“No…” she said at once, more out of defense than a true response. “Of course not, I simply…”
“A wealthy spinster is still a spinster, my child,” Lady Hetty interrupted. “I have remained so because I never had reason enough to marry. I was like you, popular and sociable. Well sought after and the envy of several. Fortune hunters had no chance with me if I did not like them for themselves. And, as it happened, I did not with most of them. I do not regret the path my life has taken, but that does not mean it is to be envied.”
Charlotte frowned at that. “Would it make me a fraud? To proclaim in our Chronicles that there are worse things than being a spinster, and then to marry?”
Lady Hetty’s eyes narrowed, and she exhaled as she studied Charlotte. “Would you be marrying to avoid remaining a spinster? Or would you be marrying for love, affection, comfort, or any other sensible reason that an heiress would choose to do so of her own will?”
Charlotte’s eyes immediately shifted back to the dance floor, where Michael and Janet still danced, laughing merrily together. “It would be because I love him,” she admitted in a whisper. “And because I could not bear to lose him.”
“Then I would say you are practicing what you preach, my dear.” Lady Hetty patted her hands twice, then squeezed them. “And if that idiot boy doesn’t snap you up, I invite you to come live out your days with me. I’ll even leave you the house in my will. Make a spinster fortress in my name.”
Charlotte laughed at the images her mind was conjuring, then turned to the older woman and pressed a fond kiss to her cheek, surprising them both. “I quite adore you, my lady, and I don’t care a fig for what anybody else says about you.”
Lady Hetty’s eyes turned misty, and she pinched Charlotte’s cheek. “Everybody else is jealous, girl, make no mistake. And if you manage to marry before that Henshaw fellow, I’ll give you a barouche as a wedding present.”
“Deal, my lady,” Charlotte agreed with a laugh too loud for polite company, but not caring a fig for that, either.
Epilogue
On occasion, one must be rather decisive about things. It is the only way to bring about results. But only on occasion.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 15 November 1819
There was something about being in the Wright family home that made Michael smile no matter the occasion. It was his home away from home, and events held there might as well have been ones he hosted. He didn’t mean to take up the responsibilities, but he knew the house and the people so well that he seemed to take part in the duties without intending to. Any time he saw opportunity, he acted on it.
The garden party today would be different. Mostly because he was fascinated by what Charlotte would try to do.
After their private word on the terrace, she’d tried again to speak with him alone when they were at the Ingrams’ home for an afternoon of conversation and games. Unfortunately, she had tried to commandeer him during the lawn games that had started, which had not helped matters.
“Michael, there is something that I really must discuss with you as soon as possible. Would you mind walking with me?” she’d asked, her smile bright, but forced.
He’d nodded, but then Aubrey, Lord Ingram, had come and insisted that Michael come and partner him for bowls. With an apologetic shrug to Charlotte, Michael had gone along with him rather than take the private word with her.
The glare she had launched at Aubrey’s back would have killed the man had anything materialized from it.
The ferocity in her eyes had started Michael thinking, and he had done little else since. What could she want to speak with him about that could not be said before company? She’d never been particularly private, though some occasions between them had held conversations he doubted she had shared with others. But those times had usually come when they were already in each other’s company, and not from any structured moment alone. They’d never intentionally had moments alone; it had always happened as the natural way of things.
What was she trying to accomplish?
It didn’t take long for him to get a fair idea, considering the last few weeks and the looks, conversations, and contact they’d had. He didn’t dare put a name to it, having felt the wounds of disappointed hopes for years, but if he was right, Charlotte might have something vastly intriguing to tell him.
But there was no sense in making it simple for her to do so.
It was not particularly accommodating of him, but there was an inordinate amount of fun in being pursued by the woman he had pursued for years. He’d let her tell him eventually, he was not entirely cruel. He just needed to see how determined she was. There was nothing that drove Charlotte more than obstacles to her success. A driven Charlotte in this regard could be a rather grand sight.
All the better for him.
Striding out to the gardens, Michael eyed the gathering with some anticipation. All of Charlotte’s friends in the Spinsters were here, or would be shortly, as well as Lord and Lady Sterling, Mr. and Mrs. Andrews, who were great friends of the Vales as well as the Radcliffes, and various other members of Society that he actually could tolerate for more than five minutes at a time. Any event hosted by the Wrights usually involved the best of Society, which made invitations difficult to come by.
Michael always had a standing invitation, and had the last week or so not happened, he might have had that revoked this time.
“My sister was looking for you,” Charles Wright mentioned as he passed him to head out to the guests. “I’d make yourself scarce, she’s rather in high dudgeon.”
The warning made Michael laugh to himself. She’d be in even higher dudgeon once he played with her a little.
“That should not make you smile.” Charles shook his head, exhaling heavily. “What are you up to?”
He shrugged easily, loving the edge of excitement he felt nipping at his heels. “I thought I might provoke your sister a little. For her own good, of course. It will be worth it.”
Charles grinned the way only an older brother can. “It is always worth it to provoke Charlotte. Carry on.” Chuckling, he moved out into the gardens fully, shaking his head.
