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 know 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,
