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“I wish we could dance together without judgement,” Charlotte said, as one of the surrounding couples bungled into her.
“Come along. Let’s get out of the centre,” Louisa said. She gripped Charlotte’s hand and marched towards the far end, near a table on which several glasses of wine glittered in the chandelier light.
Charlotte reached for a glass of wine and then turned her eyes towards the far end of the table. There stood Sampson—a man she’d known since her girlhood, someone she might have called a friend in more youthful years. In the wake of those years, she’d found something irritating about him; something that had forced her to keep her distance.
Now that he caught her eye, her heart sank. She felt as though he’d trapped her. She forced a smile as he stepped towards her, beaming. Why had it always seemed as though his teeth were attempting to crawl out of his lips and onto the floor?
“Charlotte!” he cried.
“Sampson. Hello.” She hadn’t a single way to escape.
He beamed down at her as she sipped her glass of wine. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you,” he uttered. “Far too long, in fact.”
“I heard a rumour that you’d left us for France,” Charlotte offered.
“Ah, yes. I’ve heard this,” Sampson said.
Charlotte marvelled that from this language she hadn’t any indication whether or not he’d actually been in France. That said, she didn’t care enough to ask.
“Well, yes. How have you been?” Charlotte asked. Her eyes scanned just beyond him, hoping that he would catch the hint and abandon her.
“Just fine, thanks,” he said. He bowed his head slightly, then furrowed his brow. “I heard about your cousin. Such strange and sad news. I hope you’re holding up all right.”
Charlotte longed to produce an eye-roll. “It’s been a difficult time for our family. Thank you for saying so.”
Louisa ambled up and wrapped her arm through Charlotte’s. She blinked up at Sampson and said, “Sampson. Goodness, it’s been years, hasn’t it?”
“Indeed. I just mentioned this to Charlotte,” Sampson returned. His eyes seemed to lose a bit of their light.
“I hope we’ll find time to chat with you later about where you’ve been,” Louisa returned. Her tone was hard-edged. “In the meantime, I hope you’ll allow me to steal Charlotte from you for a moment?”
Sampson’s smile faltered. It was clear that this wasn’t anything that he wanted at all. Still, there wasn’t anything he could do.
“Very well. I’ll be here.”
His eyes burned towards Charlotte’s. In response, she turned back towards the far end of the ballroom, gripping her wine stem with bright white fingers. She and Louisa hustled away as swiftly as they could. The moment they were out of Sampson’s eyesight, Charlotte exhaled sharply.
“I thought we’d never see him again.”
“He wasn’t ever so bad, was he?” Louisa asked.
“No. Forgettable, maybe. And the sort of man who wanted to change this fact about himself,” Charlotte affirmed.
Louisa chuckled so hard that a tiny snort escaped her nostrils. Charlotte joined her in laughter. They collapsed against the pillar beside them; Charlotte felt as though they could have howled all night, loud enough to overtake the orchestra. There was something about pure devastation and laughter; they seemed to operate in parallel.
As Charlotte whipped to the side, tossing her curls with a final guffaw, her eyes connected with another man who lurked between two opposite pillars—no more than ten feet away.
Her stomach clenched with sudden terror.
The man between the pillars was the same man she’d seen in town the previous day after she’d gone to investigate the place where she’d seen the mystic.
How was this possible?
Charlotte’s stance changed completely. She lifted her shoulders, forced her smile to die. Beside her, Louisa stumbled forward and said, “Are you all right? What’s happened?” She followed Charlotte’s gaze towards the man, who continued to stare. What sort of man was that, anyway? Charlotte marvelled. What sort of man continued to stare with such coldness, such malice?
But in an instant, somehow, the man’s malice melted away. He managed a slight smile, one that seemed to illuminate him. With a jolt, Charlotte felt it: recognized that he really was one of the more handsome men she’d seen in her life. He was dark-haired, thick-browed, broad of shoulder—and as he cut towards them, he gave off the air of having witnessed no other women at the party, beyond them.
“Good evening,” the man said.
