If Michael could have left the table, he would have done so now. Stormed out of the room and never returned. Diana had heard of Charlotte, and was apparently an ardent admirer of her? What did Michael do to deserve this?
“You are too kind, Miss Palmer,” Charlotte murmured, a slight smile on her face.
Michael knew that smile. Charlotte was amused and uncomfortable at the same time, and her good nature would not let her make Diana feel that she had erred or misstepped in any way.
“What made you wish to write the Chronicles?” Diana demanded without shame. She turned to Michael, brow furrowing. “How do you know Miss Wright? Oh, you must move in the same circles in London, of course you do.”
“Actually,” Charlotte broke in, her voice gentle but firm, “Michael here is one of my oldest friends.”
Oh, gads, did they really have to do this?
Again came a gasp from Diana. “You are? Oh my goodness, how did you meet? Were you children?”
“We were, yes,” Michael said quickly, hoping they could end this painful interlude sooner rather than later. “I was seven or eight, wandering the edges of my family estate, and Charlotte was swinging on the branches of a large weeping willow on her family’s pond.”
“Were you really?” Mr. Riley asked Charlotte, laughing as he looked at her. “Why does that not surprise me?”
So Mr. Riley already knew Charlotte well enough to know how unconventional and daring she could be when she wished.
Marvelous.
“I was,” Charlotte conceded as she looked at Michael quickly before dipping her spoon into the white soup. “It seemed a rather good natural rope to swing on to me.”
Diana and Mr. Riley laughed, while Michael only smiled, though the smile pained him. “I believe I asked what she was doing,” he told them, “and she said something of the sort, then insisted I try.”
“And how did you fare?” Mr. Riley inquired, still grinning.
“At first, well enough.” Michael poured himself a glass of Madeira, focusing there rather than on any of the people near him. “She took another turn, and then I did, and then…” He paused, looking up at Charlotte.
She picked up the story at once. “And then I dared him to go further, which Michael did, only to lose his grip and fall directly into the pond.”
Mr. Riley laughed while Diana gasped and giggled. Charlotte smiled, though she glanced at Michael repeatedly.
He forced his mouth to relax into a set smile that took minimal effort to maintain. “The pond was not deep, and I could swim well. I believe our adventure ended there, and we both went home, planning to meet again another day.”
And Michael had started falling in love with Charlotte from then on.
But that part would remain unsaid.
“And meet again we did,” Charlotte went on. “We got into all kinds of scrapes, sometimes bringing my brother along. One of Michael’s sisters may never forgive me for some of our tricks.”
“It’s true,” Michael added before he could stop himself. “She reminds Charlotte of it every time they meet.”
They shared a smile, then both looked down at their meals.
“What a charming pair of scamps you must have been!” Mr. Riley exclaimed, drawing Michael’s attention back up.
The man was looking at Charlotte with warmth and familiarity, and she was looking back at him with the same.
“I don’t know how charming our parents thought we were,” Charlotte laughed, “but they certainly learned we were inseparable. For a while, at least.”
“Yes,” Michael murmured, feeling himself grow colder the more Charlotte and Mr. Riley gazed at each other. “For a while.”
He swallowed and turned to Diana, smiling through his coldness. “The soup is marvelous, is it not?”
Supper lasted an interminable length of time, and it was even longer before Michael could escape to the card room. Not to play or to gamble, but to drink. He needed an excessive amount of drink, indeed.
Unfortunately, all Eden had to offer was port and various wines.
So Michael sat at a lone card table, no cards in sight, and drank.
“What in the name of bloody blazes are you doing?”
The question came from Hugh, but Lord Sterling and Tyrone Demaris likely thought the same as they stood on either side of him.
Michael squinted as he poured more wine into his glass. “I am trying to get wildly intoxicated using what Eden left at our disposal.”
“Why are you trying to get drunk?” Lord Sterling inquired in a surprisingly mild tone.
“Because I want to.”
Hugh hummed in a doubtful tone. “I really don’t think you do.”
Michael slammed the bottle of wine down, jostling his glass and spilling some of the liquid onto his sleeve. “Yes, I bloody well do! I have never been well and truly soused, it was always reckless and irresponsible, and right now reckless and irresponsible is exactly what I want to be!”
The three men looked at him, then at each other. “He can’t stay here and get soused,” Tyrone murmured. “It would take ages, and there are witnesses. We can take him to the club.”
“Surely you’re not going to indulge this,” Lord Sterling protested.
Hugh frowned. “Better we indulge him under our care than leave him be and let him fend for himself. I’ll make certain he doesn’t get too far gone.”
Michael shook his head, swallowing a bitter taste in his mouth. “You can shove me in a hack and send me on my way when I am too drunk to walk on my own, and not a moment before!”
“Right,” Hugh muttered, wiping his hands together. “Tyrone, we need a discreet way out. Francis, can you explain to my wife? It’s going to be a long night.”
