The last link between them was gone. Broken by his own acquiescence. She did not believe Diana had coerced him into singing, even if she had known about his vocal abilities. Michael would only have done this if he had wished to.
He wished to sing for them, not only for Charlotte anymore.
“Charlotte?” Georgie murmured from beside her, somehow having gotten Miranda to leave. “Charlotte…”
Charlotte sniffled and shook her head, rising to her feet. She had to face him. She would face him while he did this. Because he did this.
The song soared as she approached, which would usually have brought her unending delights. It brought her nothing now.
Finding a small break in the gathered guests, Charlotte fit herself into the space, pressing forward as much as she would without being in any way forceful. She would show no desperation, display no overt emotion, leave no sign to anyone that her heart was full to the brim with this betrayal. She would carry on this evening as she would have done otherwise. She would smile and laugh with Jonathan, finding and taking comfort in his presence. She would praise Grace and Aubrey for their excellent dinner service and delightful friends. She would even encourage some light dancing later, if she thought others might join in.
But in this moment, one person needed to know, needed to acknowledge, what he was bringing about.
She saw Michael through the break then, lifted her chin as he grandly sang for them all. He was dressed in better finery than she had seen him in, which seemed to suit, and saw more people smiling for him now than ever had in his life. And then there was Diana, just a few feet away from him, beaming with pride and delight.
Something sharp and cold lanced Charlotte’s heart, but she would not crumble and fall. She was too well-practiced in all things Society to do anything so publicly.
She could withstand this.
Michael’s eyes cast about the guests as he sang, then, at last, met Charlotte’s. Aside from a stilling in his form, he left no obvious sign of distress. His voice did not waver, his complexion did not wane. But a faint crease appeared in his brow, and his head lowered perhaps a half an inch. He knew. He knew what he was doing, and he knew what it would do.
And still he sang.
Charlotte dipped her chin in a nod, then backed gracefully out of the group.
“Charlotte,” Georgie whispered, her voice hitching in concern.
Charlotte ignored her again and moved to a footman she recognized from previous visits. “Thomas, would you be a dear and fetch me a glass of Madeira? I’ve a fearful headache, and I don’t wish to disturb his lordship before supper.”
“Certainly, Miss Wright.” He bowed and departed at once.
Exhaling, Charlotte turned back around, preparing to endure the rest of Michael’s singing thus until her drink arrived.
Would to God it was something stronger.
Chapter Eighteen
When we dance, we find the conversations we cannot have, the feelings we cannot share, and the confessions we cannot make. Often, we also find trouble.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 5 April 1819
“She didn’t say anything? Are you sure?”
“No, Sandford, I’m not. But I refuse to interrogate my wife, and you forbade me to have her ask the specific question.”
Michael growled as he strode from the card room back into the ballroom at Lord Attley’s home, wanting to tug at his cravat, but knowing he needed to make a good impression. “Because if she does not know that I’m concerned, I don’t want her to know. I feel I am to blame, and I will make amends. But if she does not know, then I do not need to do a thing. You see?”
“Not in the least. You’ve talked me in a circle, and I’m wondering when you’ll get to the point.” Hugh Sterling sputtered to himself, no doubt irritated by Michael’s pestering on this topic. “And I dislike keeping secrets from my wife, so kindly don’t insist on any more.”
“I can agree to that,” Michael promised easily, nodding at a few other guests. “You don’t even understand this one.”
Hugh grunted once. “Not even a little. So you sang for company. Why should that offend? Are you that horrid?”
Scowling, Michael glanced over his shoulder. “No. But only Charlotte had heard me sing before… What is the point in explaining it?” He shook his head and returned his attention forward. “Nobody else will understand.”
“Ah, so that’s the issue. It’s something special between you.”
If hearts could shrink, Michael’s did then for a moment or two. “Yes,” he muttered. “It is. Or was.”
“And Miss Palmer?”
His heart expanded, warming just a little. “Diana is the sweetest girl I’ve ever met. She’d never heard me sing, and I thought… I thought…” He exhaled slowly. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. I shouldn’t hurt one while pleasing the other, should I?”
“You cannot balance the feelings of both in your hands your whole life, either.”
That, at least, was unfortunately true.
“Is that what I’m doing?” Michael murmured to himself, not expecting an answer from Hugh or anyone else.
Probably, his saner side replied. After all, mere hours after deciding he could let Charlotte go forever by singing for company, he was desperate to repent of the deed and to make amends.
But should he?
“I should have gone back to the church,” he hissed to himself.
“Pardon?” Hugh queried from behind him.
“Yes, I need one.” Michael shook his head and sighed, pausing as he looked out at the dance. “Do you see Diana?”
Hugh came up beside him and began scanning the guests. “No, but you’ve already had one dance with her tonight, so unless you want more rumors…”
“I can dance with her once more, and after that, I will need to propose, I am well aware.” He pursed his lips, eyeing the rather full ballroom. “I’m not necessarily looking to dance, Sterling. I only need her location.”
