise. She was three-and-twenty, unmarried, and her parents had championed the match for years. A proposal had been a foregone conclusion. Yet, when it finally came, she swallowed the bile rising in her throat before managing to tell him she would consider it.

What was there to think about? She already knew what their marriage would be—an endless routine, a duty, a chore. It wasn’t that Ralph was a bad man; he would make a good husband to someone, just not her. Despite knowing him all her life, she felt nothing more than brotherly affection for him. Surely, if she were ever going to look at him with tenderness, it would have happened by now. The very thought of kissing Ralph, lying with him, bearing his children… a shudder tore through her.

No, she couldn’t marry him, not just for her own sake but for his. 

How miserable and resentful would Ralph become, trapped in a loveless marriage? She would never stop thinking of being with someone else. Ralph wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but even he wouldn’t be so oblivious as to miss her lack of affection eventually. Rejecting him now would be a kindness compared to waiting.

Charlotte was resolved. With Alison’s wedding next week, she would ask Georgiana and the Parkers to invite her back to Sanditon. Though the town had been the stage for her past heartbreaks, she still loved the place and its people. Georgiana had mentioned in her last letter that the Colbournes had left for Bath, so there was no chance of running into them, and she continued to offer Charlotte the role of companion. While the idea of living off her friend’s generosity didn’t sit well, Georgiana had more wealth than she could ever spend, and sharing a household would benefit them both. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was better than the alternative. Returning to Sanditon—free and surrounded by friends—felt like a breath of fresh air compared to the stifling life that awaited her here.

Chapter Text

By the time Charlotte marched back into her parents’ house, she was resolved. She would never—could never—tie herself to Ralph Starling.

Her mother looked up from the kitchen bench, rolling pin in hand, surprise flashing across her face. “Charlotte, my dear, you startled me! What has gotten into you?”

“Mama, I have come to a decision.”

“Oh, good!” she exclaimed, rather too quickly. “For your Mr. Starling joins us for dinner this evening…”

“Mama, he is not my Mr. Starling,” Charlotte interrupted firmly. “I will never marry Ralph.”

A pained look crossed her mother’s countenance. “But, my dear…”

“I know it is difficult for you, as it is for me,” Charlotte said gently. “I am… fond of Ralph… in a way,” she allowed. “I have known him all my life. But I do not love him—nor shall I ever. If love were to bloom, it would have done so long ago.”

Her mother tightened her lips. “Marriage can change people…”

Charlotte seized upon the point. “Did you not love Papa when you married him? And he you?”

“Of course. But…”

“Then that is what I want,” she determined, crossing her arms. “A love match, or none at all.”

“Charlotte, you are still young…”

“I am older than you were when you married!” she burst out. 

“But love can grow with time! Trust me, it will find you.”

Her voice faltered, dropping to almost a whisper. “I know what love is, Mama. I have felt it before.” Charlotte turned away, her hands wrapped around her ribs, the weight of memory pressing upon her. “And once one has known such a feeling, it cannot be forgotten, nor replaced with something lesser.”

Her mother stilled, the rolling pin pausing mid-motion. A flicker passed over her face—something between worry and dawning comprehension. She studied Charlotte’s expression as though she longed to ask who. Brows knit, yet she said nothing, pressing her lips together and returning to her pastry with studied care.

“I am sorry that I have failed to secure a husband,” Charlotte continued more softly. “I know that I am a burden to you and Papa…”

Her mother’s face softened at once. “No! Charlotte, never a burden…”

“Then let me cease to feel as such! I have another plan.”

Suspicion sharpened her mother’s tone. “Not going back to being a governess, I hope. Goodness, Charlotte, I have no idea where you get such notions…”

“It is respectable work, and I was good at it,” Charlotte answered coolly, straightening herself. “But that was not what I had in mind. I intend to be a companion to my friend, Miss Georgiana Lambe. She is an heiress, soon of age, and longs for company now that she means to live independently.”

Her mother eyed her warily. “I am not sure…”

“You will have the opportunity to meet her yourself,” Charlotte pressed. “She comes to Willingden next week for Alison’s wedding, along with the Parkers. Once you know her better, you will understand this arrangement is best for us all.”

“But what of Mr. Starling?”

Charlotte’s voice sharpened. “Would you wish to see Ralph shackled to a woman who could never love him?”

“Well, no, but…”

“Or would you rather your eldest daughter resign herself to an existence of drudgery—keeping a house, bearing children, bound for life to a man for whom she feels no affection?” she pressed.

Her mother inhaled a sharp breath. “Charlotte, you are being overly dramatic. Your father should never have allowed you so many novels.”

“No, Mama,” Charlotte returned, more quietly. “It is because of you and Papa—because of the love and happiness you have always shown us—that I cannot resign myself to anything less.”

Her mother bit her lip, staring down at the flour-dusted bench, her eyes glistening. At last, she said, “Very well. I shall speak to your father.”

“Thank you, Mama,” Charlotte breathed.

“But you must be civil to Mr. Starling. And nothing will be settled until we meet this Miss Lambe and learn more of her character.”

Charlotte pressed her lips together, withholding further argument. She was of age; they could do little to prevent her. Georgiana would not mind a companion who was half-conspirator, half-confidante. Still, there was no need to press the point when so much ground had already been gained. “Very well. I agree.”

At last, the day of Alison and Declan’s wedding arrived, and both bride and groom were radiant with happiness. Their vows in the village chapel were charming, if modest, and the party that followed in the barn bounced with merriment. A small assembly of musicians struck up country tunes, the ale flowed, and dancing began with cheerful vigor.

Best of all, Charlotte’s dear friends from Sanditon had come. Unable to resist a lively reel, she tugged Arthur onto the floor. Though he knew little of the steps, he proved surprisingly light of foot for so large a man, and his jollity carried them both through with no stepped upon toes. When at last the set concluded, both a little breathless, Charlotte fetched some punch and rejoined her companions at the edge of the room.

“Charlotte!” Mary greeted her with a warm smile. “You look in your element. Arthur, perhaps less so.”

“I cannot let a trifle such as ignorance of the steps deter me, Mary,” Arthur declared merrily. “I am always happy to trip the light fantastic with a friend such as Miss Heywood.”

“Indeed,” Mary laughed. “Charlotte, you must come and stay with us again soon.”

“All of our sea view apartments have been taken,” Arthur added, “even one by Georgiana.”

“Sanditon goes from strength to strength,” Tom said proudly, his chest puffing up.

“As you know, I shall be holding a party for my one-and-twentieth birthday,” Georgiana reminded them. “Promise you will return for it. Or have your parents agreed that you may stay longer?”

Charlotte grimaced. “I am still working on that.” She had disclosed to her family that Georgiana was an heiress from Antigua and that her late mother had been enslaved; however, her parents, who had never met a person of color, reacted with suspicion she had not anticipated. Their narrowness of mind pained her, though she remained hopeful of persuading them. “Regardless, I shall certainly attend your party. Who else do you expect?”

“I have invited your friend Lady de Clemente, who has accepted!” Georgiana exclaimed gleefully.

“No doubt half the Beau Monde shall follow,” Tom speculated.

“Not that it matters,” Mary reminded him. “It is Georgiana’s party.”

“And I have enlisted Arthur to help,” Georgiana added, slipping her hand through his arm, a hint of mischief in her eye. “His talents have been put to excellent use, for it shall be the grandest event of the year. I have even invited Lady Denham—if only to see the look upon her face.”

Arthur beamed. “As it should be, my dear Georgiana. Everyone of consequence shall be there, so of course you must attend.”

“Although I do not expect your former employer and his niece to attend,” Georgiana added quietly. “Apparently, Mr. Colbourne and his girls are still in Bath.”

“Oh?” Charlotte asked, feigning disinterest. The breath rushed from her lungs as if she had been struck; the mere mention of his name still sent her spiraling. “I admit to some surprise when I heard he had left Heyrick Park.”

“We were as shocked as you that the miser spent any money on a holiday,” Tom scoffed. “The Hermit of Heyrick has scarcely stirred in years.”

“But he does good business with Mr. Chawston,” Arthur explained. “And you know what a loyal customer I am of that bakery. Thus, we heard the gossip that he packed up and left Heyrick not long after you did, Miss Heywood.”

Charlotte’s mind whirled, her stomach dropping into a hard knot. How many times had his words echoed in the cavern of her mind: I feel only shame and regret. She had left Sanditon to distance herself from him; the reverse was not needed, was it? But then… Why else would he go?

“Good riddance,” Tom shrugged, sipping his wine.

Mary, watching her closely, raised a brow. “Did you wish to see Mr. Colbourne again, my dear?”

“No! Not at all…” Charlotte blurted out, pulse racing. “Only that I do miss the girls a great deal.” That was true enough. Twisting her fingers together, she willed herself not to flush, hoping the admission would quell their suspicions.

Georgiana exchanged a sly glance with Mary. “Right. Just the girls…”

“Forgive the interruption,” Ralph cut in, appearing suddenly at Charlotte’s elbow. “But I believe I am promised the next dance.”

“May I introduce Mr. Ralph Starling?” Charlotte said, gesturing awkwardly.

“Ah. Charlotte speaks of you with… some fondness,” Mary replied cautiously, exchanging another glance with Georgiana.

Ralph’s expression darkened. “Is that so? Well, I had hoped to share some happy news, but it was not to be…”

“What news is that, sir?” Tom asked, oblivious as ever.

“Ralph, this is hardly the time,” Charlotte protested with a forced laugh. “It is a happy day.” Her eyes pleaded with him in embarrassment.

He pursed his lips, looking down at her. “Very well. But we shall speak later, Charlotte. After everything, the least you can do is uphold your promise of a dance.”

“Yes, of course. I am always happy to stand up with any man who will partner me,” she replied, never regretting a statement more.

Reluctantly, she followed him onto the floor, the moment feeling uncomfortably akin to a minor abduction. Casting a pained glance over her shoulder, her eyes found her friends, an unspoken plea clear upon her face. Somehow, she would smooth over matters with her parents, and Mary would undoubtedly help. One way or another, she would return to Sanditon. But not with Ralph. Never with Ralph.

By the bittersweet close of one of the most exhausting days of her life, Charlotte had bid her closest sister farewell, endured more stepped-on toes and sweaty palms than any one woman fond of dancing should, and survived a painfully uncomfortable supper shared between her family, the Parkers, and Georgiana.

Not since Lady Denham’s infamous pineapple luncheon had she felt such indignation on another’s behalf.

“We did not think you would be quite so dark,” her father had said to Georgiana with naïve curiosity. Then, as if that were not mortifying enough, her mother had asked how she managed such distinctive hair—and whether she might touch it.

At that moment, Charlotte had prayed the Earth would swallow her whole.

Hot shame burned within her for being the daughter of such ignorant people. As if her father’s continued promotion of Ralph were bad enough, their manners towards her dearest friend made her mortification complete. Yet Georgiana, full of grace and long accustomed to such comments, met the offense with an elegant purse of the lips and a wave of her hand, carrying herself with the quiet dignity that only deep strength could lend.

When at last Charlotte escaped to her room, she kicked off her slippers, collapsed onto her old, familiar bed, and pulled a pillow over her flaming cheeks, entertaining for one dreadful instant the fantasy of suffocating in its downy depths. When that convenient—albeit grim—end failed to materialize, she screamed into the pillow instead—then flung it aside, tears pricking her eyes as she stared blindly at the ceiling.

A soft knock came at the door.

“Charlotte?”

“Georgiana! Come in,” she said at once, ushering her friend inside and shutting the door to keep out her younger siblings, who were every bit as nosy as Leo. “I thought you had gone back to the inn.”

“Not just yet. Tom is trying his final tactics with your parents to convince them.”

“Still? He is too good. You all are.” Her voice broke, dropping to a whisper. “I am so sorry. I am ashamed of them…”

“You are not your parents’ keeper,” Georgiana assured her gently, taking her hand. “I certainly never was. My father kept slaves, and I am the child of one.”

“That is a dreadful comparison!” Charlotte cried, crossing her arms.

“Apologies—it is only that none of this is new to me.” Georgiana sighed, her tone soft but steady. “Your parents have seen little of the world. Even among those who have, I am always something of a… curiosity. Never permitted to be one thing nor the other.”

“Then Society is wrong!” Charlotte declared, the words ringing in her ears as though she had spoken them once before. “I…” Her hands flew to her face as a sob escaped her.

“What is it, Charlotte? You know I do not hold you responsible for your parents’ words. You are my true friend.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte whispered. “But I fear myself a hypocrite. I love my parents—even admire them, in their way—but before I went to Sanditon, I too knew little of the world. I see now that I can no longer sit idly by, accepting their judgments or their control over my life.”

“You mean like pushing you to consider Mr. Starling?” Georgiana asked, raising a brow. “On the dancefloor, I half-expected to be the one rescuing you from a kidnapping attempt this time.”

Charlotte barked an incredulous laugh. “No. I cannot abide Ralph. Nor any of the other ignorant notions my parents spout. I have already packed my trunks for tomorrow, assuming you will still have me,” she added softly.

Georgiana gave her a sly smile. “Then you wish me to harbor a fugitive?”

Heat flooded her cheeks. “I am so sorry... I have asked too much…”

“I did not say I was opposed to it,” Georgiana giggled. “Charlotte, I hope I am still allowed to tease you, at least a little.”