Chapter Fourteen
A conversation with a friend may straighten everything out. Of course, it could also ravel things more so, make things more complicated, and bring in too much drama, but that is where selection of friends comes into play. Take great care that the friend you converse with will improve matters rather than magnify them.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 11 October 1815
“I don’t know what I did, but Michael is not answering any of my notes.”
“Why do you suppose it is something you did? Most men do not answer notes in a timely manner.”
Charlotte shook her head, sitting in the drawing room of Georgie’s home, watching her infant son crawl about the floor. “Not Michael. He always responds, and sometimes just appears, if he is in town. I know he asked not to know about my suitors and courtships, but…”
Georgie sat up straighter on the divan she was on, staring at Charlotte with round eyes. “Wait, he did what?”
“I told you,” Charlotte insisted, clasping her hands before her, her yellow muslin creasing as she sat forward. “Surely I told you.”
“I would remember hearing about something like that,” Georgie retorted. She tucked a strand of her fair hair behind her ear and fidgeted with her fichu. “Michael said that?”
Charlotte nodded, her cheeks coloring, choosing to look at the cherub-cheeked Thomas Sterling as he crawled towards his mother’s legs. “At the Bond dinner. We were sat beside each other, and he told me he did not wish to know about my potential courtships. He would prefer to know nothing about any of it. It was a most uncomfortable conversation.”
Georgie shook her head slowly. “I can easily believe that. Interesting.” Her brow furrowed and she lowered her eyes.
“What?” Charlotte demanded, having looked at her friend during her response. “What are you thinking?”
She bit her lip. “Has he been distant only since that conversation?”
Charlotte frowned as she considered the question carefully. “I think so… No, that’s incorrect.” She shook her head firmly, sighing and slumping in her chair. “No, I became so wrapped up in preparing myself for earnestly looking for love and marriage that I never wrote him, sent for him, or saw him. I thought that had all been on my end, but n
ow I see that he had made no effort, either.”
“I wondered if that might have been the case.” Georgie gave her a sympathetic smile. “Surely you cannot blame him. He’ll lose your friendship the moment you take your marriage vows.”
“He would not!” Charlotte folded her arms, grumpily wrenching her gaze to the fire. “I would stay his friend until the day I die. I do not understand why everyone believes a man and a woman who are married to other people cannot be friends.”
Georgie laughed once. “Do you not? How would it look for Michael to visit you in your husband’s house? Or for you to visit the home he shares with his wife?”
“Michael isn’t getting married,” Charlotte told her without looking. “He may entertain young ladies for his own amusement, but I know him. He’d never want a wife.”
“I think you had better revise your opinion,” Georgie suggested. “Elinor says he is growing very fond of Diana Palmer.”
Charlotte made a face. “She is a dear girl, but not right for Michael. At any rate, everyone knows the nature of things between Michael and me. No one should think anything of us visiting each other.”
The heaving sigh Georgie released ought to have warned Charlotte off, but she wasn’t about to budge. Why should her friendship with Michael change? Yes, a natural distance would fall between them, and she had felt that at the supper the other evening, but she refused to let it be an end. She was stubborn enough to fight it every step of the way, and when she was on her mettle, nothing stood in her way.
“You are not a naïve woman, Charlotte,” Georgie said firmly. “You know Society in a way that few can claim. Despite what people know and claim, do you really think that you would be safe from the gossip that such an action would stir up? Why wouldn’t you and Michael start an improper relationship, given the history you share? It is not too great a leap in logic, and you should know that.”
Well, when put that way…
Charlotte imagined the scene Georgie had painted for her, that of Michael coming to visit her in the home of her husband, perhaps with a child or two about. He wouldn’t care about visiting her husband, unless the pair of them became friends, he would simply maintain the same warm companionship they always had.
But what would her servants think? They would see their mistress keeping company with a man who was not her husband, and without an additional set of eyes in the room, as a married woman did not require a chaperone. Any passersby would see Michael entering the house at regular intervals, and it would not take much for such a thing to be mistaken for an assignation.
Such was the nature of Society that Michael’s reputation would not suffer much, as men could carry on in all sorts of improper ways without even blinking. But Charlotte would be ruined. Charlotte’s husband would be mortified. Charlotte’s children would suffer.
And what of Michael’s wife? If indeed he married.
Michael married…
What if he did marry?
“I don’t want things to change,” Charlotte whispered as she belatedly came round to Georgie’s way of things. “Why must I give up Michael in order to gain a husband?”
Georgie offered her a small smile. “I don’t think it is an exchange in the way you’re describing.”
“It feels that way.”
“No…” Georgie trailed off, pursing her lips in thought. “No, I think it is different. I believe that the sort of match you are looking for, one of love and mutual respect, would ideally have your husband becoming your best friend. Replacing Michael, in a way, but only due to the depth of your feelings and the companionship you develop. It is only natural that Michael should then have a different standing in your life. I cannot think that he would give up your friendship entirely, but he will have to make room for the man you choose to spend your life with. I think he knows that.”
Charlotte felt tears welling in her eyes, the pressure of them tightening her chest. “I hate seeing the distance between us. Thinking of him making room for someone else in my life. Changing the way things are between us, the way things have always been.”
