Merry Misrule - St. Clair, Ellie Page 0,72

been a minute, has it not?”

Charles smiled at the man who stood next to the stairwell with his wife on his arm. The two of them had found contentment with one another, which Charles looked upon with both pleasure for his friend and his own bit of envy. If only he and Miriam had found the same with one another… but that no longer mattered, so why dwell on the past?

“I have been in London for a few months now and only returned a week ago,” Charles said, coming back to the moment and assuming his practiced smile for occasions such as this. “I would have called upon you earlier, but I knew you would be deep in preparations for this evening.”

Coningsby laughed heartily. “Alexandra here was, of course, but I would have welcomed the distraction. You would think this would become easier year after year, but alas, it remains as much work as ever. Now, there are plenty here who are looking forward to speaking with you.”

“My family?” Charles asked with a raised eyebrow. “I see Anita over there, as well as Katrina.”

“Of course,” Coningsby said with the slightest of smirks, for he knew Charles’ true feelings regarding his cousins, “but I was speaking of a few young ladies. You aren’t getting any younger, you know, Doverton, and since Miriam has been gone some time now— ouch!”

Were they speaking of another subject, Charles would have enjoyed Lady Coningsby’s unsubtle reproach to her husband’s topic of conversation, but he would prefer that none of them continued to speak of this.

“I may not be getting any younger, but it seems the eligible women are,” Charles said, filling the silence as he surveyed the room. “Why, many of the women looking my way are young enough to be my daughter.”

“That is certainly no way to create a romantic sentiment,” said Coningsby, chuckling. “But you do have your succession to think of.”

Charles sighed.

“That, my friend, is my greatest concern.”

Coningsby nodded in understanding before Charles took his leave to find himself a drink, hearing Lady Coningsby chastising her husband as he walked away. Coningsby had never had much ability to determine just when he should speak and of what, but Charles actually enjoyed that about the man. It was far better to know what to expect.

He had just taken his first sip of brandy, welcoming its warm sensation sliding down his throat, when he heard his name being called. Recognizing the voice, he prepared himself so that when he turned, his distaste would not be evident within his expression.

Apparently, he was not as successful as he would have thought.

“Coningsby serving cheap brandy?” his cousin Edward asked as he approached. Charles attempted to sink into the wall behind him, but that only served to back him into the stone, where a tall angel with pink wings awaited.

Despite Edward being the same age as him, the two of them had never gotten on well. Perhaps it was because Edward had coveted everything Charles had ever called his own — including Miriam.

Unfortunately, the title, the estate, and all that it entailed would fall to Edward were anything to ever happen to Charles, for he had no other siblings and Edward was the closest blood relative.

Charles hadn’t been disappointed in having a daughter. In fact, he could still remember the euphoria, the love that he had never before felt tugging at his heart the moment he held the tiny baby in his arms.

But that was before. Before the miscarriages. Before Miriam’s icy politeness grew into a hostility that barred him from entering her room. Before she had not only kept his own child from him but had turned her against him.

Before Charles had to come to terms with the fact that he would never have a son, and all would, one day, be lost.

There hadn’t been anything to be done about it. And then Miriam had died, and Charles couldn’t imagine himself going through all of that once more, though of all the responsibilities he held, perhaps seeing to his line was the greatest. He had never been able to let go of his father’s teachings — of the importance of ensuring the male line survived.

He would find a wife. A young, fertile wife who would provide him with plenty of sons. He just had to be sure of one thing — after the pain of losing his daughter’s affections, he would never fall in love again.

“I need my doll, Holly, Mrs. Nicholls,” Henrietta said in a quiet