Wincing, Charlotte turned her face to the window, her stomach twisting. “Yes, well… perhaps in time. Hopefully, once I am removed from Willingden, Ralph will recover quickly with my absence. We both shall,” she murmured.

“Recover?” Georgiana’s eyebrows shot to her forehead. “Goodness, what happened?”

Exhaling a sharp breath, she finally admitted, “Before you arrived, Ralph proposed, but I refused him.”

At once, Georgiana reached for her hand. “That was very brave. Would you care to speak of it?”

Shaking her head, Charlotte swallowed hard. “Not really. I just… I cannot marry a man I do not love.” Especially not when she could not stop thinking of someone else…

Squeezing her hand, Georgiana replied softly, “Nor should you. Charlotte, you are coming with me. You will be free to make your own choices as a grown woman—just as I am.”

Charlotte’s breath hitched with relief. “Thank you. Sanditon shall feel like such a release after all this—like coming home. Although…” Her words trailed off, her thoughts darting unbidden to a quietly handsome man, his study, and a dismissal she could never forget. She swallowed hard. “Perhaps we might go to London for a time. You have always spoken of its delights.”

“Yes, but I thought you preferred life by the sea. Do you not wish to live in Sanditon?” she asked with a quirk of her brow.

“I do,” Charlotte said carefully. “But sometimes it is good to get away—to widen one’s circle. To meet new people.”

Georgiana studied her with a knowing look. “Did something happen before you left Sanditon last? Perhaps with Mr. Colbourne? You never like to speak of him.”

Charlotte blanched, biting her lip. “No…no, not at all. But I was dismissed from my position,” she admitted, voice faltering. “It is very shameful.”

“Why did he do that?”

“I can hazard a guess.” The words left her bitterly. “He described it as an end to my term by mutual agreement.” His rehearsed speech echoed in her mind.

“But it was anything but?”

“No.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I did not wish to leave Heyrick or the girls. Or… “ she hesitated, choosing her next words carefully. “...The life I was making for myself.”

“As a governess?” Skepticism was evident in her tone.

“It is honest, honorable work,” she said fiercely. “Work on my own terms. Not everyone is blessed with your fortune, Georgiana.”

“Yes… well, it comes at a price,” she murmured. “I understand not wishing to be in a man’s power again. So instead, if you wish, you may trust yourself to mine.”

Charlotte grasped her hand with fervent gratitude. “Happily. Tomorrow, we shall be on our way to a brighter future.”

With a delighted smile, Georgiana kissed her cheek and moved to the door. “Goodnight, Charlotte,” she said softly. Then, pausing in the doorway, she added, “Until tomorrow,” and slipped away.

Charlotte stood in the quiet, her heart pounding, those familiar words haunting her once more. It felt as though the air had been snatched from her lungs. Why did the universe seem to conspire against her? Constantly mocking her, forever crossing her in love?

Balling her hands into fists, she drew a long breath. Enough! No more being a victim of fate, no more standing still, silently waiting while others charted her course. From this moment forward, Charlotte would be mistress of herself. Whatever her future held, it would be wholly, unapologetically hers.

Chapter Text

When her parents had first been introduced to Miss Lambe, they expressed more than a little skepticism at Charlotte’s plan to reside with her as a companion. Though her father was well-read, neither he nor her mother had ever made the acquaintance of a person of color, nor traveled more than five miles from home, and their prejudice showed plainly in their hesitation. In the end, it was only Tom’s loose-lipped mention of the size of Georgiana’s fortune that persuaded them to acquiesce. Charlotte, who had already packed her trunk, lost no time once her parents gave their verdict; the party departed the morning after Alison’s wedding.

Now, rumbling along the familiar country road in a hired carriage, Mary and Tom leading their little caravan, Charlotte tasted the crisp tang of salt in the air even before the sea itself came into view. At last, over the rolling green hills, a glimmer of sparkling water met the horizon.

“Look!” Arthur cried, eyes alight. “Is it not a marvel? The first glimpse of Sanditon is a delight every time.”

“Wait until you see all that Arthur has accomplished since your last visit,” Georgiana added, smiling fondly at him.

“Oh, pish-posh, my dear, you know perfectly well it requires a village to make such wonders possible,” Arthur demurred, though his chest puffed up with pride nonetheless.

Charlotte smiled, leaning out the window to catch the breeze, her bonnet ribbons tugged by the wind. When she drew back, breathless and flushed, she said, “I cannot wait to see Sanditon in the autumn, having only ever known it in summertime. Truly, there is nowhere now that feels more like home.”

Arthur beamed. “Tom will be overjoyed to hear you say so. He insists everyone falls in love with the place at first sight.”

Georgiana took Charlotte’s hand. “I am so glad you are with me. You must help me arrange my apartment and my party.”

“Is it not already furnished? You indicated as much,” Charlotte asked in surprise.

“Oh, furnished, yes. But necessities are not the same as taste,” Georgiana replied with a coy smile. “It cries out for new drapes, or wallpaper at the very least. It needs a personal touch.”

“It seems you cannot wait a single moment before spending your fortune,” Charlotte teased.

“Mary has warned her not to spend it all on the party,” Arthur added mirthfully.

Georgiana rolled her eyes. “Do not be ridiculous. Even I could not spend such a sum in a lifetime. But I am determined my celebration shall be the grandest this town has ever seen. I mean to mark my coming of age in style—to announce myself to Society.”

Arthur leaned forward eagerly. “We plan an indoor pleasure garden for our guests, Miss Heywood.”

Charlotte giggled. “Heavens!”

“And of course,” Georgiana said, “we must take you to the modiste. You must look your best at my party.”

“That is very kind, but unnecessary. I already have a gown,” Charlotte protested.

“Yes, well… I have seen all your gowns. You would do well with an upgrade,” Georgiana said, lifting a brow.

Charlotte bit her lip, embarrassed. “Georgiana, I am here to be your companion. And I am grateful for your generosity, but I have no need of such luxuries. It is not as though I return to Sanditon in pursuit of a husband.”

Georgiana blinked in astonishment. “Who said anything about men? No, no, Charlotte... you mistake me. I dress for myself, and so should you. If I am to be the richest, most fabulous woman on the South Coast, then I must look the part. And as my dearest companion, then you…”

“Pray, what shall be my role, exactly?” Charlotte asked archly.

Georgiana pursed her lips, tapping her chin in thought. “Miss Charlotte Heywood: loveliness itself.”

Charlotte laughed, delighted. “You are too good!”

“No, you are, dear Charlotte. That is precisely the point.”

Arthur chuckled. “You may as well give in. Once Georgiana has her mind set, there is no turning her. Especially now that she controls her own purse strings.”

“Indeed!” Georgiana declared merrily. “Besides, my party shall be filled with the most elegant company, entertainments, and ambiance.” 

“Tom just received word that Her Grace, Lady Montrose, and her son, the Duke of Buckinghamshire, will take an apartment for the season,” Arthur informed them. 

Georgiana dismissed this intel with a wave of her hand. “More importantly, your friend Lady Susan de Clemente is expected to arrive in a few days and stay for a sennight.”

“Oh, I shall be so happy to see Susan again,” Charlotte smiled genuinely.

“And I hope to better our acquaintance,” Georgiana said. “We shall form a marvelous new society. Include only those who know how to have a good time. And live as the two most elegant, eligible ladies Sanditon has ever seen.”

“That sounds very grand,” Charlotte laughed, although unshed tears glistened at the corner of her eyes.

Arthur smiled indulgently. “Do not think you can slip the yoke so easily, Georgiana. You know Mary and Tom still wish to see you happily settled.”

“Pish-posh! Let us forget all these tiresome men and enjoy ourselves instead.” Georgiana patted his hand approvingly. “Except you, of course, dear Arthur.”

“I am quite happy to be counted amongst your bosom companions,” he smiled warmly.

Charlotte tilted her head. “But Georgiana, surely you must wish to marry one day—for love, if nothing else?”

Georgiana gave a theatrical sigh. “What good is love? These days, I am besieged by fortune-hunters. Now that I am of age, they are relentless. But I have never held more power. Yet the moment I marry, I surrender it all: my fortune, even my personhood, subsumed by my husband. No longer Georgiana Lambe, mistress of my fortune and myself, but merely Mrs. Somebody-or-other, bound to smile prettily while he squanders what I once owned.” She raised her chin with defiance. “Unless I find the deepest love and the firmest mutual respect, I will not surrender myself so cheaply.”

“Nor should you,” Charlotte said fiercely. 

“And since Arthur has declined my hand, I must console myself with idling away my days as the richest, most fabulous, unattached heiress on the South Coast,” she finished with a theatrical flutter of her fan, inducing a delighted giggle from Arthur.

Charlotte laughed, though her eyes softened. “Surely not every suitor can be so mercenary.”

“Perhaps not,” Georgiana allowed with a little shrug. “Yet letters from so-called admirers arrive in such numbers that I scarcely read them. After a point, I simply toss them into the fire.”

“Goodness! Well, I am a quick reader. Perhaps I might help sift them before they meet the flames,” Charlotte offered.

Georgiana’s expression softened. “There, you see, Charlotte? You shall make yourself quite indispensable again in no time.”

It was but mere days later when Charlotte found herself promenading arm-in-arm with Georgiana and the Parkers down the Sanditon boardwalk when another dear friend arrived.

“I do believe I spy her, my dear,” Tom declared knowingly, his height affording him an advantage over the crowd. “Yes, it is her—no mistaking that silhouette.”

Charlotte’s heart leapt, her steps quickening.

“Lady de Clemente,” Tom called, sweeping a gallant bow. “We have eagerly awaited your return.”

Susan laughed lightly. “And I am delighted to be back, Mr. Parker.” Turning to Charlotte, her face softened with warmth. “My dear, what a tonic it is to see you again!”

Charlotte beamed, flying into her arms. “I could say the very same!”

“I am desperate for all your news.”

“Did you know Charlotte is now companion to Miss Georgiana Lambe, my lady?” Tom interposed eagerly. “They have taken a new apartment here in Sanditon.”

“I did not!” Susan cried. “How could you keep such news from me? And how do two young ladies such as yourselves occupy your days? You must tell me everything, particularly of your party, Miss Lambe.”

Georgiana giggled. “I should be happy to, my lady, though we are late for an appointment at the modiste.”

“Oh, Georgiana has dragged me out shopping every day this week,” Charlotte sighed. “Pray, tell her I have enough gowns already.”

“Quite impossible, my dear. The limit does not exist,” Susan smirked.

Georgiana laughed. “I see already we are of like minds, my lady. You must join us for tea at the Assembly Rooms later.”

“A gracious offer, which I shall gladly accept,” Susan said, inclining her head.

“But you and Charlotte must catch up. I fear I have quite worn her out with my shopping habits.”

“Are you sure?” Charlotte asked, hesitating.

“Quite certain. Mary shall accompany me instead, will you not?” Georgiana said, nudging her.

“Of course, my dear,” Mary smiled, taking her arm. “Though I warn you, I shall attempt to instill some economy.”

“Then you have your work cut out for you,” Georgiana replied with a sparkle in her eye.

“Shall we expect you at Trafalgar House for dinner this evening, Lady de Clemente?” Tom asked in his most obliging tone.

“I would not miss it.”

“Excellent,” he bowed.

Charlotte seized Susan’s arm with delight. “Now you must tell me everything about London.”

Susan patted her hand, flashing a complicated smile. “It is far duller than you imagine, my dear. But I shall try to oblige, and perhaps edit to only the good bits.”

The ladies strolled arm-in-arm, heads bent close in confidence as Charlotte recounted her return to Sanditon, and the unwanted proposal of Ralph Starling she had left behind.

“I am thrilled you have found such contentment in your new position,” Susan said carefully. “Though I confess, it is not quite the life I once imagined for you.”

Charlotte frowned. “Why not?”

“Miss Lambe seems an excellent creature, but I had hoped for a good match for you. As her companion, however, it may yet be possible with more eligible gentlemen thrown into your path.”

Huffing in frustration, Charlotte exclaimed, “Why must my value always be measured by marriage, and to whom?”

“No, no... you mistake me!” Susan said quickly, her face a mix of horror and surprise. “I am pleased you refused that boy from your village. A farmer’s life in such a place would never have suited you. And to go against your parents’ wishes must have required great courage.”

Charlotte exhaled a long, trembling breath. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Miss Lambe seems a friend beyond measure. I only meant that I wished for you to find the happiness that only true love affords.”

Charlotte slowed her steps, bowing her head. “I thought… perhaps I had found it. But…”

“Lady de Clemente!” a shrill voice broke in.

Susan blinked at the overly trimmed woman approaching.

“Lady Montrose,” the stranger introduced herself. “We met at the late lamented Princess Charlotte’s wedding.”

“Mmm,” Susan murmured with a regal nod. “How could I forget?”

“This is my daughter, Lady Lydia Montrose, and my son, Lord Montrose, the Duke of Buckinghamshire,” she announced with pride.

“My friend, Miss Heywood,” Susan replied smoothly.

“Mm.” Lady Montrose’s eyes swept Charlotte in a cool appraisal. For once, Charlotte was grateful for Georgiana’s insistence upon a new wardrobe; she drew herself taller in the armor of her finest pelisse.

