Charlotte rolled her eyes. “The one I’ve worn this year, Mama! Honestly, I am not hoarding endless amounts of clothing in the same shade.”
“Sure about that, are you?” her brother quipped as he passed, flicking at her ear.
Charlotte lashed out a quick smack of her hand against his upper arm, the tips of her fingers whipping sharply there.
“Ouch!” he bellowed, the cry echoing through the house. “Mama!”
“I do not want to hear it!” she bellowed back. “One of you started it, and the other retaliated, and that is the end of it!”
Charles looked nearly affronted at the statement and turned to Charlotte in shock. “I think we broke her.”
“Children!” their father hollered. “Don’t make your mother yell!”
Charlotte scowled, shaking her head. “We broke her years ago. That she no longer cares is the greater issue, I think.”
“Agreed. Can’t see what did her in, though. We’re such angels.”
“Probably my courtship. Too much of a change, she simply cannot adapt.”
Charles moved to the wall and leaned against it, fiddling with the end of an unlit cheroot. “How is that courtship, Lottie? Accepted his proposal yet?”
Charlotte looked at her brother rudely. “He has not asked, I’ll have you know.”
“Can’t say I blame him.”
Plucking up a vase nearby, Charlotte held it in the air. “So help me, Brutus, I will chuck this at your head and pummel you thereafter.”
He winked at her, grinning cheekily. “I know. Put it down. Truce.”
Charlotte gave him a warning look as she slowly lowered her weapon to the console table beside her. “We have not discussed the subject of marriage, Jonathan and I. And I don’t mind it. I am enjoying being courted, learning more about him and he about me. He is… he is a good man, Charles.”
“I know,” her brother said, surprising her. “I’ve tried finding all of the negativity in his reputation I can, and damned if I can find a single thing.”
“He’s not perfect,” Charlotte assured him with a laugh. “He simply keeps his sins and errors small.”
Charles shook his head, smiling. “He’s a better man than I am.”
“We knew that.” Charlotte returned his smile and shrugged. “At any rate, I’m content.”
“Good. And Michael?”
Charlotte’s smile vanished. “Michael has sins.”
Charles rolled his eyes, his head rolling dramatically in accompaniment. “Yes, I know, Lottie. I was present for many of them. What I mean is what will he think of it?”
“Who cares what he thinks of it?” Charlotte asked, her eyes narrowing at her brother. “My courtship is not for his pleasure, nor for his approval. If I want to marry Jonathan, I will. If he has an issue with it, he should perhaps have thought about not abandoning me from the very first day.”
Her brother pursed his lips, then nodded once. “Right,” he said slowly. “I’m going to leave now before you throttle me in his place.”
She returned his nod and waved him off, turning on her heel to go sit in the drawing room. Jonathan was due in an hour or so to take her for a drive in his phaeton again, and she had nothing to fill the time. And now, thanks to her brother, she was in a sour mood again.
She’d had some reprieve from that in the last day or two, once she’d given up on trying to decipher what had happened in her dance with Michael that had really been a dance with Tyrone that Michael had commandeered for his own purposes. She didn’t feel in any way settled by it, but the more she tried to settle it, the more unsettled she felt, which seemed to defeat the purpose.
Whatever it had been, she refused to let it happen again.
Perhaps it would be a lovely time to visit Jonathan’s family and home. Her mother and father would love a trip to the north. And it would leave London behind, which was far more enticing.
She’d suggest it to Jonathan this afternoon.
“Mrs. Partlowe, Miss Wright.”
Charlotte blinked at the announcement and sat up. “What?”
Emma entered the drawing room with a flash of a smile. “Good morning, Charlotte. I hope you don’t mind, I was passing your house and realized how long it had been since we’d visited.”
It had been long. It had been an age, and until seeing her now, Charlotte could not have said how much she missed it. “Yes, it has. Please, come sit.” She rose and took Emma’s hands as she came closer. “You look wonderful.”
Emma groaned, her brows lifting. “I look tired, as I have been repeatedly told of late, but the interesting condition of my body would have it that way.”
Charlotte beamed and sat, Emma coming beside her. “Another baby? Oh, you must be delighted. What does Partlowe say?”
“Not much,” Emma admitted with a slight wrinkle of her nose that was quite charming. “He doesn’t, usually. But I could see how pleased he was. It was very moving, actually. I think he truly loves being a father, which I had seen a little when I married him, what with his girls from his first marriage, but being part of it now… I think I may love him more for how he adores his children than anything else.”
“You love him?” Charlotte made a soft noise of surprise. “I didn’t know that. Did you think you might when you married?”
Emma tilted her head at that. “I don’t know. Perhaps I saw that I could love him if all worked in my favor. I’m not sure I was aware of that at the time, but I certainly felt more than simple comfort in it.” She smiled sadly at Charlotte. “I know you didn’t approve…”
Charlotte shook her head. “You know better than to consider what I say for more than three seconds at a time. If you were happy, that meant more to me, even if I did not say so.”
They shared a smile and Emma’s eyes turned brighter. “I saw you and your Mr. Riley the other evening at the ball. You make a striking couple, I must say. Do you like him?”
