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Louisa remained at the house that night, tending to both Charlotte and her mother, and forcing Charlotte to eat at least a bit of stew. Louisa recounted old tales of Brooks, ones she remembered from long-lost glossy days at balls across the county. “He was always such a handsome man.” Louisa sighed. “I’d be remiss to say I didn’t have my own fantasies around marrying him.”
Charlotte giggled slightly through her tears. “All I’ve ever wanted is to be in some way related to you.”
Louisa sighed. Her own eyes looked fatigued. After a long moment, she said, “I’ve thought a great deal about the mystic yesterday, you know. How certain she was about my future. But seeing the splendour of this false reality has filled me with dread. I feel as though I’m meant to build up a great deal of energy and push myself towards this future. How? I find it difficult to speak with men at balls, at parties. I’m entirely too nervous about such things.” She gave a light shrug, then added, “I find it easy to speak with you. I wish you were the only person I ever needed.”
“You’re the only one for me,” Charlotte said teasingly. “Although I think you should give yourself far more credit. You bring such brightness to the world.”
Darkness fell. Louisa admitted that she’d agreed to meet Margorie at home before bed to go over some of the new sewing materials they’d purchased recently. “I do hope that at her age, I’m not going over fabrics alone at my parents’ home,” Louisa whispered as she swept upward into the carriage. As she settled herself, she heaved another sigh and said, “Let me know what else you need, dear girl. I love you so. You and your family will get through this.”
Charlotte watched the carriage clunk out towards the main road, disappearing into the night. With Louisa’s departure, fear and angst again latched together in her stomach and made her feel on the verge of vomiting.
How had Florentia known?
