Spinster Ever After (The Spinster Chronicles #7) - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,93

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, her expression would give her away, she would do something desperate like beg him to marry her instead of Diana.

And then he had come to her home, and she had been so tired, so weak, so broken that the sight of him gave her joy rather than pain. For those few minutes, he had been returned to her as the dear friend she had known for years. They could be as they were, comfortable in each other’s company and free with their words. She could stare without being forward, reveal more than she could in public with her eyes and expression. He could touch her…

The touch of his finger on her cheek as he wiped away her tear would sustain her for ages, and there were no words for how pathetic admitting that made her feel. He had given her wings that day, though he had also given her a cage.

They had never talked of marriage, he’d said. No, and she hadn’t intended to talk of it then, but his bringing it up had confirmed her