“It seems the entire haut monde has gathered in Sanditon. I wonder if the newly crowned king might even pay a visit,” Lady Montrose clucked.

“Who is to say?” Susan replied with a tight smile. Her hand pressed ever so slightly upon Charlotte’s arm as though to steady her.

With a nod, Lady Montrose pursed her lips and moved on.

The instant she was out of earshot, Susan murmured, “Though I have every reason to suspect he might.”

“Tom will be beside himself,” Charlotte said with a laugh.

“Yes. Which is precisely why you must not tell him.” The ladies giggled together, until a much younger voice cut across the air.

“Miss Heywood!”

Charlotte turned just in time to catch a tiny blonde whirlwind barreling toward her.

“Oh!” she gasped, stooping as Leo flung herself into her arms. “I thought you were in Bath!”

“We were,” Augusta said primly, arriving just behind her cousin. “Uncle packed up Heyrick Park soon after you left.”

Charlotte’s heart lurched at the mention of him, her composure slipping. Susan’s gaze flicked toward her with quiet understanding, her hand steadying Charlotte’s elbow in silent support. Yet Charlotte’s good breeding compelled her to the necessary introductions. “Lady de Clemente, may I present Mrs. Wheatley, Miss Markham, and Miss Colbourne?”

Augusta curtsied with perfect composure. “How do you do, my lady?”

“Why did you leave so suddenly?” Leo interrupted, her tone hurt. “You never even said goodbye!”

“Oh, Leo,” Charlotte sighed, holding her hands. “I so wanted to, but it was… difficult. I…I regret the manner of my parting.”

“But now you’re back, will you be our governess again?” Leo asked hopefully.

Charlotte’s breath caught. With a resigned shake of her head, she whispered, “I am sorry, Leo.”

“But why not?”

“Miss Colbourne!” Mrs. Wheatley corrected her sharply.

Charlotte gently brushed the child’s hair from her cheek. “I am here for Miss Lambe now. I am her companion, and tomorrow is her birthday party. But it is wonderful to see you all again. I have missed you all.”

“Heyrick Park has missed you, too, Miss Heywood,” Mrs. Wheatley said quietly, as though betraying more than she ought.

Charlotte’s brow furrowed, though she managed a small smile as they parted.

Susan’s gaze traced their departure, her eyes narrowing with quiet concern. She said nothing, but Charlotte felt her perceptive friend had sensed every flicker of her unease.

The Colbournes were back in Sanditon. And so was she. Indefinitely.

But could she bear being thrown once more into his orbit? She was not prepared.

After a long silence, Susan at last inquired, “How long were you their governess?”

“A few short months,” Charlotte replied, her brow knitting. “Or weeks, perhaps. Time passes so strangely here, especially when one is… occupied.”

Susan hummed, regarding her closely, one elegant brow arched. “That is one way to put it. I could not help but notice you did not invite them to tea. You are living here now. Can you not be friends?”

Charlotte’s steps faltered. “It does not signify.”

“Why should it not? Miss Markham seems far too old for a governess. She cannot be much younger than Miss Lambe.”

“She is eighteen, and only just out in Society.”

“Then she must come to Miss Lambe’s party,” Susan pressed, her eyes glinting as if testing her.

Charlotte bit her lower lip, drawing a sharp breath. Although she longed for Augusta’s company, she knew the girl would require a chaperone, and that could only mean…

“Is there a reason you would not wish Miss Markham to attend?” Susan prompted softly.

“Not at all. Only… her uncle is not usually inclined toward social gatherings. Augusta is very fond of them, and it was her dearest wish to attend with her parents one day. Tragically, they died when she was but sixteen.”

“How dreadful!” Susan gasped. “But wait… is she the Markham heiress of the late Mr. and Mrs. Lucas Markham?”

“The very same. Did you know them?” Charlotte asked, intrigued.

“Not well, though they were wealthy and well-regarded in London,” Susan said. “With such a fortune, no doubt she will make an excellent match one day. Why then, is her uncle so opposed to Society?”

Charlotte gave a low, incredulous laugh. “Other than the obvious reasons?”

Susan smirked. “Touché.”

“In truth, Mr. Colbourne is… reserved by nature,” she admitted, her tone softening despite herself. “He has no taste for idle gossip or false friends. He prefers riding and is very fond of horses and dogs. Animals, nature—he knows the Latin name for all of them. He reads widely: poetry, history, Shakespeare, and the Greek myths. And he is devoted to his estate and tenants.”

Susan’s brows lifted. “My goodness, Charlotte, you speak with remarkable intimacy of a man by whom you were merely employed.”

Charlotte flushed, startled at her own forthrightness. “I… he was a good employer. Until he was not,” she murmured, almost to herself.

“Then why did you leave so suddenly?” Susan’s steps slowed, her eyes fixed on her. “Charlotte, speak plainly. Were you in love with him?”

Releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding, Charlotte trembled as the weight of her memories came rushing back. “For the briefest of moments, I thought I might be. But then… he insisted I leave. By mutual agreement, as he called it.” Another incredulous huff of laughter escaped following her admission.

Susan’s expression sharpened, feet firmly fixed. “Did he behave improperly with you?”

Charlotte shook her head, swallowing hard. “It is hardly improper when the feeling is mutual, is it?” Her voice faltered, betraying both her longing and her pain.

“When one holds power over the other, it is always improper,” Susan said firmly.

Charlotte’s composure broke. “But what you describe is all men and all women!” she burst out. “I know my own mind. But I…I could never love a man who showed me so little respect.” The vehemence of her words could not disguise the sorrow trembling beneath them.

Susan’s frown softened into pity. She pressed Charlotte’s arm with a protective squeeze. “Quite right, my dear. And you deserve nothing less than the very best of men.”

The next day, Charlotte accompanied Georgiana and the Parkers to the beach for a picnic and a game of bowls. Yet, as ever, the true amusement lay less in the sport than in the people watching. Families, tradesmen, and visitors strolled along the sand, parasols bobbing in the breeze while the surf lapped gently at the shore.

“Do we know who that gentleman is, Tom?” Mary inquired, tilting her head toward an elegant figure striding across the sand, followed by two ladies.

“That, my dear…” Tom announced with relish, lowering his voice as though imparting state secrets, “…is the Duke of Buckinghamshire.”

Georgiana sniffed, her bowl poised in hand. “He does not look so very grand.”

“Not when compared with you,” Charlotte teased, sending her own bowl rolling down the lane.

“Quite right!” Georgiana laughed, her eyes sparkling as she stepped forward for her turn. “Still, I am glad my party shall include such company. It will be a splendid way to form new acquaintances.”

“As long as you keep your wits about you,” Mary cautioned gently. “There are many who would use you ill for your fortune.”

“Then it is a good thing I have true friends.” With a serene smile, Georgiana linked arms with Charlotte, and together they strolled across the sand while the gentlemen took their turns.

“Miss Heywood!” a familiar voice called.

Charlotte spun, her skirts whipping in the sea breeze. Augusta and Leo hurried toward her, cheeks flushed by the exercise.

“Miss Lambe’s maid told us you were picnicking here,” Augusta explained.

“We have something for her,” Leo added, her eyes twinkling as she clutched a prettily wrapped package.

“Oh, Georgiana!” Charlotte said warmly. “You remember Miss Markham, and this is Miss Colbourne.”

“Many happy returns on your birthday!” Leo cried, thrusting the parcel forward. “We’ve brought you a present.”

“Thank you!” Georgiana exclaimed, smiling as she accepted it.

“We hope your party is a great success, Miss Lambe,” Augusta added with practiced formality.

“Forgive me,” Georgiana said at once. “When I sent out the invitations, I thought you were in Bath.”

“What a pity,” Augusta replied gravely. “I should have loved to attend more than anything.”

“Uh… I am sure one more guest would not make too great a difference,” Georgiana said, glancing sidelong at Charlotte. “Would it, Charlotte?”

The pit of Charlotte’s stomach dropped. She forced a chuckle. “It is your party, my dear.”

“You are too kind,” Augusta sighed dramatically. “But I would require a chaperone, which means bringing my uncle. I fear that is too much to ask.”

Georgiana arched a brow and cast a knowing look at Charlotte. “Not at all. You both would be most welcome.”

“Thank you so much!” Augusta cried, seizing her cousin’s hand and marching off in triumph, her mission evidently accomplished.

Charlotte stood rooted to the spot, the world tilting around her. The rush of the wind threatened to knock her over as her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Yet the die was cast, the invitation secured.

Clutching her friend’s arm, Charlotte steadied herself. Tonight, she would see him. Whatever Georgiana’s opinion was, she thankfully kept it to herself. Although unsure if she could be good company in just a few short hours, she willed herself to be strong. Charlotte could not let herself be so affected—she would not cry or cower. But above all, she would not fall in love, not again.

Chapter Text

Charlotte tugged anxiously at the plunging neckline of her new crimson gown, suddenly worried that it was far too daring, too alluring. A revenge dress, Georgiana had called it, insisting they wear matching jewel tones so that together they might shine like rubies and emeralds. Although Charlotte had known for a full day that the Colbournes were back in Sanditon, it was not until Augusta and Leo had crossed her path upon the beach that very afternoon that they secured an invitation. Now, the truth had settled into her bones.

Any moment now, he would be here: Alexander Colbourne. Even after three months apart, his name alone sent her heart racing with a dangerous mixture of longing, regret, and righteous indignation.

Feeling faint, she welcomed the distraction when Susan suggested a turn about the room. The Assembly Rooms had never looked more splendid—decked with cascades of greenery, glittering crystal, and guests glittering even more. Countless candles bathed the chamber in a golden glow.

“Arthur has truly outdone himself,” Charlotte breathed, admiring the chandeliers.

“Indeed,” Susan replied. “The first time we met was at a party much like this one.”

“I had never felt so out of place,” she confessed shyly.

“And look how far you have come,” Susan said warmly, nudging her.

Charlotte smiled, her eyes sweeping across the throng, and then suddenly, there he was, as if her mind had conjured him: Alexander Colbourne.

The strings of the musicians swelled, the lights burned brighter, and all the air rushed from her lungs. Yet she smiled, unable to deny the pleasure of seeing him. How handsome he looked, how singularly his eyes sought hers, as though no one else in the room existed. A slight nod of recognition, the ghost of a smile, then he was striding towards her with purpose. Her breath caught, her pulse hammering in her ears.

“Miss Heywood,” he greeted with a bow.

Shaking herself from her reverie, she remembered Susan at her side. “Lady de Clemente, may I introduce Mr. Colbourne?”

“My lady,” he said, inclining his head.

Susan’s brows lifted as she glanced between them. “And I have already been introduced to Miss Markham.”

Augusta, ever mischievous, seized the opportunity to tug Susan away. “How are you enjoying yourself this evening, my lady?”

Which left Charlotte alone, facing Mr. Colbourne. She swallowed hard.

“You look exceptionally well, Miss Heywood,” Mr. Colbourne said with unexpected earnestness.

“Thank you,” Charlotte mumbled, resisting the urge to tug at her bodice again. “I assume Miss Markham persuaded you to come.”

“No, no… on the contrary, I...I came more than willingly,” he managed, shifting from foot to foot before his gaze fixed on hers once more. “I was hoping that we might have the chance to speak. I…”

“Lady de Clemente,” Lady Montrose cut in, shrill as ever. “Would you be so kind as to introduce us? Can this be the famous Mr. Colbourne?”

Susan chuckled, glancing over her shoulder. “An introduction seems rather redundant now, does it not?”

“Oh, on the contrary,” she pressed. “Mr. Colbourne may not be aware that I am the Dowager Duchess Lady Montrose, and this is my daughter, Lady Lydia.” 

Mr. Colbourne blinked, seemingly befuddled, before composing himself enough to offer introductions. “My niece, Miss Markham. Miss Heywood.”

“How do you do, Miss Markham?” Lady Lydia said smoothly. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Heywood.”

“And you, Lady Lydia,” Charlotte murmured.

“And that is my son,” Lady Montrose prattled on as Georgiana and the duke arrived. “Lord Montrose, Duke of Buckinghamshire, and… Miss Lambe, of course.” Her posture swelled with pride, a pompous expression on her face.

Mr. Colbourne’s gaze flickered away from the duchess, from Georgiana and her duke, before briefly catching once again on Charlotte. His mouth parted then closed, as though he wished to say more, before remembering to acknowledge the arrival of the guests of honor as the room broke out in polite applause.

Charlotte seized the chance to pull away, applauding Georgiana’s entrance in her emerald gown. Though she was long past her days of being dazzled by dukes, she regarded Harry Montrose with deep suspicion—too quick, too eager to worm his way into Georgiana’s circle. Had she not just met him that very day? Interviewing him over dinner would distract her for now. Anything to keep her thoughts from circling back to Mr. Colbourne, whom she ensured was not seated at their table.

Dinner proved a trial. The duke was charming enough when not draining his glass, yet Charlotte could not help but feel Mr. Colbourne’s eyes upon her, again and again, his expression unreadable. Each time she turned away swiftly, embarrassed, only to realize he had been staring first.

When the tables were cleared and the guests drifted to the ballroom, Georgiana was claimed for the opening set by the duke, leaving Charlotte entirely alone.

“Miss Heywood,” a familiar tenor called.