“Very much,” Charlotte admitted, “and it feels so strange to say such a thing. He’s coming to take me for a ride in his phaeton shortly, if you’d like to meet him officially.”
“I cannot. I’m due to meet Elinor in Bond Street. We’re shopping for Eliza Sandford on her brother’s behalf.”
Charlotte snorted once, even as her stomach seemed to flip. “Well, that will see her far better arrayed, but why is Michael not doing it himself?”
Emma snickered. “He did Elinor a favor, and she traded this duty. Besides, he’s away on business in Derbyshire.”
That seemed odd, and Charlotte blinked at it. “Derbyshire? What business could he have there? His estate is in Oxfordshire, as our family’s is.”
“He wouldn’t say,” Emma told her, tone apologetic. “Only that it was very important and very secret. I asked, but he said it would upset a good deal of work with his solicitors if it was made known prematurely. Oh, and that it was not just for himself.”
Charlotte frowned, looking down at the rug in the room as she thought. “He’s not the sort to take up a risky venture, he’s only interested in certainty. What could take him there?”
“I wonder if it might have to do with Miss Palmer,” Emma mused. “I think that is her home county, but he doesn’t seem…”
Her voice faded in Charlotte’s ears as her mind spun the pieces of information together.
That was it. Michael was going to Derbyshire to meet with Diana Palmer’s father. He was going to offer marriage, and he had been arranging things with his solicitors to accommodate her dowry. He was settling matters for the rest of his family, now that he would be taking up residence in Crestor Grove with his new bride.
He was going to marry Diana.
Michael was getting married.
But that couldn’t be. Michael couldn’t get married, Michael loved Charlotte. He’d said so. He still loved Charlotte while he was courting Diana. He couldn’t marry one while loving the other. He couldn’t make Charlotte feel the way he did from just a dance and marry someone else.
She couldn�
�t let him.
Let him.
She had no power over him. She’d shut him out, after all. She had assured herself that he knew she had no feelings for him, that his actions did not affect her. Why shouldn’t he marry the young, beautiful, sweet Miss Palmer?
Even Charlotte thought Miss Palmer was lovely, so why shouldn’t Michael marry her?
Because Michael couldn’t marry anybody. Michael had to stay a bachelor. It would ruin everything, absolutely and utterly everything. London would not be London if he retreated to the country for good with his country-loving wife. It would be the worst possible thing if he married her and left London.
No, he could not marry anybody at all… except Charlotte.
Her lips slowly parted, her eyes widening.
Marry… her?
A single pant of breath escaped her lips, her lungs seeming to collapse with the force of it.
Heavens. She loved Michael.
She had always loved Michael.
She had lost Michael.
The breathless smile that had started shifted into a gaping expression of horror.
No! No, he couldn’t! She needed a chance to… She’d only just…
One hand flew to her mouth as she began to shake. She’d done everything in her power to put distance between them, to shut out the hurt he had caused her, and only now realized that the cuts had been so painfully deep because she had loved him.
Their friendship, the most treasured of her life, had turned to love at some point, some slight shift that she hadn’t even known. There had been no mad rush of it, no breathless anticipation of his touch, only the steady, comforting, abiding assurance of his care to accompany her every day. Knowing he would be there, that she could confide in him, that he would do anything for her. More than that, knowing that she would do anything for him. Not that he would ask, but that she would.
They had felt just as strongly about each other, only he knew what it was. Her change had been so subtle, her attraction to him so gradual that until this moment, she had been entirely unaware of it.
Well, perhaps not entirely. There had been that electrifying kiss, after all, and she had been more than pleased to engage in that with him.
Because it was him.
The madness she had felt would not have been the same were the man anyone else. The unrelenting waves of passion crashing over her in his arms had been a dam of emotions she hadn’t known she’d been holding inside her.
How many times had he tried to tell her he’d loved her, and she hadn’t seen? Or hadn’t wanted to see? How many opportunities had she wasted due to her ignorance?
Now it was too late. She’d given him the closure he needed in order to finalize his plans with Diana. He was finalizing it now. Might have already done. He could even now be on his way back to London with her father’s permission. Bound to her already.
Michael would never jilt Diana.
It was over. She had lost. She hadn’t even begun, and already she was done.
“Charlotte?”
Charlotte blinked and slowly looked at Emma, and only then realized a pair of tears were slowly making their way down her frozen cheeks. “I love him.”
Emma’s brows creased and she put a hand on Charlotte’s arm, looking her over. “What?”
“I love Michael,” Charlotte said clearly. Then she burst into tears and crumpled against her friend as her heart shattered.
Chapter Twenty
The ability to converse well is a gift and blessed are they who know when and how to employ it.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 25 August 1815
He couldn’t believe he was doing this. Could he really tempt fate further than he already had? Madness, this was, and there was no other word for it.
He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t resist, but it was mad.
Anyone would have said so.
Michael shook his head as his coach pulled up to the Wright house, just as it had so many times before but had neglected to for several weeks.
He couldn’t stay away now. Habit, tradition, and good manners guided him, insisted that he call.
Charlotte was unwell.
Or so he had been told.
