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Chapter Thirteen
Charlotte found Seth in the drawing room. He stood, resting heavily against the side table behind him. Atop it, the bottle of port she’d readied for tonight’s gathering still lay where the butler had placed it, unopened. Seth’s eyes were closed, and his mouth was cupped in an upturned hand.
She didn’t say anything, but walked up and stood beside him, resting her shoulder against his.
“You know,” she said softly, “when William first grew into manhood, he’d always gift me a new bonnet at Christmas.”
Seth didn’t respond. He didn’t even move.
“But what he didn’t know,” Charlotte continued, “was that I’m not overly fond of bonnets. Having four or five suits me fine.”
“That is a nonsensical number of bonnets for any woman,” Seth grumbled.
Charlotte only laughed. “Maybe for the wife of a merchant, but not—”
Seth moved away from her so suddenly, Charlotte nearly tipped over. He placed a hand atop the side table, the other on his hip, and faced her fully.
He didn’t seem pleased.
Charlotte hadn’t often brought up Seth’s previous occupation, but she’d never seen him respond like this over it. Was it just that he was still upset over the meeting he’d just walked out on?
“My point is,” Charlotte said, “we went on as such for many years before I finally told William the truth.”
“That you hated his gifts.”
“That’s exactly what I was afraid he would think, which is why I delayed talking to him about it for so long.” Charlotte placed her hand atop Seth’s on the side table.
He pulled his hand away immediately.
Charlotte’s brow creased. She and Seth had shared small touches more times than she could count. Always only as friends—he’d made that clear many times—but still, they’d been there. Usually, he initiated them, too.
He’d loop her hand around his arm. Or he’d take her hand is his own. They were always small and hardly confessions of a deep regard, but they’d offer comfort, and they were a testament of their friendship. At least, that’s how Charlotte looked on them.
Why, then, was he suddenly pulling away from her?
“When I finally did talk to William,” she pushed on, but didn’t reach for him again, “I learned that I’d commented once, when he was a young boy, on how happy I was to receive a new bonnet.”
Seth slowly nodded. “He was only trying to make you happy.”
“Of course he was. I’d never doubted as much, but after I explained that I had enough bonnets, he was equally happy to buy me something else the following year.”
Seth’s response was dry as week-old bread. “If you’re concerned I was going to purchase a new bonnet for you this Christmas, you can set your mind at ease.”
“I’m concerned we’re avoiding what most needs to be said.”
Though Seth didn’t agree aloud, his expression turned grimmer, and his gaze dropped.
That was confirmation enough—he knew what she was saying, and he agreed.
“I need to tell you why my position on the committee is so important to me,” Charlotte said, turning away from Seth and moving toward the settee. “I haven’t ever said this aloud. Not to William, or my friends. Not even to my late husband.”
He followed but didn’t sit next to her, choosing the chair across from where she sat instead.
Charlotte clasped her hands in her lap. “Before I had William, I had a little girl.” She found she couldn’t look him in the eye, so she focused on the legs of his wingback instead. “She was born in the middle of a pitch-black night, and she passed away before the sun rose.”
He didn’t say anything, which she would have thought would bother her. But now that she was telling her experience, his silence gave her room to breathe, to feel what she felt, and to tell her story in her own way.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze to his. The sincere sympathy she found there gave her the strength to continue.
