Charlotte dashed to the door and pulled the bell cord. It rang twice, and two maids hurried into the chamber, bowing low.
"Your Grace!" they greeted.
"Prepare my things," she ordered, her voice cutting through the silence. "We're leaving for my father's estate immediately."
"At once, Your Grace."
She turned to the second maid. "You, go send a message to my son. Tell him to meet me at his grandfather's house now!"
"Yes, Your Grace."
The maids scattered to carry out her orders, their footsteps fading down the corridor, and left Charlotte alone in the middle of her chambers. She stared at the dying hearth, at the grey ash slowly swallowing the last red coals, and something in her chest tightened along with it. If she reached her father's estate before Rodrigo woke, she could claim she'd been away the whole time.
And it would buy her something more valuable than an alibi — time to think. Time to hatch a better plan.
