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Charlotte didn’t mention James or Justice, stalking Lu’s boyfriend, or the dead batteries in the phones. She just talked to her children, sharing favorite memories, listing their traits she admired, telling about Colonel Andrews’s mystery and how scared she’d been playing Bloody Murder (leaving out mention of the was-there-wasn’t-there corpse).
Mr. Mallery sat on the sofa and watched as she wro
te. She was getting used to this. She didn’t even look up.
Eddie’s missive was three pages long. Whether or not Julia was real, she was getting quite a letter.
Charlotte sealed up her letters, addressed them, and asked Mr. Mallery to take them to Mrs. Wattlesbrook to mail that day.
“Is there such a thing as ‘post haste’?” Charlotte asked. “Because that’s what I want. Post haste, if you please!”
Mr. Mallery bowed. “I will do anything you ask, Mrs. Cordial, but perhaps next time your favor will not require me to leave your presence.”
As soon as he left, a panicked hiccup escaped Charlotte’s throat.
“What are you thinking?” Eddie asked, resting the side of his head lightly on his hand while he studied her.
“He’s so different from … what I left behind. And I know I’m supposed to get wooed and all. That’s how Mrs. Wattlesbrook designed this. But I get scared. I don’t want to disappoint him.”
“Still worried about Mallery? Come, Charlotte, you need to enjoy yourself more. Do you ever allow yourself that? You do not have many hobbies, do you?”
“I work, I take care of my children …” She shrugged.
“Well, in our world, at the very least, you should learn to dance. My—” He caught himself. “Our mother, as you recall, was a dance instructor, and naturally, as her only son, I was often employed as a demonstration partner. Odd that you somehow escaped dance lessons.”
“Yes, that is odd.”
They smiled at each other.
“You learned the country dances from Mrs. Wattlesbrook?” he asked, taking her hand and drawing her to her feet.
“I don’t remember them very well, and the ball is in four days.”
“The steps are repetitive, and you’re clever. You will be fine.”
He went to a carved wooden box in a corner, turned a key several times, and lifted the lid. A tinny song squeaked out.
“There is a new dance that is just being admitted into civilized society, in this, the year of our Lord 1816: the waltz.”
He pulled her into his arms and began to move—one, two, three, one, two, three. His hand was tight on her back, their middles almost touching. She felt featherlight and a little giddy.
“You are a natural,” he said. “Flows in the Grey blood, I shouldn’t wonder.”
Was she being frivolous? Shouldn’t she be doing something productive, like … um … She briefly wished the murder had been real so she could get back to work investigating. All this vacationing was proving to be a mental strain.
You’re such an idiot, said her Inner Thoughts. Don’t you know how to relax?
She looked at Eddie. It was easier to relax with Eddie there.
“Having fun?” he asked.
She nodded, and her feet skipped a little, adding an extra hitch to the step.
“Ooh, you saucy thing,” he said. “Next time I will teach you the polka.”
“Post haste it is.” Mr. Mallery was leaning against the threshold.
Charlotte stopped, feeling guilty. His confidence seemed to fill the room, leaving no place for hers.
