She hummed a laugh, her eyes opening again. “No, it is quite a relief to be out of bed, thank you. And as for being unwell, it is more a matter of fatigue than anything else. Quite listless at times, and it does make my head ache so.”
“I’ll not stay long,” he promised. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. I’ve not behaved well towards you of late, and I acknowledge that.”
Charlotte’s smile curved crookedly. “Nor have I towards you. Hardly fitting behavior for best friends, is it?”
“Not ideally, no.” He gave her a wry smile. “We never discussed either one of us getting married, did we?”
She swallowed before shaking her head. “No, we did not. It… Well, it never came up in a natural way, as far as I can recall. We were content as we were.”
Michael nodded slowly, the palms of his hands rubbing together absently. “That we were. Until we weren’t.”
“I am sorry for that,” Charlotte murmured, focusing her attention on scratching Rufus again. “I feel that what happened stemmed from my insistence that I marry, and blindly taking up the charge to make it so. It seemed so important to join my friends, to not be the only spinster left, but I had you, didn’t I?”
He wasn’t entirely certain how to answer her, given that, at the time she’d decided to marry, he had loved her. Considered her the only woman he could ever love, and she’d always had in him that regard. But she had never been interested in his love, so his friendship had been the lifeblood of their relationship.
She’d always had that, too.
“Yes, you did,” he told her roughly, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her hand. To touch her cheek. Her arm. Her hair. Anything. Just to connect with her physically as he sensed the emotional connection rebuilding between them.
Charlotte shook her head, her eyes steady on his. “That should have been enough.”
He gave her a sympathetic smile. “I couldn’t fill every role in your life. You’ve always wanted the wild romance, something that brings you to your knees. There was nothing wrong in seeking that. Still isn’t.”
“But I shut you out to do so,” she insisted, her voice breaking a little, dark eyes luminous with welling tears.
He did reach out now, setting his hand safely at her arm. “Charlotte, I closed myself to you first. I couldn’t imagine losing you to another man, or for anything to change between us in any way. It was selfish and naïve, not to mention shortsighted.”
Her lips curved in a smile again. “Might we be friends again? Not as we were before, as so much has changed, but friends all the same?”
A tear lingered at her cheek, and he gently brushed it away, ignoring how his finger burned from the contact. “Of course,” he said as he sat back, breaking the connection between them. “We will always be friends.”
“Good.” She exhaled, the sound seeming a sigh of relief, and her smile turned more to the one he was used to from her. “I’ve missed you. Conversation is never quite as stimulating at events without your input.”
Michael laughed in disbelief. “I barely contributed at all. Far too much of a lurker in Society, which, unfortunately, has been lost to me now.”
“Lurker or no, you always had something to say that was worth hearing.” Charlotte shrugged against the cushions propping her up. “It will be nice to have that again.”
He shook his head ruefully, giving her a wry look. “You might be the only person on earth to find me interesting, Charlotte.”
She was completely unruffled and dipped her chin in almost regal, classic Charlotte fashion. “That’s because I am exceptionally perceptive and have marvelous taste.”
“I know.” He smiled, exhaling his own sigh of relief to find this easy way between them again.
There was something new in the way she looked at him, something softer and warmer, something that made him long to stay and desperate to leave at the same time. Had the loss of who they had been affected her that much? He’d felt it keenly, but what had it done to her?
“I’d better go,” he heard himself say. “You need your rest, and I only wanted to see that you were not too ill.”
Charlotte blinked, somehow appearing smaller and more fatigued now than a moment ago. “Not too unwell. Just unwell enough.”
“That sounds about right.” He smiled and rose, looking down at her with a torrent of emotion filling him. “Take care of yourself, Charlotte.”
“I always do.” She returned his smile, but it seemed to waver.
He couldn’t think about that, couldn’t dwell on it, had to forget it. Not wonder what it meant.
Bowing, he turned and left the room, the tips of his fingers tingling strangely as he did so.
“Ah, good. You’re up.”
Charlotte looked at her mother without emotion as she entered the drawing room. “Yes, I do get up on the regular.”
Her mother ignored the comment and took up a chair next to her. “I count each morning you get out of bed as a victory. You had me dreadfully worried those days you did not.”
“I did not mean to worry you,” Charlotte told her, instantly contrite. “I could not think of anyone but myself at the time, and myself had no desire to leave the comfort of my bed.”
“It is a wonder you did not take with fever.” Her mother shook her head, smiling as she drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair she was in. “I daresay Society thinks you must have. We even sent for the doctor a time or two for appearances.”
Charlotte laughed in surprise. “When was that? I don’t remember.”
Her mother winked. “We always sent for him while you slept. It made your symptoms far less suspicious.”
That was the most beautifully devious thing her mother had ever said, and Charlotte grinned for the first time in weeks.
“Will you not now tell me what dropped you into such depths of despair?” her mother inquired, her face filling with concern that would have broken Charlotte’s heart had it not been broken already.
