“Come,” Mary said, and arranged herself on the couch so that Charlotte could comfortably lie in her arms. “Is this too much?”
“Not at all.” She wanted to ask for more, but shyness again prevented her. It did not take long for them to become entangled, much like Charlotte’s dream, only these kisses were sweet and short. It was all very pleasant, but immensely frustrating. Charlotte shifted position; winding her fingers into Mary’s hair, she tugged experimentally. Mary gasped, her body arching towards Charlotte.
She froze, panic rising. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.” Mary’s cheeks were flushed with high colour, her eyes darker than ever before. She licked her lips once, twice, her chest heaving. “No, you did not hurt me.”
Charlotte leaned in, tentatively, and pressed a gentle kiss to Mary’s lips. “Then what is it?”
“I am… You make me…” Mary huffed. “Do you really not know what you do to me?”
“No, not at all.” Charlotte stilled her face, made it politely blank. “Pray tell.”
“You’re a monster,” Mary mumbled, burying her face in Charlotte’s shoulder, eliciting a giggle. “Very well.” She looked up into Charlotte’s eyes, desire writ plain across her face in every line of strain. “Every touch of yours sets me alight. Everykiss is another coal on the fire, and I can only let it burn so long before it threatens to consume me entirely. There, that’s pretty language to say something plain. Are you satisfied?”
Charlotte’s heart was hammering so hard she was certain Mary would hear it. “Not in the slightest.” She smiled, then bit her lip. “Then…may I ask…”
“Why I am holding back?” Mary sighed. “It is not from lack of desire that we have not gone to bed together. I thought I had made that clear. It is simply that I am, perhaps, slower than most to bare my body and soul in such a way. I do not take lovers casually, as some do. I hope that is acceptable.”
“Of course.” Charlotte blinked, surprised. The idea of taking a lover casually had never occurred to her, though she had expected Mary to be a little less formal in this regard. There was something she was missing in this explanation, she was certain—some obvious fact staring her in the face, but she could not quite work out what it was. “I’m happy to be with you in any respect.”
“Give me time,” Mary said, pressing another kiss to the corner of Charlotte’s mouth, eliciting another smile. “I will endeavour to be worth it.”
“I have no doubt that you will.”
And yet, Charlotte thought,time is a currency fast running out.She was aware they had talked of her staying for a week or two, though Mary had said nothing beyond this and besides, even if invited to linger, Charlotte had responsibilities to attend to. She would have to return to the parsonage to oversee the packing of boxes for the journey back to Hertfordshire. She would have to say tearful goodbyes to Bessie and Mrs Waites, as well as Anne de Bourgh. She could put it off a little longer, perhaps another week, but at some point she would have to face the truth: her parents would be expecting her at Lucas Lodge, and she would have to once again don the guise of Mrs Collins, widow and burden, rather than Charlotte, free to kiss whomevershe pleased and go wherever she liked with not a single thought given to the rules and expectations that governed polite society.
“What is it?” Mary murmured.
Charlotte shook off the thoughts and forced a smile. Mary must be as aware as she of their impending separation. There was no need to mar happy times with a reminder. “Nothing a good kiss cannot fix.”
“Well then, come here.”
Breathlessly, Charlotte acquiesced, and the next few minutes were spent exploring all the healing properties of a very good kiss.
“I have something to tell you,” Mary murmured, catching her breath once they’d parted. “I hope you will not find this habit too strange, but once a week I have lunch downstairs with the servants.”
Charlotte gaped at her. “Really?”
“Is that so odd?” Mary frowned, her tone defensive.
“Not at all,” Charlotte hastened to reassure her. “In fact, I have spent many a pleasant hour in the kitchen with Mrs Waites.”
“You do not think me queer?”
“I do, but not for this.” Charlotte grinned at the way Mary’s eyes rolled in amusement.
“The thing is…” She shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “Over the last year I have rather lost touch with some society friends. It is a long story, and I—well. Suffice to say that these weekly lunches were a tradition begun by Aunt Cecily and I have enjoyed continuing them in her absence. After all, the servants and I may be separated by class, but there is something deeper which binds us together. I find it cheering to have more people around who understand my particular situation, and I theirs. Does that make sense?”
“It makes the most perfect sense in the world,” Charlotte declared.
“Would you care to join us tomorrow?”
She blushed with pleasure. “I would be delighted to.”
* * *
Lunch began quietly, with each member of the party seated around the long kitchen table. Strips of pork belly, well-seasoned and flavourful with a crispy, crackling skin, were accompanied beautifully with buttered new potatoes liberally sprinkled with thyme. Though the meal was excellent, Charlotte worried that her presence was inhibiting the servants from being their usual selves. She needn’t have worried. Before long, the footmen—Henry and Thomas—began to chatter excitedly about a dance they intended to attend, and begged Miss Brodie to join them on the excursion, since the young housemaid who was apparently their usual companion had gone home to visit her parents.
