They passed one another quickly, apologies murmured but unnecessary, the air between them tight with something neither wished to name. Charlotte’s heart hammered as they descended, her pulse racing long after their footsteps faded.
Only when the front door closed somewhere below did Clara finally exhale.
“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh my.”
Charlotte laughed despite herself. “Are you quite all right?”
Clara nodded fervently. “Yes. Yes. Perfectly.” She paused, then added, “Did you see him?”
“I did,” Charlotte said dryly.
“He smiled at me.”
“So I noticed.”
Clara hugged the basket to her chest as they stepped out into the garden, her expression drifting once more into a familiar, wistful haze. “He’s even more handsome up close.”
Charlotte shot her a sideways look. “Clara.”
“Yes?”
“He is not for you.”
Clara blinked, then sighed, her shoulders slumping with exaggerated resignation. “I know. I know. You needn’t sound so grave about it. I can admire from afar.”
“Admiration has a habit of growing teeth,” Charlotte said gently. “And you deserve more than longing for someone who will never look your way beyond a staircase.”
Clara smiled faintly. “You speak as though you have experience.”
Charlotte hesitated.
“I speak as someone who has learned,” she said instead.
They set about gathering Julian’s toys, the quiet broken only by the soft crunch of boots against damp earth.
“Still,” Clara mused, lifting a wooden horse, “can you imagine it? Being married to someone rich? Powerful? Never worrying about the price of candles or whether the fire will last the night?”
Charlotte’s hands stilled briefly.
Once, she might have. Once, that had been an expectation.
She shook the thought away before it could settle. “I imagine it would be terribly dull.”
Clara laughed. “You do not.”
“Oh, I do,” Charlotte insisted, straightening and lifting her chin with exaggerated elegance. She adopted a lofty tone. “Oh, Mama, must we really dine at eight? I simply cannot abide being kept waiting.”
Clara burst into laughter.
Charlotte pressed on, sweeping an imaginary skirt aside. “And do ensure the silver is polished twice. One must maintain standards.”
Clara bent over, nearly dropping the basket as she laughed. “Stop—please—”
Charlotte grinned, her voice dripping with mock disdain. “Honestly, Clara, the nerve of some people.”
Their laughter rang out across the garden, light and unguarded, the sound of it surprising Charlotte almost as much as it delighted her.
For a moment—just a moment—she allowed herself to forget titles, rules, and the careful distance she knew she must keep.
