While the house held no painful holiday memories for her, as she and Charles had spent most of the year in London for the sake of salons and museums, the couple were still newlyweds and she suspected they valued their remoteness from society, including her.
Sophia was about William’s age, while Edward was a year or two behind Charlotte. Despite the similar age gap, she did her best not to think about William, knowing that society viewed their age difference quite differently and his need for heirs was a bigger issue.
Back in London, Belle dragged her to a demi-monde party celebrating the New Year, but she warned her coachman to stay close and managed to escape after the midnight toast, returning to her quiet home as she preferred. Pretending not to wonder if William was back in Town on Christmas break was exhausting.
Strolling into the library for the decanters on the sideboard, she spied the books he’d given her on the corner of her desk. She poured herself a port to take upstairs but then plopped down at her desk to snick open her drawer, pull his letters out, and read them for the umpteenth time, admitting to a teeny bit of surprise at not having heard from him again.
Melancholy welled in her at this time of year, just as it had the year prior. The holidays were particularly lonely. She and Charles had had such an active social life that included many holiday fêtes, then they’d hole up in this house for the days after Christmas to spend private time together. They gave half their servants Christmas and the first half of the week off, and then the rest the second half and New Year’s. They’d often lock the library door, build a fire, and partake in fireside intimacies at her direction.
She’d redone this room a few months ago. She’d spent several months after his passing to alternate between wallowing and basking in memories of their time there. Then she’d taken herself in hand and repainted their bedroom, replacing the chairs by the window and the bedding. Then the dining room. Then just the two armchairs in the parlor as the one had been her “throne” of sorts and they were a matched pair. Finally, she’d felt ready to make the library into her own sanctuary, rather than the remains of theirs. The room was now her favorite room in the house, and its floral tones of yellows and oranges with spots of green almost always soothed her.
Looking at the colorful printed pillows, she imagined reclining on them with William. The reds and golds of the flames in the fireplace reflected the tints of his hair. What gift would he have given her for Christmas? His gift-giving skills were masterful. And she might have gotten him something from Folly’s and the Orfords’s latest catalogue of leather restraints. Or a Christmas-colored ribbon.
Shaking her head, she returned her gaze to the poems he’d challenged her to identify. The holiday was the reason for her weakness. This would not do. She was too strong a woman to indulge in this over a mere boy. Grabbing her port, she went to bed.
* * * *
Still set on ignoring him and his tempting correspondence, she put them away and continued her efforts at Latin, but she struggled with the number of ways many words were used. It was contextual, which meant learning a list of words was not as helpful as say…reading poems.
She held out for another week, although his letters re-emerged from the drawer and the paper grew soft and worn from handling.
Then, one night as she lingered over a second glass of wine, she wandered in to stare at his signature. Unable to resist any longer, she sat and pulled her Latin primer and the Catullus book toward her on the desk, to study them.
Damned rakelet.
She was more drawn to the first poem than the second, despite the earthiness of the threesome depicted.
She needed a diversion. At the bookstore, Charlotte perused the books of Latin phrases. Her preferred bookseller did not have these in stock, and rather than make her wait for him to get one in, he had kindly directed her here. The new store’s owner had been eyeing her suspiciously since she walked in, his lips pursed at her position in front of the boys’ education shelf.
Deciding on one that seemed to be for beginners, she made her way to his counter. As she did, the shop door snicked open behind her and skirts rustled.
She handed the book over. The man’s eyebrows lowered, and he stared at her. “Madame, would you like this wrapped? I presume ’tis a gift?”
Old misogynistic goat. I should dearly love to tell him that I shall be using it, but with my luck he’ll not sell it to me. Shouldn’t a shop owner be happy for any sales?She sighed. ’Twould be easier to go along and get the book then never return. “Pick your battles, Charlotte,” her husband always used to say.
“No thank you. ’Tis for my son.”
A gasp sounded behind her, and she whirled, a hand to her chest.
“Oh, Sophia, Lady Pe—er—’tis lovely to see you, of course. Ah…” Charlotte trailed off and gaped at her sister-in-law, who knew very well she did not have a son. If she had, Edward would never have become the Earl of Peterborough.
Charlotte turned back to the shopkeeper, with her most imperious look—one William had never caused her to use, even at his boldest. “Please hold that for me. I shall return within the hour.” She nodded at him, and turned to Sophia. “Lady Peterborough, I did not realize you were here in Town. Would you be so kind as to walk with me for a spell?”
Sophia smiled and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Of course. We are in for the opening of Parliament. ’Tis lovely to see you, too. And remember, we are family. ’Tis Sophia, always, please.”
The two Countesses of Peterborough, past and present, linked arms and set off to meander along the London street, busy as Spring reigned and the Season neared.
“I beg your pardon for that small untruth, Sophia. My preferred bookstore is a few blocks away, but Mr. Choplin did not have what I was looking for and referred me here. That old curmudgeon was sure I could not be learning Latin. I debated arguing with him, but I doubt it would help”—the women exchanged resigned grimaces—“so I made that up to expedite the sale.”
“Ah. I hope you will give me your preferred bookseller then. I only came because Edward wanted something very specific and he’s found it at this bookstore in the past. I shall advise him not to use this particular shop again, however.”
Charlotte smiled at her, appreciative that Edward was willing to take advice from his wife. The brothers were very different in many other ways. For instance, she knew that Edward preferred a role more like hers in the bedroom and in fact had at one time belonged to a spanking club. It probably was unfair that she knew more about Sophia’s sex life than Sophia did of hers.
“You’re learning Latin?” Sophia asked, sounding impressed. “What prompted that?”
Without thinking it through, Charlotte asked, “Do you know Lord William Stanton?”
He was, after all, close to Sophia’s age. Charlotte ignored Belle’s voice snickering in her head about that fact.