She spun around, and there he was again. Mr. Colbourne approached with determined steps, this time leaving Augusta behind. For the first time in months, they were alone. Or at least, as alone as one could be in a crowded ballroom.

“When I heard that you had returned to Sanditon,” he began, “I could only assume that you would wish to keep your distance. But when I heard that you had spoken of your departure with regret, I dared to hope that there might yet be a chance to tell you how I deeply regret the way we parted.”

Charlotte swallowed hard, feeling exposed like a raw nerve. “Which part was that, sir?” she managed, her voice barely audible.

“You were right. I did not show you the respect you deserved.” His eyes flickered down to his boots before returning to hers, steady and intent. “But you must know how profoundly I admire and respect you. It pained me to hear that you thought otherwise.”

Her breath caught, searching his eyes for any sign of deception, but saw only earnest regard. “You had a strange way of showing it,” she said. Although still dubious, her courage rose with each passing moment.

“Yes. Too true.” His fingers twisted at his signet ring before he stilled them, seemingly in a war with himself not to fidget. “Words do not come easily to me. But I must ask… no, I humbly beg you to allow me the chance to apologize.”

“You wish to apologize?” she stammered, feeling dazed.

“A thousand times over, and a thousand more. On my knees if I must. As I should have done before,” he said seriously.

Charlotte inhaled sharply, recalling their last exchange at Trafalgar House. “And… not at Augusta’s behest?”

“No! That was… one of the stupider things I have ever uttered,” he laughed wryly, scratching at his collar. “Though not nearly so stupid as sending you away to begin with.”

“Then you admit it was your decision entirely?” she asked archly.

“Yes,” Mr. Colbourne whispered, his dark eyes searching hers. “And my greatest regret.”

She blinked rapidly, willing herself not to cry as the memories of their stolen moments together flooded her senses. A ghost of the passionate kiss they once shared upon her lips, the taste of apples on his tongue. Shaking her head, she willed her mind to clear. Surely, he could not regret their separation with the same grief he held for Lucy, could he?

Lifting her chin, she replied with great magnanimity, “Very well. I accept your apology, Mr. Colbourne. Is there anything else?”

“You…you do?” he asked hopefully, his amber eyes fixed on hers, full of longing and desperation. For a moment, she forgot to breathe.

Summoning all her courage, Charlotte straightened her spine. “I have no wish to harbor grievances, especially as we are to be neighbors,” she said neutrally.

“Yes, I heard that you now live as Miss Lambe’s companion,” he said. “But is it too much to hope, if you allow, that we might renew our acquaintance? This time in more equal circumstances. I should very much like to call upon you.”

Her mind reeled. “Why?”

Inwardly, she kicked herself, feeling foolish with so many silly questions. But she had been so perplexed by this man before that she could not allow herself to mistake his meaning again.

He stepped closer, his voice low. “Surely you must know, Miss Heywood. I wish to know you better. And for you to know me—the real me.”

“Did I meet the false one before?” she asked pointedly, brows knitting.

His lips curved in a wry smile. “Perhaps you met the old one. I hope you may find the new Mr. Colbourne somewhat improved.”

“We shall see about that,” she huffed, though her lips betrayed the faintest smile.

He chuckled softly. “Would you care to dance, Miss Heywood?”

Charlotte blinked, startled to realize the orchestra had already begun. Around them, couples glided in elegant circles, silks swishing, candlelight flickering off jewels. “But you swore you would never be persuaded,” she reminded him with a teasing smile forming despite herself.

“There are exceptions,” he said, his voice deepening. “Chief among them is when the most beautiful woman in the room has no partner.” He held out his hand.

Her cheeks flamed. Not in her wildest imaginings had she dreamt of hearing such a thing from him. “Mr. Colbourne… are you… flirting with me?”

“Of course,” he said with a crooked smile, his eyes darkened. His hand gently captured hers. “Who else?”

“Oh.” She bit back a smile, looking up at him through her lashes. “I suppose I can allow it.”

She followed him onto the dance floor as though under a spell. The violins swelled, and the two of them turned into the graceful rhythm of a waltz. She had forgiven him—truly she had—but she had not forgotten the ache he left behind, nor the words he said. A thousand questions pressed against her lips, yet they all vanished when his hand found its place at her waist.

Her thoughts scattered like petals in the wind. The heat of his touch seeped through the silk fabric of her gown, setting her nerves alight. His thumb brushed against the curve of her back with the faintest pressure, guiding her with effortless command. She dared not look up at first, for fear he would read the storm that raged inside her. But when she did, his gaze was waiting—steady, smoldering, impossibly tender.

“I find myself quite perplexed, Mr. Colbourne,” she managed at last, her voice trembling.

“Oh?”

“I fear I never understood you at all.”

His gaze softened, lips curving faintly. “Then let us begin anew… if you will allow it.” He drew her fractionally closer than was entirely necessary, his fingers curling around hers.

Her pulse thrummed in her throat. Mr. Colbourne drew her infinitesimally closer, his fingers curling around hers, his breath warm against her temple. Every sense was filled with him: the warmth of his presence, his signature scent of leather, salt, and sandalwood. The music, the crowd, the world itself seemed to dissolve until only he remained. Once again, she felt herself falling.

“And if I allow it,” she whispered, “where shall we begin?”

“May I call upon you tomorrow?” he asked urgently. “To speak… privately.”

“Yes,” she breathed, speaking without knowing what she was saying.

For now, the questions could wait. The explanations, the confessions, all of it could wait until tomorrow. For in this single, shining moment, they were suspended somewhere between Heaven and Earth. As the music swelled, Charlotte was no longer certain whether they danced upon the floor or soared above it.

As the evening progressed, Charlotte found herself in no shortage of dance partners, nor of happy companions to gossip with from the sidelines when she slipped away for a glass of punch. Though she and Mr. Colbourne had exchanged but a few words since their earlier encounter, fate, or perhaps Terpsichore, threw them together once more during a quadrille.

The man possessed such a mesmerizing gaze and such an infuriating economy of speech that after a few measures, she feared they might pass the entire dance in silence.

“Have you had any luck in finding a new governess?” she asked at last, striving for composure.

“No,” he chuckled softly. “I have taken it upon myself to provide the girls’ instruction, though Augusta gives Leo lessons on the spinet.”

“That is very good of you,” Charlotte replied, half-amused, half-astonished. Who was this man? “Although I must admit my surprise.”

“Yes, well, it seems you have proven to be quite irreplaceable, Miss Heywood.”

The intense look he gave her made her stomach flutter, but she steeled herself against the warmth of his intoxicating presence. He had broken her heart once before—she would not grant him the power to do so again. At least, not without proving himself worthy.

As he handed her off to her next partner, she caught herself stealing glances in his direction, only to find him doing the same. His next dance was with Lady Lydia, yet his eyes seemed to wander constantly toward Charlotte, his movements distracted, perfunctory.

Could it truly be? Did he regret everything as profoundly as he had expressed, now that time had shown him his folly? And if so, what did that mean? What should she do with him now?

She longed for answers. Mr. Colbourne had never explained the actual reason for her dismissal, nor what had transpired that day at the camp. She suspected that his brooding guilt and misplaced sense of honor had somehow played a part, but until she knew the truth, her heart could not rest. Forgiveness was not the issue. With her faith and natural disposition, forgiveness came easily to her—but trust? That was hard-earned and easily lost.

As she clapped along to the lively tune, gazing across the glittering ballroom, she remained pensive, her heart and mind at war.

“Stop the music!” a booming voice rang out.

The strings and keys faltered to a halt as Charles Lockhart strode into the Assembly Rooms, his dramatic entrance turning every head. Hushed gasps and murmured gossip ricocheted down the crowded assembly, their whispers barely concealed behind elegant fans.

Instinctively, Charlotte darted to Georgiana’s side.

“Miss Lambe,” Lockhart began in a low, urgent tone. “I must speak with you at once.”

“Georgiana,” Charlotte pleaded under her breath, grasping her friend’s arm.

Lifting her chin with regal poise, Georgiana replied coldly, “Very well. But outside.”

A wicked grin snaked across his face before he turned for the door, the ladies following reluctantly. Mercifully, Arthur, ever thoughtful, called to the maestro to strike up the band again as he effortlessly took over hosting duties in their absence. 

“You were not invited,” Georgiana said icily the moment the trio was alone. “Indeed, you are the last person on earth I wish to see.”

“It pains me to ruin your celebration,” he said gravely, though the gleam in his eye betrayed his words. “But what I have to deliver cannot wait.”

He produced a folio with a theatrical flourish, shoving it into her hands.

Georgiana blinked down at it with visible distaste. “What is this?”

“I am hereby serving you with a writ,” he declared, overly loudly. “It states that I am the rightful heir to your father’s fortune. I suggest you find yourself a lawyer.”

With that melodramatic pronouncement, he spun smartly on his heel and sauntered off into the cool evening air, evidently quite pleased with himself.

A look of horror crossed Georgiana’s face. At once, Charlotte was at her side, providing a steadying hand beneath her elbow.

“No. It cannot be… not after everything Sidney sacrificed,” Georgiana whispered, her voice trembling. “Not after what that…that charlatan put me through this summer past.” 

Charlotte squeezed her arm in reassurance. “We must not lose faith so easily. Whatever this man has done, we shall face him together.”

A weary smile touched Georgiana’s lips. “Quite right, Charlotte. We shall deal with Lockhart in the morning. For now, let us enjoy the remainder of my party as if nothing had happened.”

“Absolutely, madam,” Charlotte agreed briskly. When Georgiana’s composure wavered, her mask slipping, she drew her friend into a fierce hug as she released a shuddering sob. “We shall have none of that now,” she said firmly, producing a handkerchief from her reticule. “Whatever evidence Lockhart has contrived, it cannot be the truth. We must remain calm. Practical. Now, to echo the words of a great lady: ‘let us forget these men and live as the two most elegant, eligible ladies Sanditon has ever seen.’”

A shaky laugh escaped Georgiana, sniffing into the handkerchief. “Quite right, my dear.”

Threading her arm through Charlotte’s, the two women re-entered the glittering ballroom, their chins held high, the murmur of gossip swelling behind them as they reclaimed their rightful place in the center of the room—undaunted, defiant, and dazzling.

Chapter Text

The morning after the party, Charlotte awoke with a headache. Georgiana’s triumph had been soured by the unwelcome, melodramatic arrival of Charles Lockhart, yet Charlotte knew that her own traitorous heart bore equal blame for her unrest. She would always defend her friend, not merely because her livelihood now depended upon it, but because it was the right thing to do. Still, beneath her loyalty to Georgiana simmered a deeper source of heartache: Alexander Colbourne.

How different he had seemed—more confident, more open, as if lighter somehow. Handsomer, too, though she loathed herself for admitting it. He had apologized—in part—yet his words left her with more questions than answers. How had she so misread their quiet understanding last summer? Was it truly her station in service that deterred him? Or something darker, rooted in his history with Colonel Lennox?

Her position had not seemed to trouble him when he kissed her twice. Nor when they searched for Leonora together. Nor even the morning after, when she had watched him breakfasting cheerfully with the girls—a bizarre sight, indeed. Somewhere between then and the moment of her dismissal, everything had shifted. She had endured too much grief and disappointed hopes in the intervening summers to forgive him readily. And besides, he did not know the whole of her history, just as she knew only fragments of his. ‘There is more to Alexander Colbourne than you could possibly imagine,’ Mrs. Wheatley had once told her. Well, she, too, contained multitudes. She would not surrender her heart, her trust, nor her freedom, without assurances.

So when, at the earliest polite hour of calling, and his name was announced by the maid, she could hardly feign surprise.

“Mr. Colbourne calling for Miss Heywood, ma’am.”

Georgiana looked up from the pages of the writ spread before them, one brow arching. “I see I am superfluous to this conversation.”

“No…no, you are quite welcome to stay,” Charlotte said nervously.

Snorting a soft laugh, Georgiana waved her hand and decided, “As intriguing as that sounds, I believe you two need a moment alone. But you will still accompany me to Trafalgar House today, will you not, Charlotte?”

“Of course,” she answered at once, sweeping the legal papers into a tidy stack. “We should leave within the half-hour.”

“Very well. Good day, Mr. Colbourne,” Georgiana nodded, a sly smile playing on her lips as she swept from the room in a rustle of skirts.

“Miss Lambe,” he murmured solemnly, before turning his attention to Charlotte. Hat twisting in his hands, he took a tentative step forward. “Miss Heywood, if now is not a good time…”

“No, please... sit.” Charlotte gestured to a nearby chair in the elegant drawing room, standing straighter in her best day dress. “I suppose I can spare a few moments,” she added with a wry smile.

His lips curled faintly, eyes sparkling in recognition as he sat. “Thank you. What is all this?” he asked, gesturing to the papers.

“Mr. Lockhart claims to be Georgiana’s cousin,” Charlotte scoffed, unable to contain her eyeroll. “And has presented a suit against her fortune, claiming it entirely his. He is utterly unscrupulous.”

“Then she will need a good lawyer.”

“As we are well aware. Tom is seeing to it. Georgiana has friends enough here, as do I,” she said, lifting her chin, folding her hands neatly upon her lap.

His brow furrowed, hat twisting in his hands. “Well… if there is anything I can do to be of service…”

“Is that why you called today, Mr. Colbourne?”

“No,” he admitted, drawing a breath. “I hoped we might continue our conversation from last night. I am... grateful you agreed to hear me.”

