“I think you’ll survive. Which is more than I can say for my other dinner companion.”
As gracefully as possible, Charlotte looked across Michael to identify the lady there, and had to stifle laughter at the sight of a very sullen Roslyn Lawson.
“What seems to be the problem?” Charlotte whispered.
“My fortune is less than twenty thousand pounds,” Michael replied in the same tone, “my estate is nowhere near Bath, and I lack a title.”
Charlotte exhaled a faux sigh of defeat. “I don’t know why I even speak to you. Clearly, I should address Mr. Collier instead.”
“Clearly.”
Charlotte pressed her teeth into her lip harder, looking away from Michael to find some sort of control. Oh, it felt marvelous to laugh with him like this, and it seemed an age since they had done so. Of course, with her focus on finding matrimonial prospects, she really hadn’t cause to send for him for her own amusement. He could have called on his own accord, naturally, but those visits had become less frequent in the last year or so as it was.
It hadn’t occurred to her until the other night at the Prestons’ ball that there might have been something wrong between them. This wasn’t the occasion to discuss such things, but the manner between them at the moment eased her feelings on the subject considerably. They couldn’t possibly be on the outs if they could continue to joke as they once did.
Relief swirled within her at the thought. Despite everything, losing her friendship with Michael would have been a disaster. She could gain the world’s best match in every respect and still feel a loss if he were no longer in her life. Though marriage would certainly separate them to a degree, she would adamantly refuse to let it part them.
She would not give up Michael.
“Perhaps if you sang for Miss Lawson,” Charlotte suggested as the first course of supper was brought out, “she might see you in a more favorable light. After all, it is one of your greatest gifts, and nobody knows about it but me.”
Michael gave her a sidelong look, his eyes holding a knowing light she knew well. “I only sing for you, dear.”
Warmth hit Charlotte’s chest and rose quickly into her lips, prompting a wide smile. His answer was the same as it had been for years, and anything else as a response would have been a disappointment or a shock. As far as she knew, Charlotte was the only one who had heard Michael sing, and while some might have considered that a crime against humanity, given the splendor of his voice, the pair of them had never cared about it. Michael was not one for display, and Charlotte herself did not play, so a duet was never something they had been forced into.
Once or twice, it had occurred to Charlotte to wonder if Michael’s mother knew about his abilities, but ultimately, that was neither here nor there. So long as his voice was their particular secret, all was well enough.
“How goes your great plan?” Michael asked after a moment, his attention on his food. “Any success?”
“Not yet,” Charlotte told him, swallowing her own bite of food, “but we’ve only just begun. Grace trussed me up the other night for emphasis… Well, you saw that.”
Michael nodded. “I did. Impressive. How much did you hate it?”
She nudged him hard with her elbow. “It was lovely, I’ll have you know. I haven’t felt that pretty in ages, and though it was a great deal of fuss, I think it helped.”
“With what? You’ve never lacked for attention.”
There was something in the tone of those words that Charlotte did not care for at all. Something hard, she would have called it bitter had the speaker been anyone other than Michael. As it was him, she could not say what lay behind it.
But she did not like it.
“The right sort of attention,” she hissed, focusing on her meal and keeping her table manners in a ladylike fashion, “from the right sort of people. I have been a fixture in Society, which means everyone is used to seeing me everywhere all the time. I am not likely to make any sort of impression now unless I make some drastic changes, which is what we have done.”
“Steady on,” Michael muttered, smiling for the effect of others around them. “I wasn’t insulting your efforts.”
She’d have glared at him had they been anywhere else. “Weren’t you? I haven’t seen you about in ages.”
“You haven’t sent for me. You could have done.”
The flippant words held the same sharp edge his previous words had done, and they rankled just as much. “When have you ever needed an invitation?”
“We aren’t sixteen anymore, Charlotte. I cannot just call without a reason and have it pass the gossips unnoticed.” He paused in the act of reaching for his drink again, then shook his head and continued. “It wouldn’t be right, and it wouldn’t be fair.”
Charlotte ignored appearances and propriety, staring at Michael blatantly and without shame. “Right and fair? To whom, Michael? Everyone knows we are friends, as evidenced by this seating arrangement. No one would suspect anything untoward. They haven’t done so yet.”
Michael exhaled roughly and straightened, keeping his gaze ahead rather than on her. “To me, Charlotte. If I am always tied to you, it will make things deuced awkward, if not impossible, to find a wife for myself. How can I attach myself to someone else if everyone assumes that the only woman in my life is you? You are not the only one seeking a change of situation.”
Nothing could have prepared her for those words from him, and she could barely comprehend the meaning behind them. Was he saying he wanted to get married? When had that been decided?
Before or after she had decided to do so?
“You’re pursuing matrimony?” Charlotte whispered. “When was this decided? You never said.”
“I don’t tell you everything.”
They ate in silence, and the space between them might as well have held its very own blizzard for all the warmth there.
It wasn’t right, her arguing with him about this sort of thing. She was pursuing matrimony, so why shouldn’t Michael? Just because they had never spoken of it did not mean he should not, or could not. He was free to do as he liked without reference to Charlotte. It was entirely possible that her decision to marry had given him cause to consider the topic and, especially given his mother’s wishes, give in and pursue the same.
