Hensh blinked at her words, his brow creasing. “Have you inquired about this? Why he might appear to do this?”
There was no easy way to reply to the questions, given what had happened when she had made an accusation on the subject, but she could trust Hensh with private concerns, and sensitive manners.
“He said…” She bit her lip, the words nearly choking her before she could even speak them.
She couldn’t do this.
Couldn’t admit this.
Couldn’t say it.
“He doesn’t wish to discuss our courtships,” she told Hensh instead, finding small comfort in the fact that she was not lying about the situation. “At all. He told me we would still be friends, but I rather feel as though he’s changed his mind there.”
Hensh made a face, but he said nothing immediately.
Something about his hesitation made Charlotte curious, and she stared at him with more patience than she usually possessed.
That could have been the impending feeling of sickness, however.
“Well?” she finally prodded without any sharpness.
Hensh’s eyes flicked to hers before averting again. “I have a number of thoughts, Charlotte, but only one of them is supportable at the present.”
“And that is?”
He sniffed, staring ahead. “I don’t think Sandford knows how he feels, either. He’s courting Miss Palmer, and therefore cannot be seen with a preference for any other women. That likely includes you, as rumors and jealousy can create all sorts of controversy.”
Charlotte frowned, taking a sip of the lemonade she belatedly recalled still sat in her hand. “Miss Palmer doesn’t seem to be the envious sort…”
“Can you account for rumors?” Hensh shook his head, exhaling roughly. “And that may not even be the case. It may only be that he wishes to prove his loyalty to Miss Palmer. Sandford is an honorable man; do you think he means to behave maliciously, or is he simply foolhardy?”
Unless she wished to confess more than she was comfortable, there was only one answer she could give that was honest.
“Both,” she grunted, forcing herself to smile, though she did not feel the thing. “Michael’s a terrible boor when he’s not getting his way, particularly with me. I wonder if he isn’t trying to find his own match before I do. A competition, if you will.”
Hensh met her eyes now, merriment dancing in his eyes. “Now who would be idiotic enough to wager on a thing like matrimony?”
Charlotte’s smile became less forced in an instant. “I haven’t the faintest idea. How go your efforts?”
His mouth curved into a small smile, something rather sweet that Charlotte had never seen on him before. “Well enough.”
“Ah,” Charlotte mused, nudging him now. “Has she learned to pay you attention instead of the stage?”
“Who told you about that?” he demanded without irritation. He waved a hand quickly. “Never mind, it does not matter. The point is that she seems to be aware of my particular interest now.”
Charlotte beamed and gripped his arm, barely restraining a squeal. “Hensh! How is she taking it?”
His smile turned teasing then. “Do you know, Charlotte, I don’t think I want to discuss my courtship with you, either.” He winked and strode away, and it was only then that Charlotte noticed the Mortons entering, Miss Morton following behind in a pale pink muslin that rendered her luminous.
And she looked around the room in a very searching manner.
Apparently, Miss Morton was taking it very well, indeed.
Strangely enough, the attention shifting to Hensh and his situation had erased Charlotte’s ill feelings, and she now only wished for Jonathan to arrive so she might have someone besides the Spinsters to converse with. Hensh would be lost to her for the rest of the night, as he well should have been, and Grace was hostess. That left Izzy, though she would likely need to be chaperone for Kitty, Georgie, who was chatting with Miranda near a window, and Elinor, who had yet to arrive.
Miranda Sterling caught her eye and flicked her fingers in a beckoning gesture.
That settled that, then.
Charlotte moved across the room, grinning unreservedly at her friend and her stepmother-in-law, both of whom had chosen to wear shades of green this evening. Miranda’s was, of course, more elaborate and fine, yet Georgie’s was perfectly suited to her looks and timeless in its loveliness. Both of the Sterling women were visions of beauty, there was no question about that.
Luckily, Charlotte had no pangs of jealousy there, and could still feel that her dusky, red-striped satin bore enough elegance to render her sufficient attention.
“Lovely picture you present, my dear,” Miranda praised, holding out a hand. “Are those silk bands at the hem? Simply marvelous, and what a full skirt! Goodness, I shall request an identical one in gold tomorrow morning.”
Charlotte laughed and took the proffered seat beside Miranda. “You will undoubtedly wear it better than I, though I do recommend avoiding netting in the headdress.” She scratched at her own quickly, wrinkling her nose.
“Oh, don’t upset it!” Georgie pleaded. “It’s simply stunning. I rather like the netting of it.”
“Then you wear it, and may you have joy of it.” Charlotte sighed and snapped open her fan. “Has anybody seen Jonathan?”
“I wish I had, my dear,” Miranda said without shame. “Marvelously handsome, that man. Will you marry him?”
“Miranda!” Georgie cried, a gloved hand going to her cheek in embarrassment. “You don’t have to answer her, Charlotte.”
But Charlotte adored Miranda and her frankness, finding the whole approach to life and conversation rather refreshing. “Well, he hasn’t asked, Miranda, so I really cannot say. The point is irrelevant if the offer is not made.”
Miranda smiled knowingly, her eyes narrowing. “Charlotte, my dear, you could ensure that the offer is made by Wednesday, if you set your mind to it.”
“I take that as a compliment,” Charlotte quipped.