Well, at least somebody else would appreciate Michael’s plan.
Michael continued to survey the gathering, and suddenly locked eyes with Charlotte, who was watching him steadily from her present position under a tree.
He let himself smile at her, trying to ignore how his heart pounded the longer he stared, and waved as though this were any other time he had come to her home.
The quick flash of smile was well worth everything. She waved back, the gesture surprisingly discreet for her, which only further supported his suspicion.
He shook himself free from the sudden Charlotte-induced stupor and wandered into the gardens, taking a glass of lemonade from the table that had been set up. He nodded at Miranda, whose return to London had been much heralded, and shook his head in amusement at the sight of Henshaw and Kitty Morton, who had already found a quiet spot for themselves to speak without much by way of chaperone.
He’d suggest someone take up that role after a few minutes, but surely they deserved a few moments unobserved. Or as unobserved as they could be at a gathering like this.
A movement to his left caught his eye, and he saw Charlotte heading in his direction. He moved to a footman nearby at once. “Come get me in three minutes,” he ordered through a polite smile. “Make something up.”
“Sir?” the bewildered lad queried.
“Just do it. Trust me.”
He didn’t seem convinced, but he nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Good man.” Michael nodded in return, then walked away, continuing to greet others politely. Every nerve and fiber was attuned to Charlotte and her position to him, though, and he waited almost breathlessly for her to reach him.
Then, at last, she was there.
“Michael.”
He turned and smiled at Charlotte, willing himself to appear only glad to see her, not overl
y eager. “Charlotte. Marvelous turnout today, your mother will be pleased.”
She nodded, looking around, though it was a cursory look at best. “Yes, I suppose she will be. She’s in conversation with Mrs. Lambert at the present, which should worry anybody and everybody, but there are worse options.”
Michael agreed with a nod. “Mrs. Lambert may raise concerns in certain ways, but at least she is safe.”
“Unless she is talking of tea, and then we are all doomed.” Charlotte looked up at him with a quick smile, so like their former ease he ached for it.
But they could not go back. Only forward.
Michael sipped his lemonade cautiously. Charlotte could make the first move here, if she thought to do so. If he knew her as he thought he did, she would leap at the chance.
“I’ve broken with Jonathan Riley.”
That was not the opening he had anticipated, and he did not have to pretend at choking on his beverage. “Oh, no,” he said with as much feeling as he could muster, shaking his head and adopting a sympathetic expression. “Charlotte, I am so sorry.”
She lifted her chin, gloriously steady in this moment. “Don’t be. I found I was wasting both of our time, and it is far better this way.”
Was it, now?
Marvelous.
Michael shook his head as if in despair. “You liked him so much. You ought to take time to heal.”
Charlotte’s brow creased a little. “I don’t need to.”
He pretended not to hear and only exhaled a heavy sigh. “The loss will be painful, I know. You must be feeling it keenly; I can’t imagine how you’re facing any of us with that on your heart.”
“What?” Charlotte bleated, utterly lost now. “No, Michael, I’m fine.”
He put a hand on her arm, squeezing gently and looking at her as though she would break before his very eyes. “Don’t be brave, Charlotte. It’s better to mourn these things.”
“Mourn what?” she demanded with an edge of irritation to her voice. “I’m the one who ended things.”
“Nevertheless…”
“Mr. Sandford, there is a message for you, sir.”
Perfect timing.
Michael turned to the footman with wide eyes. “A message? Of what sort?”
The footman had clearly been thinking about this, for his expression did not change. “The rider did not say, sir, only that it was urgent.”
Michael sighed and gave Charlotte a pitying look. “Excuse me, will you?”
Her brow snapped down. “Michael, don’t you…”
But he was already walking away, laughing to himself, the footman on his heels. “Sir, if I lose my position…”
“You won’t, I promise,” Michael assured him. “In fact, I’ll see to it you get a bonus.”
“Thank you, sir.”
They rounded the stairs to return to the house, and Charlotte had watched them the entire time, her eyes narrowed now as she followed his progress.
Charlotte had discovered feelings for him. Just how deep those feelings were and what she wished to do about them remained to be seen. But it was clear that what they had been was not enough, and their individual courtships could not stand, and had not done so.
Still, it was difficult to keep from reveling in the feeling of victory that swirled about his head. He wanted to give her a signal, some hint that he knew what she was trying to do but wasn’t going to carve out a time for her to do it.
Oh, why not?
He flicked a devious smile at her, and saw her jaw slacken as she gaped. He would be in for it now.
He could not wait.
Whatever game Michael was playing, she needed to end it, and end it now.
If she didn’t love the man to bloody distraction, she might have given up by this point, thinking that each interruption to her attempts might be a sign she should not do so. She might have eventually considered going back to Jonathan and telling him that she had been premature in ending his expectations. That conversation had been simple enough, rather uncomplicated, all things considered, and had actually felt like a relief to have over.
They might not have been as compatible as she had hoped at the start, and certainly weren’t as compatible as she and Michael would have been, but that wasn’t insurmountable. She could go back to that simplicity.