“Yes, well… I admit some curiosity,” Charlotte said slowly. “You apologized, in part, for your behavior last summer, but you gave no reasoning. I find it incomplete.”

He blinked, his fingers tightening on his hat. “That is fair. I am not a man with any great talent for words. But I believe I am better in writing than in speech…”

“You made yourself perfectly clear before, sir,” she reminded him. “In your study.”

“No! No… I was a fool. Nothing I said was what I meant.” He set his hat aside, hand going to his breast pocket. “Please, Miss Heywood, if you would allow me…?”

Her brows drew together as he pressed a letter into her hand. “What is this?”

“Just read it.” His amber eyes searched hers, soft yet desperate. “Please.”

“You wish me to read your letter here, in front of you?”

“Yes.”

Intrigued, she raised an eyebrow at him. “Very well,” she agreed. Reclining into her chair, she unfurled the parchment and silently read.

–––

Dear Miss Heywood,

I pray that you will forgive the intimacy of my address, for you have long been very dear to me, though I have treated you as anything but. My behavior last summer was abominable. You have been so good, so generous to forgive my folly, and you deserve to know the truth.

I have lived alone for a very long time. For a decade, I shunned Society, and I denied the girls the affection they deserved. By providing a roof over their heads, food on the table, and little else, I thought I was protecting them. It was not until you arrived on my doorstep that I began to realize the errors of my ways. It was you who filled my house, my family, my heart with light and laughter they had never known. You who showed me a kindness I had never felt. Heyrick had always been my dwelling, but it never felt like home. Not until you were there.

After weeks of denial, I yielded at last to what had long been true: I love you. Words cannot express how devoutly I admire you. Yet I believed myself unworthy of you—luminous creature that you are—never believing that my affections could be returned.

Yet you surprised me again. You showed me tenderness and gave me hope for a future I thought forever denied. At the very moment I meant to make you an offer of marriage, I allowed my doubt, my demons, and the words of a viper to sway me. My only regret is that I dismissed you so cruelly when my heart longed to confess the opposite. Since then, time has forced me to reflect, to mend my ways, to become a better father, a better man—the kind of man who might be worthy of you.

Every day of my life without you has been an agony, but I refused to let this time apart be wasted. I understand that I must do better. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I hope we might have a second chance.

Yours faithfully,

A.C.

–––

By the time Charlotte finished, the threat of tears blurred her vision. When she looked up, dazed, lips parted in astonishment, she found him pacing the room, twisting his signet ring. Catching her eye, he crossed the room at once, dropping to one knee before her.

“Well…?” he pleaded. “Please tell me, Miss Heywood, have I any reason to hope?”

The paper crumpled slightly in her hands. She exhaled, blinking away tears, refolding it with trembling fingers. “I…I did not expect this.”

“I told you I would apologize fully—on my knees if I must. Charlotte…” he whispered, almost reverent, voice cracking.

Charlotte inhaled sharply, overwhelmed.

He swiftly corrected himself, swallowing hard. “Apologies, Miss Heywood. My past behavior was most egregious. Could you ever forgive me?”

“Forgiveness isn’t the issue. It is trust,” she murmured. Pressing a hand to her racing heart, she rose, forcing him to step back. Lightheaded, she crossed to the window, clutching his letter in one hand, the other bracing against the windowpane. After three deep breaths, willing herself to calm, the room eventually stopped spinning. Looking out onto the sea, she spoke without looking at him. “You were trying to protect me from yourself,” she guessed.

“In that moment, yes.”

“So you lied to me,” she replied fiercely. 

“I…I did not mean to! But… errr… yes,” he admitted quietly. “Yes, I did.”

“And you still wish to marry me?”

“Very much,” he breathed, taking a step closer.

“Stop right there, Mr. Colbourne.” She raised her hand, and he obeyed, waiting. “You have given me much to consider.”

“But you will consider it? That is… you will consider... me?” His voice was almost a whisper.

Gritting her teeth, Charlotte met his gaze with fierce determination. His hair was disheveled, undoubtedly from his anxious hands raking through it, jaw twitching, yet his gaze pierced straight through her. As it always did. It was almost unfair the way he looked at her, as though she were made of starlight. “You are a most mercurial, enigmatic creature, Mr. Colbourne,” she said. “I cannot imagine those being qualities a woman looks for in a husband.”

His nostrils flared, wincing at the blow.

“And yet,” she continued softly, “you have shown a humility I have never before seen in any man. You possess more integrity than anyone I’ve ever known. Someone once told me there was more to you than I could imagine. I believe that’s true.”

He took a half-step nearer, a dozen emotions flickering across his face. “I… thank you.”

“But I need time,” she determined. “It is clear to me now that I did not fully understand you last summer, and that neither of us truly knows the other.”

“That is fair,” he admitted. “But if you would allow, I should like to amend that. To court you properly, as I should have done before.”

Biting her lip, she turned away, awash in girlish joy and trepidation in equal measures. Yet she would not let infatuation overrule her better judgment again. “Perhaps. But not now. Georgiana needs me; her trial is a week away, and I will not abandon her.”

“No…no, of course not. You are a true friend,” he spoke earnestly. “But again, if there is anything I can do to aid her, or you, I am at your disposal.”

Charlotte gave a short, incredulous laugh. “Well, if you know any good lawyers, please, send them our way.”

His expression clouded. “Of course. And thank you for giving me cause to hope. I bid you good day, Miss Heywood.” Sketching a slight bow, he collected his hat and departed, passing Georgiana as she returned, bonnet in hand. “Miss Lambe,” he nodded, then slipped through the door.

“What did Mr. Colbourne want?” Georgiana asked lightly as she strode back into the room.

Charlotte tucked the folded letter into her bodice. “We shall speak of it later. For now, shall we call upon the Parkers?”

Georgiana smiled and readily agreed. The week had already proved overwhelming, and she couldn’t allow further distraction. So Charlotte forced her thoughts away from Alexander Colbourne, at least, for the moment.

Three days later, Charlotte sat once again with Georgiana and Mary at Trafalgar House, poring over the growing mountain of correspondence spread across the table. They had been working tirelessly, writing letters, researching, and conferring with Tom, determined to find a lawyer willing to take Georgiana’s case.

All other thoughts of Mr. Colbourne and the words they had exchanged had been pushed aside in favor of her friend’s desperate need for help.

The writ Charles Lockhart had delivered in such theatrical fashion revealed little about the supposed evidence behind his claim, and even the late Sidney’s old trunks and journals from Antigua had yielded no new information. Yet Georgiana possessed years of letters from her father, letters that made his affection and acknowledgment unmistakable. He had loved her and declared her his rightful heir.

Still, every lawyer in England seemed to shrink from the task, regardless of the premium she could pay.

“Another rejection letter,” Mary sighed, scanning the newest missive from that morning’s post.

“Tom has a most tenacious spirit,” Charlotte declared firmly. “He will not give up. He will find a lawyer.” Pressing her lips together, she understood her own circumstances were now bound to Georgiana’s. Without her position as companion, she would be adrift once more. The thought of returning to Willingden, to Ralph Starling, made bile rise in her throat.

As if reading her thoughts, Georgiana arched a brow. “What will you do if I lose my fortune?”

“You won’t,” Charlotte said fiercely.

“But if I did? Will you return to Willingden?”

“What? No!” Charlotte exclaimed. “I will remain beside you and see this awful business resolved. Surely, there must be one lawyer in England brave enough to fight for justice.”

“And if there is not?”

“Then… perhaps you should publish a letter,” Charlotte said, leaning forward. “Lay bare the iniquity of it all!”

Georgiana blinked. “Publish? Where?”

“The newspapers. The Chronicle, or The Times. We must shine a light upon this injustice.”

A wry smile curved Georgiana’s lips. “I would certainly win if you were my lawyer.”

Charlotte laughed softly. “If only women were permitted such occupations.”

“But I imagine you have other prospects, Charlotte, do you not?” Georgiana teased softly, nudging her arm.

Charlotte’s cheeks flushed hot. Her glance flicked nervously to Mary. “Please, not now,” she murmured.

Georgiana smirked but relented. “Very well. But someday, I want the full story. Nay, I demand it.”

At that moment, the maid appeared, a silver tray balanced in her hand. “Visitors, my ladies,” she announced. “Two Mr. Colbournes here to see you.”

“Two of them?” Charlotte sputtered, blinking rapidly.

All three women rose as two dark-haired gentlemen entered the room.

“My apologies for the intrusion,” Mr. Colbourne began, standing tall, hands clasped neatly behind his back. “But I believe, once you know the purpose of our visit, you will understand.”

Charlotte’s pulse quickened as his gaze caught hers. What on Earth was he doing here?

“Miss Lambe, I presume?” said the unfamiliar man beside him, bowing slightly. He was somewhat shorter, older, with keen gray-blue eyes, but the familial resemblance was unmistakable.

“And who might you be?” Georgiana asked coolly.

“Samuel Colbourne,” he replied with an amiable smile. “Your new lawyer.”

“I have not instructed you,” Georgiana said, her tone crisp.

“Not yet,” he allowed, the faintest smirk playing at his lips. “But my brother has informed me of your difficulties. Dragged me all the way from London, in fact.” His gaze flickered briefly to Charlotte, assessing her with that same uncanny Colbourne intensity.

Mr. Colbourne cleared his throat. “As soon as I heard of your plight, Miss Lambe, I knew there could be no one better.” His eyes met Charlotte’s again—for you—they seemed to say. I did this for you.

Her breath caught. Foolish heart—why must it still betray her so?

Mary, ever practical, interjected. “Are you aware that Lord Cornforth is to hear Miss Lambe’s case? He is known for his outspoken views on abolition. He will not be sympathetic.”

“Cornforth has no right to sit in judgment,” Mr. Samuel declared. “The law should be handed out without fear or favor.”

Georgiana regarded him shrewdly. “I hope that sentiment proves true, Mr. Colbourne. I am not a plaything for your amusement.”

His grin softened into sincerity. “If I represent you, Miss Lambe, it will be because I believe you can, and should, win.”

“Very well,” Georgiana said after a pause. “Show me what you can do, then I will decide.”

“As you wish,” he bowed. “Come to Heyrick Park at three o’clock, and we shall speak further.”

The gentlemen inclined their heads and turned to leave, but Alexander lingered. His eyes found Charlotte’s once more, full of unspoken meaning.

She steeled herself, raising her chin. No—he was not Alexander. He was Mr. Colbourne, and must remain so.

Though he had done her friend a kindness, she was not ready to think of him tenderly again. Not yet.

Birds chirped overhead, sunlight spilling through the leafy canopy as the winding cliff path gave way to the front drive of Heyrick Park. Instinctively, Charlotte’s steps slowed as they passed the familiar iron gates.

“Will you never tell me what truly happened between you and Mr. Colbourne?” Georgiana interrupted her reverie.

“What?!” Charlotte’s head snapped round. “Noth…nothing happened,” she stammered, color rising in her cheeks.

Rolling her eyes playfully, Georgiana gave her a gentle nudge. “Do not spit on my shoes and tell me it’s raining. You are a dreadful liar, Charlotte Heywood. Something happened. Otherwise, why would Mr. Colbourne go to such trouble to help me? We are of no acquaintance.”

“Calling upon one’s closest living relative is hardly a hardship,” Charlotte muttered.

Georgiana only lifted a knowing brow and stopped walking, clearly resolved not to move another step until she had her answer.

“Fine!” Charlotte sighed, defeated. “I…I did not understand Mr. Colbourne at first. The man seems to enjoy remaining a mystery. But for the briefest moment last summer, I found myself… somewhat infatuated with him. And much to my shame, we…we kissed.”

“I knew it!” Georgiana cried, giddy with triumph. “But I hardly see any shame in kissing a single man you admire, even if you were in his employ. That is only temporary.”

“I thought he felt the same,” Charlotte said quietly. “But then he…he sent me away. Dismissed me most cruelly.”

“Lost his nerve?”

“Something like that…” she murmured, lips pursed.

“Well, Mr. Colbourne seems quite set upon making amends now,” Georgiana observed, looping her arm through Charlotte’s and urging her forward once more.

“I suppose…”

“Can you not forgive him?”

“Forgiveness is not the issue,” Charlotte said thoughtfully. “It is consistency. It is lasting change. I already forgave him, but I cannot keep forgiving him over and over for the same fault. Mr. Colbourne has given me much to consider, but I require time to think. I have already been crossed in love too many times before.”

Snorting a laugh, Georgiana leaned closer. “That much is true. You have had your share of men chase you, Charlotte, and I cannot blame them. But your life is at stake, too. I certainly have no wish to be any man’s ornament.”

“Exactly so!”

The two ladies walked on in close confidence, their heads bent together until the grand façade of Heyrick House came into view. The two Colbourne brothers stood like sentries before the door, waiting for them. Charlotte and Georgiana curtsied as the gentlemen bowed solemnly.

“I hope you are prepared for what I am about to ask you, Miss Lambe,” said Mr. Samuel Colbourne.

“It is you who should be prepared, Mr. Colbourne,” Georgiana replied archly, sweeping past him without waiting for an invitation.

“Miss Heywood,” he said as they entered the foyer, “I would be grateful if you would wait here while Miss Lambe and I become better acquainted.”

