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Chapter 9
Charlotte and Louisa returned to Louisa’s estate that evening after Peter’s dinner party. Charlotte fell to the edge of Louisa’s bed as Louisa scrubbed her fingers through her curls and marvelled, “You and Jeffrey spoke endlessly tonight. I can’t pretend that I’m not jealous about it. What was it he wanted to pick your ear about? Oh, and you looked so radiant as you spoke to him. From my side of the table, the two of you made a handsome pair.”
Charlotte began to undo the back of her dress. Candlelight flickered ominously across the far wall and window, casting the room in ghoulish light.
“I suppose he’s quite handsome, isn’t he?”
“Terribly so. It’s all I can think about,” Louisa said with an ironic laugh.
“Ha. Well.” Charlotte blocked the next words that she wanted to fling out:All I can think about is that I’m wracked with guilt about the horrendous fact that I could have stopped the murder of my dear cousin, Brooks. The mystic told me that he was in danger. The mystic told me. I could have saved his life. My pessimism destroyed Brooks—and thus, my life is destroyed, as I cannot see beyond this guilt.
“Where did you go?” Louisa asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Your eyes. They seem to be somewhere else,” Louisa said. She removed the rest of her dress and hung it in her wardrobe, then placed her hands on her hips. “I’ve felt this darkness within you the previous few days—as though sometimes when I look at you, your thoughts are several miles away.”
Charlotte regretted the lies that simmered between them. She tossed herself back and blinked towards the ceiling. “I’m sorry. I suppose it’s just Brooks’ death.”
“Have you gone to speak with Brooks’ parents yet?” Louisa asked.
“I haven’t. I’ve been a bit afraid to see them. My mother has spent several days there, mourning with her sister.”
“Perhaps speaking with them could give you a bit more closure,” Louisa offered.
**
Louisa’s suggestion was nothing short of brilliant. Charlotte donned a dark gown the following morning after breakfast and appeared outside her father’s study to inform him of her decision to depart to Brooks’ family’s estate.
“Not you too,” was what her father said, as though he feared losing her to the mourning that had ripped her mother away.
“I think it essential that I find closure in some manner,” Charlotte said. “And I want to show Mother my support.”
“Tell her hello from me,” her father said, heaving a sigh. “I suppose I cannot stop you from such activity. I hope you’ll consider returning home for dinner. I don’t like to eat alone.”
Charlotte rode on horseback towards Brooks’ estate. It was one of her first times on horseback in quite some time, and she thrived with the adrenaline of it, with her curls whipping through the wind and her heart in her throat. When she reached the family stables, she swept down from the saddle and turned the reins towards the on-duty stable hand.
After she adjusted the curls across her shoulders, she inhaled sharply and set towards the front of the mansion. It had been over two years since she’d made any sort of appearance at this house; back then, Brooks had teased her about a man who’d noticed her at a recent ball and tracked Brooks down to know her name. “I must marry her!” the man had announced to everyone.
Naturally, Charlotte had found a way to scamper out of that arrangement. After only a single dance, she’d known that she couldn’t spend the rest of her life with him—let alone another minute.
How she ached to hear Brooks’ laughter once more. It had always been so careless and alive.
When Charlotte appeared at the door, the butler crept it open and bowed sombrely. “Good morning. Are you here to see your mother?”
“Yes,” Charlotte said softly.
Within the house, the curtains had been drawn, and the servants marched about with their eyes towards the ground, as though they wanted to project eternal respect for Brooks and his death. Charlotte followed the butler down the corridor.
Moments later, she appeared before her mother and auntie, both of whom sat in black clothing, with similar black fabric stretched out before them. They sewed and spoke in light tones. A candle flickered towards the far corner, something that wouldn’t have been required if only they’d opened the drapes.
“Mother,” Charlotte said.
Her mother lofted her chin upward. Her eyes connected with Charlotte’s, and immediately, a smile stretched between her cheeks. “Darling. You’re here. I didn’t know you had plans to come.”
Charlotte’s mother and aunt looked remarkably similar. They’d been thick as thieves growing up together—in this very house, in fact—and they’d aged similarly, wrinkles forming in the same places on their foreheads, the same look of fear in their eyes.
“I wanted to express my deepest sadness for dear Brooks,” she whispered. How she ached to explain the tremendous guilt she felt.
