Charlotte desperately wanted to retort, though she knew not precisely what she wanted to say: that she had no interest in Mr Innes, or that Mr Innes’ potential interest in her signifiednothing, or that she was surprised Mary had even noticed what Charlotte was doing since she had spent most of her time paying attention to Miss Highbridge, or—
Charlotte was jealous. Stomach-churningly, green-bitter, truly jealous. The notion knocked the breath out of her, and she pressed a hand to her chest, struggling to draw air. The small prickles of jealousy she had felt before were mere grass snakes compared to this dragon. And why ought she be jealous, really? It was unfathomable, unless—
Unless she was beginning to fall in love.
“What is the matter?” Mary was beside her in a moment. “Are you ill?”
“No,” she choked. The carriage was already so small, and Mary was right there, the smell of violets tickling her nose again, overwhelming her senses. “Just a momentary dizziness. It will pass.”
“Here,” Mary said, and took Charlotte’s hand, pressing two warm fingers against the flesh of her wrist. “Why, your heart is beating so quickly. Shall I ask the coachman to halt a moment, so you can get some fresh air?”
“No need.” She closed her eyes, against the urge to weep. “Miss Highbridge seems pleasant. Have you known her long?”
“Seven years,” Mary said.
“I would like to know her better,” Charlotte said, keen to smooth over her strange fit of pique. “Any friend of yours must be worth knowing.”
“You flatter me. Besides, you are my dear friend, and you are worth knowing. I was eager for her to make your acquaintance as much as for you to make hers.” Mary’s fingers were still pressing against Charlotte’s pulse. “There, your heart is slowing down a little, though it is still far too quick for my liking. What can I do for you?”
“Nothing,” Charlotte assured her. “The punch was a little strong for my tastes is all.”
“Those infernal boys! They likely spiked it. I knew they were up to no good.”
“Do not worry,” Charlotte said, opening her eyes. The jealousy simmering in her stomach cooled a little when she saw the look on Mary’s face: concerned, compassionate, caring. “I simply need to rest and I will be right as rain.”
“I shall put you to bed the moment we get home,” Mary promised, and Charlotte laughed.
“Will you stay with me again?”
Mary blinked. “Do you want me to?”
She nodded, feeling a blush creep up her neck and invade her cheeks.
“Then I would be delighted to.” Mary pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around Charlotte’s shoulders. “Just close your eyes and rest for now.”
True to her word, Mary stayed in Charlotte’s bed again that night, and made such a fuss of her with cold compresses and iced drinks that Charlotte began to feel rather guilty for allowing herself to be so spoiled when nothing was wrong.It hardly signifies, she told herself,for in a week or so I will be gone from her life forever. At least I may allow myself the tiniest shred of comfort now.Their conversation was quiet and limited, lest Charlotte’s “dizziness” become worse, but Mary never stopped watching her, which forced Charlotte to act more amiable than she felt. It was unfair, really, to play pretend in such a way with Mary, who had done nothing wrong, and had no idea of the way Charlotte felt. In truth, Charlotte herself had not even understood the depth of her feelings until that moment in the carriage, and the idea had shaken her to her very foundations.
Once the candle had been blown out and Mary’s breathing had evened, Charlotte turned on her side, facing away. She had so rarely been jealous in her life that she had mistaken the first inklings for something else—envy, perhaps, of a freedom to experience things that were so beyond her ken, and of an unruffledattitude which refused to conform to the rules of society in the way that most people did. Maybe it was both envy and jealousy, all tied into one unpickable knot. The only thing she was certain of was that her infatuation with Mary was not the silly, girlish crush she had once thought it, but something far more serious.The bud has begun to bloom, she mused, pursing her lips.And it is entirely my fault for not snipping it off in the first place.
And yet, despite the horrible way her jealousy had stung, it was somehow tempered by the ecstasy of every touch, every look, every smile. If this was love, then Charlotte had never felt it before—had never even come close—and no wonder people went mad in pursuit of love, did ridiculous things, made elaborate and desperate speeches to convince another of their desires, their needs, their hearts. She drifted off into a troubled, though thankfully dreamless, sleep, and awoke to the gentle touch of Mary’s hand on her shoulder.
“Good morning.” Mary looked tired, though her eyes were still bright. She was still in her nightgown, and there was a streak of charcoal on the left side of her chin. “How are you feeling?”
Charlotte sat up, and Mary immediately leaned over to help prop a pillow behind her back. “I am quite well, thank you,” she said, smiling. “I promise I have not become an invalid overnight.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Mary rubbed her eyes, then covered a yawn.
“Have you been awake long?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I am afraid I did not finish all my correspondence yesterday. I had much more to say than I thought, and… Well. Tis no matter. I shall finish it all today and then we shall have the rest of the evening to ourselves, and tomorrow too. Would you mind terribly if I left you alone for breakfast?”
“Of course not! Do not worry about me. I would relish the chance to get a little more reading done.”
“You are a dear. I promise to make it up to you later.”
Charlotte arched an eyebrow. “In what way?”
She’d meant it as a joke, but it came out sounding unexpectedly sultry. Mary’s eyebrows rose until they were practically in her hairline. “Why, in any way you want.” She grinned. “I shall be entirely at your disposal around, say, two on the clock?”
