was clearly courting Miss Palmer, and it would be far more difficult to encourage Jonathan when Michael was around.
It was amusing; she had only just begun to think of Mr. Riley as Jonathan, not that he had given her permission to use his Christian name, and in considering him in such a way, she felt the ties between them tighten. Felt closer to him than they undoubtedly were. Gave her an interesting scene to imagine in her unoccupied hours.
Finding that scene was nearly impossible at the present, though the man who played in it sat beside her, laughing in all the correct parts of the opera.
She forced herself to laugh, though anyone paying attention would notice she was a notch or two delayed in doing so.
She was too focused on whether Michael was laughing. If Miss Palmer was laughing. If they were paying any attention to the opera or if they were more enthralled with each other than in any of the performances.
How many evenings had she and Michael spent in this box, surrounded by other people, but always gravitating towards each other? Enjoying good performances and commenting on them, mocking poor performances and criticizing them, laughing in muffled tones that her mother was constantly scolding them for. Michael had always been there, and she’d never had reason to think that would change.
The memories in this box enveloped her, robbed her lungs of air, and her eyes began to sting with tears.
They hadn’t reached the interval yet, but Charlotte suddenly felt choked by the sensations here.
Michael leaned closer to Miss Palmer to whisper something that made Miss Palmer smile in what had to be the most beautiful smile to ever grace a face.
Whether Michael loved, or would love, Miss Palmer was irrelevant. What was entirely relevant, and entirely evident, was that she was now more to him than Charlotte was.
She could not watch this, could not see him like this with her, could not stand to be confined in this space with him.
She got to her feet and stepped around Jonathan quickly.
“Are you all right?” he whispered quietly, his features wreathed in concern.
Charlotte nodded, forcing a smile. “I only need a bit of air. I won’t be a moment.”
“Shall I come with you?” Georgie asked, beginning to rise.
Charlotte waved her down. “It’s only the fit of my gown. I’ll return presently.”
Fearing Tony would follow, as he had threatened once before, Charlotte rushed out of the box and hurried down the corridor. Her slippers made no sound at all on the carpet, though her skirts rustled enough to direct anyone to her position, should they be searching.
Blessedly, the family box was situated near one of the square rooms in the theater. It was generally reserved for use by members of the peerage or members of Parliament, but Charlotte did not care enough to avoid it. She needed a space to breathe and recover, and she refused to hunt for an alcove. Every story of poor behavior at a theater occurred in an alcove, which struck her as odd, as alcoves were not nearly so plentiful for such things, nor did they allow for necessary privacy in most cases.
A square room, however…
Charlotte entered and moved directly to a chair, sinking into it and slumping forward, stripping her gloves off and pressing her hands against her face. Her breath came slowly and unsteadily, each inhale painful and each exhale draining. She had never been particularly skilled at playing a part, and here she was, acting a role while burying her natural inclination and disposition at the same time.
She was incapable of doing so.
Until she found some control over her emotions, she would not be able to maintain the necessary façade for the evening.
Once this evening was over, she’d be able to create a strategy to avoid seeing Michael more often than society would dictate, and especially in a more direct setting such as this. She had enough connections and allies to inform her of guest lists, so planning would be easy and essential. All she had to do was survive the evening, uncomfortable and unplanned though it was, and then she need never experience this again.
She slid her hands to her mouth, swallowing hard, shuddering another exhale as she sought control.
“What is it?”
Charlotte closed her eyes, fighting the wild inhale that would completely undo her and forcing her breathing to find a steadier pace, limited though it would be.
She opened her eyes and lowered her hands to her chin, allowing herself to smile