Charlotte shook her head firmly, giving her an apologetic smile. “I will not. There is nothing to be done about it, so I must let myself break so that I may heal. I must learn to live with what has broken me.”
“You are not broken,” her mother protested, each word harsh with emphasis as her eyes skewered her. “You are strong, and you are impenetrable.”
“Impervious, too, apparently,” Charlotte murmured, more to herself as a faint memory shot through her mind, making her smile. “Alas, I am also human, Mama. And humans were made to hurt.”
A wrinkle formed in her mother’s brow. “But I’m your mother. It is my calling to soothe your hurts and set things right.”
Charlotte sighed sadly. “This is not something that can be put right. It is not so simple. And besides,” she paused to pat Rufus down on the floor before her, “Rufus soothes me. A cup of chocolate soothes me. Being home soothes me.”
“Well, as long as that helps…” Her mother winked and bent to pet Rufus herself. “I must say, he is a marvelous creature. Far better than any of the hounds your father kept. I may get a dog for myself; one that your father cannot claim.”
“That would suit you, Mama.” Charlotte smiled at her, raising a brow. “But why now?”
She shrugged. “You’ll be getting married eventually. I should like some soothing company to replace you.”
Charlotte sobered and sank back against the sofa. “Not too soon, Mama. I’ve no plans at the present.”
“It will happen, dear. One way or another, it will happen.” She rose and moved to leave the room, then turned back. “Georgie Sterling inquired if she could call. I told her yes. She will be here presently.”
“Ugh, Mama, I do not feel like entertaining,” Charlotte groaned, slapping the sofa cushion beneath her. “My head aches, and if I have to force a smile I do not feel, it will only worsen.”
Her mother nodded. “I’ll have a tea tray sent up, and make sure Cook includes some honey biscuits. I k
now they are Georgie’s favorite.” She left the room without another word, leaving Charlotte to silently stew.
That was just like her mother, to interfere without being the least bit perturbed. If she had any inclination as to why Charlotte had been so unwell and depressed, she would understand that Charlotte only wanted to be alone.
There were exceptions, of course, but entertaining friends was so exhausting when she had to continually avoid discussing what had happened to her.
Only Emma knew the truth of things, and she had sworn not to tell anyone.
Charlotte could not bear the embarrassment and mortification of admitting to anyone that she was in love with Michael Sandford, after all they had been through, put each other through, and seen each other through. That he should have known he loved her for years, and she had only known it a matter of days. That he had proposed to her years ago, and she had refused him.
If only she had seen then. If only she had known.
She might now be his wife, have his children, and they might be happy together. But he was to be happy with Miss Palmer, it was all but certain, and she was only waiting for her friends to tell her it had been announced. She had avoided Society to spare herself, but also to keep from having to be in company with Jonathan. Or being seen to avoid Jonathan. Or to think about what she would do about Jonathan. Really, she had simply kept out of Society to avoid anything and everything surrounding Jonathan.
And Michael, too.
Oh, she had to avoid Michael. Her heart would burst if she saw him, her expression would give her away, she would do something desperate like beg him to marry her instead of Diana.
And then he had come to her home, and she had been so tired, so weak, so broken that the sight of him gave her joy rather than pain. For those few minutes, he had been returned to her as the dear friend she had known for years. They could be as they were, comfortable in each other’s company and free with their words. She could stare without being forward, reveal more than she could in public with her eyes and expression. He could touch her…
The touch of his finger on her cheek as he wiped away her tear would sustain her for ages, and there were no words for how pathetic admitting that made her feel. He had given her wings that day, though he had also given her a cage.
They had never talked of marriage, he’d said. No, and she hadn’t intended to talk of it then, but his bringing it up had confirmed her worst fears.
He was getting married.
There were no more tears to shed on the subject, but the ache of it would take far longer to fade.
Her mother was sure she would marry, but Charlotte could not see how. Even Jonathan, for all his goodness, looks, and prospects, was not Michael. But someday, when the ache did not seem so gaping, he could fill the space well enough.
Would he wait that long?
Who would she find after him, if he would not?
“Oh, you look better than I expected. That is quite the relief.”
Charlotte looked up as Georgie entered the room, bobbing a polite curtsey of sorts, and moving over to her. “Was I supposed to be at death’s door?”
“Something rather like,” Georgie quipped, sitting just across from Charlotte. “Or wallowing in abject despair, hair streaming loose and rumpled, your nightgown stained with broth you would not take.”
“Goodness,” Charlotte replied. “You’ve put a great deal of imagination into my condition. I feel I must disappoint.”
Georgie smiled in her customary mischievous way. “Reality usually does.”
“Your tea, Miss Wright.” Charlotte smiled as the tea tray was brought in, enjoying the way Georgie’s eyes widened.
When they were alone again, Georgie gave Charlotte a look. “I feel as though I was anticipated.”
“Mama insisted we have your favorite honey biscuits.” Charlotte gestured to them, sighing. “Help yourself.”
Georgie immediately set about making tea, but surprised Charlotte by handing the first cup to her.