“I’ll wait with you,” Mr. Colbourne added quietly.

After a moment’s hesitation, Charlotte inclined her head and took a seat upon a chair in the foyer. Mr. Colbourne claimed the other. They sat stiffly upright, mercifully not facing one another, so that she might at least be spared the distraction of his disarming gaze.

“I am delighted you have returned to Sanditon,” he said at last, breaking the fraught silence between them.

She chuckled ruefully. “Yes, I would imagine so.”

Flashing a crooked smile, he replied, “I suppose that was rather obvious. But I wonder… have you had any time to consider my letter?”

“I have been rather preoccupied of late,” she reminded him, arching a brow.

“Yes…yes, of course,” he murmured, thumb spinning his signet ring. “How was your trip to Willingden?” he eventually managed.

“Pleasant enough,” she said with a shrug.

“Only pleasant? Forgive me… I thought you were quite close with your family.”

Inhaling sharply, she said at length, “Views can change after seeing more of the world... more of a person’s character... even after knowing them your whole life.” Seeing his puzzled expression, she softened. “But my nearest sister was married. Her wedding was a happy day.” For Alison, anyway, she thought bitterly.

“Ah. Then I wish your sister every joy. If she is anything like you, she certainly deserves it.”

Charlotte gave an incredulous laugh. “Alison is nothing like me.” His brow furrowed, seemingly uncertain of how to proceed. Feeling guilty, she hastened to redirect their conversation. “How was your stay in Bath?”

“It was pleasant enough,” he echoed, the corner of his mouth curling. “Augusta saw much more of Society, and Leo enjoyed the parks and Roman ruins. Though they found their diversions, Augusta declared that every young gentleman she met was no more than a dull, foppish boy.”

Charlotte chuckled softly, angling toward him. “I’m glad to hear you’ve reconnected with them. But I hope you’re not pushing Augusta too hard, or too quickly, toward a good match.”

“Why not?” he asked, genuinely curious.

She drew a long breath. “Though she is only eighteen, Augusta knows her own mind. Her fortune will make her a target, but she is intelligent, beautiful, and soft-hearted beneath her armor. She deserves time and space to find a gentleman worthy of her. Yet too often, it is left to parents or guardians to decide a young woman’s path for them, as if we require saving from ourselves, as if we cannot be trusted.”

His frown deepened. “Forgive me, Miss Heywood. I fear you speak with much greater authority on the subject than I.”

“Yes. I know all too well,” she whispered.

His gaze softened. “I do not wish to pry. Given our history, I understand you have every reason not to trust me. But my greatest aim is to win that trust back.”

Meeting his dark eyes, seeing their sincerity, she found herself unable to speak. Nodding faintly, she looked away, feigning interest in the rug’s floral border. Fiddling with the gloves in her lap, one accidentally slipped from her fingers.

“Oh!” she gasped, but before she could move, Mr. Colbourne was already on one knee, returning it to her.

“Thank you,” she breathed, lost for a moment in the depths of his eyes—those molten amber pools that always sent her swimming, at a loss for air. Clutching her gloves, she pulled away, breaking their connection.

Mr. Colbourne retook his chair, momentarily silent. Eventually, he managed, “Leo and Augusta speak of you often. I think they miss your presence.”

“Then why did you not permit them to write to me?” she challenged, brows lifted.

“I…I suppose I could have,” he admitted, Adam’s apple bobbing, fingers spinning that ring again. “I am a flawed man, Miss Heywood. But I am endeavoring to do better.”

“Then do not give up,” Charlotte said at once. “The only true failure is not trying at all.”

A faint smile warmed his expression. “Another of Miss Heywood’s many pearls of wisdom. I shall treasure it always.”

“Thank you,” she laughed, surprised and a little shy. “Do I really have so many?”

“Yes,” he said, counting on his fingers. “Let’s see: ‘A woman should dress for whatever suits her purpose,’ ‘Society is wrong,’ ‘A girl can be whatever she chooses to be…’”

Charlotte’s laugh rang out, bright and genuine. “Leo never lets you forget them, does she?”

“No, never,” he replied with a crooked smile. “Though I confess I had missed your counsel as well.”

“Did you?”

The look he gave pierced straight through her, soft yet unguarded. “Profoundly.”

Her pulse quickened, butterflies rising within her chest. Before she could find her breath, the adjoining door flew open.

“Charlotte, let us go,” Georgiana whispered urgently, her face pale and troubled. “Mr. Colbourne has been quite judicious in demonstrating the public distress Mr. Lockhart could cause me. I cannot subject myself to it.”

The other Mr. Colbourne followed her, lines etched around his gray-blue eyes. As Georgiana reached for her bonnet and reticule, he drew Charlotte aside. “This trial will take place in three days, even if she stands in absentia,” he warned. “And if she will not defend herself, she has little hope of winning.”

Panic fluttered in her chest. “Please wait until tomorrow before you leave,” Charlotte pleaded. “I’ll try to persuade her to continue.”

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Sliding her gloves back on, Charlotte hurried after her friend. Glancing over her shoulder, she spied both brothers standing like solemn sentinels by the door. But in Alexander’s gaze, she saw the look she was beginning to recognize within herself: longing.

Chapter Text

The morning sunlight streamed through the carriage window in pale bands, casting golden ribbons across the upholstery as the wheels rattled over the packed earth. The scent of sea air lingered faintly as they climbed the cliff road towards London. Seated opposite her companions, Charlotte traced the passing scenery with her eyes, moving with the carriage’s rhythmic sway. 

Her thoughts, however, were not on the journey ahead. They returned, unbidden, to the previous evening—to the concert on the shore. At last, after hours of appeals, she and Mary had convinced Georgiana not only to fight her case, but to join the others at the seaside concert Arthur had so carefully arranged. The evening air had been cool, the night illuminated by countless lanterns, the crowd humming with chatter as the orchestra took their place.

Although His Majesty never appeared (a disappointment that left poor Susan the butt of more than one unkind remark), Charlotte had spent most of the evening consoling her friend and studiously evading Mr. Colbourne. Yet fate, it seemed, had other intentions. When the music began, she found herself seated beside him, rushing towards the last two remaining chairs.

During the aria, just as the soprano’s voice soared heavenward, a quiet exchange between them broke her composure. His hand reached across the narrow divide of their seats—tentative, deliberate—and her own moved of its own accord to meet his. The warmth of his touch sent a bright current through her, her whole body seemingly tuned to this secret connection. For a moment, she closed her eyes, letting the music, the intoxicating nearness of him, swallow her whole.

And that was only his hand. Charlotte could scarcely think of the kisses they once shared without heat rising in her cheeks.

‘I wish you luck in your endeavors,’ he had said when the concert ended, his dark eyes wide and earnest. ‘...And I hope that we might speak when you return.’

‘Of course,’ she had said almost breathlessly, unmoored once again under the spell of his gaze. Then once again, her friends had pulled her away with their own interests; there hadn’t been another moment to speak.

A sharp, frustrated exhale escaped her as she pressed her fingers to the cold glass, watching her breath fog the pane. Charlotte willed herself back to the present.

“…What are these letters if not proof of my father’s love?” Georgiana was saying, rifling through her parcel of evidence. “I know who I am. Whatever Lockhart threatens, he will not win.”

“And I have every faith in your lawyer,” Mary added, her tone calm but resolute. “Mr. Colbourne is impressive indeed. We owe his brother our profound thanks.”

The two women exchanged a glance, one that Charlotte could feel rather than see. She kept her gaze fixed on the fields streaming past the window, refusing to acknowledge their knowing looks.

She was trying so very hard not to fall in love with Mr. Colbourne again. At least, not yet.

After the first full day of the trial, the party reconvened at the Parkers’ London residence to drink, commiserate, and make sense of all they had endured during a most trying day. Yet, above all, they gathered to support Georgiana, who had borne attacks of a most acute and personal nature.

“To hear my dear father and mother so defamed, when they are not even here to defend themselves…” Georgiana lamented, her voice trembling.

“And neither is Sidney,” Mary reminded her gently.

“What is the law even worth,” Charlotte fumed, indignant on her friend’s behalf, “if such men can lie with impunity?”

“The truth is beside the point, Miss Heywood,” said Mr. Samuel Colbourne gravely. “All that matters is what the Lord Chancellor chooses to believe.”

Before anyone could respond, a maid appeared in the doorway. “A visitor, my lady.” Behind her stood a tall, trim man of dark complexion—one none of them had seen in over a year.

“Forgive me for calling unannounced,” he said.

“Otis!” Georgiana exclaimed, rising at once. Her astonishment quickly gave way to delight; it was clear the two had eyes only for each other.

Offering a sheepish smile, Otis turned his hat in his hands. “I came as soon as circumstances would allow.”

Exchanging a quick glance with Mary, Charlotte seized upon the opportunity with alacrity. “Perhaps you might prefer a quiet moment to talk? I fear we may all be rather too much company at once.”

“Can we? You do not mind?” Georgiana asked eagerly.

“Well,” Mary said slowly, “there is a small sitting room available…”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Otis replied, bowing deeply.

Once the pair had withdrawn to the adjoining room, the door left ajar for propriety’s sake, Charlotte returned to her brandy, attempting to refocus the company on the next day’s strategy.

Drumming her fingers against the arm of the settee, Mary’s anxious gaze kept straying toward the open doorway. “Are we quite certain we should have left them alone together?”

Charlotte exhaled a thoughtful breath. “Despite their history, perhaps Mr. Molyneux can help Georgiana. He understands her situation in ways we cannot, however hard we may try.” Meeting Mary’s wide, blue eyes, Charlotte did not attempt to disguise her concern for their friend.

Across the room, Mr. Samuel was pacing before the fire, papers in hand. Charlotte turned toward him. “Well, Mr. Colbourne, have you any thoughts on how you will argue Georgiana’s case tomorrow?”

“At this precise moment,” he admitted, “I have no idea.”

Blinking rapidly, Charlotte gave a short, incredulous laugh. “Is that usual at this stage of a trial?”

“I must be honest with you, Miss Heywood,” he said gravely, setting down his glass. “I have never argued a case of this nature or magnitude before.”

Her brow furrowed. “But… you told me you had never taken on a case you could not win,” she blurted out.

“That is true,” he said, pouring himself another brandy and downing it in one gulp. “Was true.” Helping himself to a refill, he reclined with a philosophical air. “For the past ten years, I have concerned myself only with petty litigation—good money for easy work. I would never have taken this case unless…”

Charlotte’s heart began to pound. “Unless?” she asked softly.

“My brother paid me an urgent visit,” he confessed. “The first words we have exchanged in nearly a decade. He urged me to take the case. He was doggedly persistent—even offered to pay my costs in full should we lose.”

“I thought you had taken it out of integrity… out of a belief in justice,” she said, perplexed.

“It is Xander you should credit, not me.” His blue-gray eyes lingered on Charlotte, his expression unreadable, as if he were fishing for something unspoken.

“But why should Georgiana’s case concern him so greatly?” Mary interjected.

“I was hoping Miss Heywood might enlighten us,” Samuel replied with a knowing little smile.

Heat surged in Charlotte’s cheeks, and she looked away at once, her heart twisting. “The only thing that matters now is the trial,” she said quickly. “You must do whatever it takes. We cannot let her lose.”

Swirling his drink idly, Samuel’s intelligent gaze flicked back to hers. “There may be one last roll of the dice I could try,” he said at last. “I bid you both good night.” Downing the remainder of his glass, he rose and made for the door.

Charlotte exhaled slowly, pressing her hand to her chest as she willed her racing heart to calm. She had known Alexander had summoned his brother, but not what it must have cost him. Ten years of silence bridged for her sake, simply to help her friend. It was more than a ride to London—it was an act of faith.

“Well,” Mary murmured, turning toward her with quiet curiosity, “it seems Mr. Colbourne went quite out of his way for Georgiana. Will you tell me why? We appear to owe him a great debt.”

Charlotte hesitated, her gaze falling to her lap. “Only if we win,” she said at last. “And that is far from certain. Forgive me, but that conversation did not inspire much confidence.”

“Charlotte,” Mary said softly, placing a gentle hand over hers. “You can speak to me, you know.”

Charlotte’s throat tightened. She managed a weak smile, but her voice came out barely audible. “I know, Mary, I just… I fear what you may think of me.”

“I shall think,” she said gently, “that you are a young, intelligent, beautiful woman who took an unconventional path in taking an occupation—against every advisement—and perhaps found more than she bargained for. Am I close?”

Charlotte swallowed hard, her eyes glistening. “Yes,” she whispered. “More than I ever expected.” She stared down at her hands, twisting her fingers in her lap. “When I went to Sanditon last summer, I meant only to work, to make my own way in the world. I had no thoughts of marriage or love. But…”

“But something did happen between you and Mr. Colbourne?” Mary prompted.

Her voice faltered. She looked towards the fireplace, pretending to study the bright crackles of flames that danced within the hearth. Something burned brighter within her. “But I am not so blind or heartless as to be immune to…to a certain kind of affection. Mr. Colbourne could be so mercurial, and yet so...” she caught herself, pressing a trembling hand to her lips “...so kind, when he allowed himself to be.”

Mary said nothing, waiting patiently, her silence as comforting as any embrace.