“Simple enough. She’s dancing with Demaris.”
Michael looked at the dancers, and, sure enough, the fair-haired woman he was pursuing was there, a lovely paradox of her present partner, dark and brooding as he was. They attracted the admiration and attention of several onlookers, and, quite frankly, it was right they should have. They danced marvelously well together, and no other couple in the dance could compare.
Even Michael was momentarily captivated watching them.
“You aren’t jealous, are you?”
Michael smiled to himself and shook his head. “No, not at all. Should I be?”
“Honestly, yes.”
The answer made Michael frown, and he looked at Hugh in confusion. “Why’s that?”
Hugh seemed more bemused by the question than anything else. “The woman you are courting is dancing, delighted, and distracting at the present, in the company of a man who is not you.”
That did not make anything clearer.
“And…?” Michael prodded, drawing the word out. “I have no fear of her affections straying to Demaris, and it is only a courtship, not an engagement. If she should find she prefers another, why should that upset me?”
Hugh blinked at Michael’s statement, his smile wavering. “Sandford, you are supposed to be possessive and uncomfortable if any person of the male sex should come within three feet of her, whether you know him or not.”
“I don’t see why.” Michael looked out at Diana again, smiling as he saw her laugh during the jig. “Her happiness prompts my own. I feel proud when I see her, not possessive. I know that I am courting her, and that she has agreed to my suit. We are becoming better acquainted, and I’d say it is going well. But I have no claim on her. By all rights, she is free.”
There was no immediate response, and, when it lingered, Michael thought it best to check that his friend still stood beside him.
Hugh stared out at the guests in the ballroom, but he seemed not to see any of them, his head shaking back and forth wit
hout any haste or energy.
“What?” Michael groaned, feeling he had failed to come up to snuff somehow.
His friend’s jaw tightened for a moment. “How would you describe your feelings for Miss Palmer, Michael?”
He did the lady the justice of collecting his thoughts before replying. “Admiration. Great esteem. Respect. Affection. What description are you looking for?”
Hugh raised a brow. “Something that does not also apply to your mother.”
Michael scowled at him. “I don’t mean affection in that sense.”
“Yet it was the word you chose. Not attraction, not passion, infatuation, or devotion. Certainly not love.” Hugh shrugged and smirked as he continued to watch the dancing.
“You cannot judge all relationships by the same standard,” Michael insisted. “I’ve never been in a courtship before, so perhaps this is how I feel as it proceeds.”
His words had Hugh nodding slowly. “But you have been in love before, Sandford. You cannot claim ignorance to the emotions and sensations involved there.”
Michael ground his teeth so tightly his jaw ached.
Not this again.
“That is behind me, Sterling,” Michael insisted. “And before you can suggest it, my desire to find Charlotte now is purely to ensure that my actions have not given her undue pain. It has nothing to do with how I may or may not have felt.”
“Fair enough.” Hugh turned to stare rather frankly at him. “But if you think the polite feelings you described for Miss Palmer will ever amount to the same as you felt for Charlotte, you do all three of you a disservice. Charlotte is by the terrace door, by the by.” He dipped his chin in a nod, then strode by Michael in search of some better company.
It was worth a moment’s pause to consider Hugh’s words, even if Michael did not necessarily agree with them.
After all, what had his feelings for Charlotte ever done for him?
He was far more inclined to trust the more sedate feelings he was growing for Diana, and the deep, abiding course they could run, than any passionate outburst for Charlotte he could not control.
A nagging inkling began to prick at his mind, and Michael was quick to shove that aside before it could formulate. He did not need doubts, rationalizations, or fond memories to shake his present state of mind.
He had a wrong to right, and then this could all end neatly. He could resume his proper courtship of Diana without obstacle, wiser for his mistakes, and searching what other feelings Diana could rouse in him, if only he’d open himself to them. And if nothing resembling the heat of fire arose, so be it. A comfortable, steady, loyal marriage was not something to be laughed at, especially if one’s partner was well chosen. He could do far worse, and there were several examples of that in this room, as well as in London as a whole.
But he was still far from offering marriage, for himself more than for Diana. He needed to be sure. Committed and sure.
And for that, he needed a clear conscience.
The dance presently came to an end, and rather than go to the woman he was courting, he waited in place for her present partner to deliver her to her friends.
If he kept his distance, no one would know he was courting her at all, and he saw no issue with that. He was a fairly reserved man, preferring his privacy to popularity, which Diana did not seem to mind. Or, at least, she had not complained as yet.
He’d been seen calling upon her. He’d walked with her several times in Hyde Park, and been seen doing so. He’d escorted her to the theater, to card parties, and to various other entertainments in Society, and been seen.
He did not have to be at her heels all night for Society to know his interest lay there. He would go there shortly, of course, but surely his entire evening did not have to center on one woman when he had other concerns to attend to.
Gads, he was making himself ill with his justifications, and no one had asked for them.
Why, then, was he making them?