Charlotte eyed her warily as she took it. “You have me suspicious, Georgie. Are you here to tell me about the engagement?”
Her friend paused as she made her own tea. “What engagement?”
“Michael’s.” Even saying his name in this context was painful, and her throat protested vigorously. She sipped her tea quickly in an attempt to soothe it.
“Michael?” Georgie repeated, resuming her tea making. “Michael’s not engaged.”
Charlotte exhaled a short breath of irritation. “Kindly don’t pretend to know more of Society’s tidings than I. We both know better.”
Georgie sat back, stirring her tea gently, her lips starting to curve knowingly. “I was with the Greensleys last evening, and Jane said Diana was particularly interested in every Chronicles issue relating to Best Bachelors suddenly.”
That was startling, and Charlotte had no words for the space of three heartbeats. “She did?”
“Everyone heard her.” Georgie shrugged and took a honey biscuit from the tray. “I don’t see a reason to learn about bachelors if she has an understanding, do you?”
Charlotte shook her head, unwilling to consider any of that. “But Michael plans to ask her. He went to Derbyshire on business, and one does not have to think hard to understand the exact business.”
Georgie quirked a brow. “And you don’t like that.”
She shook her head, her heart migrating into her throat. “And I hate that with every ounce of air my lungs breathe in and out,” she admitted in a watery rasp. “It makes me sick. I want to die.” She looked away, the waves of emotion finding hold in her chest, choking her words.
“Well…” Georgie murmured softly, “shouldn’t you tell him so? Ideally before he offers and finds himself bound in honor before he is bound by law.”
Charlotte looked back at her friend after a moment, expression cold. “I don’t see a single reason why that would be worth my consideration.”
Georgie shrugged a shoulder. “We couldn’t let Michael be a jilt, now could we?”
“Why would he be?” she demanded, tired of the discussion, tired of the hurt, and tired of the futility of it all.
“I have no doubt when Michael hears how you feel, he may respond with some encouraging words of his own.” Georgie bit into her biscuit, then gestured with it. “I rather think he’s been saving up encouraging words for some time, just needing your ardor to match.”
No, that was not it at all. Michael had loved her once, if his words were to be believed, but that was all behind them now. He was marrying Diana, whether it happened tomorrow, next week, or in six months. It was happening, the pieces were in motion, she knew it all.
Hoping for anything else was too painful.
“He loves her, Georgie.”
“Mmm, does he?” Georgie mused, eyes narrowing in doubtful speculation. “As I recall, he cancelled an outing with Diana just to come and see how you were. She doesn’t know that, of course, but it would suggest…”
Charlotte was up in a flash, darting out of the room as her lungs burned with a fire of hope, her legs pumping as she raced up the stairs.
“I’ll just eat these biscuits while I wait for you,” Georgie called after her, laughter ringing through her voice.
There wasn’t time to think about what she would do, when or how. All she knew was she needed to look less like death and more like life before she saw Michael again, and she had every intention of seeing him sooner rather than later.
Surely there was some event tonight. There was always something.
She laughed breathlessly as she reached behind her to fumble with the buttons at the back of her dress. She would need to speak with Jonathan before she did anything she could not get out of, but she dared not think too far yet.
All she had was hope, and it was enough to take a chance on.
Chapter Twenty-One
Opportunities are a funny business, though I have yet to find laughter accompanying them.
-The Sp
inster Chronicles, 23 July 1818
“What in the world are the Radcliffes doing here? I thought they were in Scotland.”
“They were. Just arrived yesterday. No idea why they’ve decided to attend tonight, but Janet is delighted to have them.”
Michael looked at Tyrone in bewilderment. “Why? There’s still a great deal of speculation and gossip surrounding them. They’d never be permitted in Almack’s and other hallowed halls.”
“Are you saying my halls are not hallowed?” Lord Sterling asked with playful superiority as he came up behind them.
“Well, you’re no Almack’s,” Michael retorted without concern, grinning at the man.
Hugh grimaced beside him. “Thank heavens. That place still haunts my dreams.”
“The matrons will be delighted to hear it,” his brother assured him, clamping a hand on his shoulder. “And they aren’t the only couple to return to London now.” He gestured to a striking couple chatting with the Spinsters.
“The Vales?” Michael exclaimed, gaping outright. “Did she not just have a child?”
Lord Sterling nodded, grinning wryly. “Indeed, but she was well enough to travel, so when I heard they had returned, we extended an invitation. Didn’t think they’d accept, but there they are.”
“What in the world brought them all back now? It’s nearing the end of the Season at this point, hardly any events remain.” Michael shook his head, taking in the additions to the Spinsters’ group with disbelief.
“Two guesses,” Tyrone said rather blandly. “Charlotte. Wright.” He indicated the group with a lazy finger.
Blinking, Michael looked at the group again.
There she was. Radiant in a gown he had never seen before, one of pale yellow and dotted with white rosettes, additional white flowers in her hair. She smiled and laughed with her friends, just as she had done for years. Yet something about her now was all the more striking, and he needed a moment to catch his breath.
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