Charlotte turned towards her friend, eyes bright with unshed tears. “Something did happen between us,” she admitted at last. “He…he kissed me. And I was quite willing. But then he fell prey to his old doubts and demons… and sent me away. He broke my heart, Mary,” she admitted with a breathless, trembling sob.

“Oh, my dear girl,” Mary soothed, drawing her close. She spoke in soft, maternal tones, patting her back while Charlotte’s tears stained her gown. “It is all right. No lasting harm was done, was it? And now he seems most eager to make amends. It must have required great humility.”

“The greatest,” Charlotte sniffled, taking the handkerchief Mary offered. She dabbed her eyes, forcing a trembling smile. “When I returned to Sanditon, he wrote a letter of apology. He said... he said he was in love with me. That he had made a terrible mistake, and still wished to marry me—if I could forgive him.”

“And can you forgive him? Trust him?” Mary asked at once. “It would be a splendid match for you, my dear, but only if you truly admire him.”

“I do admire him, but… oh, Mary! I am all sixes and sevens! The heartbreak was so great before… I fear I cannot risk it again.”

“Yes, you can, Charlotte,” Mary said warmly. “Because you are among the bravest, most self-possessed women I have ever met. I will not push you. I am not your mother. But if you can open your heart again, Mr. Colbourne seems a good man, despite whatever Tom says,” she added with a knowing smirk.

Charlotte let out a shaky laugh. “There is some truth to the recluse bit. Or at least, there was.”

“Does Georgiana know?”

Shaking her head, Charlotte said firmly, “No. And I do not wish to tell her. At least, not now. We must focus on her right now.”

Mary nodded. “Agreed. But we should check on her and Otis soon.”

Charlotte squeezed her hand gratefully. “Alright. And thank you, Mary, for listening.”

“Of course, my dear. All I want is to see both of you girls content and well settled.”

Between them fell a silence so tender that even the faint ticking of the mantel clock seemed intrusive. Then came the unmistakable sound of Georgiana’s quiet laugh in the next room, tremulous and unguarded, followed by the rustle of fabric as she moved towards the door.

Mary exhaled, her expression softening. “Perhaps not all first loves end in heartbreak after all.”

Charlotte smiled faintly. “Perhaps not. But I sometimes wonder if love is worth all the trouble.”

“I promise you,” said Mary, linking her arm through Charlotte’s as they stood, “that it absolutely is.”

After the trial had taken more twists and turns than Alison driving a horse-cart down a country lane, Georgiana at last prevailed. Thanks in no small part to the late-breaking evidence of bribery uncovered by Mr. Samuel Colbourne, justice had triumphed. Yet victory came at a price. Though she retained her fortune, Georgiana had been made a spectacle for the nation’s amusement, her name splashed across every scandal sheet for all England to devour. 

The day, however, had been won, and they all needed a moment to celebrate. The Parkers’ London drawing room brimmed with laughter and the pop of champagne corks. Glasses clinked, cheeks were flushed, and relief was the sweetest music. Even Otis joined their little party, standing at Georgiana’s side, chest swelling with pride and a tender look in his eye.

Eventually, Charlotte gathered her courage and crossed the room to where Mr. Samuel stood apart from the merriment, examining his glass as though it held the secrets of the universe.

“Thank you,” she began softly. “For all you have done.”

He chuckled, one brow arching. “As we have already established, it is Xander you should thank.”

“You say you have not spoken in ten years?” she asked, her voice higher than intended.

“Yes. When our father died, he left me the estate saddled with debt,” Samuel replied. “But the notion of being trapped in the place I’d grown up was more than I could bear. I wanted a chance to pursue my own path.”

“I can understand that,” Charlotte said empathetically.

“But alas,” he continued, swirling his drink, “my freedom came at a cost to Xander. He chose to shoulder the familial burden that should have been mine. And I fear it cost him his marriage.”

Heat crept up Charlotte’s neck at the memory of that long-ago confession. ‘She wanted to stay in London, at the heart of Society, and I… did not. So I came back here,’  he had said. It was now abundantly clear why Mr. Colbourne had made that choice. “But now you have a chance to make your peace,” she said softly.

“Perhaps so,” Mr. Samuel smiled, eyes bright with mischief. “Though if I may, I sense you and Xander have your own history. Your tenure as governess was short-lived indeed.”

“Your brother decided it was not the right position for me,” she replied carefully.

“Oh?” he said with feigned innocence. “Did he have another position in mind?”

Charlotte shot him a look that would have silenced a lesser man. He only laughed and held up his hands in surrender. “Forgive me, Miss Heywood. I am a lawyer, after all—it is my occupation to fathom people out. But I do hope you’ll come to our shooting party.”

“I confess I am surprised that Mr. Colbourne wishes to host such a thing,” she said, half-smiling. “I am not certain there has been a party at Heyrick Park in… years.”

“Years, indeed,” Samuel said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “But then, I was not there to liven things up.” He winked. “Xander may be my baby brother, but he has always been the reserved sort, even as a child. What he needs is someone spirited to shake him up a bit. Bring him back to life.”

Tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear, Charlotte tried to hide the warmth in her cheeks at the echo of words she had heard before, that night when she first danced with his brother. “I believe that may be true,” she finally murmured.

“Then say you will come,” he urged. “It will give you the chance to thank him properly.”

Exhaling a slow breath, Charlotte weighed the facts now that she understood them. “I suppose... after all this, I must,” she decided.

“Excellent!” he declared.

Her pulse throbbed traitorously in her throat as he sauntered off, leaving her flushed and breathless amid the chatter and laughter. The two brothers could not have been more different, yet both somehow saw straight into her heart.

She feared her affections were so plain that everyone might see them. And yet… did she need to fear them anymore? Mr. Colbourne—her Mr. Colbourne—had apologized, confessed his feelings, and humbled himself in every way that mattered. They were both free to marry whomever they chose and lived scarcely two miles apart.

Charlotte had faced more challenges these past two years than in the twenty before them. Do I have the courage to open my heart again? she wondered.

Looking down into her half-empty glass, she watched the champagne bubbles rise and burst like fleeting moments. Yes, she decided, I do. This was her moment.

Chapter Text

The morning dawned crisp and clear, sunlight glinting upon the frosted fields that stretched before Heyrick Park like a painting newly come to life. The autumn air was filled with the scents of gunshot and damp earth, the rhythmic barking of dogs carrying over the hills. Men stood gathered in clusters, their guns gleaming, their laughter bright as they stamped their boots against the cold. 

Charlotte had not returned to Heyrick since the day she fled in heartbreak months ago. Every stone of the house, every familiar tree seemed like a ghost of the past. She had come, she told herself, only to thank Mr. Colbourne, and nothing more. Yet she would not be seen diminished. Georgiana had insisted upon dressing her in a new brocaded pelisse and matching bonnet, their rich colours lending Charlotte a certain quiet confidence she had not felt in weeks.

Standing with Georgiana and the Parkers, Charlotte felt the faintest flutter of unease as their party lined up to greet their hosts. Then the crowd cleared, and there he was: Alexander Colbourne. In his olive-colored coat, dark boots, and well-tailored clothing, he looked more handsome than ever, despite his glorious waves of hair being covered for once by a gentleman’s hat. His face lit by the small smile that formed when their eyes met.

Her breath hitched despite her best attempts at composure, her gloved hand tightening upon Georgiana’s arm. Tom Parker launched into his usual stream of genial platitudes, thanking the Colbourne brothers with effusive good cheer, but Mr.Colbourne’s gaze scarcely shifted from Charlotte, returning to her again and again as though drawn by some invisible thread.

But then Leo interrupted. “Miss Heywood, you’re here!” she squealed, hurling her tiny person into her arms. “Come, you must tell me everything about the trial.”

Charlotte smiled fondly before her eyes drifted back to his. Why was it that they could never find three uninterrupted minutes together anymore? Acquiescing to the child’s command, Charlotte threw him a helpless glance over her shoulder. Even if the universe was conspiring against them, surely they could find a spare moment at some point today. She bent patiently to Leo’s questions, answering as best she could in a manner suitable for a nearly nine-year-old. Although she was always happy to see Leo and Augusta, she could almost feel Mr. Colbourne’s eyes on her like a physical thing, much as they had that night of the party and at the beach concert. Now that she understood that gaze for what it was—admiration, unguarded and sincere—her heart lifted unconsciously toward him, yearning for a word, a moment, anything.

The wait felt interminable, though scarcely more than a few minutes passed. At last, as the whole party began their walk toward the fields, Mr. Colbourne broke away from the others and approached her with purpose.

“Miss Heywood,” he called, his voice deep and steady. “It gladdens me to see you here today.”

Her lips parted in a soft smile. “I wanted a chance to thank you.”

“Oh, you have nothing to thank me for,” he said quickly, looking bashful, averting his gaze.

“That isn’t true,” she countered gently. “You rode to London and sought out a brother you hadn’t seen in ten years.”

He looked down, a faint flush rising to his cheek. “I could not have stood by and done nothing. What kind of man would I be?”

“You did my friend a great kindness,” she said, her voice trembling just slightly as she held his gaze. “I’ll forever be grateful.”

His eyes softened, and for a moment, the world seemed to quiet around them—the sounds of men and dogs, the rustle of the wind, the stamping of hooves—all faded away. She saw the depths of his love reflected in the dark pools of his eyes, and she wanted to swim in it.

“Then it was more than worth it,” he said quietly. “I hope I may always be of service to you, Miss Heywood.”

Her heart stuttered painfully in her chest. She opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, a familiar voice rang out across the lawn.

“Xander! Come! The beaters stand ready!” Mr. Samuel called cheerfully.

Mr. Colbourne’s eyes lingered on hers a moment longer, the faintest smile ghosting across his lips. “Excuse me, Miss Heywood. But I hope we might speak later?” he ventured, a hopeful expression on his face.

Suppressing a smile, she nodded, hoping she wasn’t blushing too fiercely. With a slight bow, he was gone, striding across the grass to join his brother and the other assembled gentlemen, his tall frame soon lost among the bustle.

Charlotte stood frozen, watching him move through the crowd with his usual quiet authority. The dogs barked, the horns sounded, and the first volley of shots cracked through the air—yet her heartbeat was louder still.

Susan appeared at her side, slipping her arm through hers. “You need not tell me what he said,” she murmured with a knowing smile. “Your face tells me everything.”

Charlotte exhaled a shaky laugh. “Then I must learn to school my expression better.”

“My dear, it would be a pity if you did,” she said warmly. “Though I hope you both find the words to speak your heart.”

Charlotte’s gaze drifted back toward the line of trees, where Alexander stood with a gun in his hand, his profile illuminated by the morning sun. For once, she did not fight the feeling that rose within her chest, nor the urge to think of him by his Christian name. Perhaps, she thought, this was what hope felt like. It was a feeling she had nearly forgotten.

So absorbed was Charlotte in her own conflicted thoughts that she scarcely noticed Susan guiding her back toward their friend.

“You are the woman of the hour, Miss Lambe,” Susan said brightly. “I hope you do not find the attention too overwhelming."

Georgiana raised a brow. “You are hardly a stranger to gossip yourself, my lady."

“Which is precisely why I speak from experience when I say that society can be merciless,” Susan murmured, leaning closer so only the three of them might hear. “You must take every care to protect yourself.”

A shadow passed over Georgiana’s expression.

“Ah, Lady Montrose. Lady Lydia, Your Grace,” Susan interjected with poise as the Montroses intercepted them. “I was so hoping you would be here.”

“A pleasure as always, Lady de Clemente,” the dowager intoned before turning her attention to Georgiana with great theatricality. “Oh, Miss Lambe, I thank God that justice has prevailed. I’ve been on my knees praying for you night after day.”

“Oh, I’m sure that made the world of difference,” Susan said with feigned gravity.

Charlotte bit back a smile, giving Susan’s arm a gentle squeeze of solidarity. Her place—once so uncertain as an impoverished gentleman’s daughter and mere governess—felt less liminal now, though she remained keenly aware of her position. She would be civil and unobtrusive, observing as the Montroses attempted, once again, to sink their hooks into her friend. Whatever personal feelings she harboured, her loyalty to Georgiana and to Susan remained steadfast.

As the day wore on, Charlotte ambled amongst the ladies, making conversation where she could, though her gaze often strayed toward the distant line of sportsmen. The men’s laughter and the sharp crack of gunfire echoed across the fields. She found herself longing to join them. After all, she had been a far better shot than any of her brothers back in Willingden. The thought pricked her sense of injustice.

Well, she mused, a small smile tugging at her mouth, it might be permitted if I were mistress here…

“Miss Heywood,” Lydia called, strolling to her side. “Might I ask your opinion?”

“Yes.”

“I understand you were a governess here once. Forgive my boldness, but you and Mr. Colbourne seem on rather close terms.”

Charlotte flushed. “Was that a question?”

She smiled faintly. “I suppose not. My mother is determined that Mr. Colbourne and I would be well-matched. And yet, if I’m honest, I believe his heart is already touched. Am I mistaken?”

Her color rose, but her courage remained. “No, my lady. You are not.”

Lady Lydia’s smile broadened with wicked delight. “Excellent. Mother will be bitterly disappointed. I cannot wait.”

At that, the lady departed in a swish of skirts and feathers. Although Charlotte didn’t know her well, she seemed pleasant enough, despite her overbearing mother.

