“Well, the topic of the moment is a new theory based on strata.” Mary hesitated. “Do you know what strata are?”
“I confess I do not.”
“Do not worry, I shall explain it to you. Here, give me your arm.” Mary pushed the sleeve of Charlotte’s dress back, exposing her bare forearm, and placed two warm fingers at the elbow joint. “They are natural layers of rock and sediment in the earth’s crust. See, if we have a layer here,” she drew a line across the soft flesh of Charlotte’s arm, causing a slight shiver, “and then over time further sediments are deposited through various means—weather, water, and so on—then you will have a second layer on top of the first.” She drew another imaginary line, an inch down. “And so on,” another line, another shiver, “and so on. And therefore, when we examine these layers, we can use the thickness and the kinds of deposits made to determine the age and duration of that particular strata.” Her fingers returned to Charlotte’s elbow joint, and walked down the flesh until they stopped at her wrist. “The research into these layers gives us a more complete picture of the earth’s history, or at least the parts of it currently above water. That is the short version of the explanation. Does it make sense?”
“Completely,” Charlotte said, a little breathlessly, and when Mary sat back without kissing her, she found herself disappointed.“I… I ought to apologize,” she blurted, her chest tight with trepidation.
Mary’s eyes widened. “What on earth for?”
“I expect I’m no good at kissing.”
Before Charlotte could add any explanation, or beg for mercy, Mary snorted. “I do not know who gave you that impression, but I have found quite the opposite to be true.”
“So you did enjoy it?”
“Yes.”
She frowned, not following the logic. “Then why do you not pursue me?”
“My dear Charlotte, I was concerned that I might be pursuing you too much already. This is all very new to you, and, well… I want you to feel comfortable. Besides, I too like to be pursued. Well,” Mary corrected herself, “that depends on who is doing the pursuing, but in your case, rest assured that I am most receptive.”
Charlotte turned the idea over in her mind. This was a fair point—the situation was very new to her, and she was not yet free of the guilt she felt about having such feelings in the first place. Still, the fear and shame had lessened every time they’d kissed, and she thought that with more kissing, it was entirely possible they too would fade. “Ah yes, I remember the young man at the ball who asked you to dance.”
“It was not those silly boys I was thinking of, in all honesty.” Mary sighed. “It was Mrs Tremaine.”
Charlotte blinked, baffled. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I may as well tell you. When she first moved to town, over a year ago, she flirted with me incessantly,” Mary admitted. “She would not take no for an answer, and became quite a nuisance. Turning up places she knew I would be, trying to visit the house every few days to catch me at home, alone. I imagine someone less stubborn might have simply given in and beenmade a conquest, though the more she pushed, the more determined I was to push back.”
“But she is married,” Charlotte protested, astonished that anyone could act in such a way.
“That was not my only reason for rejecting her advances, though it played a large part. Look, you must be careful around her, for your words will turn into skittering mice and she will be the hawk who catches the least fortunate one.”
“She cannot be as bad as all that,” Charlotte said, and was surprised at how serious Mary looked.
“She is all that and much more. Be on your guard.”
“Gracious, I am well warned. Fear not, I shall be extremely careful around her.”
Pitt brought in tea—how he always knew when tea was most wanted, Charlotte had no idea—and the conversation turned back to the previous meetings at the salon, who had attended, and what had been discussed there. As Mary talked, Charlotte watched her keenly; her lips, her fine dark eyes full of animation, her hands fluttering back and forth as she talked, like courting birds.
“What is it?” Mary asked. “I do hope I’m not boring you.”
“Not at all.” Charlotte swallowed hard. She had been brave before, she could be brave again. Besides, Mary had assured her that she would be receptive to advances.
Plucking up her courage, Charlotte leaned forward, fear and excitement thrilling through her in equal measures, and cupped Mary’s face in trembling hands. Mary stilled, waiting, her lips slightly parted, eyes hooded. Kissing had generally been something that had been done to Charlotte, rather than something she sought, but this was different. She tilted her head and kissed Mary—not a tempestuous kiss like their first, or the second, more delicate one, but a soft, sweet kiss that spoke a kind of thanks.
When she drew back, Mary looked dazed and flushed. “What was that you were saying about being a poor kisser?”
“I do not recall,” Charlotte murmured, sliding closer on the couch. Heady desire had overtaken her anxiety, clouding her thoughts. “Perhaps we ought to do it again, just to be certain.”
Chapter Twenty
My dear Mrs Collins,
I hope you will not stay away long, for the weather here has been very fine for the last few days, and I have hit upon a wonderful scheme for your return—with a small party, we shall walk across to Primrose Hill and take a picnic. How wonderful does that sound? I am feeling well of late and must take the opportunity to indulge where I can, for soon enough the headaches will be upon me again. Mr Innes and Sir George have already agreed to attend and I decided that you would be the perfect companion to make up our foursome. Canterbury cannot be so fine in comparison to the glorious Kentish countryside, nor from the pleasant company of two handsome and most agreeable gentlemen. I know you will agree!
Your friend,
