I wanted to wedge my foot firmly there and keep it open, keep his secrets spilling out. But his secrets were not mine to carry.
When his eyes met mine, he had bridled the emotion behind them. “I am my father’s second son. When Henry lost his life, my whole world upended. I miss him—more than anything, I miss him—but I could never take his place.”
I tried to imagine Charlie’s grief—surrounded by my brother’s memory, missing him so bad I ached, but forced to walk in his footsteps and keep living. I couldn’t.
“I’m so sorry, Charlie.”
He drew in a long breath, then smiled despite his sorrow. “Liza says you hardly know the Duke of Marlow.”
Smooth change of subject. Why did he always do that?
I adjusted my cushion more comfortably. Exhaustion set in, and rightly so. I let my limbs fall heavily upon the blanket.
“Talking about me in your spare time, are you?”
He met my gaze and laughed. “An engaged woman? I know better than that. I was merely curious about your arrangement. How many times have you met this duke?”
“Twice.” I stared back with confidence. Anything less would prove his point, and I would never allowthat.
“Do you find him humorous?”
“He has a quiet humor. Nothing too boisterous or exciting.”
He narrowed his gaze and yawned. “You don’t seem like the quiet type.”
“We shall pair well as opposites.”
“And his habits? Does he rise early and retire late?” Mr. Winston’s eyelids seemed heavy, and he blinked lazily.
“Those habits will not affect me. We will be in separate rooms.”
“Are you certain? I, for one, should like to fall asleep beside my wife.”
Heat rose up my neck, and I dropped my gaze to where Charlie’s hand rested near his chest, which rose and fell steadily. What would it feel like to sleep beside one’s husband? To feel so warm, so comfortable, that our breaths came in tandem and lulled us both to sleep.
To beso close.
Charlie’s hand fell to the space between us. I could see the lines in his knuckles, count the hand-sewn threads on his sleeve. My skin prickled and heated, and I feared if I moved in the slightest, we would touch, and then what might happen?
Charlie laughed. “Forgive my impertinence. I should not speak so intimately with you, but you feel so much like Liza—so comfortable. I fear my mind is becoming fuzzy.”
I cleared my throat. “Emptying one’s stomach is cruelly exhausting.”
“All thanks to that list of yours.”
“To the list!” I called with a laugh, lifting an imaginary glass in the air.
“Hear, hear!” Charlie raised his, and we pretended to touch glasses before settling back. “Believe it or not, I’ve grown fond of your list,” he said. “But still, I wonder ...”
I waited. “What?”
“What do you expect to happen when you’ve finished?”
What did I expect? Logically, I knew my list would not change my life, though a little part of me wanted it to. I thought of Aunt Alice’s smiling face as she stepped down the church stairs on Uncle Marvin’s arm as his wife for the first time.
“I want to feel complete. Like a perfect picture, ready to be hung.”
He made a face. “I do not think that is what you want.”