Charlotte had spent a considerable time in Georgiana’s and Mary’s company, both women working deftly to divert their friend from the murmured speculations that rippled through the gathering. At last, Charlotte slipped away for a quiet moment to think. The shoot would end soon; if she placed herself shrewdly, perhaps she might steal a few minutes with Alexander. But what, precisely, would she say to him once the opportunity arose? The question sent an anxious flutter through her chest, and she twisted her gloves between her fingers.

“Miss Heywood,” Augusta interrupted, breaking through her reverie. “May I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“You once said that you had been in love before,” Augusta ventured quietly, eyes bright. “When did you know it was love?”

Charlotte blinked, entirely caught off guard. “Why…why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason in particular,” Augusta said with feigned nonchalance, though the blush rising in her cheeks betrayed her.

Augusta’s blush deepened to crimson. “He is not exactly young… but he is from a good family. And he has a title. And a poetic soul.”

The description pricked Charlotte’s unease, though she schooled her features. “He sounds… intriguing. But this is hardly the place for confidences,” she murmured, glancing around at the shifting streams of guests and the servants crossing the lawn. “Perhaps we might take tea tomorrow at the Assembly Rooms. Or at Georgiana’s apartment, if that suits you better.”

Augusta brightened instantly. “I would love that. No, I am not engaged—at least… not yet,” she added, coloring again.

Brow wrinkled, Charlotte opened her mouth to press further, but a sharp voice cut across the lawn. 

“Nonsense! I shall show you how it is done,” Lady Montrose declared, abandoning her daughter, stomping across the grounds in a thunder of petticoats. The hunting dogs immediately converged upon her, licking her hands with ecstatic devotion.

“They appear to have mistaken you for a pheasant,” Alexander observed dryly, amusement lighting his eyes.

“Oh, I knew it was a mistake to wear feathers to a shoot,” Lady Montrose replied with a forced laugh, attempting to maintain dignity despite the persistent spaniel that tugged at her hem.

He chuckled awkwardly and gestured toward the doorway, where the servants had begun carrying out trays of brandy. “Shall we go in, your grace? There are refreshments.”

Charlotte hid a smile behind her hand. Whatever ambitions the dowager might harbor for her daughter, Alexander offered her nothing more than civility. The field, as far as Charlotte could see, had already been ceded by Lady Lydia. But before she could determine an excuse to approach him, he turned toward her.

“Miss Heywood,” Alexander said warmly, extending his hand, “I would be honored if you would join us.”

Charlotte’s heart leapt. “I would be happy to, sir.”

Blushing, Charlotte placed her gloved hand in his and glanced over her shoulder, exchanging a smile with Augusta and Leonora, who were practically glowing with delight. “We will speak more tomorrow, I hope, Miss Markham?”

“Oh yes, Miss Heywood, I’m sure we shall have much to discuss,” Augusta smirked, her voice was laced with intrigue.

Alexander guided her gently by the elbow, ensuring she was offered refreshments and introduced to those she had not yet met, though more often than not, it was she who charmed the introductions from others. He remained at her side, his expression soft with quiet pride as the drawing room filled with guests and laughter.

“Heavens,” Charlotte said, glancing about the room. “How different this room looks, filled with so many people.”

“More than we’ve had in years,” Alexander admitted, his voice dropping low as he leaned closer. “Though it always looks better with you in it.”

Her eyes widened, color rushing to her cheeks. “Why, Mr. Colbourne! If you keep saying such things, people might mistake you for an incurable flirt,” she teased.

“Well then,” he murmured, one corner of his mouth curling, “it is fortunate that there is no one else to corroborate your story, Miss Heywood. Seeing as I only flirt with you.”

Her blush deepened, words failing her as the air between them grew warm and heavy. Then, as though the moment itself conspired to remind her of propriety, the room fell eerily silent. Every head turned.

Georgiana had entered, visibly uneasy, and the hush of whispered gossip had left the room so abruptly that there was no doubt as to the topic of their conversation. Charlotte could feel her friend’s mortification as keenly as her own.

Georgiana froze, her chin lifting a fraction before she turned on her heel and fled.

“Excuse me,” Charlotte said quickly, thrusting her glass blindly into Alexander’s surprised hands. Gathering her skirts, she hurried from the room in pursuit of her friend, her heart pounding for an entirely different reason now.

The two ladies set off in their carriage, rumbling down the cliff path towards Sanditon. Despite giving every argument to the contrary, Georgiana could not be persuaded to stay. Although Charlotte could hardly blame her. Every room they entered seemed thick with whispers, with people pretending not to stare while speaking of her the moment she was out of earshot.

Georgiana reached across the seat and laid a hand gently atop Charlotte’s. “I am so glad you have come to stay with me,” she said earnestly. “You are one of the few people in this world I can truly depend on.”

Charlotte smiled softly. “I could say the same. Georgiana, you are so loved—by me, by the Parkers… and by Otis, who clearly loves you as much as he ever did.”

Her friend’s expression darkened, jaw tightening. “And what good will that do me? Do you think love alone can protect me from fortune hunters? From the judgment of society? What influence does Otis have, what position?” She exhaled sharply, gazing out the window. “Lady de Clemente was right. I must do whatever I can to protect myself. I would do better to continue my courtship with the duke.”

Charlotte could not contain her eyeroll. “That isn’t real.”

“What is?” Georgiana retorted.

“Some things are real,” Charlotte said softly. “Men can change for the better if given the time and opportunity to prove their worth. Perhaps he deserves a second chance.”

Georgiana’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Do you speak of Otis… or someone else?”

“Otis! Of course. Who else would it be?” Charlotte sputtered, though her blush betrayed her.

“Something is going on with you and Mr. Colbourne,” Georgiana said matter-of-factly. “He has appeared unannounced—twice—seeking you out. He rode to London to enlist his brother’s help, undoubtedly for your benefit, not mine. Then we go to his house, and I see you glued to his side as though you were his wife.”

Charlotte’s cheeks flamed. “I did not… that was but for a moment!”

Raising a skeptical brow, Georgiana folded her arms. “Charlotte Heywood, you remain the worst dissembler I know. It does not bother me that you like him, and he seems quite plainly in love with you. Why are you still keeping secrets? We are friends, are we not?” 

“Of course! The very best of friends,” Charlotte exclaimed. “But… you have had so much to manage with the trial. I did not wish to burden you with my troubles.”

“And before the trial?” Georgiana pressed. “It was clear enough that you were avoiding the topic even back in Willingden. You twitched every time his name was mentioned.”

Charlotte drew in a sharp breath, fingers tightening around her gloves. “Are you sure you wish to talk about this now?”

“Yes!” Georgiana said brightly. “Distract me, please. Now tell me plain, do you like Mr. Colbourne or not?”

“I love him!” Charlotte blurted out before she could stop herself, clapping a hand over her mouth as the confession escaped.

A slow, catlike grin spread across Georgiana’s face. “You love him?”

“Yes,” Charlotte sighed, sinking back against the seat. “It began long ago… when I was working for him. But we parted badly. Yet time apart has given us both a chance to consider what we truly want. He has apologized entirely and shown every act of contrition.”

“Has he spoken of his feelings?”

“Yes. He…he wrote me a letter,” Charlotte confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “He said he was in love with me, and that he wished to marry me. But he understands that my trust cannot be easily won, and wants to court me properly.”

“Well then!” Georgiana’s brows shot up to her hairline. “I am glad we bought you all those dresses when you first arrived. You shall need them if you are to begin courting the neighborhood’s most eligible bachelor!”

Charlotte let out a shaky laugh. “Then… you are not angry with me?”

“Angry?” Georgiana blinked, genuinely confused. “No! Only cross that you failed to tell me the whole of it sooner. To think, you’ve had a full-blown love affair with your former employer and said nothing! Not that I blame you. He fills out those riding breeches exceedingly well,” she added with a wicked grin. 

“Georgiana!” she cried, blushing furiously.

“But how dare you keep such good gossip from me?” she continued. “It’s positively criminal.”

Their laughter bubbled over, girlish and unguarded, as they clutched each other’s hands. By the time the spires of Sanditon came into view, both were flushed and giddy, the troubles of the past momentarily forgotten.

At last, all of Charlotte’s closest friends knew the truth, and each of them supported her choice. Her parents might disapprove, as they always had, but she had withstood the slings and arrows of their judgment before.

Now, there was nothing left between her and happiness but the simplest thing of all: one honest conversation.

As the afternoon light waned, Charlotte walked along the cliffs, the sea air cool against her flushed cheeks. Alexander’s letter rested safely, tucked within her bodice—a fragile, precious thing that she had read and refolded countless times. She had even allowed Georgiana to read it, who practically swooned on her behalf. 

Her bare fingers brushed the fold of the softened paper again, tempted to read the words she already knew by heart. When would she see him again? Could she invent some excuse to call at Heyrick? Or would it be better, safer, to wait for him to call upon her?

The sea stretched endlessly before her, glowing beneath the fading sun, yet the horizon remained bright with possibilities. And then, as if conjured by her thoughts, she turned her head toward Heyrick and saw him: Alexander. He strode toward her across the wind-swept path, his olive coat billowing behind him, cravat missing, hair tousled by the breeze. It really was unfair how handsome he was.

“Miss Heywood,” he called, his voice carrying on the wind. “I was on my way to find you.”

Charlotte’s pulse quickened. “Oh? Why?”

Taking a step closer, his words tumbled out in a rush. “Because I cannot let another day pass without speaking to you plainly. Now that you have returned to Sanditon, I hope to see you every day. Having you back at Heyrick today, at my side, as if you have always belonged there…” His voice faltered, his gaze searching hers. “It’s impossible for me to deny how devoutly I love you. Tell me, Charlotte, please… have I any hope of ever succeeding?”

For a moment, all air was driven from her lungs. The world fell away until there was nothing but the distant sound of surf and the pounding of her heart. His sincerity, his heart laid bare before her, threatened to undo her entirely. Then, without another thought, she stepped forward and crashed her lips to his.

His strong hands caught her waist at once, pulling her against him as she rose on tiptoe, her fingers clutching his shoulders. The warmth of him, the taste of sea salt and apples—it felt inevitable, as if their bodies were made for each other. But she had hoped for an honest conversation, hadn’t she?

“Wait,” she gasped, breaking away as her wits came rushing back. “Forgive me… I have quite forgotten myself.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” he said softly, brushing a windblown curl from her cheek. “I have longed to do the same for weeks. I would kiss you every day if you would allow it. If you would stay and make a life with me.”

“Alexander,” she breathed, the sound of his name foreign on her lips. She wrapped her arms around herself as she pulled away, steadying her spinning thoughts.

He inhaled sharply, his restraint hanging by a thread. “How I have waited to hear you say my name,” he murmured. “Please, Charlotte… what must I do?”

“You have done more than enough,” she said with a soft, rueful laugh. “What I require more than love is constancy. I must see that you will listen—truly listen—and show me the man of integrity I know you to be, every day.”

He nodded gravely, stepping closer. “That is a request I am happy to grant.”

“Yes. I believe you can,” she said quietly, softening.

“Then I can think of no greater occupation than spending my life as your adoring husband,” he said, gently taking her hand. “And no other place where you belong more than by my side.” Taking her hand, he placed it over his heart. “The position of my wife is yours, if you want it. And my heart, too.”

Huffing a soft laugh, she couldn’t help but smile. “I love you too,” she whispered, voice breaking. He smiled, his face transformed, his hand moving to her cheek. She leaned into his touch, dizzy with warmth and relief.

“Do you know,” he said gently, “that you bewitched me from the very first moment we met? And ever since, my admiration, my affection, has only grown deeper with every moment spent in your company.”

Charlotte exhaled a trembling laugh, her eyes shining. “Poetry. And you claimed to have no talent for speaking, Mr. Colbourne. What lies.”

“You inspire me,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over hers. “And if I feel this much now, I cannot imagine how fathomless my love for you will be once we have shared a lifetime together.”

She smiled against his lips, peeking up at him under her lashes. “Was that a statement or a question?”

He gave her that rare, crooked, boyish grin. “Will you marry me, Charlotte? I will court you first, if you prefer, but my feelings will not change. Marry me, and let me spend my life showing you how ardently I admire you.”

Joy bloomed so fiercely within her that she could scarcely contain it. “Yes,” she laughed, her voice bright and breathless. “Yes, I will court you, and I will marry you, Alexander Colbourne. On one condition.”

His brows lifted. “Name it.”

“Kiss me again.”

He laughed—a deep, rich sound that made her heart swell—and swept her into his arms, kissing her deeply, again and again, until they were both breathless. The sea roared behind them, the gulls cried overhead, and the world seemed to spin around them.

When at last she drew back, brushing the stubborn curl from his forehead, she kissed his brow, his cheek, his lips once more. “Promise me,” she whispered. “That you will never leave me again, for that is the only way we can remain content for the rest of our days. I am determined that we shall be happy together. And I must warn you, sir, once my mind is made up, very little daunts me.”

He smiled, eyes alight. “I promise,” he vowed, pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. “And I think you shall find my resolve quite equal to your own.”

Charlotte buried her face in the hollow of his neck, laughing softly through the tears that glistened on her lashes. He held her close, his arms a steady warmth against the chill breeze, and neither seemed in any hurry to part.

For once, it seemed the universe was not conspiring against her. She was exactly where she was meant to be at last: in his arms.