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“Mrs. Cordial,” said Mr. Mallery, taking a seat opposite her at the breakfast table. He looked her over, unhurried, unself-conscious. “You look well rested.”
“I am, thanks,” she said.
Nicely played, Charlotte.
“Sister!” Eddie eyed her plate as he filled his from the sideboard with all things protein. “You cannot survive on fruit alone. I told the men in the smoking room last night that you were pleasantly chubby as a child and I swore to make you so again.”
Oh, oh, that’s a good lead-in, she thought. He’s setting me up, feeding me a great idea that I can play with, make a joke. I’ve got to say something funny …
“Um, okay,” she said. “I like meat too.”
Yow, what a zinger!
She should be coming up with witty things. That’s what made Austen women intriguing, wasn’t it? Well, some weren’t exactly the life of the party, but they were sweet, and their men loved them anyway. As nice as nice was, Charlotte wanted to be Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice, she who didn’t like to speak unless she could say something to amaze the whole room, she who could make a man like Mr. Darcy fall crazy-mad in love. If Charlotte couldn’t become an Austen heroine, how could she ever immerse herself inside the story? How could she reclaim those sensations?
Colonel Andrews said, “Mrs. Cordial, do have some cherry preserves on your bread. We all enjoy the sweetness of a cherry cordial.” He winked.
And Charlotte said, “Okay.”
Score for the witty woman! And the crowd goes wild!
She wasn’t always this numb-brained, was she? She had smart friends who didn’t seem bored by her. But these men, these obscenely gorgeous men, how they muddled one. Charlotte’s thoughts cast to the first time she’d visited an art museum. She’d seen prints of Van Gogh before and thought his Starry Night was lovely. But to view it in person—the texture, the brushstrokes, the rich gobs of paint swirled together—it took her breath away.
These real men took her breath away.
But how real are they? Charlotte wondered.
She glanced at Mr. Mallery. He was still observing her. Did she have jam smeared on her face or something? She wiped her mouth, smiled halfheartedly, and quickly looked away. He didn’t.
After breakfast, the ladies adjourned to the morning room, where, in the absence of gentlemen and the proprietress, Miss Charming kindly instructed them on the finer points of needlework.
“It’s called ‘needlework,’ you see, because you do work with a needle,” said Miss Charming.
Miss Gardenside stared at Miss Charming a moment, and then laughed. “You are so funny! I love you. I love both of you hugely. Now you must call me ‘Lydia.’ ”
Miss Charming, startled at first by Miss Gardenside’s laugh, recovered and raised her fists in the air. “Yay, friends! We’re going to have so much fun,” she sang.
“So much fun,” said Miss Gardenside.
“So, so much fun,” said Miss Charming.
They sewed some more. Miss Charming sniffed. Charlotte looked out the window. She vaguely wondered when the fun would start.
“You know, you look kind of familiar,” Miss Charming said.
Miss Gardenside blinked and just stopped herself from frowning.
“Lydia and I met at a ball in Bath last year,” Charlotte offered. “Perhaps you saw her there as well?”
“Ooh, backstory!” Miss Charming repositioned her breasts as if preparing for a physical feat. “I’m descended from royalty and the Swiss, and my daddy is a peer. Or something.”
“Why not?” Miss Gardenside smiled.
“Exactly,” said Miss Charming.
They sewed some more. Now it was Miss Gardenside’s turn to look out the window and sigh.
Colonel Andrews popped his head through the doorway.