Michael shook his head and moved around the nearest crush of guests, some of whom seemed almost to dance where they stood, so in want of a partner were they. Others would have become one with the wall if the wall would only accept them into its fold. He’d never once been the former but had plenty of experience in the latter.
It occurred to him that he may never enjoy being so again, should his courtship come to fruition.
What an odd thought.
“Quite the lively dancer, your nearly intended,” Tyrone praised with an almost wild smile, given their location and setting. “I rather enjoyed myself.”
“So I see,” Michael replied, wondering if he should frown or grumble, or perhaps threaten his friend.
His indecision was apparently fitting, for Tyrone’s brow snapped down. “Trying to decide if you want to warn me off?”
Michael would have made a face were they anywhere but a ballroom. “I’m not…”
“Allow me to take advantage of your internal debate and make myself scarce on the off chance you decide on a violent defense.” He bowed playfully, starting past him.
“Wait.” Michael put a hand out to stop him, forcing aside his indecision in favor of firmness in another matter. “Can I beg a favor of you?”
Tyrone flicked his dark eyes to Michael. “I daresay you can, though the begging of others has never done me any good.”
Michael ignored his snide remark. “Dance with Charlotte Wright next. I’ll partner anybody you approve of, but you must dance with Charlotte.”
“Why must I?” Tyrone replied in a bland, uninterested tone. “I’ll barely be dancing with her at all, considering which style of dance it is.”
“Exactly.” Michael waited for his friend to understand his meaning, gesturing slightly.
Tyrone’s expression turned into a scowl as realization set in. “This is not a favor. This is striking up a brawl in a ballroom.”
Well, not ideally, but it was possible.
Michael blinked. “But will you do it?”
Tyrone shook his head but sighed. “I will accept copious amounts of very strong beverage in recompense for my part.”
“Done.” He all but grinned, clapping Tyrone on the shoulder. “Good man.”
Tyrone only sputtered and turned to set his course in motion, grumbling incoherently.
Michael nodded to himself, satisfied almost into smugness, before going to find the fairest woman in his closest vicinity, if only to soften Tyrone’s temper as he provided the exact opportunity needed to put all this to rest.
“Why is Tyrone Demaris coming over to me?” Charlotte asked of her friends, eyeing the approaching man with some speculation.
She had nothing against Tyrone, nor against the idea of dancing with him. He happened to be her favorite of Janet Sterling’s cousins, but their association was more polite than preferable. And they had never danced together in all the years they had been in Society together.
It seemed an odd time to start now.
“Miss Wright.” Tyrone bowed, smiling in a manner she refused to trust. “Would you dance the next with me?”
“If you’ve the energy,” Charlotte told him, still wary of him, but not averse to a dance. “You’ve only just completed an exuberant jig with Miss Palmer, might you not prefer to rest a moment?”
He smirked at her point. “Perhaps, but I must insist on a dance with you at this time, if you will consent. Then I may rest contented.”
Charlotte raised a brow at the flattery. “Or the more fatigued.”
“Which makes the rest more contented, as the rest is more well-earned.” He held a hand out to her, keeping his smirk in place.
She placed her hand in his, exhaling her reluctance. “What is your plan, Mr. Demaris? And do my intelligence the respect of knowing there is one.”
Tyrone chuckled as he led her to the floor. “I’m certain there is, but as it is not my plan, I cannot tell you what it is. My plan is to dance with you and earn myself a significant amount of drink.”
No
w that sounded far more plausible.
But Tyrone Demaris was not the sort of man to admit something that would offend her, which meant this had not been conceived maliciously.
“Was a dance with me so monstrous a prospect?” she inquired as they took their places.
“Not at all,” he said without airs, which spoke of honesty if nothing else did. “Only the instigator and the motives. I’ll dance with you again next week to prove it is not personal.”
Charlotte had to smile at that, enjoying the frankness in his manner that so few gentlemen employed in Society, let alone around her. “If it’s a waltz, I’ll agree.”
Now he scowled as he looked at her. “Of course, you would be particular. I ought to have been more specific.”
“Indeed, Mr. Demaris, the fault is clearly your own.” The first motions began, and they took hands to follow the pattern of the dance.
“A statement I hear rather frequently in my life,” he told her without much concern. “I’m growing accustomed to the idea.”
Charlotte laughed as she returned to her position. “There are greater sinners than you, Mr. Demaris. Never fear.”
She turned her attention to the corner of the square the dance formed between them and the couple neighboring, and she nearly sagged in misery at the gentleman who was now approaching for the motion.
Michael.
“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear,” she muttered, catching Tyrone’s stifled amusement out of the corner of her eye.
He bowed in the dance and held out his hands.
She waited half a beat longer than she ought, a thrill of satisfaction lighting her chest at his wide-eyed reaction to it.
“Please don’t make a scene,” he asked as they turned.
“Why would I make a scene?” Charlotte replied, releasing his hands to do-si-do. “I have a reputation to consider.” She threw a glower at Tyrone as she faced him, earning a sheepish attempt at a grin in return.
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