A supper party at the Morton home had revealed that to him. Charlotte had not attended when all the other Spinsters had, and questions were raised. The simple answer had been that Charlotte was unwell but would soon recover herself. She had not been seen at any event since.
She hadn’t been seen in Mr. Riley’s phaeton, in Hyde Park, or in Bond Street. More than that, she had apparently also been too unwell to attend any of the Spinster gatherings for over a week.
That concerned him more than anything. Her friends did not seem overly concerned, but he couldn’t take their word for it. Something was wrong with Charlotte, and until he saw her with his own eyes, spoke with her himself, he would not be satisfied.
Of course, that meant calling upon her. He’d begged off on an outing with Diana to do so, which could mean anything.
He’d risk that.
She might throw him out of the house without letting him say a word in true kindness.
He’d accept that.
He smiled as he was let into the house, nodding and offering his hat and gloves to the servants. “Is Miss Wright well enough for a friendly visitor?”
“I think so, sir,” the butler said with an indulgent smile. “Mrs. Sterling is already with her in the Blue Room, and I daresay they have been laughing enough to be in quite high spirits now.”
Michael chuckled to himself. He should have known Georgie would have come to visit her friend and manage to raise her spirits in the interim. At least he could not receive the excuse that she was not accepting visitors, given that she presently had one.
At least he was well enough known in the house that he did not warrant formal introduction. He was fully free to walk around the place as and where he may without raising any brow or questions. There would be no opportunity for Charlotte to escape facing him on this occasion, no matter how she might wish to.
He made his way to the Blue Room, his pulse starting to pound with nerves. What if she was still so upset with him that she sent him away? What if she had no interest in anything he had to say? Just how unwell was she?
He heard the laughter before he reached the room, and the sounds of it made one thing perfectly clear.
Georgie was not the Mrs. Sterling that had called upon Charlotte.
Now his smile was entirely helpless, and a little uncertain, as he entered. “This is a fine surprise. I come to call upon the invalid and find she is already aptly cared for.”
The ladies within turned, faces still wreathed in smiles. “Michael, dear,” Miranda greeted, rising to face him.
Charlotte’s smile turned to a very small, very tired one, and he saw how pale and thin she looked, though still she was the most beautiful woman his eyes had ever seen.
Strange, that.
He hadn’t thought of her in that sense for some time. He’d known it, of course, but it wasn’t often he was struck with the impression. Even rarer that he thought it when she was completely unadorned and unwell. There must then be an odd truth to it.
Interesting.
He bowed to them both, then waved Miranda back down. “Please, sit, Miranda. I have no intention of monopolizing Charlotte’s time and sending you out.”
“Marvelous,” Miranda replied, making no move to retake her seat. “I do so hate being sent out, and even more so by someone not of the house. I resist in every respect. Fortunately for you, I have quite finished in my ministrations to the sick and weary in this place.” She turned and winked at Charlotte, who giggled at some private joke between them.
“Do not leave on my account,” he pleaded.
He glanced at the floor below the sofa where Charlotte lay, smiling to himself at the sight of Rufus laying there. The dog seemed perfectly at ease and relaxed, breathing the deep and rumbling sounds of sleep with no clear indication that he wou
ld ever leave.
Miranda smiled indulgently. “I never would, Michael. You’re a dear, but I do not think of you before acting in my own behalf. The truth of the matter is that I should have left a quarter of an hour ago, and simply could not break away from the conversation. Your arrival provides a natural break that suits me quite nicely.”
There was no course but to grin at that, which was usually the way with Miranda, and Michael made a playful almost bow. “Then I am happy I could oblige you.”
“Most kind.” Miranda reached out a hand to Charlotte, who took it at once. “Get some rest, dear Charlotte.”
“I will,” she replied easily. “Rufus will see to it.”
Miranda glanced down at her beloved pet with a smile. “He certainly will. And I trust the pair of you will keep quite perfect company together.” She nodded, then turned and glided from the room, winking at Michael as she passed.
He watched her leave, then looked back and saw Rufus still sleeping on the floor where he had been. “Is she loaning out Rufus now?”
Charlotte’s hand dropped to the dog’s head, and she scratched lightly. “She thought having him here might comfort me. And she is venturing out to her estate tomorrow, but the visit will be of short duration, so she saw no need to trouble Rufus with the journey.”
“Because troubling Rufus should always be the utmost priority where travel is concerned.” Michael rolled his eyes but smiled all the same. “Do you think he will be of some comfort to you?”
She looked down at the bloodhound with a warm smile. “Yes, I do. I may have to get a Rufus of my own.” Her eyes tracked back up to Michael’s and the smile remained, which seemed a miracle. “Come, sit down.”
Relief lit his chest, and he nodded, taking the chair that Miranda had vacated. “I wasn’t sure if you would wish to see me. Or agree to it, as it were.”
Charlotte tilted her head at him, her smile soft. “I’d always agree to see you. For curiosity, if nothing else.” She laid her head back against the pillow, her eyes closing for a moment. “I’m sorry to not be better company.”
“Are you very unwell?” he asked, keeping his voice low. “Should you be in bed? I’ll carry you there, if need be.”
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