Why should they fall out over it?
“No, of course,” she murmured, unsure if he would hear her, or if he’d care to. “Nor should you have to.” Forcing herself to brighten, she made a show of enjoying her meal. “Have you entered into a courtship with anyone? I shall have to give my consent to your choice, you know.”
Michael grunted once, the tone flat. “No, I have not, and yes, I presumed as much. And I am not… That is… Marriage is not my primary concern, I am only allowing myself to consider the possibility.”
Charlotte considered that with a playful tilt of her head. “Oh, by all means, consider away. Anyone in particular we are considering as yet?”
Now Michael looked at her in full, smiling in what had to be the first genuine manner all evening. “No, Charlotte.”
“No what?” she pressed, the playacting growing easier. “No, you aren’t considering anyone?”
“No, there is no ‘we’ in this scenario,” he said simply. “No, I am not discussing any of this with you. No, you do not get to pick someone out for me. No, we will not be exchanging details of any future courtships either of us are engaged in as some sort of commiseration of its troubles. No, no, and no, Charlotte.”
She giggled in spite of herself but sensed that Michael wasn’t injecting as much humor into his words as she was. “But I can help, Michael. You know I can.”
He shook his head firmly. “I have all the help I need. Besides, I’ve read every issue of the Spinster Chronicles. I know all of the advice on courtship and the like, and I’d rather not be so closely examined.”
The message was unmistakable; Charlotte was to have nothing to do with Michael’s impending yet currently hypothe
tical courtship. She was, in effect, to be excluded. Did that mean he wished to be excluded from her attempts, as well?
Charlotte absently fiddled with the base of her nearest fork, her throat working as she tried to find words. “And… if I would like some advice on my own courtship? When it happens? Might I ask your opinion on occasion? Having never been in a courtship, and knowing so little of men in truth…”
Michael stilled beside her, not even his breathing audible, if he was breathing at all. It didn’t seem as though he was, and she was suddenly very carefully attuned to everything about him.
How did his not breathing prevent her from breathing as well?
“I would… prefer,” he began slowly, “if you kept those instances to a minimum. If at all.”
Charlotte’s throat dried in an instant. “Michael…”
“You’re my best friend, Charlotte,” he said at once, his voice rough. “That won’t change today or tomorrow or any day after. But I cannot hold your hand while you court London Society in pursuit of marriage. I will not.”
It was all she could do to blink, feeling cold without shivering, feeling warm without flushing. Why did her friendship suddenly seem so very different than it had only minutes ago? Why did it feel at an end, despite his vow that it would not?
She managed a swallow and glanced down the table as though looking for someone, more an act than anything else. “Well, so long as you don’t sing…”
“I told you,” he replied quickly, his tone warming, “I only sing for you, dear.”
There was that, at least.
Charlotte’s eyes fell on Mr. Riley and found his eyes already on her. For a moment, she only stared, her lips already curved in the benign, polite smile she always wore in public. He stared back, and then dipped his chin in a nod, now smiling at her.
That lightning sensation in her leg returned, this time making its way down into her smallest toe. Her heavy heart began to lighten, incrementally, and her polite smile turned into one less forced, less pained, less habitual.
It didn’t solve her feelings of loss, nor her wistful longing of her friendship from days gone by, but it did give her a reason to smile and mean it.
At the moment, that was enough.
Chapter Eleven
One never knows what may be discovered over a simple game of cards.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 19 December 1815
“Sandford, you remember Mrs. Greensley? Formerly Miss Wilton, you know, but she married last year.”
Michael smiled at the plain but friendly face of Mrs. Greensley, belatedly recollecting that, when she had been Jane Wilton, she had been Charlotte’s favorite of the Wilton sisters. The most sensible, the most genuine, and the warmest by far. He could do far worse than reconnecting with her in this new chapter of his life, marriageable prospect or not.
Connections of any sort were his goal, and there was no telling who might know other people that could significantly improve his lot, his life, or his luck.
“Of course,” he said as he gave a half bow in Mrs. Greensley’s direction. “It is very good to see you again. How are you?”
She smiled and inclined her head, continuing to shuffle the cards in her hand. “Very well, Mr. Sandford. Will you and Mr. Sterling join us for a round or two of whist?”
He nodded once, pulling the chair out. “Certainly.” He smiled at the woman across from Mrs. Greensley, a fair-haired lady with a warm smile currently directed at him.
Curious.
“Mr. Sandford, may I introduce my cousin, Miss Diana Palmer?” Mrs. Greensley said with a hint of a laugh in her voice. “She has come to stay with us from Derbyshire for the remainder of the Season.”
Michael bowed before her, smiling without any effort at all. “A pleasure, Miss Palmer. Is this your first time to London?”
Rich, whiskey-colored eyes seemed to sparkle as Miss Palmer’s smile deepened. “No, sir, though it is my first time in London for the Season. Even if it is at the end of it.”
“Ah,” Michael replied, taking his seat. “Well, the end of the Season is usually the best part, Miss Palmer.”
