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“I’ll try to be, Mother,” Margorie said, placing her knife and fork either side of her plate, allowing her hands to hang either side of her thin frame.
It was clear she wanted to be left alone.
“How is your family, dear Charlotte?” Lady Major finally asked, growing disinterested in her daughter.
“Very well, thank you,” Charlotte said. “Father has been away on business, and Mother has spent many a day in the parlour worrying about him. My brother has been married a year now, and they’ve just welcomed a baby girl.”
“Your parents must be terribly pleased to be grandparents,” Lady Major suggested. She flashed her eyes once more to Margorie and Louisa, seemingly resentful.
It annoyed Charlotte that anyone was allowed to make people feel less-than for their lack of contribution to the new generation.
“They are. They adore the baby. At least, my mother does. She spends a great deal of time sewing up little garments for her,” Charlotte affirmed.
“I suppose I would busy myself with precisely the same exercises,” Lady Major said.
Charlotte turned her attention towards her food, stripping her fork tongs through the mash of her potatoes and willing the minutes to pass.
“Louisa?” Lady Major interjected now, her voice high-pitched.
Louisa dropped her fork to her plate with a clatter, seemingly frightened.
“Louisa, have you any idea that you haven’t said a single word in some twenty minutes?” her mother asked.
Charlotte’s stomach fluttered with good humour. She felt certain that Louisa was caught up in the inner chaos of her romantic mind, thinking again of what Florentia had suggested: that soon, she would be drawn tightly in the arms of a man. Soon, she would march the path of wifedom, of motherhood.
Due to this, Louisa’s mind had very little time to focus upon dinner.
“Terribly sorry, Mother,” Louisa said. She forced a smile.
Her mother sniffed and muttered to herself. “These girls. They’ll never find their way out of this life.”