If she wasn’t desperate to tell Michael how she loved him, she might have even thought that today, had he not smirked like that.
But now, she had none of those thoughts. Blasted brute was intentionally drawing this out for her, and he was enjoying every moment. Did that mean he knew she loved him? Did that mean he still loved her? The possibilities were many, and her options were few.
She was not one to give up, but there was only so much she could take. The only thing she really wished to do at this moment was disappoint Michael’s game, whatever it was. The trouble was that disappointing his game would also be disappointing the thing she wanted most, and she had never been particularly good at sacrificing her own wishes.
Downing her present glass of lemonade, she turned to face the nearest hedge and growled in frustration in as muted a way as she could while still being true to her feelings.
It was an odd, strained sort of sound, and her face buzzed because of it.
She rubbed at her cheek, frowning. “Hopeless,” she hissed.
“Likely, but I wouldn’t give up just yet.”
Unaware she had been heard, Charlotte turned in surprise to see Hugh Sterling standing beside the same hedge, peering into his glass with what appeared to be a passing interest.
“Oh no?” she asked, not taking care to temper her tone. “Why not?”
“Because the man is beyond besotted still, and he won’t be happy with anyone else.” He shrugged and sipped his drink, not looking at her. “Up to you, though.”
Charlotte blinked at his words, feeling as though her mind were skipping rocks. “He… you… he loves me?”
Hugh glanced at her slyly and nodded. “Oh, yes. He made a valiant effort not to, I’ll grant him that, but it was no use.”
She could barely swallow for the pressure of joy filling her. “Are you sure?” she whispered.
“Quite.” He turned to face her, leaning his shoulder against the hedge and meeting her eyes head on. “I’ve seen the difference, Charlotte. He’s yours, if you’ll take him.”
A breathless laugh galloped from her chest, and she grinned wildly, then tilted her head as she considered the man before her. “I don’t think you’re the devil incarnate after all, Hugh Sterling. What a pleasant surprise.”
His smile was warm and attractive, which she would never have suspected of him. “Does that mean you think my wife has made a good match?”
Charlotte gave the man a dubious look. “Don’t push your luck.”
“Fair enough.” He toasted her and pointed towards the house. “Off you go, then.”
She winked and dashed off to the house like a shot, not caring if any of the guests or her family saw her do so. Ladylike behavior be damned, her family’s reputation be tossed.
Charlotte Wright was getting the man she loved, and she was getting him now.
“Michael!” she bellowed as soon as she entered the house, slowing to a brisk walk, her strides determined. “Michael, you show yourself this minute, or else…”
“What?” he prodded, ambling towards her from the direction of the kitchen. “Or else what?”
It was a strange sensation, her heart sinking and soaring at the same time. Her irritation with him mingling with her longing for him. Her ire mingling with her affection.
What a tumultuous future could be before them.
Setting her jaw, she moved to him and grabbed his arm, yanking hard. “Come here.”
“Ow!” he protested, though she swore he laughed as well. “I can walk, Charlotte.”
“I don’t trust you for a minute,” she snapped as she continued to drag him forward. “Not a single minute, and I have had enough.”
> “So I see.”
She ignored the note of humor in his tone and pulled him to the only ground in this house where she felt she could do this moment justice.
Her own parlor. Where endless Spinster columns had been written, plots had been hatched, and hundreds of conversations with this very man had taken place. This was her fortress, and he was her captive.
If she could get the words out.
She released his arm as they entered the room, turning to close the door firmly.
“I take it you wanted to see me,” Michael said with a laugh.
She could hear him moving about the room, but she kept her face to the door just a moment longer, breathing slowly and praying she could get through this.
With a final exhale, she turned to face him, surprised to see him leaning against the back of the sofa and staring at her with a crooked smile. Waiting.
“What?” she asked, disarmed by it.
“Nothing,” he replied, shrugging a shoulder. “Go on.”
She hesitated, unsettled and more than a little wary. “Michael…”
He said nothing, that maddening smile remaining on his lips. His chin lowered just a touch, and a certain light in his eyes caught fire. Daring her to go on.
Oh, he was a clever wretch, and now she was just as trapped.
Perfect.
Without a single word of her practiced speech in her mind, Charlotte opened her mouth. “I have been blind, Michael. Nearly every day of my life, I have been blind and foolish and utterly stupid. I always thought that I needed a sweeping romantic story for the ages, one that broke all constraints and sent us to our knees with longing for each other, whoever he would be, and that nothing else would do. I was waiting for that storm to find me, expecting to be knocked aside and forever changed. What I did not, and could not, expect was that something quite different lay in store for me.”
Michael’s smile remained, but his eyes had darkened, and his attention seemed more pronounced. More dangerous.
More intense.
“Something deeper,” Charlotte went on, her entire frame pulsing in time with her heart, “and something softer. Something gradual, and ever-increasing. Something that had always been there, and always will be. Something so intertwined with everything I am and everything I hope to be that I didn’t even recognize that it was there until it was…” She swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and lowered herself to her knees.
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