“What a lovely gesture!” Miranda simpered. “Two bouquets for you? How charming!”
Charlotte grinned and shook her head. “No, Miranda. One bouquet for me, and one for my mother.”
Miranda and Georgie clapped in delight, making Charlotte laugh. “All the better! You must marry him, Charlotte. I wish it.”
“If he asks, I may,” Charlotte replied, still laughing.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Aubrey, Lord Ingram, intoned from somewhere in the room. “I’m delighted to provide you some entertainment before dinner, and more particularly for the surprise it will be to us all. At the request of Miss Palmer, Mr. Sandford will oblige the company with a song. My wife will accompany him. Please.”
Charlotte blinked as the other guests began filing over to a corner of the room, but she could not move. Her limbs had no strength, her frame no warmth.
Michael was here? And he was going to sing?
I only sing for you, dear.
The pianoforte struck up, Grace’s nimble fingers no doubt dancing along the keys, and, a moment later, Michael’s voice filled the area.
Memory after memory assaulted Charlotte’s mind the moment he began; vocal duets the two of them had attempted, playful ditties Michael had sung to break her out of sour moods or to make her laugh, relaxed days of hearing his voice across the room while she pretended to read…
Each one darkened and dimmed as his voice floated among the guests. Only she had ever truly known the power, sweetness, and delight of his voice before this, and he had claimed to have kept that gift for her alone. Now that was gone, the secret revealed, and nothing remained between them that was only theirs.
The last link between them was gone. Broken by his own acquiescence. She did not believe Diana had coerced him into singing, even if she had known about his vocal abilities. Michael would only have done this if he had wished to.
He wished to sing for them, not only for Charlotte anymore.
“Charlotte?” Georgie murmured from beside her, somehow having gotten Miranda to leave. “Charlotte…”
Charlotte sniffled and shook her head, rising to her feet. She had to face him. She would face him while he did this. Because he did this.
The song soared as she approached, which would usually have brought her unending delights. It brought her nothing now.
Finding a small break in the gathered guests, Charlotte fit herself into the space, pressing forward as much as she would without being in any way forceful. She would show no desperation, display no overt emotion, leave no sign to anyone that her heart was full to the brim with this betrayal. She would carry on this evening as she would have done otherwise. She would smile and laugh with Jonathan, finding and taking comfort in his presence. She would praise Grace and Aubrey for their excellent dinner service and delightful friends. She would even encourage some light dancing later, if she thought others might join in.
But in this moment, one person needed to know, needed to acknowledge, what he was bringing about.
She saw Michael through the break then, lifted her chin as he grandly sang for them all. He was dressed in better finery than she had seen him in, which seemed to suit, and saw more people smiling for him now than ever had in his life. And then there was Diana, just a few feet away from him, beaming with pride and delight.
Something sharp and cold lanced Charlotte’s heart, but she would not crumble and fall. She was too well-practiced in all things Society to do anything so publicly.
She could withstand this.
Michael’s eyes cast about the guests as he sang, then, at last, met Charlotte’s. Aside from a stilling in his form, he left no obvious sign of distress. His voice did not waver, his complexion did not wane. But a faint crease appeared in his brow, and his head lowered perhaps a half an inch. He knew. He knew what he was doing, and he knew what it would do.
And still he sang.
Charlotte dipped her chin in a nod, then backed gracefully out of the group.
“Charlotte,” Georgie whispered, her voice hitching in concern.
Charlotte ignored her again and moved to a footman she recognized from previous visits. “Thomas, would you be a dear and fetch me a glass of Madeira? I’ve a fearful headache, and I don’t wish to disturb his lordship before supper.”
“Certainly, Miss Wright.” He bowed and departed at once.
Exhaling, Charlotte turned back around, preparing to endure the rest of Michael’s singing thus until her drink arrived.
Would to God it was something stronger.
Chapter Eighteen
When we dance, we find the conversations we cannot have, the feelings we cannot share, and the confessions we cannot make. Often, we also find trouble.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 5 April 1819
“She didn’t say anything? Are you sure?”
“No, Sandford, I’m not. But I refuse to interrogate my wife, and you forbade me to have her ask the specific question.”
Michael growled as he strode from the card room back into the ballroom at Lord Attley’s home, wanting to tug at his cravat, but knowing he needed to make a good impression. “Because if she does not know that I’m concerned, I don’t want her to know. I feel I am to blame, and I will make amends. But if she does not know, then I do not need to do a thing. You see?”
“Not in the least. You’ve talked me in a circle, and I’m wondering when you’ll get to the point.” Hugh Sterling sputtered to himself, no doubt irritated by Michael’s pestering on this topic. “And I dislike keeping secrets from my wife, so kindly don’t insist on any more.”
“I can agree
