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“It is love that agrees with me,” Julia said with firm conviction. “You shall see.” She set the spoon in her saucer.
‘So you think Michael is a good choice?” Charity asked bringing the conversation full circle.
“I certainly can’t answer that, Charity,” Julia said. “It may be so. Only you can answer that question. Only you can know your own heart.”
Charity frowned and then brushed the creases from her face with a soft hand. “I do not think I love either of them, at least not yet. Not the way you love your Lord Fawkland, or the way Lavinia loves her Captain Hartfield. Oh Julia, how should I know?” She leaned across the table, anxious to hear Julia’s advice.
Julia looked thoughtful for a moment before she answered. Her eyes misted, like they did when she was considering a particularly tricky bit of a canvas, and Charity knew she was putting her whole self into the answer. “When you feel as though you heart will break should he refuse your affections. When you feel as though you may die altogether should you never see him again. That is how you know, Charity. That is the man you are meant to be with, because you cannot bear the thought of being apart from him.”
For an instant, Lord Wentwell’s penetrating green eyes flashed through her mind and Charity nearly felt the heat of him and smelled his scent. She thought of how miserable she was at the opening ball after their argument and these weeks since. The ache in her heart was real. The pain not yet dulled enough for her to hide her feelings.
“There! You see!” Julia said catching sight of Charity’s expression. “You already have some feeling for the gentleman. I think you just need to get to know him.” Julia reached across the table and caught her friend’s hand. “I am so happy for you, Charity.”
Charity’s face colored. She could not tell Julia she had thought of Lord Wentwell and not Michael Poppy.
Julia was right. She could not love a man without knowing him and rake or no; she knew the sort of man Lord Wentwell had shown himself to be. No good could come from dwelling upon their argument or their estrangement. She would focus on Michael Poppy. She would give him a chance to court her and she would get to know him better. She vowed that she would do so. Future potential or no, the history of their families owed him that much at least.
Then perhaps one day she might have a husband who looked at her the way Lord Fawkland looked at Julia or the way Lavinia looked at her captain, and on that day, she would share their joy.
~.~
Chapter Fifteen
Several days later Lady Charity awoke with a lighter feeling in her heart. Father had promised to join her for an outdoor concert in the park, which was something so remarkable that it drove all thought of trouble from Charity’s mind.
Her heart swelled whenever it seemed her father was inching closer to recovery. A hint of his old self could bring a light to Charity’s eyes like nothing else. The evening prior Charity had complained that she might have to sit at the park without a gentleman to keep her company.
Father had made a joke about attending as her partner to sit for the musicians under the shade of the grove of trees. Charity had leapt at the offer and begged him to keep it. To her surprise, he had meant the words in earnest and the promise was made to be kept the following day.
“I have already accepted an invitation,” Mother said. “You cannot go,” she told father, and the Earl objected vehemently.
Charity had not seen the two of them have such a row in an age. She was upset that they were fighting, but the very fact that her father had the presence of mind to engage in the argument was cause for celebration.
“Do you remember the opera?” Lady Shalace said.
“What about the opera?” Father asked. “I have not been to the opera in an age.”
“You are right,” Mother said. “And do you know why? The last time we were at the theater, you insisted upon obtaining a playbill. You left me and Charity to go and get one, but you came out a different door and assumed that we had left the theater and so you abandoned us.”
“I did not do that,” Father argued. “I would never leave you unattended.”
“Yes. You did. Then you went off with a group of strangers, and told them your friends had abandoned you. You asked if they might give you a ride home?”
“I see there was no harm done.”
“No harm! Charity and I were in a panic, looking for you without appearing to look for you.”
“I do not remember this,” Lord Shalace said shaking his head angrily.
“My point exactly,” Mother said.
Who brought me home?” Father asked.
“I have no idea. I am only glad you remembered where you lived.”
“Oh pshwa,” Father said turning to Charity. “I don’t remember that at all. You know your mother has the gift making much of nothing.”
“Indeed. We all have some forgetfulness,” Charity said softly, trying to smooth matters.
