“Incidentally, I am attending a ball tomorrow night in Canterbury,” Mr Mellor continued, “and I would like you to pick a wide variety of flowers for it. I would also like you to accompany me.”
Charlotte hesitated. She couldn’t very well say no now, though the absolute last place she wanted to be was at a ball, surrounded by crowds of people.
“I insist,” he added. “It will be for your own good, my dear girl, I promise you that.”
* * *
The following afternoon, Charlotte stood in front of her wardrobe, frowning. The dress Mary had purchased for her still lay in the box, unworn. Her mourning period was not yet over, but she was already sick of black. With an aching heart, she slipped into the dress and buttoned it up, recalling with a pang the tender way that Mary had once taken the garment off her. She sighed. No, she could not possibly wear this dress—not now. Not until she’d spoken to Mary and set things right between them.
A soft knock at the door startled her. “Yes?”
A maid entered, carrying a dress over one arm. “Mr Mellor sends his regards, ma’am, and asks that you wear this tonight.”
Charlotte took the dress and stared at it while the maid bobbed a curtsey and scuttled out. At first glance she had thought it black, but in fact it was an extremely dark green silk. Someone had carefully embroidered tiny red tulips around the sleeves and neckline, which made the garment look less foreboding.A declaration of love,Charlotte thought, frowning.But to whom is this declaration made?With no one to answer, she sighed, and put the dress on. It fit her perfectly, and the effect in the looking-glass was stunning.
“Aha!” Mr Mellor cried, when she descended the stairs. “You look the very picture of beauty, Charlotte.”
“I thank you, sir.” She blushed. “How did you know my measurements? And why red tulips?”
“I have my secrets,” said he, tapping his nose with one finger, “and you have yours. Come now, the carriage awaits!”
* * *
The ball was an elegant affair indeed, taking place on an estate about half the size of Amberhurst, just outside Canterbury town proper. The sun had only just set, the last orange gasps highlighting the underneath of fluffy clouds. Inside the ball, candles illuminated cheerful countenances as dancers spun to a lively jig. The air was full of floral scents, and when Charlotte saw the flowers she had so carefully picked arranged about the rooms, a thrill of pride warmed her heart. She had just turned to Mr Mellor to say as much, when she caught a glimpse of Delia Highbridge.
Charlotte’s heart stuttered. Where Miss Highbridge was, Mary was sure to be. “Excuse me a moment, sir,” she said to Mr Mellor, and sidled through the crowd until she was within touching distance of Miss Highbridge. “Good evening.”
“Oh! Good evening, Mrs Collins.” Her tone was not as frosty as Charlotte had expected, but it definitely held a glacial chill.
“I wondered if you knew where I might find—” Charlotte began.
“Delia.” Mary’s voice came from behind Charlotte. “Perhaps we might move outside for a moment? It is a little crowded in here.”
Charlotte could hardly bear to look at Mary, and the scent of warm violets in the air fairly took her breath away. Realisation struck her. The red tulips on her dress—Mr Mellor’s message must be to encourage her to speak her piece. He must have known Mary would be in attendance. She bit her lip.Now or never.“May I speak with you for a moment in private, Miss Bennet?”
“I do not think that wise.”
Charlotte forced herself to look up. Mary’s eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks pale and gaunt. “Please,” she murmured, her voice full of raw need. “Please, let me have a moment of your time.”
Mary sighed. “Very well.” She led Charlotte into a side passage and into a large room fronted by even larger curtains, which swept the floor regally.
* * *
In other circumstances Charlotte would have taken the time to appreciate the scarlet walls, the potted plants in the corner, and the portraits of the hosts above the unlit fireplace, but all distractions must be set aside until her task had been achieved. Even the long tables against the wall, which held a range of her most elegant bouquets intended for the host’s luncheon on the following day, could give her no reprieve.
“I cannot imagine what you need to say to me,” said Mary, half-closing the door and heading towards the window. Her voice was steady, though her hands were trembling.
Charlotte pulled the letter from her pocket. Mary backed away even further. “Do not worry, I won’t read it to you,” Charlotte said hastily. “I simply beg a chance to explain why I made such a stupid and terrible mis—”
A man’s voice sounded in the corridor outside. “This way, you say? Are you quite sure?” The voice was familiar, but there was no time to think about that now. Charlotte turned, ready to shoo whomever it was out instantly, and came face to face with Mr Innes.Of all the people, Charlotte thought in despair.Poor man, he has the worst timing.
“Ah, Mrs Collins!” said he, emerging through the doorway. “I thought it was you. I did not expect to see you until my return to Kent, so this is a very pleasant surprise.”
“Um,” said Charlotte, glancing back over her shoulder. Mary had vanished, though a twitch of the curtain fabric gave her position away. “Good evening, Mr Innes. If you’ll give me just a moment, I really need to speak to—”
“Actually, Mrs Collins,” he said, and stepped closer, “I have a question to ask, and I hope you will give me a favourable response.”
Oh no. This cannot be happening here and now.Charlotte cast about wildly, wondering what she could possibly do to stop this from happening. Mr Innes smiled down at her. He smelled of wood smoke and pine needles; a winter scene, cold but not unpleasant. “I would like to become much better acquainted with you.”