“Then perhaps you ought to marry for convenience, dear.” Georgie lifted a shoulder, then bent to pluck her son from the rug and set him on her lap. “That way, Michael would always be your best friend, though he still would not be able to call.”
It was true, Charlotte knew it well, but the idea of marrying for convenience to keep Michael to herself did not sit well either.
Could not.
“I cannot do that,” Charlotte murmured. “I won’t marry for the sake of being married. I don’t have to do that. I simply don’t want to be alone, if I can help it. I see what all of you have found, and I wonder why I have been so unfortunate as to not find it yet. Why I stand alone in this now.”
Georgie bounced Thomas on her knee, giving Charlotte a look. “One of us was always going to be last, Charlotte, no matter what happened.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes briefly. “If we married, yes. But we never thought we would, so I don’t know that we ever really thought about it. And…”
“And you were never supposed to be last,” Georgie finished.
“Does that sound so very horrid?” Charlotte asked with a wince. “So snobbish and cold?”
Georgie shook her head, smiling still. “Not to me. You’re right, you and Grace were the mysteries of our bunch. Were we betting on our fates, I would have bet the pair of you to marry and have children before I ever managed a true courtship.”
Charlotte snickered, shaking her head as she thought back. “That certainly would have made the most sense, given our situations. But I wouldn’t trade it. While I hate being last, I wouldn’t trade the loves you all have found purely to satisfy my needs. You’ve all made splendid matches, and that is not something I would ever find regret in.”
“Thank you, Charlotte,” Georgie responded, her voice growing rough, blinking rapidly.
“No, don’t!” Charlotte protested, holding up a hand as though to shield herself from Georgie’s emotion.
Georgie laughed and focused her attention on her son. “Fine, fine, I’ll rid myself of these tears shortly.”
“See that you do!”
Moments later, they shared a smile before Georgie looked back at her son. “How is it going, Charlotte? Are you having any success?”
Charlotte allowed herself to smile ruefully, though not for Georgie’s eyes. “Well, I’m not anticipating a proposal, if that’s what you mean.”
“Is that what I mean?” Georgie replied without any sharpness, though there was a distinct tone of understanding in her voice.
It wasn’t fair when she did that. Georgie had the same ability as Charlotte’s mother; that of being able to perceive the truth of someone’s thoughts in the most important times. She’d never blatantly announce such things, but she would certainly allow herself to guide her friends to the proper realization.
If they would be guided.
“I’m not in love,” Charlotte told her, hoping it would be enough to keep her from prying further, “and I am quite sane and sensible. If my witnessing the romantic journeyings of you all has taught me anything, it is that nothing is too serious if I still have my wits about me.”
“I did not realize that love had rendered us witless!” Georgie laughed, which made her son turn and reach for her face. She took his hand and kissed it, then directed the next words to him. “Auntie Charlotte thinks the frantic, mad rush of love makes us all fools, my lamb.”
Charlotte frowned at her words, though they were clearly meant in jest. No, that wasn’t what she thought, and that wasn’t what she wanted, either. She wanted more than that. Saw possibilities beyond that.
Craved higher than that.
“I don’t want the frantic, mad rush of love,” she managed in a low voice.
Georgie paused, looking at her with some concern. “What? I thought…”
Slowly, Charlotte shook her head. “I want that love that exists between a man and a woman wh
o have been together for years, the couple that knows each other intimately and completely, good and bad, inside and out. The love that tells of trials and triumphs, victories and failures, and spectacular fights with tender apologies. I want the tangible love of those who have entwined their lives so completely with another that no individuals exist. Just the pair of them together. Two hearts, one life.” She fought hard for a swallow. “That is what I want, and my heart breaks at the thought of missing it.”
There was no sound in the room but of Thomas softly babbling and the faint crackle of the fire.
Charlotte couldn’t look at Georgie now, felt her own emotions growing harder to manage. How could admitting what she wanted aloud have such an effect on her? Conveying the deepest feelings of her heart to someone other than herself, allowing that vulnerable wish to become known. It was terrifying and freeing, yet it made the whole thing far more real. Far more of a risk.
“I thought you wanted a love to bring you to your knees,” Georgie murmured, seeming confused.
Typically, Charlotte would have had a witty reply to such a statement, but she simply could not manage her usual antics at the moment.
“If it brings either of us to our knees, so be it,” Charlotte told her, keeping her voice low. “But more than that, I want a love that makes me feel whole.”
“Charlotte, that sort of love takes time.”
She swallowed, nodding once. “I know, and I can’t seem to find the man I want to spend the time to find that love with.”
“What about Mr. Riley?” Georgie pressed gently. “I thought the pair of you were getting on rather well.”
“We seem to be,” Charlotte allowed with a faint smile. “He’s terribly good with Mama, and never makes her feel as though she is conspicuous as our chaperone. I am finding myself more comfortable in his presence, which is lovely.” She wrinkled up her nose and shrugged. “I don’t know, Georgie. What am I supposed to feel?”
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