Charlotte’s smile faded slightly at that.
But does Victor truly care for me?
At times, she thought he did. The way his gaze lingered upon her when he believed no one noticed could not be imagined. Yet other moments, he became distant and cold.
Harriet studied her carefully. “Oh dear. You are in love with him, are you not?”
Charlotte’s cheeks heated instantly. “Mother.”
Harriet groaned dramatically and flung herself back against the cushions. “You are.”
Charlotte covered her face briefly with embarrassment.
“Well this is far worse than I thought.”
“I do not know when it happened,” Charlotte admitted quietly.
“Perhaps on the wedding night?” Harriet smiled.
Charlotte gasped. “Mother!”
Harriet shrugged unrepentantly. “I was young once.”
Charlotte buried her burning face in her hands.
“And judging by the way the duke stares at you, he is equally doomed.”
Charlotte’s heart fluttered at that thought. She missed him already. She missed his arrogant smirks and wicked teasing and even the frustrating way he argued with her whenever he feared caring too much. Worst of all, she missed the warmth of his presence beside her at night.
The parlor door suddenly burst open. Joan swept inside first, soaked from the rain and grinning broadly, with Irene and Penelope rushing in behind her.
“Mother, you shall never believe it,” Joan declared loudly. “Penelope nearly stepped directly into a puddle large enough to drown a horse.”
“It was your fault,” Penelope snapped. “You shoved me aside to look at a gentleman.”
Irene sighed dramatically. “Must every promenade involve near death?”
Harriet immediately perked up with delight at the chaos. “Ah excellent, my noisy daughters have returned.”
Charlotte watched them fondly as they argued across the room. For the first time all afternoon, her chest felt slightly lighter.
Harriet leaned close and murmured quietly, “See? Family mends many hurts.”
Charlotte smiled faintly. “Though perhaps not headaches.”
Joan suddenly noticed Charlotte’s expression and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Why do you look melancholy?”
Charlotte straightened immediately. “I do not.”
“You do,” Penelope agreed.
Irene studied her thoughtfully. “You miss your husband.”
Harriet quickly hid a smug smile behind her teacup.
“Do not be absurd,” Charlotte protested weakly.
Yet even as her sisters descended into loud teasing, Charlotte could not fully deny it. She missed Victor terribly. And somewhere deep inside her heart, she feared he might not miss her nearly as much.
