“I have heard much of you from Mrs. Wattlesbrook,” Lord Bentley said as they waited their turn to sashay down the middle.
“Have you?” Charlotte asked. Eddie and Miss Gardenside were sashaying. Charlotte wanted to laugh. It was hardly a romantic dance. Then again, he was holding her hands.
“You intrigue me,” said his lordship. “I rode in from London just to meet you.”
“That’s a long way,” she said.
“It was worth it,” he said. Then they sashayed. It was a bouncy passage down the middle, sidestepping at a skip. She hoped no one held a hidden camera. She didn’t want this to end up on YouTube to embarrass her children.
The second dance was a little less Virginia reel and had more style. Partners stood opposite, coming together then away. Lord Bentley seemed to have given up conversation in favor of smoldering looks. After having been professionally smoldered by Mallery, she found Lord Bentley’s attempt to be just sad.
At one point in the dance, ladies crossed to the gentlemen on their right. Charlotte lifted her hand. Eddie took it. All the magic and smells and dazzles surrounded her with that touch. She was no longer observing; she was inside Austenland. She was real.
“I’m sorry,” Eddie said softly.
“Don’t be.”
They crossed behind other dancers and met again.
“It’s not right,” he said.
“That’s not for me to decide,” she said. But she wished it was.
They returned to their partners. Lord Bentley was all eyebrows and brooding looks. She discovered a new appreciation for Mallery, who had probably smoldered from birth. Even his sweat had been broodish.
The dance was over. Miss Gardenside took Mr. Grey’s arm, and they walked off together.
“Excuse me, I’ve got some … lady business,” Charlotte said as awkwardly as possible, in hopes of avoiding any inquiries from her date. Lord Bentley bowed and she hurried away. Was she being dishonest? Perhaps she was just being clever. But that wasn’t likely, given that she had stalking in mind, and her stalking track record wasn’t impressive.
Charlotte followed Eddie and Miss Gardenside at a discreet distance. The couple wandered into the conservatory. Charlotte stopped at the doorway, hidden behind a fern. The air in the glassed-in room was tropically warm and felt as sweet as a sweater on her bare arms.
Mr. Grey took Miss Gardenside’s hand and spoke. This was the moment. This was the proposal, the one Charlotte would have had from murderer Mallery. It was an all-inclusive vacation, including meals, wardrobe, outings, and a marriage proposal. Right now, elsewhere in the house, Colonel Andrews was probably proposing to Miss Charming for the umpteenth time.
The couple strolled between plants, their voices low, their heads leaning toward each other. Miss Gardenside’s hand rested on his arm. His hand lay atop hers. Charlotte’s throat constricted. She was torturing herself, that was all. Would she have wanted to peer into a motel room at James and Justice? Certainly not. She started down the hall.
A moment later she was back. Eddie was holding Miss Gardenside’s hands, speaking earnestly. She seemed elated. Were they going to kiss? Yes, any moment, they would certainly kiss. The moonlight was angled in the window just so, as if propped up for this scene, and the air was heady with love and plant sap. No kissing please. Charlotte couldn’t bear that, even if it was supposed to be pretend. If Eddie kissed Miss Gardenside, it meant he wanted to, didn’t it? Alisha was so beautiful and young. Maybe Eddie was more like James than she’d thought. Charlotte’s heart bounced inside her chest, encouraging her to flee.
She put a hand over her eyes and sought after her Inner Thoughts.
What do I do?
Her Inner Thoughts skipped forward, happy to be asked. Leave ’em alone and go get some punch. But stay away from Lord Bentley, ’cause he gives me the creepos.
But what about Eddie?
Nothing’s real here, including him. Nice people don’t mess up someone else’s expensive romantic moment, especially since you’re clearly not ready to love Eddie for real. Get out before you make an idiot of yourself or get that heart broken again. We’re still aching from the last time, thanks very much.
No, said Charlotte, surprising herself. I am ready. I’m ready to love again, and I choose him. I don’t know how, with two kids in one country and this man in another. But I can’t imagine anyone else I would want to be with besides Eddie. Is that selfish? Does that mean I’m not nice?
Yeah, said her Inner Thoughts.
Well, forget you. I’m going to be the heroine in this story.
She started into the room just as the couple, apparently concluding their conservatory business, was starting out.
“Charlotte?” he said.
“Eddie,” she said, not knowing what else to say. But she was spared the formation of words by the mercifully loquacious Miss Gardenside.
“Oh, Charlotte, is it not wonderful?” she effused, hurrying to Charlotte’s side.
“Is it?”
“Now do not tease. Though I know you will mock me for being so blind, I am not as arch as you, my dearest, sweetest friend. You can find out a murderer, but I could not see true love when it formed before my face!”
“Don’t beat yourself up,” said Charlotte. “True love can be so easily mistaken for other things—friendship, humane concern, indigestion …”
“Stop it, you delightful thing. Now that I look back over the past two weeks, I see the mark of it running through everything that happened. Mr. Grey’s gallantry, his constant attention, his reluctance to dance even. Why, I simply thought him uneasy, given it is our last night. But in truth he was harboring a secret all along! Do not think I mind for my own sake, my dear Charlotte. You are sly, but I understand, though I should scold you amazingly. Sometimes one does not mean to fall in love. Sometimes it just happens.”
Charlotte was about to argue this point. She had a year’s worth of thoughts and impressive opinions on the subject of choice in love, but she stopped herself, because suddenly she was confused. “Wait … what?”
Miss Gardenside studied her face, her expression kind. “You really don’t understand, do you? Then do I get to tell you the news?” She glanced at Eddie but didn’t wait for permission. “He’s in love with you, Charlotte! He is desperately in love with you! And not really your brother, of course. All this time, he took my arm out of obligation, but I free him from that freely now! You are free to love!”