“Is it?” She flicked a smile to her cousin, then returned her attention to Michael. “In what way?”
Michael folded his hands on the surface of the table, then shrugged. “The fuss and fervor that surround the opening of the Season has faded. Those wildly inclined to make a match have likely done so, or have at least selected their choice, leaving everyone else to enjoy themselves without any additional pressures.”
Miss Palmer’s eyes narrowed a touch, and he had the sense she was sizing him up, though he could not have said what for. “Is that what the Season should be about? Enjoying one’s self?”
“I’ve always thought so.” Michael continued to smile at her, charmed by her lack of silliness and intrigued by her lack of airs. She was beautiful, effortlessly so, but there also seemed to be a clever wit lurking beneath that fine façade, and therein lay much of his curiosity and interest, if he were totally honest.
“I suppose it would depend on what one does for enjoyment,” Hugh added as Mrs. Greensley dealt the cards. “If the events and opportunities the Season can offer are of interest, one might find great enjoyment in it. If the country life is more suited, then alas…”
Mrs. Greensley chuckled softly. “Indeed, Mr. Sterling. I adore the ease of country life myself, but London does hold some pleasures for me in spite of this. Enough to bring me into town for a few weeks, at the very least.”
Hugh chuckled as he pulled his cards towards him. “If you might convey that information to my wife, Mrs. Greensley, it would be much appreciated. She has no desire to remove to the country at any time, whereas I have lost my taste for London altogether.”
That earned Hugh a sympathetic look from the woman as she finished her dealing of the cards. “I can understand that, sir, though it does sadden me on your behalf.”
Hugh’s smile was fleeting. “You are too kind.” He glanced at the card she flipped over. “Trumps are clubs.”
“What is my cousin talking about?” Miss Palmer asked Michael in an undertone. “Or is it too dear a topic?”
Michael flicked his gaze between the other two at their table, and, seeing their occupation with their cards, pretended the same. “Mr. Sterling spent a time of his adult life engaging in unsavory behaviors with unsavory people, though nothing particularly scandalous in his own case. One of his closest friends, a man cut from the same cloth, attempted to compromise Mr. Sterling’s sister.”
Miss Palmer could barely restrain her gasp, one shaking hand making a show of fiddling her cards. “Oh, heavens. Was she ruined?”
“Nearly, but not altogether. She is quite well and rather a popular girl now, but Mr. Sterling was shaken to his core.”
“As any proper sibling would be.” She looked at the man in question, biting her lip. “Poor man.”
Michael nodded, clearing his throat and leaning closer. “He is most repentant now, and quite changed. So that, I believe, is why London no longer holds its former charms.”
Miss Palmer shook her head, sighing. “I do hope his wife understands that. He should not have to remain if the memories are so painful.”
“He is newly married,” Michael informed her, finding himself smiling, “and rather inclined to dote on his bride, I think. The affection is quite mutual. I don’t think either of them mind being anywhere, if they are together.”
Something in his words made Miss Palmer smile, her dark eyes darting to him before turning to her cards. “What a lovely thought. Would that all matches had the same understanding.”
“I quite agree, Miss Palmer,” Michael murmured, smiling at her with increased interest. “Most heartily.”
“Diana, my dear,” Mrs. Greensley broke in, still holding a laugh in her voice. “Do you intend to follow my lead? Mr. Sterling has played.”
Color raced into Miss Palmer’s cheeks, and she looked at the pair of discarded cards quickly. “
Oh, goodness, forgive me. I don’t know where my head is.”
“Don’t you?” her cousin mused very softly, her words far too low for Miss Palmer to hear, though Michael caught them quite clearly.
His own cheeks began to flush, and he focused on his cards, lest he should get a similar hint from his partner.
The rounds continued in moderate silence for a handful of minutes, during which Michael became acutely aware of the woman next to him, and the eyes of their partners. He couldn’t be sure, but he would have bet a good deal that the pair of them were watching Michael and Miss Palmer closely.
Were people always thrown into speculation upon the first meeting? It was an unnerving amount of pressure, despite the fact that he had just spoken of the lack of pressure during this time of the Season. The irony there was not lost on him, though he supposed he had earned his share of speculation and irony at this relatively late point of his life. He’d never been suspected of harboring romantic feelings for any lady, not even Charlotte.
Which was even stranger, as he had harbored the strongest feelings about her.
Had.
He paused as he laid a moderately scored card in the diamond suit, something stilling in the pit of his stomach. Had he lost his feelings for Charlotte? He couldn’t have, they had been his constant companion for years, though not always in the forefront of his mind.
He’d told her not to bring her suitors to his attention, not to discuss anything of the sort with him, and she had seemed to agree. He could not deny that the dinner they’d shared at the Bonds’ party had been awkward and painful, but it had been a conversation long overdue. And it was not as though he were cutting her off, as it were. More just giving them room to grow.
That was it. Room to grow and explore what other people might have to offer them.
No, his feelings for Charlotte were not gone, he decided. He only had to look a bit harder for them.
What an intriguing idea.
“Sandford, I am beginning to wonder about your strategy.”
Spinster Ever After Page 12
